"What about April's clothing?"
Ashleigh paused. "Nothing makes it into an article, okay? Not yet anyway."
"I promise." I wasn't sure I needed to. Bob didn't like the missing women angle but he might be interested in a dead woman. Horrible as that sounded, Bob knew how to sell newspapers.
"She wore a long pink dress, buttons up the front. Cheap fabric. I don't think it will be much of a lead. No underwear. The missing persons report didn't have any information on what she was wearing when she went missing since no one admits to seeing her around that time or seems to know exactly when she vanished."
"Was she…"
"Assaulted? I don't know but the lack of underwear suggests that possibility. The ME will investigate."
I glanced over as two men climbed the canyon's bank, carrying a stretcher with a body bag between them. We waited as they loaded it into the van. "That poor girl," I whispered.
Ashleigh placed a hand on my arm, "You know, as a homicide detective and a journalist, we can't isolate the last little bit of her life, as horrendous as it was, into her sole identity. She's not suffering anymore. Think about that."
I nodded because my friend was right. Having discovered many awful things in my career, yes, it affected me; but if I let it compromise me, I couldn't do my job. My job was to tell the truth about things that happened or were happening. Plus, there was more to April Beam than simply the last weeks and moments of her life. "Have you found any connection between April and Sammy?" I asked as I pulled myself together. Ashleigh was right, I couldn't dwell or postulate on what might have happened to April. I had to get all the facts.
"I haven't looked yet."
"Will you let me know if you find one?"
"Yes. Likewise?"
"Absolutely. Could someone be targeting these girls?" I asked, pleased Ashleigh didn't immediately tell me to butt out. Not that I would!
Ashleigh shrugged. "It's a stretch to jump to the conclusion that one dead girl's case is related to a potentially missing person. There are countless missing people here. He'd have to be one very prolific serial killer in LA with no time to sleep with all the murders he’d have to be committing."
"They're both actresses. That's a shared connection."
"If this were some amateur dramatic society in the middle of nowhere, I'd agree, but we’re in LA."
"Point taken. They also had a friend in common. Cindy Hartford. I've interviewed her and I think you'll find her eager to help. I'll send everything I’ve got to you. I also have the contact details of Sammy's roommate, Nadia Randall." I pulled out my cellphone and sent the information to Ashleigh. It might not be important to her investigation but it was information she didn't have before. If she found a connection between the two women, it might confirm Sammy was missing. Unfortunately, that also could mean Sammy was in grave danger. I hoped I was wrong. I hoped the paths of the two women never crossed and more than anything, that they didn’t attract the attention of the same terrible person.
When we parted company, Ashleigh stayed behind to give a brief statement to the TV news crew. I watched her deftly handle it with "no comment" and "we don't have that information at this time" and "the identity hasn't been confirmed." I knew the last bit was a lie but Ashleigh wouldn't want any close relatives finding out the terrible news via the television. She needed time to notify them first, a last kindness before their world crumbled. Finally, she added a plea for information: if anyone saw something in the area that didn't make sense until now, please call or drop by the local police station.
With the working day finally over, I headed home. I wanted to get dinner, relax a little, maybe have a glass of wine, watch some TV, or take a swim in the pool shared by all of the apartments in my building. Anything to empty my head of the last couple of hours.
I parked outside the apartment building I'd grown so fond of, grabbed my purse with the notepad of scant information and followed the bougainvillea-lined path through the heavy double doors that made up the front entrance. I half expected my friend, Mike, also the apartments' superintendent, to burst out and scare me because that was exactly what he'd been doing a few days before. When he didn't, I proceeded happily across the entryway and trotted past his apartment door, taking the last external steps up to my home.
"What the heck?" I muttered, seeing the crime scene tape stretched across my front door. It wasn't just a slim ribbon either. Someone had taped my whole door shut. "Mike!" I huffed as I reached for the tape, pulling at it. "This is not… argh!" I screamed and leapt back as Mike's face emerged from behind the tape.
"About time," he sighed, his chin drooping. "I don't know what happened but I got stuck. I turned around to get a drink and somehow got all wrapped up and then I was helplessly taped to your door."
My heart pounding, I contemplated piling the tape back on him and leaving him there. On the far side of the door, his hand waggled with a water bottle but the rest of his arm was entirely concealed by bright yellow tape. I reached for the flapping tape, pulled, then stopped.
"I know what you're thinking but you can't do that. You do not want me stuck to your door for the next week."
"Good point." I continued to tear off the tape until his hands were free. "What the hell are you doing anyway?" I asked, wondering why I bothered asking.
"Found some tape in the storage lockers. Thought I'd have some fun."
"Mini golf is fun. Roller coasters are fun. Taping my door with crime scene tape is not fun!" I yelled.
"Someone hasn't been laid recently," snorted Mike. He unraveled the tape from his middle before one leg burst free.
"It's probably you." I stuck my key in the lock and shoved the door open. The tape popped and Mike went flying through the opening. He sprang upright, dusted himself off and inspected his forearm where I suspected he just lost some arm fuzz with all the tape ripping.
"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "How's Ben? Dumped his preppy ass yet?"
"You like Ben. He's your buddy."
"I'll like him more after you dump him." Mike wandered into my kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, opened them, then dropped onto the couch and stretched out his legs. He held a beer out to me. "I notice he hasn't been around lately. Wait. Were you dumped?"
I dropped onto the couch next to him and took the beer. I glanced at the vase that held the sunflowers Ben bought me almost two weeks ago. A petal slipped off and fluttered to the floor. "I'm not in the mood for this," I sighed.
Mike reached an arm around me and tugged me close. For some inexplicable reason, I lay my head on his shoulder. "Everyone is in the mood for me. It's my super talent," he said against my hair.
I pushed him off. "Oh, please."
"What's up, cranky pants? Who died?"
"A woman called April. Her body was found in a canyon. I just came from there."
Mike stilled. "Seriously?"
"Yup."
"Would sex help?"
I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"Fine. Hit me with it. Tell me everything."
"Why?"
"Because you're obviously affected and since you won't have sex with me, I have nothing better to do than listen."
"I thought you were into Ashleigh."
"She's gorgeous and wonderful but we're friends. Like you and me."
"She puts up with you too, you mean."
"Only because I'm also gorgeous and wonderful."
"You're a pain in the butt." I tried to sound grumpy but I couldn't. The annoying thing was, Mike made me laugh. He was silly and funny and said the most awful things, while being exasperatingly good looking, but he was right. He was my friend and he was there for me. Plus, he had a point. Where was Ben? He hadn't come back to the Chronicle at all. I tugged out my cellphone and checked the screen. Nothing.
"You're in showbiz," I started.
"Thanks for noticing. Buy my latest track."
"I already have."
"Thank you for your support."
"You're in s
howbiz… Ah!" I held up a silencing finger. "What do you know about young women going missing?"
"I didn't do it!"
"Yes, I know..."
"They always come willingly and I always return them. It's a rule I have. Possibly my only rule. Even desperate isn't a rule, but an occasional bonus. The desperate ones can be really fun but you don't want to bring them home in case they stalk you. Oh! That's my second rule!"
"Be quiet," I told him. Mike mimed zipping his mouth. I continued in what was probably a small window of time before he started talking again, "Have you heard of any women who've gone missing?"
"Probably a dozen. Most aren't. Most just did something too embarrassing to face and went back to wherever they came from."
"A dozen? Recently?"
"In the last couple months. Why? Wait, were you serious about a dead body in a canyon?"
"Yes. She was twenty-three. She came here to act. I don't know much else."
"Don't dwell on it."
"She might be connected to a story I'm looking into. There might be another missing girl. Both of them were actresses."
"The dozen I can think of were all actresses. Although, I'm not sure acting is what I'd call it with two of them. More like real world scenarios involving plumbers, very little acting or clothing… and a camera."
"I get the picture."
Mike gave a serious nod. "I got the DVD."
I punched his arm before taking a long sip of my beer. "I need to find out if there's a connection between the dead woman and the missing woman."
"How do you plan on doing that?"
"I interviewed a couple of Sammy's friends…"
"Sammy?"
"The missing woman. Keep up, Mike. I interviewed a couple of her friends but not the third woman. Apparently, she flew off to some job and hasn't returned my calls. If I can find a connection between Sammy and the dead woman…" I trailed off. "Even if I do, what does that tell me? So what if they both had someone or something in common? Even if they didn't know each other, maybe some random creep kidnapped April and then, a few weeks later, he grabbed Sammy."
"He?"
"Supposition. It could be a she. I don't know anything yet. I don't even know if Sammy really is missing."
"But you're worried."
I thought about the men from the ME's office carrying April's body in a bag. It was a sight I'd seen all too often and one I never wanted to get used to. "Yeah."
"Make your murder board while I make dinner."
"You're making me dinner?" I frowned, wondering what ingredients I had. I didn't have a lot of time to go grocery shopping in the past few days and was so engrossed in my thoughts, I didn't think to pick up anything on the way home.
"I'm ordering pizza. Same thing."
My stomach gave a small rumble and I realized the last time I ate was several hours ago. "Works for me."
I had a large board in the corner of my living room, and while I dragged it out, Mike called our favorite pizza parlor and placed the order. It took me all of two minutes to add what I knew to the board, which wasn't much.
"Not a lot of information," remarked Mike. His cellphone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, stared at the screen, tapped off a message and stuffed it back. "Nothing important," he added.
"I know. I mean, the lack of information. Not your message," I clarified.
"You don't even have photos."
"I have Sammy's headshot," I said, motioning for him to pass me my purse. When he did, I pulled out the photo I wedged inside a large notepad and stuck it to the board.
"Social media. They're actresses, they're on there, preening," said Mike.
"Good thinking." I set my laptop on the coffee table and we crowded around. I found April and Sammy's pages easily, cross-referencing their friends' lists to make sure the women I already interviewed were on there. I printed the photo of April on my clunky printer and added her picture to the board. Then I made a note of the last dates they published something on their feeds and added that information too.
"Pretty girls," said Mike as we looked at them. Both had dark hair but April's was in long, soft waves around a tan face, while Sammy's hair was darker. Her big ringlets and olive skin looked natural. April's profile photo looked artificial, like she posed for several thousand shots, then picked the best one. The one that made her look like she didn't even know the camera was there. Sammy's last Instagram photo was carefree; bright, wide smile as she pushed back her hair and turned to look directly into the camera. April's photo had a formal garden in the background and Sammy's was taken on a beach.
"They are," I agreed as I turned back to my laptop to continue my searching. "Neither posted publicly since their disappearances."
"Obviously," said Mike. "How could they if they were missing?"
"No one tried to keep up the pretense that they had just taken off by making them appear active on social media. If someone took them both, they didn't care about setting off any alarm bells, " I told him.
"Huh. I did not think of that."
"We know April is dead and she may well have been held captive since she went missing seven weeks ago. She couldn't post anything. Sammy hasn't either…"
"It's not definitive," Mike reminded me.
"It's not a positive sign either."
"What does your editor think?"
"So far, he's not interested. Missing women don't make the news here apparently."
"And Ben?"
"He's busy." Too busy to call, I didn't add. Not for the last few days, I realized. That was strange. Usually we tried to speak in the evenings if work got too busy during the day and we lined up a date. Currently, there was nothing.
"I believe in you," said Mike, his words soft.
I looked up and smiled. They were four words I needed to hear. "Thanks, Mike."
My entry phone buzzed and Mike strode over to pick it up. "Pizza's here. I'll run down and get it." He left the door open as he jogged out, leaving crime scene tape fluttering in the doorway. I rolled my eyes. As soon as he was out of sight, my cellphone buzzed. I snatched it up, pleased when I saw the message was from Ben: Working late. Catch up soon x.
"Hardly the romantic text message of the century," I muttered as I stared at it, my heart sinking. How should I reply? Ask him what he was working on? Was he working with Gabi? Could he even manage to set a date with me? I didn't know so I put the cellphone face down. I had work to do too and would have to think about Ben later.
"Get it while it's hot," called Mike. He dropped the box on the coffee table and headed into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two plates, napkins and another pair of beers. "Let's do this," he added.
I frowned and shook my head. "I don't think we can solve it tonight."
"I was talking pizza but I like that you thought I thought we could solve the mystery. C'mon, Shayne. Time to get to work." Mike paused and grinned, his eyes flashing with mischief. "Again, talking about that pizza."
Chapter Five
"I'm going to kill him!" I brandished the latest edition of the LA Chronicle at Mike as I stormed through the apartment complex, bleary-eyed and annoyed.
"Let me know if you need help with the body!" Mike called after me from the sun lounger he sprawled on. Wearing cargo shorts and no shirt, it didn't look like he planned on going anywhere, anytime soon. So long as he finished clearing the prank crime tape off my door sometime today, I didn't care. I had bigger, more annoying things to worry about.
"If you tell me you're good with bodies, I will throw this newspaper at you!" I yelled back as I slammed my apartment's door behind me.
The early edition of the LA Chronicle was waiting in my mailbox and the moment I saw it, I saw red. BODY DUMPED IN CANYON read the headline, and underneath: Missing actress found dead. By Ben Kosina.
Ben had scooped my story!
He didn't even have the courtesy to send me a text message to tell me. Or even offer me the byline. Or a co-byline. No, he just grabbed it for h
imself and Bob… Bob sanctioned it!
For the first time in weeks, I was truly ready to quit my crappy job.
What point was there in working hard reporting on celebrity issues I didn't care about when the real reporting gigs continued to elude me? Not just elude, but now they were actually being stolen from me. No wonder Ben texted me to say he was working late.
Even worse, page two of one of the Chronicle's rival newspapers published a large photo of Daisy, Jenna and me at brunch, the three of us clearly identified. While Daisy was a supermodel and actress, Jenna was touted as a top agent and I scored the title of celebrity reporter. Yes, it was accurate, but still annoying. Even more annoying was Daisy’s awareness of the paparazzi made me think they were solely focused on her. Why would anyone care about Jenna or me brunching?
By the time I reached the Chronicle's offices, I was still mad. Unfortunately, Ben wasn't at his desk to receive my outrage so instead I fired off the text message I spent thirty minutes composing: HOW COULD YOU?!
A moment later, just as I unpacked my laptop, Ben stepped through the door. His eyes were fixed on his cellphone, a puzzled expression on his face. I jumped out of my chair, planted a hand on his chest and barreled him backwards through the door, letting it swing shut behind us. Thankfully, the lobby was empty.
"What did I do?" he asked, startled by my unexpected propulsion.
I jabbed a finger at his chest. "You stole my article!"
Ben's frown deepened. "What article?"
"About April Beam. The same missing woman story I pitched to Bob yesterday. You heard me!"
"But this woman is dead, not missing."
"She was missing. Now she's dead. She's the same woman!"
"I didn't realize. I must not have been listening."
"Or you just stole my story! When did you pitch it to Bob?"
"Last night as soon as news came in from my LAPD contact. Where were you?"
"I was at the scene with Ashleigh."
"I didn't know that. You didn't say anything!"
"Why would I? I already pitched it. Then news came in that she was dead and I went home afterward to conduct more research."
Dead Ringers Page 5