by Blake Pierce
“I can guess why you’re here,” Morant said once they had settled in. “But rather than make assumptions, why don’t I let you tell me?”
“Sure,” Trembley said, taking the initiative he was missing yesterday. “We have some questions about your client, Corinne Weatherly, who died on Sunday night.”
“I’ll do my best to answer everything I can, within the bounds of attorney-client privilege.”
“Wait,” Trembley said. “I thought you were her agent.”
“I am. I’m her lawyer and her agent,” he said, smiling before adding, “She’s my sister and my daughter.”
Jessie got the reference but pretended not to. She didn’t think it was all that funny.
“You must have been very upset when you heard about her death,” she said, reminding him of the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh, yes, unbelievably. It’s awful. She was a genius at what she did—underappreciated too. I think people will look back in ten years and realize what a momentous loss it was.”
“You were her agent for how long?” Jessie asked.
“Four months,” he said. “But I was a fan for many years prior to that. And we had a very close working relationship. I feel it here.”
He tapped his chest dramatically.
“You were her entertainment attorney only?” Trembley asked. “Or personal as well?”
“Well, if she had faced some kind of criminal issue, I would have obviously farmed that out for her. But in general, I was all-purpose. And in light of that, it will be doubly painful for me, having to unravel her estate while in mourning.”
Listening to Morant go on, Jessie suddenly reached her limit at putting up with his performative shenanigans.
“Can we cut to the chase here, Mr. Morant?” she asked. “I’m sure your time is valuable and we don’t want to waste it.”
“Of course,” he answered. As he did, Jessie noticed his body language change. His whole demeanor went from friendly and expansive to coiled and closed off. It was like he was waiting for the bell to start the first round of a prize fight.
“We know about the list,” she said simply.
“What list is that?” he asked, officially perplexed.
“The blackmail list. Listen, Mr. Morant. We’ve talked to Phil Reinhold and we’ve also spoken to Corinne’s husband. It’s pretty clear that the former didn’t have the chops to use the list the way she wanted. And I’d be surprised if she even confided in Willem that it existed. She needed a shark to help her use the list the way she wanted. And you’re a shark. You work at the agency where the list was first generated. You were mentored by the very man who created it. You probably have every name on it committed to memory.”
“Do you have a question for me, Ms. Hunt?’ Morant asked, appearing uninterested.
“I do,” she replied. “I want to know who on that list was aware that Corinne Weatherly was using it to extract better contracts, and who among those folks was especially upset about it.”
He sat quietly for a moment, twiddling his fingers as he sat on his silly faux throne. Even before he spoke, she knew he would be lying. Though she’d never met the guy before, she was already picking up his tells, one of which was an almost vibrating sense of excitement when he knew he was about to try to pull one over on someone.
“I have no idea what list you’re talking about,” he said with a wide smile stamped on his face. “It sounds like something illegal. And I’d never associate myself with illicit activities.”
“We have a copy of the list,” she said, ignoring his protestation. “Our tech people are working at accessing it as we speak. They may have already cracked it. So denying your awareness of it won’t help. The information is coming out no matter what. But you have the opportunity to be on the side of the angels. You can flag people we should be looking at.”
Morant, whose face had remained locked in that unmoving smile, didn’t even blink.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re referencing,” he told her. “I’d love to be of assistance but I’m just at a loss.”
Trembley leaned in and added a thought.
“Maybe we need to get a warrant to review your files and find the ones that might refresh your recollection.”
Jessie didn’t visibly react but her felt her insides sag slightly. Trembley was playing a losing hand and didn’t seem to know it.
“Detective Trembley,” Morant began slowly, seeming to relish what was to come, “while I appreciate your threat, I have to tell you, it rings hollow. You’re more than welcome to try to get a warrant. But you may find it difficult to find a judge who will allow you to pore over confidential client files, no matter how innocent.”
“Not all your files are related to your work as a lawyer,” Trembley countered. “Some deal with your role as agent.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. We’ll have to hash that out in the courts. And as you may have noticed, this entire floor is comprised of people with legal training, all of whom can be deployed to block, delay, and defeat whatever you send our way. You’re welcome to take us on. But I have to warn you, in the most friendly way, that you are almost certain to lose, at least in the short term and possibly in the end. If the head of Sovereign Studios eventually capitulated to us, I don’t think two goober cops from Downtown Division are going to make us sweat.”
Jessie, who could sense Trembley getting agitated, jumped in before he could respond.
“Why so combative, Mr. Morant?” she asked. “If there’s nothing to hide, why hide anything?”
“Because it’s fun,” he answered without guile.
“All right,” she said, standing up as she tried to mask her frustration. “I see that we’re at impasse. But I have a warning for you, Mr. Morant. We’re investigating a murder. And if we find that you’ve obfuscated facts that could have helped find Corinne Weatherly’s killer, it will go very badly for you. It’s one thing to operate an informal escort service and use it for blackmail. It’s something else entirely to obstruct justice in a murder case. You will eventually go down for the former so I recommend you reconsider helping us. We can reach a deal but not if you help protect a murderer.”
Morant stood up too.
“Thanks so much for your time,” he said, not directly responding to her comment and not extending his hand. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Count on it,” Trembley said emphatically as they walked out.
“Make sure to have Jenna validate your parking,” Morant reminded them amiably as they walked back down the hall.
Jessie didn’t respond. She was too focused on her losing hand. But then she remembered that the game wasn’t over yet.
I still have one card to play.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“This seems desperate,” Trembley said, not for the first time.
They were headed back to the studio to play Jessie’s last card.
“Listen,” she replied. “We’re at an impasse here. Morant was right. Even if we got a warrant, the CTA lawyers would drown us in motions and paperwork for months. It won’t help solve this case. Besides, we already have the list. The tech folks will crack it soon. If we want to make a case for pandering, it will need to come from that. We can hand the info over to Vice. Morant was only useful to us as a guide, to let us know which names to focus on. Without his help, it might be useless in our investigation.”
“So it was a wasted trip,” Trembley asked.
“No. He’s the reason we’re going to see Remy Haughton.”
Remy Haughton was the president of Sovereign Studios. Even Jessie had heard of him. He’d been the president of a major studio longer than any of the other current heads, eleven years. He was known as a charmer and glad hander in public and a ruthless negotiator behind the scenes.
“Remind me why again,” Trembley asked.
“Because Jake Morant mentioned that Haughton had capitulated to CTA. He wasn’t specific but we were
talking about Corinne and the list when he mentioned that. So it stands to reason that the dispute they had involved one or the other, possibly both.”
“You think Haughton is on that list?”
“I think it’s possible,” Jessie replied. “Or maybe someone else in a sensitive position at the studio is. He’s the guy who would have greenlit production on the Marauder reboot, right? Maybe he was convinced to do so by material on that list.”
As they approached the studio’s main entrance, Jessie noted that the small memorial to Corinne Weatherly that had been set up on the sidewalk was bigger now, comprised of more posters, candles, and many white roses. There were about a dozen people milling about, some wearing outfits from her movies. A few were singing.
Jessie and Trembley were now well-known enough to the guards at the gate house that they were waved in through the employee line to save time. A guard directed them to Haughton’s office by circling a location on the increasingly familiar studio lot map.
They walked over to the building and removed their weapons before passing through the metal detector at the building’s entrance. It was the first one they’d encountered anywhere on the lot. Looking first at the guns, and then at the badges they flashed, the eyes of Rudy, the bored guard manning the detector, popped wide open.
He called ahead to warn Haughton’s people what was coming their way, then gave them laminated badges and told them where to go. They took the elevator to the third floor. When it opened, a petite woman in her thirties was standing there waiting.
“Hi, I’m Maura, Mr. Haughton’s executive assistant. Rudy let us know you were on your way up and Mr. Haughton asked me to escort you back.”
Unlike Alana, Miller Boatwright’s assistant, Maura was dressed in business attire and projected the no-nonsense attitude of someone who’d been on the job a while and knew how to handle almost any situation. She opened the door to Haughton’s outer office and then swiped her key card to enter the interior.
As they followed her down the hall, Jessie noticed that this place was much less ostentatious than Boatright’s. There were a few posters and paintings on the wall, but there were also children’s drawings thumb-tacked to corkboards.
“Who’s the artist?” Jessie asked, pointing to one image of a green sun shining over a purple ocean.
“The kids of everyone in the office contribute,” Maura said. “That one was done by my son.”
They reached Haughton’s door, which was cracked open. Maura knocked.
“The detectives are here,” she said, pushing the door wide.
Haughton was on a call and held up a finger to indicate he was almost done.
“I’ve got to go, Jerry,” he said mildly. “I’ve got an impromptu meeting but I’ll call you back after.”
He hung up, then stood up to greet them. Jessie had seen photos of him before and he looked essentially the same in real life. The man was distinguished but not imposing. In his late fifties, he was just starting to lose a bit of his silvery hair. He had a slight paunch and a solid collection of wrinkles. He wore slacks and a dress shirt, but no tie. He oozed unpretentious confidence.
“I assumed we’d run into each other at some point,” he said, shaking hands and then leaning back on his desk. “I’m Remy Haughton. You must be Detective Trembley.”
Trembley seemed surprised that anyone would know his name in advance and nodded silently. Haughton turned his attention to Jessie.
“And this is the infamous Jessie Hunt in the flesh—catcher of killers, rescuer of the innocent, righter of wrongs, and refuser of life rights deals. Is refuser a word?”
Jessie shrugged.
“I’m more focused on the ‘infamous’ thing,” she replied. “Is that how I’m perceived?”
“I only meant that you’re well known by both your admirers and your haters. Everyone’s got a take on you.”
“As I’m learning,” she said, about to dive into the nitty-gritty. Haughton beat her to the punch.
“So I won’t insult you by asking how the investigation is going. I’m sure you’re not able to share details. But I’m here to help in any way I can. Please sit.”
He motioned to several chairs. Jessie noted that all of them were of equal size.
“We’ve been driving all morning,” she said, “so I prefer to stand. But we’ll definitely take you up on that help. What can you tell us about a compromising list we’ve heard about?”
Haughton readjusted himself on the desk, seeming to honestly ponder the question.
“That’s a loaded question, Ms. Hunt. I’m privy to a number of lists that could be described as compromising. But for the sake of expediency, I’m going to assume you’re referring to the Bad Boys list?”
“I haven’t heard that phrase,” Jessie conceded. “But if we’re talking about a list of powerful men who like to have young actresses procured for companionship, I think we’re on the same page.”
“I think we are too,” he said. “And honestly, that name is just one I use for the sake of brevity. It’s nothing official. What would you like to know about it?”
“Are you on it?” Jessie asked pointedly.
“I am not,” he answered without hesitation.
“How can you be sure?” Trembley asked.
Haughton looked at him with amusement.
“Because I’ve never engaged in that kind of behavior,” he said simply. “I’ve been happily married for thirty-three years.”
“Are any of your executives on the list?” Jessie followed up.
He paused, but only briefly.
“This gets into a bit of a tricky area. I’ve never seen this list but I’ve been informed that some folks in our organization are on it.”
“Who informed you?” Jessie asked.
“Jake Morant at CTA.”
Jessie was slightly surprised at his forthrightness but proceeded as if she’d expected the response.
“Without naming names, as I’m sure you won’t do, did Mr. Morant say that any executives or producers associated with the Marauder films series were on the list?”
“He did.”
We’re on a roll now.
“Did he suggest that you tell these people to reboot the series so as to prevent their names from becoming public?”
“He did.”
“Is that why the film was greenlit?” Trembley joined in.
Haughton looked at him with the mildly condescending expression of a teacher who was impressed that the quiet kid asked a question in class.
“Only in part,” he said. “I was already toying with the idea of rebooting the franchise. We own the rights. It’s been half a decade since the last one so it seemed ripe to monetize, especially if we could bring in an edgy director. To be honest, I was reluctant to hire Corinne back based on her well-known reputational issues. But once Jake made his ‘pitch,’ I reconsidered and eventually embraced the idea. It’s like going back to basics—a return to a more high-brow horror premise with the original actress attached. The film sells itself so marketing is easy.”
“But it didn’t pan out that way?’ Jessie prompted.
“Not so much,” Haughton allowed. “Corinne was as difficult as ever. The director, despite his talent, was a challenging combination of weak-willed with her and a bully with everyone else. We were over budget and over schedule even before this tragedy occurred. It’s a mess.”
“What about Miller Boatwright?” Jessie asked, intentionally switching topics without warning.
“What about him?” Haughton asked. “He not involved with the Marauder series.”
For the first time, Jessie sensed a hint of disingenuousness. She asked her next question carefully.
“No. But he did produce her first big hit, the Petals movie, and his name was written on the mirror in Corinne’s trailer. Did they have a combative relationship?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Haughton said without pausing to think.
Jessie nodded and walked over to one of
the chairs.
“I think I will sit down for a bit,” she said, before continuing. “How did she get that role again?”
“She auditioned and beat out hundreds of other actresses.”
“No special favors traded,” she asked, almost as if it was an afterthought.
“Of course not,” Haughton said, straining for self-righteousness. “She was the best choice for the role. I think the box office and critical response bears that out.”
“All the same, we’d like to take a look at some of the production files from the project,” she said.
“Production files?” he repeated.
“I don’t know all those fancy movie terms,” she said, making a token attempt at looking ashamed. “Help me out here, Trembley.”
He complied without hesitation.
“Casting call paperwork, audition tapes, call sheets, script draft revisions, that sort of thing.”
Haughton was still smiling warmly but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“Certainly, I’d be glad to help. You’ll just need to go through the official channels, get a search warrant, that sort of thing. Then we’ll happily open up the vault for you.”
Jessie sensed they’d touched a nerve.
“We can absolutely do that,” she said sunnily. “But maybe you can help expedite the process so that we can hit the ground running. We’ll just start looking through the materials and then, when that search warrant comes in, we can give it to you as a formality.”
“Oh,” Haughton said slowly, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. “I would do that right now if it was up to me. But I can just hear our general counsel when he found out. The guy would have my head if I didn’t follow proper procedure. Since I rather like my head, I think it’s best we stick to doing everything by the book.”
Jessie could see how this elaborate game between them was going to play out but she made her next move anyway. She didn’t want there to be any illusions about what was really going on.
“I completely understand your position, Mr. Haughton. You’re the head of a major studio, and as such, you’re justifiably risk-averse. But we’re talking about a murder investigation of a once-beloved actress. I saw the impromptu memorial in front of the main gate. Fans are lighting candles and singing songs from her movies. And you seem like a really good guy. That’s why I worry that it might look bad for the studio, and even for you personally, if it got out that the leadership of Sovereign Studios was stonewalling the efforts of ‘infamous’ criminal profiler Jessie Hunt as she tries to bring Corinne’s killer to justice. I don’t want you tarred with that label.”
