by Sean Black
‘Any information?’ Lock asked her, as she stepped away from the couple she’d been talking to.
‘Nada. Raven Lane keeps herself to herself. Most of the neighbors had no idea what she did for a living until tonight. Or, at least, that’s what they’re saying. I’m not sure any man is going to admit he recognizes a porn star when his wife’s standing next to him.’
They waited a couple more hours, then Lock called the cell-phone number Raven had given him. She picked up straight away.
‘I’m at the end of the street,’ he said.
Maybe now that she’d had a chance to collect her thoughts, she’d change her mind about needing his help. He was hoping she would.
‘Let me see if they’ll let me leave,’ she said. ‘The guy from the Threat Management Unit is here too. Would you like to speak to him?’
‘That would be great,’ said Lock. He got out of the car and took a look down the street. The uniformed cop he’d spoken to earlier and who was now helping to secure the perimeter glared at him. Lock waved the fingers of his right hand at him. The uniform said something to the officer standing next to him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t complimentary.
Lock ignored him, focusing on the house in the street with the greatest concentration of vehicles parked outside. It was about six down on the left-hand side.
The San Fernando Valley, which was where they were now, was cheaper than the prime real estate on the west side of the city. It divided up into nice neighborhoods, and not-so-nice neighborhoods. It was also further from the coast and, as the name suggested, its topography made for a hotter climate. In high summer the temperature could reach 120 degrees Fahrenheit for weeks on end. However, even with sweltering conditions and a shitty real-estate market, Lock guessed you wouldn’t be left with much change from a million dollars for the house he was looking at.
With its neatly trimmed front lawn dotted with flower-shaped sprinkler heads, its newly painted white exterior and freshly varnished white oak front door, it certainly wasn’t the kind of place you’d associate with a stripper. Of course, the open garage door at the front lowered the tone of the whole neighborhood: it was being swarmed over by a whole host of forensics techs. Inside, he could just about glimpse what he assumed was Raven Lane’s car, a dark blue BMW sedan.
Lock had been so busy studying the house and all the activity that he had barely noticed the woman walking through the police line towards him. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail revealing delicate features, and the most striking violet eyes he’d ever seen were set above high cheekbones and a turned-up nose. She walked with a sense of purpose, looking straight ahead, but there was a vulnerability to her as well. All of a sudden the million-dollar house made sense to him.
This was a woman whom men would go to war over. And it looked like one, in his own sick fashion, already had.
Seven
Next to Raven, a hefty guy with a bushy head of tight black curly hair, wearing grey slacks and a white shirt with a shoulder holster, struggled to keep up. Lock guessed that this was one of the officers from the LAPD’s Threat Management Unit. He hoped he was good at catching stalkers because, judging by the roll of fat spilling over his belt, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be much use stopping one if they came after Raven.
As she got within twenty feet of them, he noticed that Raven was carrying a clutch handbag, which was bulging at the seams. Maybe she was packing. He wouldn’t have blamed her.
She slowed as she reached him and put out a hand towards him. ‘Mr Lock?’
Lock’s hand engulfed hers, but she shook with a firmness of grasp that surprised him. ‘I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances,’ he said. ‘How are you holding up?’
Raven shrugged.
He kept his eyes on her face. Not looking at a woman’s breasts, or lack thereof, was the quickest way of building rapport with a young, attractive female client.
‘You Googled me on the way over, right?’ Raven said.
‘Why do you say that?’ Lock asked her, slightly taken aback at her directness.
‘The way you just looked at me. Guys who know who I am usually act weird when they meet me. Either they’re super-aggressive if they’re with their buddies or they act like it’s their first day at grade school and their mama forgot to pick them up at home time. But you, you’re different. You’re trying to give the impression that I’m like any regular person.’
Lock smiled. ‘You’re not?’
She shook her head. ‘Now you’re taken aback that I’m not a bimbo. You know, people think because I use my sexuality to make a living that it’s the only thing I have going for me. Am I right, Mr Lock?’
Lock smiled again. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
She turned to the cop standing behind her. ‘This is Lawrence Stanner from the TMU.’
Stanner and Lock shook hands.
‘Lawrence can fill you in on what they know about the creep who’s stalking me,’ Raven said.
Lock registered the use of the detective’s first name.
‘Actually, I can’t,’ Stanner interrupted. ‘We have an active homicide investigation running here.’
Lock nodded. ‘I understand.’ He could work on the information-sharing once they’d established what his role would be, if any.
An EMS ambulance nudged past them in no particular rush, its siren silent.
‘So, you want me to make sure you come to no harm while the police find this guy?’ he asked. He was waiting for Stanner to bristle at the suggestion that the LAPD’s role might be usurped, but Stanner didn’t react at all, save to run a hand through his Brillo pad mesh of tight black curls.
‘Got it in one. Now,’ Raven said, opening her clutch purse and pulling out a brick of dollar bills still bound by the white paper bank seal, ‘here is your first week’s payment.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘If that’s acceptable?’
Lock did his best not to show any surprise at the block of money. ‘You always carry this kind of cash around?’ he asked her. There was probably close to ten thousand dollars in the brick.
‘Usually I’m holding singles,’ Raven said, the corner of her lips threatening a smile. ‘I mean, this is enough, right?’
Lock took a few steps back, careful to maintain eye contact with her. ‘Look, I can save you most of that money. Go get yourself a first-class plane ticket. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Buy a ticket last minute to New York. Then get on another flight to Europe. Go see the Vatican. Get drunk in Ireland. Eat snails in France. But get out of here until the police have done their job.’
Raven closed her eyes, her face suddenly tired. ‘I wish I could do that, believe me. But it’s not an option. I have responsibilities here.’
‘Ms Lane,’ said Lock. ‘Your main responsibility is to stay alive. Any other responsibilities you may have can’t be dealt with if you’re not breathing.’
Raven checked her wrist watch. It was a Cartier. It looked like a real one too, not a Hong Kong knockoff you’d find in LA markets. Lock had priced one at Christmas for Carrie, but even with business booming, the amount had scared him off. She looked at him and Lock found himself drawn by the soft violet tone of her eyes. ‘I don’t mean to be rude here but I need protection, I was told you’re the best person to provide it, and I’m prepared to pay your rates.’
Lock held up his hand to stop her. ‘Who told you I’m the best?’
‘Lawrence did. He knew you were working out here. Now, are you going to help me? Because if you’re not, I need to find someone who will.’
Stanner stepped in and pulled Lock to one side, away from Raven. ‘We have to cover city officials, all the schools in the LA district, a lot of Hollywood people, plus all the aggravated stalking cases, and you wouldn’t like to guess how many of those we have running currently. Now, we would never ask a citizen to pay for extra help, but with the state’s budget problems, and if they have the funds …’ He trailed off.
Lock glanced back towards the
house. One of the techs moved away from the trunk of the car and he caught a glimpse of the torso, the stump of the neck sealed with a sheet of clear plastic. ‘You have any idea who the body in the trunk belonged to?’ He directed the question at Stanner.
Stanner stared at him.
‘Sorry, I forgot,’ said Lock.
‘Procedure,’ Stanner said.
Lock took a moment to think things over. Raven was being stalked: Stanner’s presence confirmed that much. The body in the trunk confirmed a real threat to her life – if she hadn’t put it there herself, which was always a possibility. Leaving that aside, though, there was definitely a job to be done and Raven had the funds to pay him to do it.
On the other hand, there was something off about the whole thing. Why would a stalker dump a headless corpse in Raven’s trunk when, for the same amount of effort, he could have kidnapped Raven herself? It didn’t add up.
‘So, what do you say, Mr Lock?’ Raven asked him.
Before he could answer, a red-haired woman in a bathrobe emerged from the house next door. Shrugging a patrol officer out of the way she made a beeline towards them. Instinctively, Lock stepped in front of her, placing himself between her and Raven as she launched into a tirade.
‘We know who you are, you know,’ the woman was shouting, ‘and what you do for a living. No one wants someone like you next door to them. We have kids.’
Lock caught shock and anguish on Raven’s face as it reddened. He stepped towards the woman. ‘Get out of here.’
Stanner nodded to a nearby patrol officer. ‘Jimmy.’
Still screaming at Raven, the woman was ushered away. Lock turned to Raven, but she was already walking back towards the house, her head bent in defeat. ‘Hold on,’ he called to her. ‘I need to make a phone call first. Run this past my partner.’
Digging his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans, he pulled up Ty Johnson’s number on speed dial. They had met while serving in the military, Ty in the Marine Corp and Lock in the British Royal Military Police, but now they both worked in private security, Ty serving as Lock’s second-in-command. Ty was not going to be happy about being woken, and even less happy about Lock asking him to cancel the vacation he was about to take.
Ty picked up on the fourth ring. ‘I’m visiting family, dude.’
‘I need you back in LA right now.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that, brother. Who’s the principal? Listen, if it’s one of those Hollywood types you can forget it. They’re way too high-maintenance.’
Lock smiled to himself, ready to play his trump card. ‘Well, she is an entertainer. And she’s definitely going to be high-maintenance.’ He sensed he had piqued Ty’s curiosity.
‘She?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘What’s her name?’
Lock told him. There was a spluttering sound at the other end of the line.
‘The Raven Lane? You mean – the porn star?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Lock said. ‘You’re visiting family. I shouldn’t have bothered you.’
In the background, Lock picked up what sounded like Ty getting out of bed. ‘No, it’s okay, man. The lady’s in trouble. Family can wait.’
Eight
A blood-orange sun hung above pristine red-tiled rooftops as the van from the Medical Examiner’s Office withdrew, the headless body riding out of sight in the back. Along the street, daylight had robbed the Hallowe’en lanterns perched on front steps and the paper decorations of ghosts and goblins tacked inside windows of their menace.
Along with the early-morning sunshine, the Santa Ana winds had begun to pick up again, the hot breezes bringing with them a fresh swarm of paparazzi – word had leaked out of the headless body’s identity. Latent heat, pushed into the ground by nightfall, seeped from the sidewalks, raising the temperature and fracturing tempers. More patrol cars arrived with uniformed officers to manage the blossoming crowd.
Word was also coming in of a brush fire north of Malibu, the first of the season, and Lock was glad that they’d brought Angel with them rather than leaving her back at the beach house.
At the sawhorse barriers erected at the end of the street, one of Raven’s neighbors was trying to negotiate his way through the crush. A more aggressive paparazzo started snapping pictures of him, and the guy got out of his car to remonstrate, letting loose with a torrent of F-bombs. ‘What the fuck, man? I mean really, WHAT THE FUCK?’ he bellowed. ‘I got my kids in the back of the car and you’re taking pictures. Fuck you, you fucking lowlife piece of shit.’
The patrol officer whom Lock had spoken to earlier stepped in to quell tempers with a threat to both men to either calm down or do the rest of their talking in jail. It was going to be a long day, thought Lock, who had grabbed five minutes with Carrie.
‘I think I have a name for the victim,’ Carrie said, lowering her voice. ‘Cindy Canyon. Her real name was Melanie Spiteri. She was an adult performer, like Raven.’
‘Was she being stalked as well?’ Lock asked.
Carrie shrugged. ‘All I have is a name so far. You think it might be the same guy?’
‘You don’t think it’s a possibility?’
‘I thought stalkers tended to fixate on one person.’
‘They also tend to be less of a nuisance than someone prepared to cut someone’s head off, then stick the body in the trunk of a car.’
‘True,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m going to head back to Malibu and make sure the house is okay. Should I see about us extending our stay?’
‘You want to stay out here?’ Lock knew that Carrie had work commitments back in New York.
‘I spoke to the network. They’re happy for me to be here for a few more days.’ She turned, taking in the familiar media circus with a sweep of her eyes.
‘I’m going to have to hang out here,’ Lock said, apologetic.
‘Don’t worry. I already ordered a cab. I’ll take Angel with me.’
Lock leaned in for a kiss. Carrie’s acceptance that when he was on a high-risk job it took precedence was one of the things he loved about her. ‘Thanks.’ He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you really okay with me doing this?’
Carrie reached up to stroke his cheek. ‘I trust you. And, like I said, every woman has a right to be safe in her own home.’
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I love you. You do know that, right?’
Carrie smiled. ‘I know. Now go give some bad guy the good news.’
She turned away from him and whistled for Angel, then started towards the cab that was pulling up at the police barrier. He watched her go with a twinge of anxiety, wishing he didn’t have a job to do right now. Then he turned back towards the house. There was a lot to do in a very short space of time.
The techs from the LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division were finishing up their initial work as Raven emerged from the house, her face concealed by a hooded top, baseball cap and sunglasses.
‘They seem to be done talking to me,’ she said to Lock, walking past him. ‘I need to pick up my brother. We can use your car, right?’
Lock put out a hand. ‘Hold up. Your brother?’
Raven stopped and turned. ‘He was staying at a friend’s last night. I need to go pick him up.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘He doesn’t drive?’
‘You’ll understand when you meet him,’ Raven said softly, smiling at Lock.
‘Is there anyone else, or is it just you and your brother who live here? It’s important that I know.’
‘It’s just us.’
‘No boyfriends?’
Raven peered over her sunglasses at him. ‘I’m kind of burned-out on men.’
‘Okay then.’ Lock squared his shoulders, bracing himself to face the squall of media attention. ‘Wait here. I’ll bring the car over.’
The drive gave Lock an opportunity to talk to Raven about the stalker, and to begin making some
basic arrangements. Guarding her twenty-four-seven, even for a short period, was going to be a challenge.
If he’d been a cop, he would have tried to brow-beat her into going into hiding, not that it would have done much good, judging by her attitude to it so far. But he wasn’t a cop, he was a close-protection operative, and the reason people hired CPOs was to keep them safe while they went about their daily business.
To their left they could glimpse the large white buildings of the Getty Center up on the hill. Even though she lived less than seven minutes’ drive from the place, Raven was staring at it like she was noticing it for the first time. Lock took the relative calm inside the car as his cue.
‘So,’ he began, ‘tell me how this all got started.’
She exhaled, and ran a hand through her jet-black hair while the sun caught the deep violet of her eyes. ‘In my business, you can attract weirdos. I mean, dancers and porn stars are like freak magnets, right?’
‘I know you’ve been through this all before with the cops, but the more I know the better I can protect you.’
Raven ran her hands down her face and settled herself. ‘Okay, so I get a lot of letters, you know?’
‘To your home?’
She shook her head. ‘No. And I never talk to anyone about where I live. I don’t have guys back there either. Not with Kevin.’
‘That’s your brother?’
‘That’s right. So anyway’ – she was quick to shift subjects, Lock noticed – ‘I have a company. RLC. The Raven Lane Company. That’s where I run my fan club from. Most of my mail goes to a mailbox I’ve set up.’
It was all very corporate. The more she talked, the more Lock was getting a picture of someone who was very much in control. He’d always assumed that people in Raven’s line of work were flaky, but she seemed to approach the entire thing primarily as a money-making enterprise. ‘You said most of your mail. Where does the rest go?’
Raven dug into her clutch purse, pulled out a pack of gum, and offered a stick to Lock. He declined. ‘If I’m dancing at a club, people send me stuff there. Like the note.’
