"Nooooooooo…!"
When it was over, she lay beside him for a long time, stroking his hair until he fell sound asleep.
He was good. At least for now. He would be faithful to her. If she had to proceed without him at some point, so be it. But until then, he was her slave. This powerful brutish muscleman. Her willing slave.
She gathered her belongings and slipped out the front door.
I left Darcy outside to scout the grounds. Probably not the best use of his talents, but I couldn't take him inside a porn studio, even if they weren't filming at the moment-especially after that last conversation.
Inside, I was greeted by Gina Berend, the woman who had served as Danielle Dunn's top aide and vice president of her company. Her face was perfect-as far as I could tell, it never moved-and her attire was immaculate, but for all that, the stress emanating from her was palpable. After the loss of Danielle, she was running the business. Moreover, I also got a distinct feeling that she was mourning the loss of a close and dear friend, someone she not only admired but loved.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me," I said, shaking her hand. I tried not to stare at her face. She was obviously a master at the art of makeup, what my mother used to call "putting on her face," a talent at which I was so inept that I rarely tried. All hail the natural girl, right? "I know this must be difficult for you."
"It is," Gina said softly. There was no trace of the martyr in her voice; it was a simple statement of fact. "But I want the man who hurt Danielle caught."
"I understand. We all do. That's why I've been brought in on the case."
"So I gathered. Although I don't know what I could tell you that I haven't already told the detectives."
It isn't a matter of you telling me something you didn't tell Granger's troops, I thought. It was a matter of asking the questions they wouldn't think to ask. "How long had you known Danielle?"
"Almost seven years now. I came on board about a year after she formed her own company."
"So you weren't the first vice president."
"No. Or the second, for that matter. A series of men who had considerably more experience in the straight-to-video world preceded me. But none of them stayed long."
"Why is that?"
"Pick your own explanation. Most of them complained that Danielle was difficult to work with, which is ridiculous. She was a perfectionist, true. She had a vision of what her films should be and she remained true to it. But she was never difficult. I think those men just had a problem accepting a woman as their boss. Perhaps you've had some experiences along that line yourself."
"Once or twice." And I didn't have the added credibility problem of having worked as a porn actress. "The two of you hit it off?"
"Almost immediately." She gestured toward a chair in the front lobby. The furniture was functional but not plush. The only items hanging on the walls were clippings and magazine covers featuring the deceased president of the studio. "It was more than just personality. It was like…I don't know. I understood what she was trying to do. So many women have a negative attitude toward porn that they simply couldn't comprehend, much less embrace, what Danielle was trying to do. But I got it, right off the bat. At DannyDunn Studios, our productions aren't about female subjugation. They're about female empowerment."
"So I've read."
"Have you seen any of Danielle's pictures?"
"I'm afraid I haven't." And wouldn't admit it if I had.
"You might be surprised. The scripts may follow a formula, but they're smart, witty. She looked for actors based upon their ability to actually act, not the size of their genitalia. Even when she shot straight-to-video, she insisted on top-flight lighting, quality sound, elements that might be invisible to the average viewer, but made a huge result in the final product. That's why people are able to distinguish a DannyDunn film from others, why people became devoted fans and repeat customers. After you've been to Disney World, the school carnival just isn't all that exciting anymore."
"I can appreciate and admire anyone who tries to do their best work," I said. Even if I still thought the work was of dubious merit. "I know you've been asked this before, but can you think of any reason why someone might want to kill Danielle?"
"I wish all they'd done was kill her." Gina's face hardened. "You're asking if I know why anyone would want to torture her. Mutilate her. And the answer is no."
"Did she have any enemies?"
"She had competitors." Gina walked behind the desk just beside the front door and pulled out a ledger. "More than one small film studio bit the dust because DannyDunn commanded such a huge market share. And it was well known in the industry that she was the heart and soul, not to mention the brains, of the company."
"If she went down, so did the studio."
"So they might think. I'm going to do my damnedest to keep it going. To keep Danielle's dream alive."
"Good for you." I couldn't believe I was cheering for a woman to keep churning out pornography. But such was the depth of Gina's feeling; it oozed sincerity. "Can you give me a list of some of these competitors?"
"I can. But how does that explain the-the-" She could hardly make herself say it. "The torture. The…decapitation?"
It didn't, and I didn't believe for a minute that this crime was committed by some stogie-chomping pornmeister. But I had to at least consider the possibility. "Did Danielle ever receive any threats?"
"Sure. All the time. It was inevitable. Every time she got a little publicity, every time a magazine did a feature piece on her, some of the desert rats would come out of their caves and send her hate mail. Some of it was from women-you know, Take Back the Night types who still clung to the tenuous link between pornography and sexual assaults. But most of it was from men. Very religious men. People with bad penmanship and worse spelling who called her the Whore of Babylon or the Witch of Endor or whatever trite and misapplied biblical allusion first popped into their heads. Of course, it was always clear from the letters that the authors had watched her films. Probably several of them. Probably done the solo nasty while they conducted their research. And then, rather than facing up to their own guilt, blamed it all on Danielle."
Disturbing. Mostly because it made me wonder if Granger's lame "sex prude" theory might possibly be correct. "Did you report these letters to the police?"
"No. What good would it do? It wasn't as if they were signing their names. We thought they were all impotent mother-fixated nutcases. Vile but harmless."
"And yet, someone did come after Danielle. Someone who clearly was…not entirely sane."
"Yes," she said, her chin lowering. "I know. But I still can't believe it was any of these whack jobs. At the end of the day, they'd be more likely to bad-mouth Danielle at a tent revival meeting than commit an act of violence."
I had to admit that the enormity of the event, the amount of planning and detail-weird detail-suggested that something else was at hand. But there had to be more to this than fervent sexual prudery. I didn't know why this man picked Danielle for his next victim. But it wasn't because of the movies she made. "Could I get copies of the letters?"
"Your detectives already took them."
I nodded. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"Just this." Gina sat beside me on the sofa, about as close as two women could sit without one of them getting nervous. "Danielle was a good person. A genuinely good-hearted person. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise. She came from a very difficult background. Kicked out of her home when she was sixteen."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't tell. I know her mother was an alcoholic and abusive, but Danny didn't talk about it. From that age on, she made her own way in the world. And there weren't that many opportunities for a sixteen-year-old girl on her own in Vegas. She did the strip joints, then the adult films, but she never let it get her down. And she never stopped planning, never took her eyes off the prize. She knew she was capable of doing bigger, greater things, and when the opportunity
came, she seized it. She built something wonderful-more than that. She built something important. How many people can say the same?"
A good and valid question. But if I was going to find her killer, I couldn't afford the luxury of canonizing her. "Did Danielle have any…secrets?"
"No." A beat. "Not that I know of."
I've had so much experience at this that now, I'm not always sure what I'm listening to-my inner instincts or the telltale traces that even the most gifted liars couldn't erase. But I was definitely getting some flashing lights from the seemingly guileless Gina. None of the obvious signs like her eyes drifting to the left; after all, she wasn't inventing, she was denying. On the other hand, I had detected a hesitation, slight, but the first I'd encountered yet in a conversation that she'd had at least twice before with other detectives. For whatever reason, her subconscious had to think a nanosecond before she gave her answer. She blinked, and now, as I stared at her without answering, she shifted her crossed legs and began to tap the floor with her left toe. Her breathing remained steady, her face didn't flush. She held her hands together in her lap.
"Do you suppose there were some secrets you didn't know about?"
"I-don't have any reason to think so."
"Ma'am, I urge you not to hold back anything that might conceivably-"
"I'm not." Her voice rose with the denial, both in pitch and volume. She shrugged, not very convincingly. She smiled, but it was lopsided, asymmetrical. "I mean, there's hardly anyone in town who has had more written about her than Danielle did. Everyone knows her past, her troubled childhood, how she rose from bit actress to major industry player. What secrets could there possibly be?"
That I didn't know. But every word Gina spoke convinced me that there was something. "Once again, I have to emphasize the importance of not withholding any information that might help us find the link-"
"I assure you, I'm not. Danielle was the most up-front person I've ever met. She had no secrets."
"A boyfriend, maybe?"
"Not at present. She had dated here and there, but…it never really took."
"A girlfriend, then."
"The characters she played in the movies were just that. Characters. Fictional."
"So she wasn't dating anyone on a regular basis?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"I'd imagine she would be an intimidating partner. Someone that confident. Self-assured."
"True. And I think…well, to be blunt, she was just too smart for that. She didn't need a man to make her life complete. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying she was gay. I'm just saying…her life was already whole. Do you understand?"
"I think, perhaps…"
"I notice you're not wearing a ring. Are you married?"
I felt my back stiffening. "Not anymore."
"I guessed as much. You've got a full life. You don't need a man to tell you who you are."
A full life. I felt a powerful aching at the pit of my stomach. If only it were so. I didn't need a man to tell me who I was. I needed a man to tell me why I should get out of bed every day. To tell me why I shouldn't order a double scotch and pour the whole bottle of Valium into it and No. I had to stay on task. "Could I see Danielle's office?"
Gina shrugged. "I guess. But the detectives have already gone over it with microscopic scrutiny. I don't know what you could see that they didn't."
"It's not a matter of seeing something different," I replied. "It's a matter of seeing it with a different set of eyes."
"All right. But I'll warn you." She tilted her head slightly to one side. "Her office is not what you might expect."
21
Gina had been right; Danielle Dunn's office was not what Iexpected. I imagined a professional environment-mahogany tables and desks and large windows and eighteenth century maps hanging on the walls. A lawyer's office, or an accountant's. What I found looked more like a pre-adolescent girl's dream hideaway.
"She didn't entertain clients in here," Gina explained. "This was just for her."
"I can see that," I said quietly.
"Is there anything else…?"
"No. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to be left alone. It's easier for me to listen."
Gina blinked. "Listen? To what?"
"To the room," I said, closing my eyes.
The soft click of the door told me Gina had exited. I let my mind wander, burrowing down into deep contemplation of what I had seen. This office was a little too obvious to be the secret I'd sensed Gina was withholding. But it was a start in the right direction. At least, I hoped it was.
The predominant color was pink. Curtains, wallpaper, mostly plastic furniture. Pink. There was no desk as such, but the center of the room had a round plastic table, low to the ground. More a playground than an office. Someplace to play pretend games with your Barbies. Though to be fair, I spotted no Barbies, or Kens, but an entire wall of the room was covered with stuffed animals. Bears, giraffes, koalas, dogs, and cats. Lots and lots of cats.
I opened my eyes. Why would she do this? Even if it was restricted from unfamiliar visitors, there was always a chance someone might stumble in. How could this place help her maintain her reputation in the business world? What was its purpose?
Its purpose, I realized, was to make Danielle happy. To recapture the innocent childhood she never had. To give her a place of retreat. Escape. Based on what I'd read, that seemed to be the theme that permeated all her films. Sure, they were sexual fantasies, but they also had strong strains of escapism. Pirate stories, outer space tales, Jane Eyre-like sagas of strong women finding a place for themselves in the Victorian world. None of them involved little girl fantasies; catering to that fetish would've been too controversial. So why did she indulge in it herself? What was she trying to accomplish? What need did this satisfy? What had she lost that she was trying to reclaim?
I wasn't going to find the answers to my questions just standing around. I strolled through the room, brushing my fingers on the artificial surfaces, looking for anything out of the ordinary (that is, more so than the entire room), anything that might give me a clue to who Danielle Dunn really was. I opened a closet door and found a toy collection that would be the envy of the richest kid in Summerlin. But there was no Trivial Pursuit, no Monopoly, no Scrabble, nothing a self-respecting adult might play. It was Careers and Mystery Date and Talk to Me Girlfriend. A huge collection of dolls, I think they were from that woman's collection, Madame Whatever. Or maybe Marie Osmond. And American Girls. I wasn't sure. What I knew about dolls you could fit in a thimble. There were bead kits for making jewelry. Crafts kits for making homemade bookmarks, valentines, calendars. Tons of books, but all of the same sort-Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, Z is for Zacharias, Black Beauty.
My first impression was that she was trying to recapture her lost childhood, but she left home when she was sixteen, an age when I would've expected her to be well beyond most of this stuff. Rachel had been through a bead jewelry phase, too, but that was a good long time ago. No, there had to be something more going on here. If only I could figure out what it was.
I closed the closet door and examined the pictures hanging on the wall. They were all of Danielle. Sometimes she was paired with other people, but she was always present. There were no family photos, no pics of mom and dad, no siblings. Most were promotional photos taken from the sets of various films. In one, her blond hair was tightly tied, giving her a youthful, almost innocent look. She was either very young or skillfully using makeup to convey that illusion. In the next, her face was surrounded by blond ringlets and she was wearing a low-necked Regency costume. I could only imagine what the film must've been. Pride and Prejudice, with explicit sex. Did Elizabeth get it on with D'Arcy, or perhaps one of her sisters? It made the mind reel.
The only photos I found that didn't appear to be stock shots, either taken on a set or by pros at celebrity events, were on a table in the corner that presumably functioned as Danielle's work space. The top of the desktop was almost the ant
ithesis of my own-tidy, organized, and devoid of paper. Was Danielle a neat freak, or had Gina done some after-the-fact expurgation? At any rate, in one corner, she had framed a series of pictures that showed Danielle surrounded by large numbers of small children, hordes of them. Dorothy surrounded by munchkins, except the munchkins adored her.
How did a notorious porn star manage to make public appearances with children without being inundated by objections from the PTA? Where were these taken? Public schools? YMCAs? In some, she appeared to be handing out gifts, the same type of fuzzy fluff that filled her office. What could be the purpose? Usually, when celebs choose their charities, they target groups that might create goodwill that would lead to business opportunities. But there was little chance that these toddlers were going to become porn flick aficionados anytime in the near future. Every appearance must be fraught with controversy and a million hoops to jump through. Why did she do it?
And how did that relate to her secret? If it did. Maybe it was the Valium coursing through my system, but I had the distinct feeling I was not in top form. My antennae were not firing like they should. I was missing something. I knew it. And I hated myself for it.
I found one more photo, tucked on the wall behind an elaborate two-story dollhouse, one big enough to house Barbie, Skipper, and their entire extended family. She was holding a stuffed animal and dressed in a rather skimpy undergarment and Wait. I was missing the obvious. I didn't need Colin to point out the punning that was going on here. She was holding a teddy; she was wearing a teddy.
I peered at the photo, once again letting my mind wander. What did it mean? Why had she allowed this one anomalous photo in this child's paradise? Granger and his team must've spotted it, and I could imagine the snarky macho remarks it must've engendered. But I saw it as something more. Like maybe the key to the puzzle.
I turned back to the shelf inundated with stuffed animals where E.T. could've easily hidden. Took me almost five minutes to find the one I wanted. The bear she was holding in the picture. I wasn't certain, but I believe the distinctive cap and attire identified this furry gentleman as Paddington Bear. I think. Like I said, I was more a stickball and riding-my-bike-with-no-hands kind of girl.
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