His stomach was sinking. Something wasn’t right about this entire scene. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t get in touch with Addison and that she didn’t show up for work. It wasn’t just that this house inordinately quiet, or that Katie and Addison weren’t answering him. It was something else. The hairs on his arms were standing on end, and his heart was racing. He just had a feeling, a horrible feeling, that something was wrong.
He made his way to Addison’s bedroom, and opened the door.
And he almost threw up.
Addison wasn’t in that bedroom.
But a lot of blood was.
Chapter 24
Emerson - September 2
I got back to my office, and Sarah, who had officially come to work for me, popped her head in. I was busy looking at the photographs that I took of the crime scene, while trying to puzzle out just how it was that anybody managed to drag Addison out of that bedroom without spilling a drop of blood. The processing crew was still looking, going through every carpet fiber and every blade of grass outside the house, and they still hadn’t found anything. Which was odd, to say the very least.
Or, maybe not. As Declan said, the killer might have wrapped the body up in a blanket that was fiber-free and wouldn’t shed, and waited until Addison had bled out before wrapping her up. Maybe, just maybe, that would explain the lack of blood, but I was doubtful.
“Hey,” I said to Sarah. I didn’t take my eyes off the pictures, though. Not that my staring at these photos was going to illuminate any new fact, but I liked to stare at photographs because it helped my mind work. I thought that if I stared at these pictures for long enough, I would have a breakthrough moment where I could figure out just what happened in Addison’s bedroom that night. “What’s going on?”
“I was wondering if you knew that Jackson Anderson, the head of Centurion Pictures, might have had reason to kill Addison Wentworth?”
She said this in such a matter-of-fact tone that I thought that she had to have been joking. “No. What do you mean, Jackson Anderson had reason to kill Addison Wentworth?”
Sarah sat down. “Listen, I’ve got it on good authority that Jackson Anderson is in trouble. Ten different women are coming down on him, saying that they were sexually harassed by him in his office. I heard that he’s going to be forced out of Centurion any day now. They’re cutting him loose.”
I nodded my head. I was only half listening to her. It was interesting, what she was saying, but I didn’t necessarily see the relevance. Plus, it was old news. It seemed like a day didn’t go by without hearing about some sexist pig finally getting his comeuppance after years and years of abominable behavior with women, including blackballing actresses, obsessively sinking careers of singers who got slightly out-of-line, and generally ruining the careers of women who displeased these men in some way.
Usually, the only crime that these women committed was not sleeping with these men. #MeToo was taking some huge scalps, from Harvey Weinstein, Bill O’Reilly, Roger Ailes, and Matt Lauer to the head of CBS, Les Moonves. It sounded like Jackson Anderson was next, and he wouldn’t be the last. Anybody in the movie industry knew the dirty little secret, and that was that the casting couch was alive and well, and that men with considerable power were going to use that power for nefarious means.
As long as there were men who tried to use their power to get what they wanted from women, there were going to be men going down for their bad behavior. It took many, many years for this to happen, but better late than never.
“Okay,” I said. “You just passing on some hot gossip, or are you getting to a point?” I asked Sarah impatiently. I loved her as an assistant, but she did get lost in the weeds sometimes with her gossipy behavior.
She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not just passing on gossip. Listen, I talked to one of the women who’s involved with this action against Jackson. All ten of the women are linking arms - they’re all going to the press as a group, and they’re all filing lawsuits against him at the same time. They’re a tight group, and one of the women, Samantha Wright, told me in confidence that it’s been an open secret that Jackson raped Addison years ago. Bill Cosby-style, I gather. He lured her into a private room where a bunch of people were snorting heroin. He apparently put something into Addison’s stash that made her pass out, and Addison woke up the next day knowing that she had been raped. She apparently accused Jackson of raping her while she was passed out, and he denied it, but she told a lot of people around town about what happened. Nobody would back her up, they were all too scared of Jackson and what he could do to their careers, so Addison didn’t do anything. But now that all these other women are coming at Jackson, Addison reconsidered her decision to not turn Jackson into the authorities. I hear that she was ready to do just that. She apparently didn’t live long enough to get that chance, though.”
Hmmmm…. “Okay. And Jackson knew Addison’s intentions?”
“Yeah. That’s what I understand.”
“Looks like I’m going to have to make an appointment to see him. I’ll see if he gives me straight answers about what’s going on.” I knew that it was one thing to be accused of sexual harassment. That was a civil matter, and it was usually enough these days to get a big cheese fired and disgraced. But a rape charge was another thing entirely. That kind of charge would mean that Jackson could end up in an orange jumpsuit. That kind of charge would mean that Jackson Anderson had the chance of becoming the butt boy of a large black man named Bubba. It would be poetic justice, to be sure, but the prospect of that would certainly be enough motivation to have somebody killed.
Not that I thought that that was what had actually happened. It sounded pretty far-fetched. Yet, I knew that I was going to have to follow up anyhow.
I decided to go ahead and see if I could get Declan to go with me to see Jackson. I figured that since he was second chair, and since I was paying him good money to help me out with this trial, he would probably go with me as long as he wasn’t busy doing something else.
I went down the hall to Declan’s office, and knocked lightly on the door. He opened it, looked at me and smiled. Next to him was a tall, thin blonde. She had perfect teeth, blindingly so, big brown eyes, and a perfect body.
I sucked my breath in, wondering if it was too good to be true that Declan was a guy who was not attached romantically to anybody. The way that she had her hand on his elbow, combined with the casual way he stood there next to her, with his hands in his pockets, and a stance that was loose, made me believe that this was not necessarily a client. This was probably his girlfriend.
I was going to have to ask Olivia later about if Declan had a girlfriend.
I was at a loss for words again. “I’m sorry to bother you, um, I…” I felt embarrassed, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I put my hands on my cheeks, and felt their warmth, and knew that my face was probably as red as I imagined.
“What’s going on, Emerson?” he asked me. He made no move to introduce the blonde lady.
I shook my head. “Nothing. I just wanted to ask you if you happened to have any case law available for me that would be relevant in the Carter Dixon case. I mean, I, I wanted to go ahead and subpoena Addison’s emails and her phone records and her bank account, and I just didn’t know if maybe you had some case law that would be on point as far as the limitations on my doing that.”
I actually knew the answer to this question. There was a federal law that generally meant that I would not be able to subpoena Addison’s email messages and phone records, because even a murder victim had a reasonable expectation of privacy after death. As for whether or not her bank statements would be producible, that was another no go. That was because I would be unable to show the judge why her bank records would be relevant at this point. Courts erred on the side of caution when it came to producing a victim’s records, so I knew that trying to get her records would be an exercise in futility.
Declan raised an eyebrow, as he appeared to consider my questio
n. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to get her records, because of the Stored Communications Act. Why do you want them anyways?”
I felt even more embarrassed. Now he probably thought that I was an idiot, on top of everything else. He probably thought that I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground, and he probably was reconsidering being my second chair on this case because he probably thought that I was incompetent.
A part of me knew that I was catastrophizing. In other words, probably none of my negative thoughts were actually occurring in this person’s head, but I couldn’t stop the cascade of obsessive thoughts.
I shook my head. “I –”
I bowed my head, turned around, and walked back into my office. I shut my door, and put my head on my desk.
I had to admit that seeing that tall blonde supermodel-looking woman hanging onto Declan’s arm threw me for a loop. It had been a long time since I had been interested in a man, let alone a man who I worked with.
“Sarah,” I called to her. “Did you manage to get a meeting with Jackson?”
“Yeah. He’s a busy guy, but he does want to talk to you. I spoke with his assistant, and she told me that he was expecting you to call him. She said that he has nothing to hide when it comes to Addison, and that he wants to tell you his story.”
I supposed that this was a good sign for him. If he had something to do with Addison’s death, he probably would have stonewalled me, at the very least.
“Good. I’m glad that I’m going to be able to speak with him.” I had a feeling that this was going to be a dead end, but maybe he would have some information for me that would be relevant. That would be the best-case scenario.
I gathered my purse, and walked out of my office. I saw Declan standing next to Olivia, chatting with her. The mystery blonde was nowhere to be seen. I walked rapidly past Olivia’s desk, averting my eyes from Declan. I hoped that he thought that I just didn’t see him.
“Hey, Emerson, where are you heading?” he asked me as I rapidly walked to the front door of the office suite.
“I’m going to court,” I lied. There was some reason why I didn’t tell him the truth – that I was going to go see a possibly pertinent witness in this case. I only knew that I needed to get some distance from him right at that point.
He nodded his head, and I walked out the office suite and into the elevator and out to my car.
Chapter 25
I got to the enormous mansion that housed Jackson Anderson. His mansion was just as large as Addison’s, but he favored a more traditional architecture for his home than Addison did for hers. Whereas Addison’s mansion was modern, all glass, sharp angles, and geometric shapes, Jackson’s house was more in the mode of a traditional Mediterranean style, which was common in this area. The house was all arches and balconies and round cupolas. It was made of stucco, with traditional Spanish-style roofs.
I rang the doorbell, and I was surprised that Jackson himself answered the door.
I was familiar with Jackson Anderson. Everybody in this town was. He was one of the biggest movie producers in town, for many years. Then he rose to become the head of Centurion Pictures, which was one of the largest production companies in the area. Centurion Pictures was responsible for multiple Oscar winners over the years for best picture. The company was focused on distributing prestigious pictures that showcased A-list actors and actresses, along with producing several blockbusters every year.
Jackson was probably one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. One word from him, and a career could be broken, or, conversely, a career could take off. It just depended on what that word was, if it was positive or negative.
That was why I was very surprised that Jackson himself answered the door. I was also surprised about the way that he looked. His hair wasn’t combed, he had a three-day shadow on his face, his button-down white shirt wasn’t buttoned correctly, so that it was uneven - one side of the shirt was longer on the bottom than the other. He was wearing shorts, and his feet were bare. I could smell alcohol on his breath – he positively reeked of it. I could also smell the unmistakable odor of marijuana coming from inside his house. Not that this was a big deal, as pot was legal, but it looked like he was partaking in both pot and alcohol a little too much.
“Come on in,” he said. “I knew you would be calling me at some point. When I saw you were representing that Dixon kid, I knew it was a matter of time before you would be on my doorstep wanting to ask me questions about whether or not I had Addison killed. Or maybe that I killed her myself.”
I was a little surprised that he was being so forthcoming. At the same time, I knew that he was high and drunk, and probably feeling very sorry for himself. That was not a good combination for anybody. But I figured that because he was in such a vulnerable state, he probably was going to be reasonably honest with me. That was a good thing for me, of course.
I walked through the enormous foyer, and he led me into a room with leather couches, a fireplace and 30-foot ceilings. The room had floor-to-ceiling windows, but the drapes were drawn, so it was surprisingly dark. There was also a big screen TV, and it looked like watching it was what Jackson was doing before I arrived – apparently watching a Real Housewives marathon.
He picked up a large glass that was filled with amber liquid, and I could smell bourbon wafting in the air. He waved it at me, the ice rattling around in the glass.
“You want one?” He hung his head, not listening to me, so he probably would not even pay attention to my answer to that question.
Truth be told, I didn’t want to drink. I was going to have to go back to the office, and work on this case some more, and keep a clear head about me. Plus, I hated whiskey. My drink of choice was usually a gin and tonic or gin and soda.
I waved my hand to him. “No, thank you. I’ll pass this time.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He looked at me. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that here I am, the most powerful man in Hollywood, looking like a goddamn bum. Well I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’m being ousted by a company I goddamned helped found. I made Centurion pictures the juggernaut that it is. Me. Nobody else was able to make it into the studio that produced Oscar winners year after year after year. Our pictures all made a lot of money. I hardly ever had even one box office bomb, the entire time I was at the helm of that company. I made so many careers over the years. So many people owe me so much in this town. But what happens when a few bitches decide to band together to bring me down? You think that anybody who I have helped become a superstar over the years would go to the press and vouch for me? Do you think that any of my so-called friends would go on television and say that there was no way that I would do these things?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer that question, because that question and all the other questions that he just asked me were all rhetorical anyways. What he did do was hang his head, and take another huge gulp from his glass, and pour another large amount of bourbon into that glass.
“With all due respect, I don’t really want to know about your sexual harassment issues. The only thing that I want to know about is what happened between you and Addison Wentworth.”
He took another sip of his alcohol, and then stared at the wall. “I’ll tell you. I’ll be perfectly candid. It’s going to be your word against mine, so know that. Keep that in mind.” He drunkenly waved his glass at me and then burped.
“What I’m about to tell you is that I committed a crime against Addison, but it wasn’t the one you’re thinking of. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t hire anybody to kill her. But, I will tell you this. I did get her a little bit too drunk one night, and we had sex.” He squinted his eyes and put his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate to me just how “little bit” drunk she got under his care.
“I didn’t know that she was so drunk, otherwise I wouldn’t have had sex with her. She was going to make it sound like I raped her, but that’s just not true. I just didn’t know tha
t she was so incoherent when we had sex. And that’s all that happened. But I knew that she was going to make it sound worse than it was, and, yes, I did kind of panic. But I consulted a lawyer, and he told me that if Addison was drunk, and we had sex while she was drunk, it was a gray area. He told me that he could probably get me off a charge if it came to Addison going to the cops. So I wasn’t all that worried about what she had to say about me. I mean, what more do I have to lose? I got all these other women coming out against me, what’s one goddamned more?”
I knew that he was lying. At least, the story was that Addison was not drunk, she was passed out. That’s a lot different than two drunk people getting together and hooking up, and the girl coming back on the guy later, saying that she didn’t consent because she was too inebriated.
“How did you know that I was going to ask you about whether or not you were responsible for her death?”
“I knew that you would be pointing a finger at me. Everybody else has. I know what everybody is saying about me in this town – some of the people that I thought were my friends have come out and asked me if I killed Addison. They keep telling me that I can tell them the truth, they won’t tell anybody else, bullshit like that. I thought that these men knew me, the kind of person that I am. I thought that they knew that I would not be able to do something like that to a woman.”
I watched him carefully. He was evidently lying about what happened between him and Addison, so I thought that he might also be lying about his ability to kill a woman who could make the difference between a lifetime in prison and a lifetime of simple exile. As it was, with all these women accusing him of sexual harassment, and with the fact that he was being forced out of Centurion, it was clear that he was going to spend the rest of his life being known as “that guy.” The fact that he was a sexual harasser and was fired in disgrace, was going to be in his obituary. When he died, his Wikipedia page would lead off with the fact that he was a known sexual harasser. That was going to be his fate, no matter what happened. There was no getting around it.
Dark Justice Page 18