The Next Victim (Kali O'Brien series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Michelle motioned to Erling and then pointed to the receiver pressed to her ear. “Tucson PD has located Tony’s Taurus,” she said. “Your daughter’s with him. She’s fine.”

  Erling’s body went soft with relief. “Get the location and tell the uniforms to hold them until we get there.”

  Minutes later they were on their way. Michelle had insisted on driving.

  “I can’t wait to nail this piece of shit,” Erling grumbled.

  “Better find out if he’s our killer, first.”

  “He’s got Mindy, doesn’t he?”

  Michelle gave him a sidelong glance. “Remind me, is giving someone a ride a felony or a misdemeanor?”

  “I’m in no mood for humor.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she said pointedly. “At the moment we don’t know squat about this guy and what he’s done. It was personal involvement that tripped you up on this case in the first place. You’d better watch out it doesn’t happen again.”

  Eyes straight ahead, Erling grumbled, “It won’t.”

  They pulled up behind two police cruisers on an open stretch of four-lane road. In front was the dented Ford Taurus. Erling got out, spoke briefly with one of the officers, then opened the Taurus’s passenger door.

  Mindy looked up at him, her face contorted with rage. “I knew you’d pull something like this. I just knew it. How could you?”

  “Why aren’t you in class?” he asked.

  “Class is over. We were going out to a movie.”

  “In the middle of the day? When you could be studying?”

  “I can’t study all the time.”

  Erling looked across the seat to the young man seated behind the wheel. He was leaning back, his eyes half closed, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Erling would have preferred some sign of nervousness or annoyance.

  He turned back to Mindy. “What are you doing with a loser like this, anyway? Especially after what I told you about those other girls being killed.”

  “He’s not a loser,” Mindy protested. “Tony works hard. He’s had to struggle for everything he’s got.”

  “Spare me the sob story. Please.”

  Mindy turned to Tony “I’m really, really sorry. My dad’s such a jerk.” Her pleading tone made Erling sick.

  A thin smile graced Tony’s mouth. “It’s okay. Don’t sweat it.”

  Erling took Mindy by the arm and pulled her from the car. “Take her home,” he told the officer.

  She jutted her chin at him. “My car’s at school.”

  “Take her to her car, then, and follow her home.” He gestured to Tony. “You come with me.”

  “What? What did I do?” Tony emerged from his cocoon of self-absorption and gaped at Erling. “She’s not a minor, is she?”

  “We’ve got some questions for you.”

  “About what?”

  “Murder. Now get out of the car.”

  “Murder?” Tony’s voice rose.

  “I said get out. And keep your hands where I can see them.” Erling half hoped the punk would resist; then he could pummel the guy.

  Reluctantly Tony obliged, easing himself from the car. “What are you talking about? I don’t know about any murder.”

  “What about your sister?”

  Tony shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Because of your smile,” Michelle said, “you make life more beautiful.”

  “What?”

  “You recognize that line?”

  “Yeah, it’s a quote by Hanh, a Vietnamese monk.”

  “Literate, aren’t we?” Erling chided. “You ever inscribe a book of poetry that way?”

  Tony gave an elaborate sigh. “So I gave your precious daughter a book and told her she had a nice smile. Big deal. It’s not like I gave her edible panties or anything.”

  Erling wanted to slap the guy, but Michelle’s light touch on his forearm reminded him to keep his cool.

  “Who else did you inscribe books to?” Michelle asked.

  “What business is that of yours?”

  “Your sister?”

  Tony shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, not that she cared. If it wasn’t made of gold or diamonds, she had no use for it.”

  “Anyone else?” Erling asked.

  Tony hesitated, then shook his head.

  “You sure about that?” Erling took a step closer. “Come on, Tony. Tell us.”

  “A girl. Someone I was sort of dating.”

  “She have a name?”

  “She was someone my sister knew.”

  “Hayley Hendrix?”

  Tony’s head jerked up in surprise. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

  “So what happened? You date her long?”

  He shrugged. “A couple of months. Here and there.”

  “When was this?”

  “June, maybe. It wasn’t any big thing.”

  “Who broke it off?”

  “What’s it matter? It’s over.”

  Erling grabbed Tony’s shirt. “She did, in other words.”

  “That must have made you angry,” Michelle said.

  “I treated her nice. Turns out all she wanted was a meal ticket.” He looked at them. “She’s a stripper, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like she’s living in a nunnery.”

  “She wouldn’t put out for you,” Erling said. “Is that what you mean?”

  Tony looked embarrassed.

  “She humiliated you, didn’t she?” Erling pressed. “That made you angry. So angry you killed her.”

  Tony’s eyes widened. “She’s dead?”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t! How’d she die?”

  “You tell us.”

  Tony shook his head, breathing hard now. “You’ve got this all wrong. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “What about your sister? You kill her too?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Far from it.”

  “What about the other one?” Tony asked. “Crystal. You going to tell me she’s dead too?”

  Michelle cocked her head. “You know Crystal?”

  “No, but some woman’s been pestering me, asking me about them. She’s got a photo of my sister with Hayley and the other girl.”

  “Some woman. You mean Kali O’Brien?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  Erling exchanged glances with Michelle. “Come on, Tony. We’re taking you in.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Tony yelled as Erling prodded him into the car. “I’m not saying another word until I talk to my lawyer.”

  Chapter 44

  The rental agency insisted on giving Kali a replacement car. It was white, rather than silver, which made Kali feel less nervous about being followed. Unless whoever was behind the threats had tailed the tow truck to the Hertz agency, he or she wasn’t likely to recognize the new car. Still, she checked the rearview mirror frequently, and she parked in a highly visible spot in front of La Cantina.

  Her first thought when she walked through the door was that this was a happening place. The bar was standing room only and the entry was jammed with people waiting to be seated. Her second thought was that she’d never find Ron Silverman in the crowd.

  But she was spared the need. The maître d’ approached her, asking, “Are you here to see Mr. Silverman?”

  When she nodded, he showed her to a table in the center of the dining room.

  Ron Silverman was on his cell phone. He nodded at Kali and gestured to the empty chair across the table. He was probably in his late forties, with a full mouth, thinning hair, and skin rendered soft by an under layer of fat. His white silk shirt was open at the neck, revealing a gold chain and way too much chest hair.

  After a moment, he snapped his phone shut and held out a hand weighted by a diamond pinky ring. “Ron Silverman,” he said. “Sorry about the call. Nobody’s willing to take the ball and run with it anymore. They all gotta pass it by me first. Cover their a
sses in case there’s a screw-up.”

  If Silverman was upset with the arrangement, he was hiding it well. More likely, he thrived on being indispensable.

  “Kali O’Brien,” she replied.

  “What are you drinking?” He waved a waitress over.

  “I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay.”

  He repeated the order for the waitress. “And another vodka gimlet.” Then he turned to Kali. “So, how’s Larissa? What’s she up to these days?”

  “I really only just met her.”

  His phone sounded again, the theme from Mission: Impossible. Silverman checked the number, then silenced the ring. “Never a moment’s peace. You looking for work?”

  In a porn film? She almost laughed. “No, I’m trying to locate someone. Did you get a chance to check the party guest list?”

  “Yeah, I brought it with me, in fact. What were the names?”

  “Hayley Hendrix and Crystal Adams.”

  Silverman pulled a folder from his soft-leather briefcase and flipped through the sheets of paper inside. He shook his head. “No one by either name on the list. Course they could have come in on someone else’s invite, or with a date. Hot babe shows up, we don’t always insist on an actual admit card.”

  Their drinks arrived. Silverman finished off his other one first and handed the empty glass to the waitress. “Put them on my tab,” he told her.

  Kali pulled the photograph from her purse and handed it to him.

  “This them?” Silverman asked.

  “The girls on either end.”

  “Nope, they don’t look familiar. I do remember the one in the middle. She was at the party. Spent time with one of the local investors.”

  Kali’s heart skipped a beat. “John O’Brien?”

  “You know John? Wait”—Silverman held up an index finger— “O’Brien. I should have made the connection sooner. So what are you, the wife?”

  “I’m his sister.”

  “I seem to recall some trouble. He passed away recently, didn’t he?”

  She nodded. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Sorry to hear it. But no, it wasn’t John. He didn’t mingle much with people in the business. His interest was strictly financial.” Silverman angled sideways in his chair so that his eyes could take in a broader sweep of the room. “Some folks view their investment as a way to live vicariously. Adult entertainment groupies, know what I mean? John wasn’t like that.”

  Good for John. “What is it you do?” Kali asked. “Are you a director?”

  “Producer. I’ve put together, oh, hundreds of films by now. And I’ll admit it”—he grinned at her—“I’m a groupie with the best of them. I mean, where else is an old, soft-around-the-middle guy like me going to find himself surrounded by gorgeous female flesh?”

  Silverman was clearly fishing for a compliment, but Kali wasn’t about to lie just to oblige him. “Not many people can be so objective about themselves and their limitations.” She sweetened the jab with a smile.

  He choked on his gimlet, then laughed. “Good comeback.”

  She sipped her wine.

  “Wit,” Silverman added pointedly, “is an asset in a woman. Not as useful as a great body or real beauty, but at least it’s something to fall back on when the other two are lacking.”

  Tit for tat. Kali laughed, too. She had no illusions about her body or her beauty, though she’d never heard complaints about either.

  “How long have you been doing this . . . production work?” Kali asked.

  “Probably too long, if truth be told. With VCRs, DVDs, the Internet, guys like me are getting squeezed. On one side, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is coming out with product. On the other, the conglomerates have moved in big-time.”

  “Change is pretty much the norm in every industry.”

  “Some more than others. Excuse me. I see someone I need to say hello to.” He rose from the table. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  Kali watched as he crossed the room and greeted another man, taller and younger than Silverman, who was just sitting down at a table of women, all of whom displayed even white teeth and ample cleavage.

  While he was busy talking to his friend and ogling the women, Kali reached for the guest list he’d left by his drink. She scanned it quickly, hoping she’d find a name she recognized. The list was several pages long, in small print, and nothing jumped out at her as familiar. Except an Angus Nash. Angus. A.J.?

  She saw Silverman returning to their table and slid the list back to his side.

  “Sorry about that,” Silverman said. He remained on his feet. “I haven’t seen Randy for a while. Last I heard, he was in L.A. Signed on with the big guys.”

  Was this the porn star Olivia had worked with? “Randy Gibbons the actor?”

  Silverman gave her a smarmy grin. “You’re familiar with Randy’s work?”

  Kali shook her head. “No, I’ve just heard the name recently.”

  Silverman gathered his belongings and drink. “There’s plenty of room at the table. Care to join us?”

  She glanced at the half dozen twenty-somethings swooning over Randy, and decided she definitely wouldn’t fit in. “I need to be going, but thanks.” She reached for her purse. “My brother had a friend, another executive at Logan Foods, A. J. Nash. Was he by any chance at the event?”

  “Yeah,” Silverman said. “That’s who I was telling you about. The guy that Hispanic girl in your photo was talking to.”

  Chapter 45

  Erling drummed his fingers on the gouged metal table of the interrogation room. The two hours spent waiting for the arrival of Tony Perez’s attorney, a sharp-featured terrier of a woman named Carmen Escobar, had put his nerves on edge.

  Michelle handed Tony a can of Coke, and Escobar a glass of water. Then she sat down next to Erling.

  Tony pulled himself up in his chair and popped the tab on the soda. “Don’t suppose I can get a glass and some ice for this?”

  “Afraid not,” Michelle replied, with what looked like a smile.

  Erling fought to keep himself from backhanding the creep. “Tell us about Hayley Hendrix,” he said.

  “What’s to tell?”

  “Your relationship. Your breakup.”

  Tony took a long gulp of soda. “There was nothing to break up. We went out a few times. That was it.”

  “But you stopped going out. She must have said something to put an end to it.”

  Escobar’s dark eyes narrowed, shooting venom in Erling’s direction. “You don’t know that’s what happened. Maybe it was my client who lost interest.”

  Erling leaned forward. “Is that the way it was, Tony? You decided she was beneath you?”

  “Don’t answer,” Carmen instructed sharply. When she looked at the detectives, her expression softened. “We’re trying to cooperate here, but I’m not going to allow these scattershot questions. You’ve got no evidence tying Tony to Ms. Hendrix’s murder. The fact that he had a few dates with her is irrelevant.”

  “It is if her refusal to continue seeing him that pushed him over the edge and drove him to kill her.”

  “Oh, please.” Escobar rolled her eyes. “Kids date. Kids move on.”

  “Two of the women he gave books of poetry to were murdered,” Michelle added. “It’s a pattern.”

  Carmen laughed harshly. “There have got to be a lot of people the girls knew in common. They were friends, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Why did you give a book of love poems to someone you only dated a few times?” Michelle asked Tony.

  Tony shrugged. “Girls like stuff like that. They like poetry. They like guys who like poetry. And they like to think they’re special. It’s a no-brainer.”

  Erling’s skin crawled at the thought of Tony with his daughter. “Why your sister, then? Or were you trying to get into her pants, too?”

  “That’s disgusting,” Tony said.

  “And entirely out of line,” Carmen Escobar added. “Tony didn’t come here to be insulted.
”

  He didn’t come here at all, Erling thought. We hauled his ass in.

  “Where were you the night your sister was killed?” he barked.

  Tony shrugged. “I worked until midnight. Then I went out for a few beers with some friends.” Another slug of his soda. “Talk to them if you want. They’ll vouch for me.”

  Michelle slid a notebook over the table to Tony. “Give us their names and contact information.”

  He looked to Carmen Escobar, who nodded. Tony started writing.

  “What about Crystal Adams?” Erling asked. “Do you know her?”

  “Nope. Never even saw her except for that photograph Kali O’Brien showed me.”

  Michelle leaned on the table. “Did Olivia ever talk about Crystal?”

  “Olivia didn’t talk about anyone but Olivia.”

  Erling scooted his chair away from the table and rose to lean against the wall. His nerves were as taut as steel. “What about Mindy? What’s your interest there?”

  Tony held up his palms, mocking the question. “My intentions were honorable. Your little girl is safe.”

  “What’s your interest in her?”

  “Why not?” Tony looked genuinely puzzled. His eyes softened. “She’s cute. She’s bright. She’s fun.”

  “How’d you meet her?”

  “She’s taking this contemporary fiction class I sit in on sometimes.” Tony’s expression grew animated. “We discovered we like a lot of the same stuff.”

  Erling couldn’t imagine that Mindy would have anything in common with this creep.

  Carmen Escobar gathered the papers she’d pulled out at the start of the interview. “This is a waste of everyone’s time. You’ve got nothing on my client. I assume he’s free to go?”

  In the heat of Erling’s fear for his daughter, Tony had seemed a maniacal threat. Now Erling wasn’t so sure. The kid was a punk, but bottom line was, they didn’t have enough to hold him. “He’s free to go for now,” Erling said.

  Tony pulled himself to his feet, a smirk distorting the earlier softness Erling had noted. “Thanks for the Coke,” he muttered.

  “We’ll have our eyes on you,” Erling warned. “We’ll be watching your every move.”

  Tony laughed. “You’re in for some boring days.”