The part of the story that Harri found particularly terrible was that a woman brought her into the fold, manipulated her until she’d gained her trust, and then served her up on a platter to some destructive man.
That thought stayed with her until she arrived back at home.
17
Day 2 -Night
Debi Mills tugged at her dress nervously and watched as the sleek black car pulled up into her driveway. Her roommate came out behind her and saw the car.
“What's going on Debi?” Janie asked.
“I’m going to my first official Hollywood party,” Debi said.
“Wow,” Janie said. “You’re so fancy.”
Debi flushed. “You think this dress is okay?” she asked.
It was one of the dresses she’d brought when she left Arizona and even though it was the nicest thing she owned, she also thought it looked more suburbs and not Hollywood. Georgie had said sparkly, but she didn’t own anything like that, so she went with her mint green cocktail dress she’d worn to a wedding a year ago. It was off an off-the-shoulder neckline and hoped it was glamorous enough.
She wondered again if she should be wearing some sort of vintage ripped T-shirt and skinny jeans with heels, but she didn't own any clothes like that, either.
“You look really nice,” Janie said.
“Doesn't look very Hollywood though, does it?” Debi asked.
“What does Hollywood look like.” Janie laughed. “It looks like you and that’s what matters, right?”
Debi nodded and made a mental note to figure out how to update her wardrobe. The ones she did buy were in the trunk of her car, pressed and cleaned for her auditions. This dress would have to do.
“Wish me luck,” she said.
Janie gave her a quick hug and Debi bounded down the stairs. She opened the door to the backseat and found George inside. She waved back at Janie and slid in.
“I love your dress. it's so sweet,” Georgie said.
Debi flushed. She couldn't tell if Georgie was complementing her or gently scolding her for not wearing something sparkly. She wanted to run out of the car and spend the night watching movies with Janie. Why had she agreed to even go?
“This old thing? I just threw it on,” Debi said in a mock tone. She might as well show that she didn't care either way what Georgie said to her.
Georgie smiled and gave her an approving look.
“Where are we going?” Debi asked. Whenever she went out at night, she would text Janie to let her know where she was going and with whom.
“It's a secret,” Georgie said with a wink.
“What do you mean a secret? Are we going into Beverly Hills, Malibu, Hollywood, where?”
“That’s part of the fun. It's a secret party and I pulled some strings to get you an invite.”
“Thank you for that,” Debi said quickly. She was so grateful for everything Georgie had done for her.
“You’ll meet some important people tonight,” Georgie promised. “You’ll book a job after this, I guarantee you. I’ll introduce you to everyone I know. And I know a lot of people.”
Debi looked nervously out the window. She was excited yet didn’t understand why she couldn’t tell her the location. Debi decided to try one more time.
“What if I lose you?” Debi asked. “If I don't know where I'm going, then I won't know where to be picked up by a ride share to get home.”
“Don't worry,” Georgie assured her. “I know this is your first big party. I want to introduce you around, and I’ll keep my eye out for you. And you won't need to call a ride share. I'll take you home, silly.”
Debi smiled and tried to relax. That strange sense of foreboding came on her again, but she shook it off. She was just in a different pond and needed to learn how to swim in it was all.
She barely knew this woman, yet Georgie had already taken her to a Desmond Ryan class and booked a whole month of private lessons for her. Even though Debi had initially not accepted the offer, Georgie had arranged them anyway.
When she’d texted with the news, Debi wasn’t sure how to react. She wished again she had someone to talk to, but she already knew what her manager would say. Take it! She didn’t want anyone thinking she was leaching off this rich woman. Lord knew there was enough people in this town like that. At the same time, those lessons could change her life. Why couldn’t things be simpler?
Debi bit her lip and looked nervously outside. They were driving through Hollywood now though she couldn't tell exactly in which direction.
She pulled her phone out of her purse and her stress faded a bit. Her phone had GPS and would tell her the location of the party. Plus, she had a friend-locating app that she’d connected to Janie. She’d text her the address the moment they arrived.
With her solution planned, Debi relaxed and settled back into the seat. Might as well enjoy the ride, she thought.
Georgie popped a champagne bottle open, the liquid frothing out a bit. Georgie let out a little yell and mopped up the liquid with some towels she found in a side compartment.
Debi tried to help her dab at the wet spot, but Georgie shooed her away. “I got this. My fault. I must have shaken it.
“Is that champagne?” Debi asked.
“You look nervous. Let's get you a little bit more relaxed,” Georgie said with a laugh and poured Debi a glass.
Debi’s heart fluttered but she accepted the drink anyway and took a tiny sip. The sparkly sour taste of champagne flooded her mouth. Debi was being overly paranoid. Tonight, would be a blast, Debi promised herself. She took a longer drink and clinked glasses with Georgie.
It would be a night she’d never forget.
18
Day 2 -Night
Harri Harper watched as Jake finished eating his pasta dinner in her dining room, the lights low and music playing Miles Davis. If Lauren could see them now, she thought. She wasn't sure what her dead sister would think about this scene. Harri put her hand on her chest like she did whenever she thought about her sister. Jake saw the movement and their eyes met.
“Thinking about Lauren?” he asked.
“Wondering what she would think about us now. We seem so civilized,” Harri said.
Jake laughed at that. “I suppose we are civilized now, aren’t we?”
“She would find our taste in music objectionable,” Harri said with a laugh. Back then her sister was all about punk and ska music. Some of the bands she listened to were from the early 80s, even. She was a surfer girl through and through. So was Jake for that matter.
“I would hope we did some growing up with our tastes maturing. We shouldn’t be listening to the Butthole Surfers twenty-five years later,” he said.
Now it was Harri’s turn to laugh “True enough. And we both became cops,” she said.
“Don't demote me! I'm part of the FBI,” he drawled in a teasing manner. Their ongoing joke was he’d gone fed instead of being a run-of-the-mill cop.
“Not anymore, Pal.” Harri smiled. “You always did have to get fancy, didn't you?” Harri teased him.
Jake finished up the last noodle and washed it down with the Pinot Noir.
“Thanks for the pasta. You don’t cook much, but when you do, it’s filled with love,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“You should be honored I'm willing to cook for you,” she said and cleared his dishes and her own. He followed her into the kitchen, still gleaming from the housekeeper’s visit earlier in the day. She rinsed their dishes in the sink and handed him each one to put into the dishwasher.
“It’s good we’re making some movement with your FBI resources. I’ve come up with diddly squat.”
“Leonora Dean will come through for us,” he said.
“I hope so,” she said. “You don't think we’re doing this the wrong way by focusing mostly on Jerome Wexler, do you? Maybe we should still be looking for John, Paul, and George. Oh, I totally forgot to tell you something Jackie said. I got lost in this new case of mine. When I sa
w Jackie, she had mentioned that those were the name of the Beatles. Which kind of goes along with your theory they were fake names to begin with.”
“You should always listen to me. I'm always right,” Jake said.
Harri jabbed him in the shoulder.
“Ouch, what was that for?” he asked.
“For thinking you're always right,” she said.
“Do you want to talk about your case?”
The question wasn't entirely out of left field because she had been really relatively quiet since he'd arrived. Her mind was turning over what Roxanne Miles had told her. She’d set Roxanne off enough to end the interview and her mind was looking at all the angles.
“I met with an assault victim that could potentially be connected to my Sophie Lambert and Addison James case. She claims there’s an organization that scouts young actresses, grooms them, and gets them to do things.”
Jake frowned. “Like casting couch kind of things?” he asked.
Harri nodded. “She went to some reporter and he’d promised a big exposé, but he never delivered. Claims it was killed by his editors at the LA Times.”
“Isn’t that exactly what happened with all those Winegardner articles? I'm sure it could easily happen again with another powerful man in the crosshairs of this kind of case. You think that's what Sophie and Addison got caught up into?”
“It's too early to know. My victim said she was drugged. That’s consistent with Sophie Lambert. As were the signs of assault. The thing that’s making me wonder is the grooming bit. My victim’s family didn’t live in LA. She was here alone. Sophie’s mom is the ultimate stage mom and went with Sophie everywhere. She wouldn’t allow that kind of behavior.”
“It’s a line of questioning you’ll have to open with the actresses you’ll be interviewing. Didn’t you say you have close to two hundred women to speak to?” Jake asked.
Harri nodded and took a sip of her remaining wine. “I want to start with the journalist first. If he can give me his story, I can use his angle to really hone in on the questions I should be asking. And the people I should be asking about. I scared my victim off, but he got all the names from her.”
Jake pulled out his cell phone. “What's his name?” he asked.
“Stephen Ladner. She said he was with the LA Times.” Harri hadn’t had the time to do any searching on the journalist’s name.
“Let's see what he's put out recently,” Jake said.
Harri sidled up to him and he drew her to him, the warmth of his body comforting her. When he typed Stephen’s name into the browser, a bunch of articles came up under the LA Times. The latest date was eight months ago.
“He hasn't published anything since last December.” Jake frowned. “He was putting out articles every week until then.”
Jake typed in Stephen’s name in the search at the LA Times to see what would come up and found nothing. Next, he found a LinkedIn entry for Stephen Ladner as a journalist that was available for hire.
“Looks like he's without a job now,” Jake said.
“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” Harri said. “Journalism has been having a seismic shift and the Los Angeles Times had a huge round of layoffs recently, didn’t they?”
“True enough. But I'd go with your instinct of talking to him first to see what the story is behind Roxanne's claims.”
“He could have been fired, though.”
“Yes,” Jake said.
Harri pulled away from him and poured herself some wine. Her mind skipped to the photos of the look-alike girls.
“You should have seen these printouts of these girls. They all looked the same. I've never seen anything like it.”
“What do you mean by the same look?” he asked.
“Like they could have all been twins, Jake.” Harri sat back down next to him. “All dark hair, blue eyes, red lips. The vampy sexpot look. They were all vying for some sort of commercial. Did I tell you the reason why one got picked was she was two inches taller than the other? I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard that.”
“Guess you’ve never played basketball,” Jake said.
“Huh. Tom Bards said that exact same thing,” Harri said.
They had finished their wine and Harri could barely keep her eyes open.
“Are you okay if we call it a night a little early? I'm exhausted. I honestly thought once we found Lauren, we’d know what happened to her, but it's just not enough.”
“Might never be enough,” he said gently.
Harri nodded and put her wine glass on the counter.
“I’m not feeling these stairs,” she grumbled as they made their way to the third-floor master bedroom.
“You're always complaining about my stairs,” Jake said.
“Your stairs are killer, Jake.” She huffed and puffed into the master bedroom and threw herself onto the soft bed.
Jake tumbled next to her. His strong arms folded around her and she melted into him.
“This empty feeling is never going away, is it?” Harri whispered against his chest. “We’re working so hard to find the guy and I feel like this emptiness will never be gone. She’s gone. They’re all gone.”
Harri heard a muffled yes in her hair and closed her eyes. She let his warmth calm her. She pulled his hand to her chest and closed her eyes.
This was good.
This would let her sleep tonight.
19
Day 3 - Morning
Harri Harper knocked on the door of a beaten-down looking apartment in a run-down building on the corner of Beverly and Wilton.
Stephen Ladner had fallen on hard times. It was a rough neighborhood, quickly gentrifying just to the west, but this part was old decrepit buildings with peeling paint.
Knowing Los Angeles, Harri was sure he was still paying thousands of dollars in rent every month, but she wondered how long he could last in the city without a job. She knocked harder and finally heard sounds on the other side of the door.
The door, however, did not open.
“Who is it?” a man's voice asked from the other side.
“I'm Detective Harriet Harper with the Los Angeles police department. I’d like to ask you some questions,” she said.
“I know I don't have to open the door to you,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Harri knocked again.
“Roxanne Miles sent me to speak to you. About her story and what happened to it.”
“Now you definitely need to go away,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about that. With anyone. Ever.”
Harri bit her lip. It sounded as if Ladner was just on the other side of the door. He was right. He didn’t need to open for her. He was talking, though.
“I know your story got killed. You're also out of work,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know all that, too. You’re an amazing detective.”
Harri waited. He wanted to talk. She could tell.
“Roxanne’s story did that to me. Thank you for reinforcing why I won’t talk to you,” he said.
“You know that’s what they wanted,” Harri said to the door. “To silence you. And you’re playing right into their hands. Don't you want to get justice for yourself and for Roxanne and all the other girls this has happened to?”
“I’m a journalist, detective.” Stephen said through the door. “I expose the truth. You’re the one who’s supposed to take it from there. And best of luck with that.”
“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” Harri responded with fake cheerfulness.
“You don’t think you’ll get buried under by this story? What makes you so special?”
“They haven’t buried me yet.” Harri smiled. “They’ve tried. Trust me.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Harriet Harper. I worked the Creek Killer case,” she said, knowing he was looking her up on the internet. “And I found my sister’s remains up in Oregon, even after the local police and FBI told me to go home.”
Stephen Ladner was quiet, still searching she guessed.
“I don’t quit,” Harri promised.
“These people are more powerful than some small-town cops you’ve come up against,” Stephen said, but his voice sounded closer.
“Look, why don't you tell me your story so I can do what I do best,” Harri said. “A young girl was found dead in a wall. I don't know if you saw that, but her case is the one I’m working. Her best friend is still missing but could still be alive. My investigation has landed on your doorstep and I'm not leaving until I speak with you.”
The door finally opened a crack. “They murdered her?” he asked.
“Still waiting back on the coroner,” she said. “But she didn’t get into a wall on her own.”
“I want the exclusive,” he said. “I gotta make a living, too.”
“I'll give you an exclusive once the investigation is done,” Harri promised.
“Okay,” he said.
The door opened wide and the stench of body odor and cigarettes assaulted Harri’s nose. She smiled through her disgust. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant interview, but at least she was getting somewhere.
“Thank you for letting me in,” she said.
Stephen Ladner was a lanky man with a shaggy beard and unkempt brown hair. And he was tall. Really tall. He stood about six foot five and was thin except for a round potbelly sticking out from underneath his gray T-shirt.
“I hope you’re as good as you say you are,” Stephen said.
He left the door open and went back into his living room. Harri didn’t want to close the door in fear she wouldn’t be able to breathe, but he didn’t give her much choice.
“Do you think we could open a window in here?” she asked.
Stephen obliged her with a grunt, going over to his desk and sliding a window open.
“Thank you,” she said and closed the front door behind her.
The Broken Trail: A Chilling Serial Killer Thriller (Harriet Harper Thriller Book 3) Page 11
