“I will.”
When Rachel Scott turned to leave, Fisher thought of something. “One more question. Do you know anyone who could have lent your husband money?”
Rachel pondered the question. “You can talk to Brad Kirkman. He and Dillon were business partners. They owned a production company together.”
SIXTY-ONE
Callaway hung up the phone and turned to Jimmy. “Fisher is on her way to Bayview.”
“Bayview, why?” Jimmy asked, surprised.
“She is going to speak to Dillon Scott’s business partner. She will let us know if she finds anything on Gail’s death.”
“I already spoke to him, and he has an alibi at the time of her death.”
“Okay, but someone was blackmailing Scott, and Fisher wants to know where he got the money to pay his blackmailer. We should go to Yonge Avenue and check it out.”
“Wasn’t Fisher already there?”
“She was, and she found out that Scott had met a reporter at a bar. This reporter confirmed that Scott was not carrying a backpack, which Fisher believes contained money for the blackmailer.”
“He may have dropped off the backpack before going to the bar.”
“Exactly, and we need to see the drop-off for ourselves.”
Jimmy made a face. “How do we even know where it is?”
“Fisher thinks it’s at a park next to Yonge Avenue. Scott’s previous drop was at a park as well.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t know. The blackmailer is long gone. What will we learn by going there?”
“Right now we have nothing that helps us find out what happened to Gail. You’ve looked into her case and gotten nowhere. Isn’t that why you’re in Milton? You think Dillon Scott had something to do—”
“Yes, but he’s dead as well,” Jimmy interrupted. “I was hoping to find out who killed him, but so far, Detective Fisher has made no progress on her case.”
“That’s why we should go to Yonge Avenue and see if we can dig up something.”
Jimmy did not look convinced.
“Why are you so against going there, anyway?” Callaway asked.
“I’m not,” Jimmy replied. “I just think we could be wasting time.”
“Listen, I asked Fisher to trust us. She is keeping us updated on her investigation, which is against all procedures. The least we can do is knock on some doors, ask a few questions, and maybe, if we’re lucky, catch a break.”
Jimmy stared at him and then smiled. “Hey man, this is your city, and she’s your friend. We’ll do whatever you want.”
It was a twenty-minute drive during rush hour, and they even managed to find a parking spot without any trouble.
There was a narrow path that led them from Yonge Avenue to a small park adjacent to a condo building.
Three park benches were on one side, and a tiny children’s playground was across from them. Callaway spotted a garbage bin next to one of the benches.
“He must have dropped off the backpack next to the garbage can,” Callaway said.
“What makes you so sure?” Jimmy asked.
“It’s more obscured than the other benches.”
“What if he dumped the backpack in the garbage can instead?”
This was something Callaway had been thinking too. The benches were exposed. A person at the playground could easily spot the backpack.
“It’s a perfect drop-off location, though,” Callaway said, looking around. “There are no cameras, and look over there.” He pointed to a stairwell in the distance with a sign above it. “That’s an entrance to the subway. The blackmailer was likely standing there, watching Scott as he made the drop. The moment Scott left, the blackmailer raced over, grabbed the backpack, and disappeared underground.”
“The subway must have cameras,” Jimmy said.
“Sure, but Yonge Avenue is a busy street. It would be impossible to spot someone even if they are carrying a backpack. And what if the blackmailer was wearing a disguise? Fisher wouldn’t even know who she was looking for.”
“I told you it was a waste of time coming down here,” Jimmy said.
“Fisher thinks the blackmailer could have killed Scott because he may not have met all the demands,” Callaway said.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Jimmy said. “But how does this link up to Gail?”
Callaway thought for a moment.
His eyes widened. “Didn’t you say that a few days before her death, Gail had told her father that something was bothering her and it had to do with Scott?”
“She did.”
“What if she was thinking of going to the authorities and telling them about the blackmail?”
Jimmy’s mouth dropped. “And to silence her, the blackmailer killed her.”
“It makes sense,” Callaway said. “Scott was famous. He would rather pay than let bad publicity ruin his career, and the blackmailer knew this. He had already extracted money from Scott before, and here comes Scott’s assistant who could end this perfect scheme, so she had to go.”
They mulled this over.
Callaway said, “We now have to find out what the blackmailer had on Scott that made him come down here to pay him off.”
SIXTY-TWO
Brad Kirkman was tall with broad shoulders and dark, curly hair. His grip was strong, which told Fisher he worked out. He had emerald green eyes and an easy smile.
Kirkman’s spacious and tidy office was on the fourteenth floor of a glass tower. His mahogany desk was near windows that took up an entire wall. Behind him, Fisher could see an aerial view of Bayview. All along the other walls were posters of movies Kirkman and Scott’s company had produced. On the left was a shelf full of awards the production company had won. On the right were framed photos of film crews on movie sets.
“At the beginning of each production,” Kirkman said, catching her gaze, “we get everyone who is involved in the movie and we take a group photo. At the end of the shoot, we ask all the stars of the film to sign copies for the crew members. This way the crew can show their family and friends that they got to hang around with movie stars.”
Fisher smiled at the nice gesture.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea?” Kirkman asked.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
“May I ask if you’ve made any progress on Dillon’s murder?”
“We have some leads, which is why I have driven all the way here to speak to you.”
Kirkman’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? Maybe I could use a drink then.” He walked over to a small cart and filled his glass with water. He took a sip and sat behind his desk. “You can ask me whatever you like. I have nothing to hide.”
Fisher dove right in. “Were you aware that someone was blackmailing Mr. Scott?” “I was.”
Fisher was surprised by the quick reply. “And you didn’t think to mention this to anyone?”
“What good would it have done? Dillon is dead, and the blackmailer can’t squeeze another penny out of him.”
“But this person could be responsible for what happened to Mr. Scott. Isn’t that important?”
“I understand your concern, and I see where you’re coming from.”
Fisher got the impression that Kirkman was used to putting out fires on a movie set. If it wasn’t the stars fighting with the director, then it was the director fighting with the producers, who in turn were fighting with the studios or independent investors.
“But you have to realize,” he said, “that Dillon was not just an actor, he was a movie star. He could get a movie greenlit with just his name on it, so the reason I didn’t come forward with this information was because Dillon’s last movie was scheduled to be released in two months, and he was also a producer on an upcoming TV series.”
“The blackmail would have been bad publicity,” Fisher said.
Kirkman nodded. “Dillon is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring him back, but I still have a production company to think about.
We have a lot of employees, and they have worked tirelessly on projects for us. I didn’t want Dillon’s death to mar their good work.”
“But it wouldn’t have impacted your company,” Fisher said. “It was Mr. Scott who was being blackmailed, not the other way around. In fact, people would have sympathized with his plight.”
“Would they?” Kirkman asked. “Do you know why Dillon was being blackmailed?”
“Do you?” she asked in return.
“No, but I wish I did. What I can say, though, is there must have been a reason why Dillon was paying off this person. I don’t know what it is, but I can only imagine it must not be good. Why else would he go through all this trouble to keep silent?”
He has a point, she thought.
“Can I ask you about Gail Roberts?” Fisher said.
SIXTY-THREE
Kirkman’s shoulders sank. “That was a big loss for all of us. I know Dillon was haunted by Gail’s death. I was even more so.”
“You?” Fisher asked.
He looked at her with a pained expression. “I was the one who hired Gail. She was smart, hardworking, and above all, honest. She had what you would call a moral compass. It’s something you don’t see much in Hollywood. I’ve seen people do just about anything to get ahead in this business. There is big money to be made, and morality plays a very little role in it. You wouldn’t believe how many girls show up each day wanting to be big stars, and some of the things they are forced to do in order to get a role…”
Fisher knew he was referring to the infamous “casting couch.”
“Our office used to be in Los Angeles, but then Dillon wanted to get out of the limelight, so he decided to move his family to Bayview, and we figured it might be better if we set up an office here as well.” He lowered his voice and said, “I still can’t believe how she died.”
“The police dubbed it a suicide, but her family thinks otherwise.”
“I am aware of that,” he said. “Her family even hired a private investigator to look into her death.”
“Jimmy Keith,” Fisher said.
His eyebrows shot up. “You’ve spoken to him?”
“I have.”
“Then he must have told you Dillon had nothing to do with her death. He was shooting a movie in Vermont.”
“I am aware of that,” Fisher replied. “And what about you?”
Kirkman opened a desk drawer and pulled out a boarding pass. He placed the pass on the table before her. “On the night in question, I was on a flight out of Bayview. I was scouting a location for another project.”
Fisher picked up the pass and scanned it. Kirkman was telling the truth. “You keep it conveniently nearby?”
“I do, especially when the police show up, and a private investigator, all asking questions about my whereabouts. Listen, I don’t know why Gail fell from her apartment. I don’t believe it was a suicide either.”
“Then what was it?” Fisher asked.
“Likely an accident. How else do you explain it?” Kirkman replied.
Fisher waited a moment before she said, “When Mr. Scott arrived in Milton, he brought a backpack which I now believe contained a large sum of money. I have traced his movements in Milton and never once did he withdraw any money from any bank or ATM. This was further confirmed when I accessed his bank statements. Mr. Scott then took this backpack to a busy intersection in Milton, where he left it for the blackmailer. Were you aware of what Mr. Scott was up to?”
“I was, and I approved it,” Kirkman replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I gave him that money.”
Fisher’s mouth nearly dropped. No wonder I couldn’t find the money’s origin, she thought. “How much was it?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“Why did you give it to him?”
“He asked me to.”
“And you thought it was better to pay such a large amount than go to the police?”
Kirkman smiled. “Detective Fisher, for Dillon, it was a drop in the bucket.”
“His finances would say otherwise.”
Kirkman frowned. “I had no idea he was underwater until after his death.”
“But even so, didn’t you think the blackmailer would have continued to demand money after you’d paid him or her?”
“Of course it crossed our minds,” Kirkman said. “Dillon and I had long discussions about it, but Dillon was going to start shooting a new movie in Milton in a few days. There was also the matter of his previous movie that was soon to be released. Dillon had not had a hit in some time, and we figured we would agree to the blackmailer’s terms until we could get Dillon’s career back on track. Later, we would get the FBI involved and let them handle this mess. Also, you have to understand that people in Dillon’s position would rather pay up than deal with the public fallout. It’s quite common in the business.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Haven’t you heard of settlements?” Kirkman asked.
“Are you saying Mr. Scott paid other people to stay silent?” Fisher replied.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I am not at liberty to say. Both parties sign confidentiality agreements, which are sealed by the courts. You will have to speak to a judge to break the agreement.”
Fisher knew that was never going to happen. No court would permit it.
“Plus, Dillon is dead, and it’s better that the public remember him as an all-American hero who upheld the value of truth, justice, and the American way of life.”
The phone on the desk rang. Kirkman looked at the number and sighed. “I have to take this. A lot of projects are now in limbo after Dillon’s untimely death.”
Fisher stood up to leave. “One last thing. Did you give the money to Mr. Scott from your personal bank account?”
“No. It was from the production company’s business account.”
SIXTY-FOUR
Callaway walked back to the Charger and pulled a camera from the trunk.
“What’re you doing?” Jimmy asked.
“We know where Scott dropped off the money,” Callaway replied. “I want to make sure I get evidence for Fisher to build her case.”
Jimmy nodded. “If the blackmailer killed Scott, then you want to be able to recreate Scott’s movements on that night.”
“Exactly.”
Callaway put a wide zoom lens on the camera. He was checking the focus when a man approached them. He was dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, and he had earrings in both ears and a stud on his tongue.
“You guys tourists?” he asked.
Callaway shook his head. “No.”
Jimmy said, “We got no money.”
Street kids loved to panhandle on Yonge Avenue.
The man laughed. “I’m not begging, man. I got a job.”
“Then what do you want?” Jimmy asked, annoyed.
“I work at the ice cream shop.” He pointed to a store behind them. “On my break, I usually cut through the park and go to the vape store on the other side.”
“Vape store?” Jimmy asked.
“You never heard of e-cigarettes?” the man replied, surprised. “You gotta try it. It’s better than actual cigarettes that have nicotine and carcinogens and—”
“We know what it is,” Callaway said. He didn’t want to get into a long discussion about why vaping is better than smoking.
“Okay, sure,” the man said. “So, when I was crossing the park, I saw you guys walking around checking every inch of it. If you’re not tourists, then are you guys like reporters?”
“Not quite,” Callaway said.
“We’re actually private investigators,” Jimmy said with pride.
“You guys are real?” the man excitedly asked.
Jimmy frowned. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I thought you guys were only in the movies.”
Callaway and Jimmy rolled their eyes.
“Nice talking to you,” Callaway sa
id as he moved away from the man.
“You guys investigating Dillon Scott’s murder?” the man asked.
Callaway’s ears perked up. “Do you know him?”
The man scoffed. “Who doesn’t? I’m a huge fan. I’ve seen all his movies. My favorite is the one where he plays a father who goes after a gang who killed his daughter. That scene where he beats up six people all by himself… I mean the way he punches, kicks, and…” The man began to reenact Scott’s moves.
“Get to the point,” Callaway said.
“Oh, right.” The man straightened up. He pointed at the bar where Scott had spoken to a reporter. “At first I didn’t recognize him when I saw him come out. He was wearing these dark shades, but when I looked carefully, I knew it was him. I had heard he was in town shooting a movie. Like I said, I am a huge fan, and I knew it was my only chance to meet him. I ran back inside the ice cream shop to get my cell phone. I had put it on to charge. The battery drains so fast, you know. I’m thinking of getting a new one, but I’m waiting for my contract to expire so—”
“Dillon Scott,” Callaway said, trying to bring the man back on topic.
“Right, right,” the man said. “When I came out of the shop with my phone, he was gone. I had seen him go in the other direction, so I rushed over. I went down the block and turned the corner, and I saw him. He was talking to a girl.”
“A girl?” Callaway asked.
“Yeah, they looked like they were having a conversation. They were both smiling. I think she might have been a fan too. They were standing next to a taxi. By the time I got to them, they were inside the taxi as it pulled away.” The man shook his head. “I missed my chance to meet my hero. And then I heard he was dead. I cried all night, and I—”
“Did the girl go with him?” Callaway asked.
“I thought I said they both got in the taxi, didn’t I?”
“What did this girl look like?”
He shrugged. “She was short, kind of skinny, I guess, and her hair was maybe brownish.”
“What was she wearing?”
“I dunno… clothes.”
“What kind of clothes?” Callaway said, feeling exasperated.
The Falling Girl Page 14