other than to give her a paper and pencil. I'd kind of hoped her parents would yell at her rudeness, but that was a pipe dream. They sat there and glared at me while she scribbled down a few names. I saved my revenge for when she tossed the pencil down and shoved the paper with the list of names on it toward me.
"You've got your cell phone with you?" I asked.
She gave me another look, clearly indicating she thought I was stupid. "Yes."
"Do you still have the texts with the address for the party?"
Penny's gaze shot daggers at me as she shrugged.
"Can I take a look?" I asked, holding out my hand.
She placed the fancy electronic in my hand. I flipped it open and pushed a few buttons until I found all of her recent texts. That's what I was after. "Okay, I'll be right back."
I was gone less than two minutes. When I returned, I shoved a receipt across the table to her. "I'm booking your cell phone as evidence."
"Well, when do I get it back?" she demanded.
"When we don't need it anymore," I said, giving her a pointed look.
This time Mrs. Ritter spoke up. "Wait a minute, you can't do that. That phone belongs to Penny and she needs it to communicate with the family."
While Penny's mom was talking, I punched some other buttons on the phone. "Yes, I can see she does," I said as I turned the display toward her. I showed Mrs. Ritter a photo of her precious Penny, apparently topless, bent over at the waist pointing her backside in pastel colored boy-short underwear right at the camera lens.
"And what family member is getting this message?" I asked, to shut her up. Mrs. Ritter's face drained of color and I thought her teeth might crumble she clenched her jaw so hard. "This is taking the phrase 'kiss my fanny' to a whole new level, don't ya think?"
TIFFANY – 32
Drejohn held Tiffany's hand as they walked through the mansion.
"How you feelin' girl?"
"Fine, thank you." Tiffany felt sluggish and worried, but she wasn't going to let Drejohn know.
"This here is the library," her tour guide said, then he snorted. "It doesn't get used much. My friends aren't into expanding their minds with books."
Tiffany eyed the floor-to-ceiling shelves containing hundreds, if not thousands, of books. The room looked like something from a movie set, with brandy-colored tufted leather furniture positioned in front of another huge fireplace. Emerald green velvet draperies swagged across the wide leaded-glass windows, and a rolling ladder allowed access to the volumes on the highest shelves. Impressive as the room was, she was disappointed to not see a telephone or computer. While walking through the house, it occurred to her if she could find a computer she could send an e-mail to her father or friends. Tiffany knew they must be getting frantic.
Drejohn pulled her from the library and led her down a short hallway and through a good-sized laundry room to a side door.
Drejohn slipped a pair of Barton Perreira sunglasses off the bill of his red and black baseball cap emblazoned with the letters "NLK," and slid the shades over his eyes.
Tiffany was left to use her hand to shield her eyes from the bright Los Angeles sun. At least she assumed she was still in Los Angeles.
"We have to walk a little ways, but I promise it'll be worth it. I'm going to show you where I make a lot of my money—and Princess, if you haven't figured it out, I've got a lot of money."
She could see Drejohn searching her face for a reaction, so she gave it to him. "Oh, there wasn't a doubt in my mind you're rich. I figured that out when we met last night." Drejohn smiled at her and nodded, so she pushed her luck. "I must have fallen asleep when we drove out here." Tiffany looked around and tried to recognize something about the brush and trees that spread out over the flat landscape; not that she could see much with the stucco wall surrounding the property. "Where exactly are we?"
Under the dark glasses, Drejohn's face hardened. "If I'd wanted you to know that, I wouldn't have arranged to have you asleep when you arrived."
Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks on the pea-gravel path that was leading to one of several large out buildings. "You drugged me?" What an idiot, Tiff! Of course you were drugged. That's why you don't remember anything that happened after you left the party. "Why in the world would you drug me?"
Drejohn's face relaxed a little and he gave her a small smile. "Because when you're as big a play'a as I am, there's always people who want to come and take what you got." He took her hand again. "Come on, I want to show you something."
There was a tension in the air. Tiffany knew Drejohn wanted her to be impressed and just accept the fact she wasn't here of her own free will. He did not want her asking questions. She wondered if he was trying to impress her because she was the governor's daughter, or just because showing off his wealth was how he got women. She hoped it was the latter, because if Drejohn knew or found out who she was, she suspected her position would be used against her.
As they approached the closest out building, she noticed security cameras mounted in the eaves. Several lenses pointed toward the metal roll-up door that ran across the front of the building, and there were a couple of cameras pointed at the pedestrian door as well. From inside, Tiffany could hear dogs barking. Quite a few dogs.
"Welcome to Nothin' to Lose Kennels," he said, using a keypad to unlock the door and lead her inside.
A knot of fear tightened in Tiffany's stomach. She knew that some big-name sports figures and music moguls found dog fighting an acceptable form of entertainment. She hoped that wasn't what she was going to see.
Going through a well-appointed office with a refrigerator-sized safe in the corner, he punched more numbers in a keypad and led her through another door into a big arena. The stench of urine, excrement, and an unidentifiable metallic smell assaulted her nose. The knot in her gut twisted.
They were in an area with a dirt floor. In the center of the large space there was a wooden enclosure approximately fifteen feet in diameter. Tiffany averted her eyes when she saw dark reddish brown staining on the sheets of plywood that formed the walls. Surrounding the wooden structure were terraced bleachers. She had to blink back tears imagining the horror that went on here. Against three of the walls were numerous dog kennels, all of them occupied. She noticed well-muscled fighting dogs, but between each of their cages was another crate holding smaller, trembling creatures that looked like family pets.
"I got me some of the best fighting dogs in the country. Not only do I make a shit-load of cash when they fight and win, I actually make more money from bettin' on 'em and charging admission to the bouts."
Tiffany felt faint. The whole idea made her want to throw up. She had to get out of here; if nothing else, to bring help to these animals.
"What about the smaller dogs? They don't look like they're fighting animals."
Drejohn shot her an incredulous look. "Girl, we use those dogs as bait dogs for training. We keep them in between the two fighting dogs so that everyone stays on edge. The bait dogs are uneasy, my champs are uneasy and it all makes for some really good fights. Once my dogs get the taste of blood, they always want more."
Oh my God! Oh my God! Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into? Keep your voice neutral. Don't let him know you'd like to throw him in the ring so his dogs could tear him apart.
"Oh, I see. Well, your dogs certainly look like they mean business."
The devil before her gave a hearty laugh. "They'd better mean business. If they lose more than three fights, I shoot them in the head. I do it in front of the other dogs so they know what will happen if they lose."
The knot in Tiffany's throat kept her from swallowing. She was glad she hadn't eaten breakfast because she knew, if she had, she'd have lost it by now. Tiffany tried to give reassuring looks to the animals in their cages, but not one of them would make eye contact.
"Come on. If you think this is tight, let me show you what I got going on next door."
PRESTON – 33
Preston exited the local B
el Air coffeehouse where he and Bain had just picked up over-priced Espressos.
"Governor, do you have any response to the critics who say you're funding nothing but special projects, like the restoration of the State Capitol building, that don't really benefit most of the taxpayers in the state?"
You pompous newspaper hack, Preston thought, while displaying a well-rehearsed reassuring smile. "I'd say the taxpayers are as individual as the problems and projects I'm delegated to manage. Not any one person is going to be happy about all my decisions, any more than I am. However, just last night I pledged to find funding to facilitate the construction in Los Angeles of a branch of the Everyone Get Along gang intervention center. I'm sure that any taxpayer in the state can see the value in trying to reduce the impact the gangs have, not only in the large metropolitan areas, but also in the more rural areas of the state."
Preston's announcement caused a flurry of scribbled notes by the media covering the press conference. Several reporters called out follow-up questions. Tapping the Rolex on his left wrist, he favored the press corps with another smile. "I'm sorry folks, but I have another appointment. Thank you."
Stepping away from the podium, he and Bain hurried to the limo that would take them back to his house.
"Great job, sir. I don't see how anyone in the media would pick up on the fact there was anything out of the ordinary going on."
Preston nodded. "Any news?"
Bain shook his head. "No, but I'm sure we'll be getting an update from the LAPD and the FBI later today."
"Good. I think you'd better get with Mayor Luna's people and get that meeting with the gang people scheduled as soon as possible. Now that I've announced I'm funding the EGA center, I'd better get the ball rolling."
"You know, sir," Bain said, then his voice trailed off, as if in thought.
"What?"
"This might be the perfect time to hit up the White House for federal funding for the EGA center. I seriously doubt the president is going to deny your request for money when your daughter is missing." Bain displayed a knowing grin. "And of course, if the president doesn't know Tiffany is missing, we'll be sure he does."
Preston regarded his chief of staff in a new light. "You know, Bain, I think I may have underestimated just how shrewd you are…in fact I'm sure of it."
MADDIE – 34
After my interview with Penny Ritter, I met with Darius and Larry-the-Wife-Beater for a powwow in Larry's office.
"You got anything to go on?" Larry asked.
Darius shook his head. "The CHP were totally taken in by the two teenage girls. The one with the big bazooms—"
"Brenda," I supplied.
"Brenda," Darius said, shooting me an irritated look, "led poor Charlie around the mall providing him peep-shows of her chest. He said they were supposed to be looking for a diamond ring, but he couldn't take his eyes off her 'womanly charms,' as he put it. He feels like the schmuck he is, and realizes this stunt could cost him his job."
"What about the other guy?" I asked.
"The other girl, Diana, led Frank on a wild goose chase looking for a serial shoplifter. At least his story has some elements of police work in it. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me. Either way, they're both pretty damn embarrassed and will be lucky to keep their jobs."
"They should be humiliated," I opined.
Larry-the-Wife-Beater looked at me. "What did you learn from Penny?"
"Tiffany and Brenda were seen walking out the front door with a good-looking black guy."
"So, what do we know now that we didn't know before?" Larry asked, favoring me with a look of irritation.
"That we're going to need a whole hell of a lot more people to work this case," I said. It pissed me off when Larry looked to Darius to get a confirming nod that what I said was true.
"We're going to wind up interviewing at least fifty teenagers who were at the party, and that number could go as high as two hundred or so," Darius said. "You know how it goes, one interview leads to another witness and on and on. My understanding is there were about four hundred kids at the party, and I bet we'll be able to track down half of them."
"And don't forget," I chimed in, "that we've got the Heather McCall case too."
Larry shot me a blistering look. "You don't need to remind me of the open cases our unit is handling. As the OIC, I'm well aware of our workload. I just need to decide how to prioritize them."
I'd start with the one where the governor's daughter is missing, you idiot.
"This is what we're going to do," Larry said. "Cutter, you and Divine are going to start working the McCall case non-stop. I don't want you to stop until you find her, or you've run out of leads. Meanwhile, I'm going to get teams of detectives from other units here in the building to help us interview all the kids at the party as well as start investigating the house where the party was held. By the time you're done chasing leads on McCall, all the kids should have given a statement. At that time we'll reassess how we're going to proceed."
"Yes, sir," said Darius.
"Oh, I've got Penny working with a sketch artist right now," I said. "It's probably a waste of time, but maybe we'll get lucky."
We both got up to leave.
"Since everyone else will be busy, I'll take care of updating the chief, mayor and governor's offices."
Now there's a big surprise. I rolled my eyes at my partner as we coolly raced each other to get out of Larry's office.
Back at our desks, we switched gears.
"Okay, so let's review what we know about Heather," I said. "She's a nanny, but we don't know for whom. She was rarely seen at her apartment or in the neighborhood, and when she was, there was no one with her, male or female. She wasn't a student at Cal State Northridge.
She doesn't have a record and there's no evidence of drug or alcohol abuse. She has an almost new Toyota in the underground parking garage and it doesn't appear to have been tampered with."
"Detective 'Bill Gannon' was let into Heather's apartment by the manager and most likely tossed at least three days before we got there," Darius added, "so we have no idea if there was a computer or a purse or anything else of importance the fake cop took with him. We do know there's a diary, and Heather was involved with some man."
"And at least a little kissing was going on. But the girl also had birth control pills, so someone was boinking her."
Darius displayed a small smile. "Well, from her picture, I can see why they'd want to."
"Please," I said, holding up my hand, "Don't be bringing your Barry White stuff in the office."
"You're the one who brought up Ms. McCall's sexual activity. I'm just tellin' you how I see it."
"Yeah," I said. "Well, we both better start seeing something that leads us to these girls, or we're gonna find them all dead."
TIFFANY – 35
Drejohn led Tiffany over to the next out building, which was larger, but still had the elaborate security system in place. She tried to fathom what horrors would lay in this part of the compound. The dog-fighting arena had made her stomach queasy, and she didn't know how much more she could take. The one thing she did know for sure was that she needed to get away from this place and Drejohn as fast as she could. But she also knew an escape wasn't going to be easy.
Drejohn pressed a security code into a keypad just as he'd done at the other building. She heard the click of the door unlocking and then Drejohn led her inside.
"This building is where the real money is made," he said proudly.
Tiffany forced an impressed and interested look onto her face. "Really? And what do you do here?" she asked, scanning her surroundings. It looked like a typical office setting, with a small lobby and then a hallway with a row of offices on each side. The only difference was the office was decorated much like the main house—lots of chrome, fur, and red and black paint. Although it was late-morning, there didn't seem to be a lot of activity. All the office doors were closed and there was no receptionist in the l
obby.
"Come on, baby, and I'll show you," Drejohn said as he led her down the hallway past all the closed doors.
From behind some of the doors, Tiffany could hear voices and sometimes music.
Drejohn led her to the end of the hallway toward the rear of the building. There they went through another door and found themselves in a stairwell that led to the second floor. After climbing the stairs, Drejohn entered another code into another keypad, allowing them access to some kind of control center.
The room was painted black and the lights were out. There were at least two dozen flat-screen monitors attached to the walls and every few feet, sitting at a computer desk, there was a male wearing a headset and monitoring a couple of the screens.
Tiffany's heart lurched in her chest when she recognized the images on the screens. On the right side of the room, each screen showed a different young girl in the process of undressing or touching herself. Tiffany assumed the guys in the headsets could hear what the girls were saying into the cameras; because it was obvious the girls were talking while going through their motions.
"Welcome to "NTL" Productions."
"What's NTL stand for?"
"Nothin' To Lose. This is where I can make a hundred-thou in a day."
Tiffany wanted to puke. "Really? That's a lot of money."
"Don't ya know it. Look over here," he said, pointing to the monitors she'd been looking at. "I got these bitches goin' twenty-four seven at two hundred dollars a half-hour talking and showin' their junk to yee-haws all over the country, shit, all over the world, for that matter."
"Are you kidding?" Tiffany was totally disgusted. She quickly counted and saw that there were eighteen monitors on that side of the room. "Are the girls okay with doing that?" she asked motioning with her head toward the screens.
Drejohn gave her a sharp look. "They sure the hell ought to be. I hand picked them, and if it wasn't for me, they'd probably be suckin' dick out on the street for ten dollars a john. Bein' with me, they get to live on my estate, party with celebrities, and use free drugs. It's only right they pay me back by workin' a few hours a day."
"How long do they have to…perform?"
"Why you askin' all these questions?" A menacing frown contorted Drejohn's good looks.
Tiffany needed to reassure him. "I just think it's fascinating that someone so young could have such a grasp of how to make so much money."
The lines creasing his face relaxed and he nodded with importance. "That's why I like you, Princess. Not only are you classy, you're a smart girl." He pointed to the screens on the left side of the darkened room. "Those screens are monitoring films we're making. I built two sound stages here and we shoot six days a week. We're turning out four films a month. The best part is that with the Internet, we have our own website, we post the films the day the final edit is done and start making money right away. Course the live feeds is where the bulk of the money is made."
Incredible, Tiffany thought.
A Deadly Blessing Page 16
