“Who brought him into the project?” he asked.
“The director Bryan Mortimer. You know who that is, right?” she asked.
“I watch the Oscars, occasionally. He’s one of the biggest directors for, what? The last twenty years at least?” Jake asked.
“That’s him now,” Ruby said. “Back then, he only had one movie under his belt, and it was a moderate success at Sundance. For some reason, the agents and execs at the festival that year fell in love with him. They anointed him as the next big thing. There was a huge bidding war for his movie. The company I worked for at the time offered him a huge pay bump to direct his next movie, The Last Spy. It was about a disgruntled spy and a bank heist. Did you see it?” she asked.
“A long time ago,” Jake admitted.
“Bryan wanted to bring Jerome Wexler on because he was some sort of finance guru. He also wanted Jerome as a consulting researcher because the film had a financial bend to it. Jerome decided he liked the script so much he wanted to invest in it, becoming the largest investor outside of the studio.”
“Do you know how much he invested?” Jake asked.
“Not offhand, but I should have the financials somewhere. I could send them to you,” she said.
“I would appreciate that,” Jake said. “What was Jerome Wexler like?”
“Oh, Jerome.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “He thought he was the smartest guy in the room. No matter which room. He was charming, thought he was way more attractive than he actually was. He threw his money around like nobody's business. He was one of those producers that wanted the fame. He wanted to be at the premiere, be seen with all the actors, and mingle with all the famous Hollywood people. He was the kind of producer who wanted his ego stroked. Constantly. Didn’t really seem to care about making money from it, even though he eventually did make a nice return.”
“Did he come off as creepy at all?” Jake asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ruby said. “It was a long time ago. Way before #metoo happened. Things used to be different. There was really no such thing as sexual harassment. I mean, it existed. But it wasn’t called that. There were no seminars from HR about it.” She laughed again. “I mean, if the guy was attractive enough, we thought they were compliments.” She shook her head.
Jake shook his head, too.
“Why are you asking if he was creepy?” she asked, her eyes sharp and observant.
“He was head of a pornography ring up in Oregon.”
Ruby’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. “Pornography? Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my god. I never heard anything about that.”
“It didn’t hit the papers because he left the country before he was charged,” Jake explained. “Did you know he tried to run for governor of Oregon?”
“That ego of his.” Ruby rolled her eyes again. “I don’t remember anything about that, but he was charming enough to be a politician.”
She sat back and regarded Jake with a glint in her eye.
“What are you not telling me, Mr. FBI Profiler? I can smell a story on you, but you're being very cagey about it,” she said.
“It was child pornography, Ruby.”
Jake was quiet as her mouth fell open again. He gave her a moment to process what he was saying.
“It appears he also ran a camp for underprivileged children, which was used as a pornography studio and gathering place for pedophiles.”
Ruby looked aghast. “Oh, my God,” she said again. “Seriously? That’s so horrifying. Oh, my God.”
Jake gave her another moment to process the information.
“And he was never caught?” she asked.
“He slipped out of the country on a private jet, never to be heard of again.”
Ruby turned pale and Jake watched her reassessing her past with the man.
“How well did Bryan Mortimer get along with Jerome Wexler?” he asked.
“They were thick as thieves,” she said. Her voice was quieter and had lost some of its energy. “Seemed like they’d known each other for years.”
“And what was Bryan like?”
Ruby studied him for a moment. “Well, I could tell you a lie, but I don't ever plan to work with him again, so I guess it doesn't matter. He was an absolute nightmare. We were lucky we finished the shoot only a week overdue. He was late and erratic. I thought most the time he was on some kind of drug, probably cocaine, which was always a favorite in town, but he was so weird. He behaved like a bratty child.”
“And the producers and executives allowed that to happen?” Jake asked.
“It was part of his auteur image,” she said. “These male directors think they can behave atrociously and get away with it. It’s their way of asserting dominance and testing the boundaries. If their box office to bullshit ratio is in line, they get away with it. But their box office must be pretty high for that. Anyway, look at him now.”
“Failing up worked for him, did it?” Jake asked.
“Did it ever,” Ruby said and leaned in, speaking low. “I'm still convinced someone else directed all his films. Likely some really talented editor somewhere. I don’t believe that work is coming out of that man. He completely shat on everything and everyone from start to finish on that that film. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“And how was he with women?” Jake asked.
“There are always young women hanging around Bryan because he’s a director. It was no different then. But the producers were like that, too. It was a real boy’s club back then, granted not much has changed,” Ruby said with a scowl.
“Do you have any idea where Jerome Wexler is now?” he asked.
“No and that’s probably a good thing,” Ruby said. “Last time I saw him was in 1995. I’d almost forgotten about him until you called me.”
“Were there any ever rumors of parties where men were having sex with young girls under the influence?” he asked.
Ruby’s laugh came out as harsh and strangled. “Are you kidding me? That happens almost every night in this goddamn town.”
“If this industry is so toxic to women, why have you stayed in it so long?” Jake asked.
“Because it’s my dream,” Ruby said simply as she shrugged. “Where else am I gonna go?”
Jake nodded in understanding and stood to go.
“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” Jake said.
“May I ask a favor of you, Mr. FBI Profiler?”
Jake smiled. “Sure.”
“If you ever decide to write, call me first please?” She looked almost childlike as she smiled sweetly. “Because I got some real good stories that could use some FBI profiling clout behind them.”
She was dead serious, Jake thought. “I'm not planning on joining your ranks yet, thank you though,” he said.
“All right,” she said as she stood up. “Can I ask you another favor?”
“Shoot,” Jake said.
“Find that piece of shit Jerome Wexler and make him pay.”
Jake nodded solemnly.
“I will, Ruby. If he’s out there, I’ll find him,” he said, and she led him to the front door. “
“Remember, when you’re ready for a career change, you call me first. You promised,” she said.
“My first call,” Jake promised and shook her hand.
As Jake headed back to his car, he thought maybe not everyone in Hollywood was a jaded narcissist. She’d given him another name to research.
Unfortunately, Bryan Mortimer was one of the biggest directors in the world. To say he was the elite of the elite in Hollywood was not giving the guy his due. And he was a longtime associate of Jerome Wexler’s?
Jake doubted he'd even be able to speak to Bryan Mortimer. He wouldn't care if he was once an FBI profiler. Also, what if he knew about or was part of what Jerome Wexler was producing at that camp in Oregon? That would be a career killer for Mortimer and his people would never allow Jake near him.
He took the last steps down fast and breathed in the
salty air as he got to his car. He needed a minute to think and being so close to the beach only reminded him of how much he missed it. Lauren. He pushed the thought of her in Oregon out of his mind and thought of her at the ocean’s edge. Laughing.
He decided to take a walk along the Santa Monica boardwalk before he drove home. He needed to think, and he couldn’t keep the ocean away forever.
The implications of what Ruby had told him clicked in his mind as he walked and breathed in the ocean breeze. Jerome Wexler surrounded himself with wealth and important people. As did Bryan Mortimer. Clearly two narcissists. Also, the rich inevitably stuck with their own kind. Safety in numbers.
If Harri had stumbled onto an organization of rich and powerful men abusing young girls, they would have enough money and influence to throw at any investigation that came their way. Narcissists always believed they were above the law.
He took out his phone to call Harri, but hesitated. He decided he would keep walking just a bit longer. They’d been picking up steam since returning from Oregon and it felt right. He was ecstatic enough to think about moving forward, even moving in.
Jake wanted to have a life and even though they still hadn't found Lauren’s killer, they were working together. He didn't like going back and forth between their houses and wished he could see her every morning.
After this case was over, he would bring it up and see what she thought. When she’d told him she’d been followed, fear and rage came over him. He couldn't lose Harri, too. Not when they’d just discovered each other again.
Jake knew she could protect herself, probably better than he could protect her. It would make him sleep better at night knowing she was next to him, by his side. Heart to heart.
27
Day 4
Harri inhaled the rose scented air deeply as she walked toward Roxanne’s gate. The light dappled and gently shifted with the breeze in the trees above her.
Harri breathed the fragrance of the roses in and tried to get the smell of death and cigarettes to fade from memory. She’d berated herself all the way over to Roxanne’s about Stephen and how she’d failed to protect him. She hoped Roxanne would allow the LAPD to protect her.
Harri stepped into the backyard and up to the front door of the guest house. Roxanne was already there waiting for her. Harri could see by the woman’s blotched cheeks and watery eyes that she’d been crying.
“Thank you for meeting with me again, Roxanne,” Harri said.
“I knew you’d be back, but I'm going to disappoint you again.”
Harri stepped inside and Roxanne gestured to the same chair she’d sat in the night she’d first seen her.
Roxanne perched on the end of the couch, her body tense.
“Will you please come forward with your allegations and name the person who abused you?” Harri asked bluntly.
“I can't do that,” Roxanne said
“We can protect you,” Harry said.
“Like you protected Stephen Ladner?” Roxanne asked bitterly.
The news had already gotten out.
“He refused to help me and didn't trust me,” Harri explained. “He never gave me names or his article. I believe he was double dealing in some way.”
“And he ended up dead,” Roxanne shook her head. “Don’t you get it? These people are for real and I don't want to be dead, either.”
“Roxanne, if you come forward and name them, you’ll be a protected witness. Right now, you're an anonymous woman living in Los Angeles,” Harri said. She was laying it on a little thick, but Roxanne's statement was all she had without Stephen Ladner’s research.
“I’ll never work again,” Roxanne said. “You don’t know what it was like. I had to crawl back from the brink of nothing. I had to fight my way back and what have I got? Voice overs and student films? I can’t show my face in town as it is. They would destroy me.”
“Roxanne, you’re a victim” Harri said. “Please, let me help you.”
“I am not a victim,” Roxanne shook her head. “I have to acknowledge and be responsible for my own actions.”
Harri recognized the words that must have come from Roxanne’s therapist.
“I got things out of it, too,” Roxanne continued. “That will all be brought up if this all gets out. I can’t get dragged through the mud like Lydia was.” Roxanne was talking fast again, like the night before.”
“Lydia?” Harri asked.
“Lydia Marcos. She filed her complaint and it spread like wildfire all over town. And she never worked again. They said she was crazy, a troublemaker, a liar, and she got blacklisted. She never worked again. I can’t do that. I can’t.”
“Where can I find Lydia Marcos?” Harri asked.
“I don’t know,” Roxanne mumbled. “I haven’t seen her. I don’t know.”
“Roxanne,” Harri’s voice was sharp to get her attention. “Where can I find Lydia Marcos?”
“I, all I have is an old number,” Roxanne said meekly. “The one I gave Stephen Ladner. Did he call her?”
“He might have,” Harri said.
“If I give you her number will you leave me alone?”
“Roxanne, you know you’re in danger,” Harri said.
“Not if I keep my mouth shut,” Roxanne said.
“And what if they think you’ve already talked?” Harri hated scaring Roxanne, but it seemed like the only thing that worked.
“What kind of things did you get out of your assault?” Harri asked.
“I had a career because of the man I had sex with,” Roxanne said in an exhausted voice. “He introduced me to a producer who gave me my first job. I should have never been there. I knew better, but I was. And then I got something from it. So, if I went and told on him then people would say why are you telling on him five years later? You never spoke up before. You never went to the police. You accepted the parts you got because of it. You wanted it. I know #metoo has shifted things around, but the women are still judged. Still blamed.”
“Roxanne,” Harri said carefully. “All of that is possible, but what if precisely because of the movement that's happening right now your story is ripe for the telling? What if people understood that you didn’t choose to have sex with him? He assaulted you. He abused his power to coerce you to do things you didn’t want to do. That’s what #metoo is about.”
“That happens in Hollywood every day. We choose to work in this industry, don't we?” Roxanne countered.
“Roxanne, I want to help you. I want to protect you. But you have to go on record with everything.”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
“Then give me Lydia’s number at least,” Harri asked.
Roxanne texted her the phone number.
“Thank you,” Harri said. “I’m putting a protective detail on your place for the next few days.”
“No!” Roxanne shouted. “I don’t need that. If you do that, they’ll think I did talk. And I haven’t. I’m safe if I don’t say anything.”
“Really, Roxanne? You think you’re safe?” Harri asked. “Have you been approached by any strangers?? Have you seen any strange cars in the vicinity?”
“You're scaring me,” Roxanne said.
“Good, because you should be afraid. Stephen Ladner is dead. Sophie Lambert is dead. There are two girls who are still missing. And you have information that could tie it all together. Are you afraid yet, Roxanne?”
“I'm not telling you anything,” Roxanne hissed. “I'm not going on record, so I don't need protection.”
Harri was quiet, giving Roxanne room to calm down.
“You won't even see the uniforms there,” Harri said.
“What will my neighbors think?” Roxanne asked. “If they check on me and see cops, they’ll think I talked to you.”
Roxanne had tears in her eyes again. Something was off and Harri couldn't quite but her finger on it.
“Roxanne, what is this really about?” she asked.
“I was coerced, but I d
id things. Shameful, gross things. I don't want that stuff coming out,” she said.
“What kind of things?” Harri asked, remembering what Stephen Ladner said about how the organization used shame against its victims.
“I don't really want to talk about it.”
“Are you getting help?” Harri asked.
“I have a therapist, if I can keep her. I still have to book more jobs this year so I can qualify for SAG insurance.”
“Roxanne, I’m going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this organization, whether you help me or not. I want to find the people who did this to you and make them pay.”
“Good luck with that, Detective Harper,” Roxanne said bitterly. “If you do it, it will be a miracle.”
The interview was over and Harri stood up to go. Roxanne had given her another contact to track down. Hopefully, that would lead to more. As Harri headed for the door, she took one last look at Roxanne. She looked like a child, folded up as small as she could make herself on the couch. Harri decided she would order the drive-bys for the next few days, regardless of what Roxanne's wishes were.
She wouldn't have another death on her conscience. Not if she could help it.
When she got back into her car, she looked down at her phone. An email notification sat blinking on her screen. It showed an email from Stephen Ladner. She clicked it open.
The email was sent yesterday afternoon and had no subject. In the body of the email was one word.
Rosebud.
28
Day 4
Debi Mills woke up to another splitting headache.
She had no idea how long she’d been out for, but she could tell by the light outside it was getting to be nighttime.
She moved her battered body off the bed and found herself naked. Bruises dotted her skin all over her breasts, arms, and thighs. Her thighs looked the worst.
She staggered over to the window to try to open it like before, but it was locked. She balled her hands up into fists and smashed them against the windowpane, hoping the force of the blows would shatter the glass.
The Broken Trail: A Chilling Serial Killer Thriller (Harriet Harper Thriller Book 3) Page 16
