They parked and walked over to the film’s set. It took only a few moments for Bella to spot a cameraman she knew who pointed them towards Chris Weaver’s trailer.
She knocked on the door and Chris answered almost immediately, shaking her hand and then Peter’s. “Come on in, guys. Bella, great to meet you. You’re one of Stefan’s favorite people ever.”
Chris was plump, bearded, short, and looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably seen him in a dozen movies without ever knowing his name. This was the difference between being a movie star and a character actor. Stefan, because of his looks, was a movie star. Chris Weaver was an actor.
“Good gig this time,” he said, smiling. “Have my own trailer. I play the frumpy district attorney.” He pulled on his beard. “This thing’s driving me crazy but the real guy has one. Itchy as hell.” Pointing at the small table and chairs, he asked if they wanted to sit. “Stefan told me you want to talk to Jocelyn but didn’t say what about.” He held up his hands in a gesture of submission. “Not that I need to know. Or want to know, most likely. She’s on set today—just saw her at the craft table. Do you guys have a way to get her to talk to you?” His brown eyes were curious. All actors were curious about everything, all the time.
“I thought I’d just flash my badge,” said Peter.
“Wow, man, that’s cool. I played a cop once,” said Chris. “The fat sidekick.”
“Oh, sure, I saw that movie,” said Peter. “Saw it with my real partner, Brent. He was bitter—says the sidekicks are always portrayed as overweight.”
“Totally,” said Chris, grinning. “But I’m here to represent the ugly fat guys.”
“You’re adorable,” said Bella. “And a great actor.”
“A great actor no one’s ever heard of,” said Chris. “And I like it that way. Stefan and I go way back and I hate the way he’s hounded wherever he goes.”
Peter nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t stand it.” He glanced at his hands, shaking his head. “My wife’s an actress and I’m not sure I’m ready for it if she becomes well known.”
Bella explained that Cleo was taking Tiffany’s role. “Cleo went to school with Graham Rouse.”
“The producer?”
“Right,” said Bella, flushing.
“Stefan says he’s a douche,” said Chris.
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” said Bella with a glance at Peter.
“Dude, super sad about Tiffany,” said Chris. “I worked with her years ago. She had the chops back in the day.” He opened the mini-fridge and reached inside, pulling out several bottles of water. “You guys thirsty?”
They both took one and sat at the small table.
Chris joined them, wiping condensation from his bottle of water with his shirtsleeve. “Not that Tiffany would’ve even remembered me or anything. It was one of my first movies—I had only had three scenes or something—but they were all with her and she was huge then. There were hundreds of screaming fans outside the studio every night waiting for her.” He shook his head, obviously remembering. “And her sister—wow, I had the biggest crush on her.”
“You did?” asked Bella. “Sabrina?”
“Totally gone for her. She seemed so smart and was impressive, you know, especially to me, being new to Hollywood back then, how she worked the industry and the press and everything. But she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“Did you ask her out?” asked Bella, intrigued by this insight into Sabrina. She must remember to tell her. Maybe there was still a chance for them?
“Once.” His eyes clouded over at the memory. “She said something like, ‘Don’t you mean my sister?’ And I was like, ‘No, I mean you,’ and I swear she looked through me like I was a ghost, and then she pointed at her scar. ‘What? You’ll pretend like it’s Tiffany if I’m angled the right way?’”
“No way,” said Bella. “That’s harsh.”
“Completely. Sent a shiver down my spine. I’ll never forget it. Something so broken about her I didn’t see until that moment. You know how that is sometimes?” Chris stood, gesturing toward the door. “Anyway, let’s go see if we can find Jocelyn. Talk about a piece of work. I’m surprised I’m not madly in love with her, actually. She’s as crazy and mean as they come. Totally my type.”
They found Jocelyn sitting with one of the associate producers near a table lined with sandwiches and fruit with an open flask in her hand. So much for rehab, thought Bella.
Peter introduced himself, showing his badge.
“This about Tiffany?” asked Jocelyn.
“Yeah. I just have a few questions,” said Peter.
“Why’s a Seattle cop investigating a murder in Oregon?” she asked, standing, pushing long brown hair out of her eyes. She was tall and slender, almost pretty if it weren’t for pockmarked skin and a crooked smile. And an overly exuberant nose job, thought Bella. Who the hell was her plastic surgeon? The man or woman should be court-martialed.
Peter shrugged. “We have our reasons.”
“Why should I talk to you?”
“Do you have anything to hide?” asked Peter.
“No.”
“Then why not?”
Jocelyn shrugged. The numerous bangles around her wrists made a clattering noise. “Fine.”
“You want to use my trailer?” asked Chris. “You know, for privacy.”
“That’d be great, doll,” said Jocelyn. She took a swig from her flask, smacked her lips, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Come on then.” She pointed at Bella. “This your partner?”
“Yep,” said Peter.
“You’re kinda pretty for a cop,” said Jocelyn to Bella. “I know a way you could make a lot more money.”
Bella laughed. “That’s okay, I’ll keep my day job for now.”
***
Back in Chris’s trailer, they sat at the table. Peter took out his notepad without taking his eyes from Jocelyn Zinn, who returned his gaze without so much as a flinch.
“What’s up?” she asked, taking another swig from her flask.
“When was the last time you heard from Tiffany Archer?” asked Peter.
She crossed her arms over her small chest. “It was at my house. A month ago. The day my client book went missing.” She was matter of fact, and quiet, almost eerily so, thought Bella.
Peter proceeded to fire questions at her, one after another, matching her calm tone. “You think she took this client list?”
“No doubt in my mind.” Jocelyn’s eyes flickered, like a cat watching a fish bowl.
“Why?”
“Because a week later, four of my best clients, extremely high-profile, called me to tell me they were being blackmailed. Didn’t know by whom. But I know.”
“Why Tiffany?”
“Tiffany’s bad news. And she was broke. Doesn’t take a cop to figure that out.” Well, maybe not, thought Bella. If Carrot Cop was any indication.
“Did this make you angry?” asked Peter.
“What do you think?” Jocelyn’s eyes flipped to Bella. “Could you look in the fridge and see if he has any beer?” She pointed at the miniature refrigerator near Bella’s feet.
Bella, without getting up from her chair, opened the refrigerator door. Six beers were lined up neatly on the top shelf. “Corona or Sierra Nevada?”
“Is there any lime?”
“No lime,” said Bella, stifling a smile. This Jocelyn Zinn was nothing short of outrageous in the best possible way. That is, unless she was a cold-blooded killer in addition to being a boozed up madam. She needed a reality show. Why hadn’t any of the idiots running this town figured that out yet?
“Sierra Nevada then,” said Jocelyn.
Using the opener on the top of the fridge, Bella popped off the cap and handed Jocelyn the beer. What would come next? She had a feeling it would be shocking. Something about Madam Zinn guaranteed it. Regardless, it was better than anything television provided, she thought, settling into her chair to enjoy the show.
<
br /> Peter shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flat. He didn’t like Jocelyn Zinn. Bella could tell by the way his handsome features had turned stony. He was no fish in a bowl. No, more like a panther meeting a mangy alley cat. Neither would back down, despite the ferocity of the other.
“Angry enough to kill her?” asked Peter, as if the conversation about the beer hadn’t interrupted his questioning.
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, probably.”
“Probably?”
“I didn’t, but I would’ve liked to. I would never take the risk of murder—I have no intention of going to jail if I can help it. It’s impossible to commit the perfect murder. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ball?”
“In my line of work we like to think so.”
“Wasn’t sad to hear she was dead. Got rid of a bunch of my problems. But I didn’t kill her.”
“Did you send men up to Oregon to get your client list back?”
Jocelyn’s grip around the beer bottle tightened but her face remained passive. “Is that a crime?”
“Could be.”
“I wanted what was rightfully mine. She could’ve hurt a lot of people with the information in that book. So yeah, I sent my guys up there to get it. A pair of private detectives I use frequently…for various things.”
“And did they?”
She played with the silver locket that hung just above her breasts. “They did not.”
“Did they kill her looking for it?”
Jocelyn took a long swig of her beer before looking Peter directly in the face. “No, they did not. They would not have, as those were not my instructions. And they’re private dicks, not hired killers. It’s my understanding hired killers are much more expensive.”
“Why should I believe, given how much you had at stake, that you didn’t hire those thugs to murder Tiffany Archer?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, like a sassy teenager in the principal’s office. “You can believe it or not. Regardless of your unfounded suspicions, it’s the truth. None of this is complicated. I’m a businesswoman hell-bent on protecting my clients. I’m not a whore like the girls who work for me. I’m not a murderer. Nothing’s worth taking some silly bitch’s life, no matter how perfectly worthless she was.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and then moved her beer in a circle around the table. “They followed her the night she was killed but got nowhere. Some guy picked her up outside of the bar where they planned to confront her and convince her to give them the book.”
“Miss Zinn—”
Jocelyn interrupted him. “Ms. Zinn.”
“Ms. Zinn, do you think either of these so-called private investigators you hired are capable of rape and murder if pushed far enough, despite your lack of orders to do so?”
“Tiffany was raped?” Jocelyn’s stoic mask cracked for an instant before being reassembled. Was it Botox or a cold heart that made her features so unreadable?
“Yes. Perhaps they broke in and decided to rape her and then murdered her to hide the rape?”
“No. I don’t.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Both my boys are gay. They’re married to one another, actually. Ceremony just last month. Strangest thing you ever saw—two men who look like they should be Marines fighting in one of those God awful countries, saying I do and kissing on a Santa Monica beach.” She crossed her arms over her chest again and must have dug her feet into the floor because her chair tilted back several inches. “Plus, they weren’t in her room that night.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Depends on if anyone saw them go back to their hotel. After she left with the man at the bar, the tools had the brilliant idea of dealing with her in morning.”
“Where were they staying?”
“How should I know?”
“It’s important you remember because it could determine their innocence without question.”
“How’s that?’
“The murderer had to be a guest at the hotel. Surveillance shows no one but the man who picked Tiffany up that night entering the lobby after eleven.”
Jocelyn bounced the bottle cap back and forth between her hands like a game of air hockey. “Okay, give me a minute. It’ll come to me. Something like Second Chance Inn or something. Told me some stuffy gay boy runs it and he had an unexpected cancellation so they were able to get a room there.”
Linus’s inn. The detectives couldn’t have killed her.
“I want to talk to your henchmen,” said Peter. “How do I get in touch with them?”
“My detectives have an office on Wilshire.”
Peter wrote something in his notebook. Then he took a business card out of his suit jacket and set it on the table. “Call me if you think of anything that might be helpful.”
“Stop by my place sometime. I’ll have my girls take good care of you.”
“No offense, Madam Zinn, but it would be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot in your establishment or laid a hand on any of your girls.” He shuddered. Yes, physically shuddered, thought Bella. She must remember to tell Cleo his reaction.
“And why is that exactly?” asked Jocelyn with a slight smile. How could a smile be so thoroughly nasty?
“For one, it’s illegal. Two, your business is debasing to women. Three, I have no intention of exposing myself and therefore my wife, who’s an angel I’m privileged to have by my side in this cruel and unpredictable world, to whatever diseases your girls, as you so affectionately refer to them, may or may not have. And four, I’m married. It means something to some people.”
Jocelyn laughed. It was husky and sarcastic. “Go easy now, choir boy. There’s such a thing as condoms.”
Peter’s mouth was a straight line. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for talking with us.”
“My pleasure.” Again, the nasty smile before she left, leaving her empty beer bottle on the table.
“So much for rehab,” Bella said to Peter.
“Vile woman.”
“You think?” She chuckled and poked him on the arm. “Choir boy. I’m going to call you that from now on.”
“I’ll have you know I used to be a player. I’m retired now.”
“Now that you’re married to an angel.”
“Exactly right.” He opened the door for her, stepping aside so she could pass. “Let’s get something to eat on the way. I’m starving.”
“I know a great taco truck.” They stepped out into the bright sunshine of late afternoon. The palm trees swayed in a warm breeze. She squinted, looking at the sky. It was actually bright blue today without the usual haziness that came with smog.
“God no. Do you want to be poisoned? How about vegetarian Thai or sushi?”
“Poisoned?” She searched the bottom of her bag for her sunglasses.
“Those places are not clean. And the amount of grease in that food can clog your arteries in one sitting.”
“It’s impossible you were once a player.”
He laughed. “Being health conscious and a player are not mutually exclusive.” He put on his sunglasses. “Now watch your step. The sidewalk’s uneven.”
***
Bella took Peter to a sushi place in Beverly Hills, not far from the private detectives’ office. The weather was a pleasant 72, as it so often was, although not usually in October. Peter was quiet during lunch, nibbling on a plate of sashimi he dipped in low sodium soy sauce. Bella could only imagine what his sharp and precise mind was doing with everything they’d learned thus far.
She picked at her spicy tuna roll, thinking of Ben, of his face as he was hauled into the police car yesterday. Peter’s cell phone rang. “It’s your brother,” he said to her. “Hang on.”
His face turned from serious to grave as he listened to Drake. After a minute or so, he hung up, running a hand through his hair and staring at the table.
“What is it?”
He looked up at her. “They set the bail at a million
dollars. And the District Attorney held a press conference. They’re going for the death penalty.”
A roar started between her ears. What she’d eaten of her lunch felt as if it might come up. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Peter dipped a napkin into her water glass. “Put this on your face and take deep breaths.”
“What’re we going to do?”
“We’re going to find the killer.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Well, first we’re going to interview those two assholes and find out what they know.”
***
They found the private detectives’ office in an alley off Wilshire Boulevard. The two men were as Ben described, clean-cut and in their early thirties with an air of having served in the armed forces. Bella would never have guessed they were gay. These weren’t the kind of gay boys she was used to. The taller one by several inches was Matt Reed. He was fair skinned and blond, trim and muscular, but with a bland expression that seemed never to change. His partner, in life apparently as well as business, was Jose Torres. Obviously Latino, given his dark eyes and skin, his expression was as apathetic and unreadable as his partner’s, except for eyes that seemed to display an inquisitive nature.
“You know why we’re here?” asked Peter as they took seats in a small conference room adjacent to the main office.
Matt nodded but didn’t say anything.
“It’s our understanding you were in southern Oregon, with the intent to recover Ms. Zinn’s book? Is that right?”
“Yep,” said Matt.
Jose pointed at Bella. His head was almost square, emphasized by the way he wore his hair short and spiky. “Who’s she?”
“My partner,” said Peter.
Matt shifted his eyes to Bella. She wanted to cringe under his scrutiny but held steadfast. No way was this guy going to intimidate her. “Bullshit. Where’s her badge?”
“I’m a friend of Ben Fleck’s,” said Bella. “He’s the man that picked Tiffany up outside the bar. Remember him? You know when you were following her into the parking lot? He was arrested for Tiffany’s murder this morning.”
Matt, without moving a muscle, asked, “Did he do it?”
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