When we returned to the office, Hayden was sent on assignment to photograph the subject of a lifestyle feature and I sat at my desk, doing my best to ignore Gabi's comments. Every time the door opened, I flinched, waiting for Ben to appear. After jumping a fourth time, I stuck in my headphones and blotted out all noise. Plus, if Ben entered and attempted to talk, I could pretend I was busy listening to an interview. Although, the sound of my own internal screaming was more accurate.
Plus, I reminded myself, I had better things to think about than the sorry state of my love life and why my boyfriend was spending more time with his ex than me. I might have found Coral Nichols but Sammy Turturro was still out there, probably scared, alone and needing my help. Over the past few days, I tried to find an obvious connection between the missing women. The inclusion of Coral in the missing women temporarily took me off the path but what she told me still resulted in a question that loomed over my research. Excluding Coral, the only thing I knew for certain was, the five missing or dead women shared the same physical appearance. Although I understood Ashleigh's opinion that all of them being actresses or models wasn't much of a connection, given the higher concentration of such women in LA. But the fact that they were all in the same business and looked so similar had to count for something. There had to be an overlap between them all, somewhere.
I had to start from the beginning with my research. This time, as I scrolled through their social media profiles, I made a note of anyone tagged in the photos or credited with anything. I added more notes for dates and locations even though the missing and dead woman weren't all actually in the city at the same time, although I sensed that research would go nowhere.
The more I searched, the surer I became that they all must have shared someone in common. If I were correct that their physical appearance was a key consideration, then someone must have chosen them. To do that, the person must have entered their lives, even as a peripheral no-name like a barista in a coffee shop or the pizza delivery guy. To take them so swiftly, so competently, someone had to be watching them, maybe even stalking them. The thought sent an icy chill down my spine.
I sat back in my chair, gazing at my notes as the realization hit me: searching the women's social media profiles couldn’t give me the kind of information I was now looking for. I couldn't find that kind of person in their social media. I needed to speak to the people close to them. I already had contacts for Sammy's friends, and within twenty minutes I managed to identify someone close to each of the other women. I sent direct messages to them. All I had to do now was wait and hope someone got back to me.
Since I located Coral through her family, I wondered if I needed to expand my online search to include the working relationships around my missing women? Perhaps other people had taken photos or made comments from the same shoots? Gradually, I started to scroll through the media of people tagged in photos, making further notes until finally I found a connection.
Danika and Anna both did some acting for the same production company, although on different films. Each had a small speaking part in background rolls. Bonita accepted some extra work for the same production company on several occasions. I couldn't find anything for April but Sammy worked as a stand-in on the company's most recent film, one currently in post-production. I went onto the film and TV industry database, IMDB, and searched for the films. They were both credited and then I fell on a stumbling block. In every case, the director and writer were different, and the leading roles were taken by different actors but I found one name that crossed all productions.
Ryan Ellison was a producer and director of King Studios. Information about him was plentiful. He started his career in banking, moving into private equity and then creative financing before launching his own studio. He had over forty films under his belt and I recognized many as big, cinematic blockbusters. I found dozens of articles about him, many heaped with prizes from colleagues and stars whose careers he helped launch.
The one thing I couldn't find was a link to April.
I frowned. Would a guy that rich and powerful stoop to kidnapping young women? Unfortunately, I decided the answer was yes. Wealth made many people think they were above the law and power was an aphrodisiac. Plus, the more they had, the more they had to chase if only for a bigger thrill. What bigger thrill could there be for a homicidal maniac than holding someone's life in their hands?
My whole thought process was depressing.
Then I looked at the headshot of Ryan in the most recent article and felt a spark of recognition. I'd seen his face somewhere before, but where?
I called up April's Instagram and scrolled through it. There it was. April, Ryan and several other people huddled together with big smiles as they held champagne flutes aloft. April had never been on set but she knew Ryan.
Finally, I had a link.
A very powerful link who would be defended by the best lawyers money could buy. I couldn't publish anything without backing up the tiny bits of information I had. The LA Chronicle would be sued and I would lose my job. All I had was a name connecting each woman, but with the exception of April, he could easily claim he never met any of them. I could see the argument now: what would a guy like Ryan Ellison be doing hanging out with the industry's equivalent of hired help? I had to get more evidence. I needed irrefutable evidence that he was in close proximity to them all.
While I waited for inspiration to strike, I glanced over at Ben's desk. He came in sometime while I had my eyes glued to my computer. He looked furious as he typed. If he dared to be mad at me, he had a nerve! There was no need for Gabi to make such mean-spirited comments to me either. Despite the fact I knew they were untrue, they still stung. I already knew my move to the Chronicle was a demotion; I didn't need to hear it aloud. Even worse, Ben stood by and said nothing. He didn't defend me at all. What a jerk!
As I thought about Gabi's comments, I wondered if that was the push I needed. The threat that she was actually returning as features editor, a job that currently didn't exist but certainly would usurp mine crossed my mind. Did I really want to work for her? That she was Ben's ex was one thing; becoming my boss was completely another. It was time I started submitting applications elsewhere and working my contacts for freelance work. I did not uproot my whole life just to get belittled on a daily basis. Even Bob didn't go that far.
Rechecking my social media, I saw that I received a reply from a Colette Jones. She left her phone number with instructions to call anytime and did I have news about her sister? I knew my call would probably be disappointing to the Joneses but as Danika Jones was the first apparent missing woman, she was a good place to start.
I dialed the number and it was picked up quickly. "Is that Colette? This is Shayne from the LA Chronicle. You said I could call anytime?"
"Yes, thank you. Do you have any news about Danika? Have you seen her?" The women's voice was high and hopeful, making me feel terrible that I was about to crush it.
"No, I'm sorry I don't," I told her as gently as I could, "but her name has come up in relation to a series of disappearances I'm looking into and I hoped I could ask you a few questions."
"Well, sure, but I don't know what I can tell you. Danika and I weren't close and I don't know a lot about her life in LA."
"How come?" I asked.
"I know that sounded awful. I didn't mean for it to. Danika is my half-sister and ten years younger than me. Growing up, she lived with our dad and I lived with my mom so the age difference and everything else meant we weren't as close as sisters can be."
"But you were in touch before she disappeared?"
"Yes, we spoke on the phone every month and we texted regularly. I wanted to make sure she was okay in LA. We worried about her."
"Any particular reason why?"
"Oh, no. Just the usual things about a young woman moving to a city, especially one like LA. I knew she would have a tough time working as an actress but she was dedicated and sensible about it."
"Sensible in wha
t ways?"
"She saved enough money that she could give Hollywood a shot for a year and she had a real estate license too in case she needed a fallback job, but as it turned out, she didn't. She got some work as an extra almost straightaway and a couple of small speaking roles too. Last I heard, she was excited about a new part she landed and said she would be filming for a few days. She made life sound really exciting and fun."
"Did that apply to all areas of her life? Boyfriend? Friends?"
"She was very social, so yes. She didn't have a boyfriend but there was a guy she liked. She said he was cute and he paid her a lot of attention."
"Do you have his name?"
"No, sorry. Danika never said. I think she met him through work though."
"Was he another actor?"
"I doubt it but she didn't really say."
"What about crew? Perhaps someone who worked on the film?"
"She mentioned crew members from time to time especially if someone was particularly nice or awful, but no one special," said Colette.
"Did she make friends in LA? Roommates? Or did she know anyone here before she moved?"
"She didn't know anyone and she didn't have any roommates because she has… had… a small studio apartment. She made friends but I don't know if they were true friends or just social acquaintances."
"Do you know if she went to any parties? Perhaps ones with big names in the industry? Someone who might have taken her under his or her wing?"
"I know she went to parties although I don't know where they were but if she was invited, yes, she'd definitely go. She appreciated the value of networking but I don't think she had a mentor, if that's what you meant."
"Does the name Ryan Ellison mean anything to you?"
"No," she said after a long pause. "I don't think I ever heard that name. Who is he?"
"Just a name that came up. It might be nothing."
"Shayne, I've got to ask… I was surprised to get your message. Do you think something happened to my sister? Something bad?"
"I don't know yet. What do you think?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, something happened to Danika. She wouldn't take off without a word. My dad and stepmom even flew out there to look for her and they kept paying rent on her studio until they realized it was pointless. Danika wasn't coming home. My dad died last year and his wife isn't well either. I think the stress was too much for them. My dad especially. He'll never know what happened her."
"I am so sorry."
"Thank you. The last time we spoke with someone from the police, they said they couldn't find anything to suggest something bad happened to her but I know she didn't just take off. I work in a bank, and I know it's wrong, but I looked at my sister's bank account and there hasn't been any activity since she disappeared. My dad got her cell phone statement and there're no calls. Her phone isn't even switched on anymore. If she'd taken off, she would need money. She would have called someone. She can't have just disappeared. She's got to be somewhere."
I hated to tell her that my expectations of what happened to Danika were dire but I didn't want to promise false hope either. "A contact told me about her police file and it says she went to a job but never made it home. Do you know anything about it?"
"Yes. She was shooting a yogurt commercial and she had a couple of lines. It was a two-day shoot and she disappeared after the second day, after they wrapped. I spoke to the director and she said Danika turned up for work, did everything exactly as she was supposed to and left at five and drove home. Her car turned up a few blocks from her home. We've never been able to figure out why she parked it there."
"She wouldn't normally park in that place?"
"No, her studio came with a reserved spot. Her purse was inside the car but her cell phone and wallet were gone."
"Do you have the address of her studio and where the car was found?"
"Yes, let me find it…" Colette paused and I heard footsteps and rustling, then she came back on the line and reeled off the addresses.
"Could she have stopped to go to a shop? A coffee shop? Drycleaners? Something like that?" I asked, wondering about the potential for cameras that could have recorded Danika's movements. Of course, that was pointless now, two years later. No one kept records that long.
"I looked on Google Maps and it's just a residential street. There's no reason she would stop there. I told the detective at the time but he didn't seem interested. He just said she probably got lost and would turn up." Someone called Colette's name and she paused, saying something I couldn't quite hear. "I have to go," she told me, "I’m on a break and I wanted to speak to you. Is there anything you can tell me?"
"Not a lot. I don't even know if your sister's case is connected to the story I'm investigating."
"If you find out anything, will you let me know? I don't want to say anything to my stepmom. She prays every night for Danika to come home."
"I will," I promised.
When I hung up, I read through my notes. Colette couldn’t tell me much but at least now I had addresses to look at. I called up Maps on my browser and printed off a copy of LA. Returning from the printer, I sat and logged the addresses on the warm sheet. Then I added the last known addresses of the other women. As an afterthought, I asterisked the agents' office addresses. None of the women lived in the same areas but they weren't that far from one another. However, thousands of other people resided in those neighborhoods too and I didn't find any other overlap. They didn't seem to frequent the same places, except the area where their agents were located and that wasn't much of a lead. I was sure if I plotted other information about them, there would be overlapping circles but given the plethora of jobs they'd undertaken and the places they visited, perhaps I would find too many overlaps, none of which had any bearing on my investigation.
While I was on the phone to Colette Jones, another message arrived in my Instagram's inbox. This one from Anna Sanchez's grandmother. I called the number she provided me with.
"You are reporter, yes?" she asked in heavily accented English.
"Yes, with the LA Chronicle," I told her.
"And you find my Anna?"
"I'm looking into her disappearance."
"It be one year," said Mrs. Sanchez. "We hear nothing."
"What about her parents?"
"Parents both dead. My son, Anna's father, and his wife too. I raise Anna from little girl. Now I try find her but no one help. You help?"
"I'm trying. I know from her police file that she went to work, took the bus home, and never made it to her apartment."
"This correct. I told stupid detective Anna no run away. Anna very good girl. Always work hard. Very pretty. Will be big success in Hollywood," she said, her voice choking.
"How long had she been in LA before she disappeared?" I asked.
"Not long. Few months. Said it hard work but like it."
"Did the detective think she ran away?"
Mrs. Sanchez snorted. "Detective no idea. Not Columbo. Columbo know everything. This detective know nothing. Not even how my Anna disappear. Thank God her parents dead. What would I tell them?"
"Did Anna have another job here? Something to help her pay rent?"
"No, no job. Too soon but she think maybe she get part time job in shop. But not got one yet. She say soon because she need money."
"Okay." I made a note of that. "What about roommates?"
"Yes, they tell me Anna very nice and clean and tidy and make no problem. No boys."
"Do you have their names?"
"No, I don't think so. They send Anna's things back to me. They say she not pay rent and not come back. How can she, I say, if she missing? Maybe she hurt, I say. I call hospital. They say no Anna. Now I wait one year. Then your message come. First lady to care."
"Did Anna go to any parties? Big ones with famous people?"
"Sure. Anna a girl. All girls like parties. She feel like princess and say big houses so nice and she meet good people. One time, they think she was waitres
s because she have olive skin and shout at her. I say people are stupid and racist. They don't see Anna for who she is. Clever. Brave. Hardworking. Just like her parents. But when she famous like Marguerite Casta, then they know!"
I had to agree with her there. "Was that the only problem she had?"
"Only problem that she tell me. I think her agent send her to party so probably very good party. Nice people who help my Anna get job."
"Did she ever mention the name Ryan Ellison?"
"No, I not hear it before. You think he secret boyfriend? Anna no keep secrets."
I thought a lot of women probably kept secrets from their grandmothers but didn't say it out loud. "No, just a name that came up. Do you remember the name of the detective you spoke with?"
"Yes. He Detective Martinez. Nice man but stupid and no clue. I call him every week but he always say, ‘no news, Mrs. Sanchez’ and he call me if news, but I don't want to wait. Why newspaper want to know?"
"I'm looking into some other cases of missing women and Anna's name came up," I explained. "I wondered if there was any connection."
"If more missing women and you think connection, then you think Anna dead?"
"I don't know anything yet," I told her, "but I'd like to look into it more."
"You call Detective Martinez. Maybe he think newspaper care more than me. Maybe he care what you think. Maybe that make him hurry up and find my Anna. You call him, please, and you tell him Anna important."
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Sanchez was right. If I wanted more information about her granddaughter, I had to call Detective Martinez. Ashleigh mentioned he might be undercover but on the chance that he wasn't, I placed the call to LAPD's switchboard. They transferred me immediately and a man with a very deep voice answered. "You know we have a press department?" he asked.
"I do, and thank you for taking my call, but this is strictly off the record. I want to ask you about Anna Sanchez. You worked her missing person case a year ago," I told him.
"How can I take your word for this being off the record?"
Dead Ringers Page 12