Angel Eyes

by Ace Atkins

  “I think deep down she really likes me,” I said.

  “She said you remind her of her ex-husband.”

  “That can’t be all bad.”

  “Yes, it can,” Z said, still pecking away with one hand. “She ended up shooting him. Judge ruled it was self-defense.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Don’t worry,” Z said. “It was years ago. She’s changed. Completely reformed.”

  “Who’s worried?” I said. I lifted my hand and made it shake.

  Z nodded, pushing a button on his computer, a printer on top of a file cabinet humming to life. “I’ve found a few profiles on the HELIOS founder,” he said. “A man named Joseph Haldorn.”

  “The man from the pamphlets with the piercing blue eyes,” I said. “What do we know about Joe?”

  “Not much,” Z said. “He’s cryptic when it comes to his programs. Haldorn says you can’t really understand his methods without attending a HELIOS class. He was some kind of CEO of a Silicon Valley start-up and then transitioned into helping others with their success goals.”

  “Was he successful?”

  “According to Haldorn,” Z said, “he’s known nothing but success. He claims to be some kind of child prodigy who grew up outside St. Louis with an IQ off the charts. He says he was playing piano concertos by the time he was five. And mastered college-level algebra in elementary school. He also says he was a record-setting sprinter that could’ve been an Olympian, had he not had a higher calling.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said. “I’m sure all these details have been verified.”

  “A reporter with the Los Angeles Times made the point that Haldorn offered no proof for his claims,” Z said. “Also the reporter had tried to find school records back in Missouri and found nothing.”

  “So cynical,” I said. “Can’t you trust a man at his word?”

  “Nope,” Z said. He slid a manila file over to me. “According to his personal narrative, Haldorn says he had some kind of epiphany while on a trip in the Far East.”

  “Poughkeepsie?”

  “Farther,” Z said. “Somewhere in Thailand. He’d dropped out of high school for a while and decided to travel the world. It was there that he’d had the idea for HELIOS while watching the sun rise on a beach with a group of monks. He said it took him more than twenty years to develop what he’d experienced into a successful program. He credits what he calls the science of HELIOS to a woman named Riese, who does appear to actually have a Ph.D. At least according to the Times piece. This Riese woman developed the HELIOS method based on clinical trials and thousands of successful students.”

  “But yet, no one knows what they do.”

  “Correct.”

  “You must pay to play.”

  Z nodded and handed me a stack of printouts on Haldorn, understanding I still preferred a physical file to a computer screen. Before I read, I pulled a pair of cheaters from my jacket pocket.

  “How’s the arm?” I said.

  “What arm?” he said. “I’m on so many painkillers I barely feel it.”

  “Could have been much worse,” I said.

  “Could’ve shot me in the groin,” Z said.

  “Or it could’ve been me if you hadn’t body-checked me out of the way.”

  “You’d do the same for me,” he said. “I got hurt worse in high school. Broke my leg in two places in the state playoffs.”

  I looked down at a picture of Haldorn from the Los Angeles Times piece. He didn’t look like a guru. He looked like a guy rattling change in a bucket along Newbury Street. He had long brown hair and a long gray beard, a tattered corduroy jacket over a Western shirt. Lots of silver jewelry around his neck and on his fingers. His eyes appeared clear, nearly translucent, his face showing a sly, knowing smile to the camera.

  “Any connection to Jimmy Yamashiro?”

  “I knew you’d ask that,” Z said. “But no. I couldn’t find a thing. I did a deep search for anything HELIOS-related for Yamashiro and anyone in his orbit at the studio. I also looked for anything with Gabby Leggett, but those came up empty, too.”

  “Terrific,” I said. “Where can we find him?”

  “Nothing in the DMV or property records,” Z said. “I read one account that says he doesn’t drive. He’s reputed not to own any worldly goods. No cars. No homes. I’ll keep trying.”

  “Can’t you type any faster with one hand?”

  “Glad you got Chollo to watch your back,” he said. “He helped me out on something last year. He and Bobby Horse are even better than you told me.”

  “Bobby Horse can’t leave security on del Rio,” I said. “There are some threats.”

  “Mr. del Rio has a target on his back,” Z said. “Don’t know how he’s lived this long. I understand he’s given up half his territory in the last ten years.”

  I watched the rain fall in the alley between the strip mall and the row of old storefronts along Highland. A man in a tattered raincoat peed against a brick wall. I drank some coffee and wondered how the weather was in Boston. No matter the rain, it had to be at least forty degrees warmer. I’d worn only a black T-shirt with Levi’s and a pair of Nikes that morning.

  “How did everything go with Jem Yoon and Gabby’s laptop?”

  “She’s looking for any mention of HELIOS in Gabby’s emails and files,” he said. “And she’s trying to find that sex video with Yamashiro, since Yamashiro has cold feet about sharing.”

  “If it exists, let’s pray it’s as short as Yamashiro,” I said. “I don’t know if I can stand a double feature.”

  “There are thousands and thousands of emails and pictures to go through,” Z said. “But nothing has really stood out. I’ve been slow and methodical. But what struck me is that nothing Gabby posted online was distinctly personal. Very few photos with friends or details beyond good food and good California vibes.”

  I drank coffee and watched the rain, leaning back in the old wooden chair. When Delores turned to ask Z a question about billing, I craned my head over my shoulder and gave her my million-watt smile. She acted as if she didn’t see me.

  As I contemplated where we should go next, my phone buzzed on my leg. Someone named M. Riese had texted me. M. Riese said they were with HELIOS and would be glad to meet me at any time about their organization. I texted back: How about now?

  M. Riese agreed and sent me directions to a restaurant not far away.

  “Hot date?” Z said.

  “That woman at the center must have been more concerned than she let on,” I said. “Message from someone named Riese, like the psychologist.”

  “Could be a setup,” Z said.

  “I certainly hope so,” I said.

  “Maybe bring Chollo with you.”

  “If I can pry him away from selling churros.”

  “I’ll stay on what we know about the Armenians,” he said. “I have a buddy who works with the Feds. He’s pulling Vartan Sarkisov’s file. Should give us a good place to start. Maybe some kind of connection to Yamashiro or his security people.”

  “You might be more useful with one hand than with two.”

  “Online detecting, yes,” he said. “Not with Jem Yoon. She’s made several highly offensive jokes regarding my delicate condition.”

  “Maybe she’s worried certain acts might be harmful,” I said. “And best tackled alone.”

  “I’m wounded,” he said. “Not dead.”

  “Excellent point.”

  “Would Susan ever suggest such a thing?” Z said.

  I picked up the file and tucked it under my arm. I reached for my coffee. “Only when she’s angry.”

  20

  Imet a woman named Mallory Riese at The Henry in West Hollywood. The restaurant was decorated like a mod Parisian bar, with soft leather furniture, softer glowing lamps, and dozens of small o
il paintings. There was a full coffee bar and patisserie and an entire wall filled with newspapers and magazines. The outdoor patio faced a concrete plaza and sat empty in the rain.

  Riese waited by the windows, a cup of coffee before her. She stood and offered a smooth, delicate hand with very long fingers. She had large black eyes and slick black hair. Her eyebrows had been professionally arched and she had a pair of winsome dimples in her cheeks. Her clothes were black, neat, and professional. A simple pantsuit and a white silk top open wide with lapels spilling on her coat. A golden sun pendant hung from her neck.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” she said. I figured her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, too young to be Haldorn’s HELIOS partner.

  “Thank you for texting,” I said.

  I set my damp ball cap on an empty chair beside me and looked up as a waiter filled my water glass.

  “You gave one of our night attendants quite a scare,” she said. “You can only imagine the kinds of people who walk into our offices.”

  “Aren’t outreach centers for outreach?”

  Riese smiled at me, touching the edge of her coffee, steam swirling from the top. “During normal business hours,” she said. “Yes. But I heard you stopped by after we were closed?”

  I smiled. “The door was open.”

  She smiled back. “We have so many satellite centers,” she said. “Perhaps you should have tried our main office.”

  “Which is where?”

  Riese didn’t answer as a waiter appeared and I ordered a coffee. “I’m sure you understand this is a very private group with many high-profile members,” she said. “We are very selective about our time and only answer serious inquiries.”

  “So you checked me out?”

  “We wanted to clear up any questions or misconceptions you might have.”

  “Why would you think I have any misconceptions?”

  “I heard you were looking for one of our members,” she said. “You said that she’d gone missing?”

  “Gabby Leggett,” I said. “She’s originally from Boston and has been in California for the last two years.”

  “I don’t know Miss Leggett,” Riese said. “And I definitely wasn’t aware we had any missing members.”

  “Her mother hasn’t heard from her in two weeks,” I said. “There’s an active police investigation that I’ve been hired to supplement.”

  “Sometimes our members go off the grid for a while,” she said. “They eschew the use of modern devices and go on extended retreats. We promote the idea of retreating from modern life and getting back to our primitive selves. People have become entirely corrupted and enslaved by technology.”

  “Not me,” I said. “I just got an iPhone a few years ago.”

  She smiled at me, showing off her dimples, as if I were joking. “How do you spell her name again?”

  I told her. I was about to tell her how to spell Spenser, too, but recalled I’d left a card at the HELIOS center. I didn’t want to be patronizing.

  “We don’t monitor activities of all our members,” she said. “But I’d be happy to check with our people. Perhaps there’s been some miscommunication.”

  “No miscommunication,” I said. “Her mother paid for me to come all this way. I’ve been looking for her for three days straight. And my associate was shot in the arm while we searched.”

  “Shot?”

  “Although he was grateful for not being shot much lower,” I said. The waitress appeared, heard the word shot, and turned on a dime, not wanting to interrupt us.

  “And you think this has something to do with the disappearance of Miss Leggett?”

  I nodded. My coffee arrived and I added a single sugar. I stirred slow and neat and tapped the spoon at the edge of the cup.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “My detective senses were heightened when one of the shooters told me to quit looking for Miss Leggett or he’d kill us.”

  “Oh my God,” Riese said, putting her hand over her mouth. If she was acting, it was impressive. “We will do whatever we can to assist anyone in the HELIOS family.”

  “Is that what it is?” I said. “A family?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “Simply put, our goal is to assist our members in becoming more successful human beings.”

  “And how exactly does that work?”

  Riese looked bemused, tilting her head. “I wish it was simple enough to explain over coffee,” she said. “But our teachers and our leaders have spent decades of their lives training to perfect what we do. Even those at the highest level are still learning. We’re not just a couple of seminars you attend. HELIOS is a lifestyle.”

  “Ah,” I said.

  “I’ve been studying with HELIOS since I was fourteen,” she said. “My mother is a trained psychologist. She and Joe Haldorn originated the method nearly a decade ago, based on some of her research at Stanford.”

  “I’ve read about your mother,” I said. “I don’t want to brag, but my girlfriend has a Ph.D. from Harvard.”

  “Really,” she said. “I’m sure my mother would love to meet her. She might be able to understand all the hard work that goes into our seminars.”

  I smiled. I drank some coffee. All was right with the world. “I’ve read more about your leader, Mr. Haldorn. He seems almost too good to be true.”

  “Joseph Haldorn has accomplished about everything in life he’s set out to do,” Riese said. “From athletics to music to academics, he has done so much that at one point he got bored. He wanted to share his talents with the world.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s truly amazing.”

  She folded her long, delicate hands over each other and gazed right at me. Her eyes seemed even darker and bottomless up close. Behind her, beyond the glass, I watched as two men in black raincoats passed by the window at separate intervals.

  They both tried to glance furtively from the small plaza into the restaurant, without much luck. I could tell one of the men had a shaved head. The other, at a distance and in the rain, might have been one of the shooters from the garage.

  I kept listening to Mallory Riese, touching the edge of my coffee mug. “I heard you’ve really done some amazing things for Jimmy Yamashiro,” I said, throwing a curveball into the dark.

  She continued to smile, keep eye contact. She gave a little shrug. “Should I know that name?”

  “Jimmy?” I said. “He runs one of the biggest studios in L.A.”

  “Mr. Spenser,” she said. “Again. I can’t talk about our members or our methods. You’ve come to us concerned for the safety of one of our people. And we will do our best to assist you and her family.”

  “So you can confirm Miss Leggett is a member of HELIOS?”

  “Again, I don’t know that name,” she said. “We have thousands and thousands of members in four continents. But if she’s part of our organization, I promise to do everything humanly possible to reach her. And if she’s missing, as you believe, we will assist the authorities.”

  “How can you assist if you can’t even tell me the first thing about what it is you do?” I said.

  One of the men in the raincoats had doubled back along the plaza. He stopped to look at his watch, head hidden deep under a hood, and then kept walking toward the sidewalk along Robertson.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “You didn’t happen to ask some friends to accompany you?”

  “No,” she said. “Why would I do that?”

  I didn’t answer. I was pretty sure I’d been followed from Z’s office. But I couldn’t rule out the possibility of these men being close-and-personal friends of Mallory Riese’s. Despite her dazzling style and nice dimples, she might be content as hell to have me shot in the back.

  “May I reach you at the same number?” she said.

 
“You may.”

  “I’ll make some calls,” she said. “We prefer to head off any issues with our members before information has gone out to the press.”

  “Are you asking me if we’ve spoken to the press about Gabby?”

  She didn’t answer. She sat up straighter and pulled her shoulders behind her, lifting her chin up. She had a very neat and precise way of talking.

  “My mother has devoted her life and her work to forming HELIOS,” she said. “You must understand that I’m very protective of her legacy.”

  “And you should understand, the more I know,” I said, “the less I have to reach out to outside sources.”

  I thanked her for her time, picked up my Greenville Drive cap, and stepped back out into the rain. I walked the opposite direction from where I’d parked my rental, glancing in storefront windows, waiting to see if the gentlemen in black raincoats followed.

  21

  Robertson Boulevard was close enough to Beverly Hills to feel its silly effects. There was Chanel, The Ivy, with its celebrity clientele barely hidden by a white picket fence, a designer boutique selling matching clothes for couples, a medicinal marijuana distributor that resembled an Apple Store, and a luxury pet store called Max Bone. I darted into the pet store to see if the two men might pass rather than wait for me. And perhaps find a gift for Pearl while I was at it. Leather collars, even the smallest, started at more than a hundred bucks. Dog shampoo cost nearly fifty.

  As I reached for a knitted sweater made for either a Chihuahua or a well-groomed rat, I saw one of the men. He walked under the canopy of the shop, hood down around his shoulders, exposing his bald head. When he turned, I knew it was one of the men from the garage.

  I set down the pink sweater and felt under my jacket for the leather strap over my gun. I unbuttoned the strap and turned back toward the door.