“Well, I don’t know what you two talked about in there,” she ventured boldly. “But you certainly came out in a good mood.”
“We cleared the air, my darling wife. We went through decades of history and arrived at the present. By way of Mister X, of course. And we’ve both admitted we’re over that, and don’t want to hear his name again.”
Nobody noticed that two people didn’t look up from their plates.
Pete lifted his glass to confirm this fact, like a toast.
“To Old King Leo, for the last time. We have to respect him in his role of catalyst, he played a fateful role in our lives, and now he is again. Chances are he’s suffered more than we did. At least we don’t have to hide from anyone. Poor bastard, what kind of life has he had? Lonely, I bet. And look at us, it’s like old times. Right, Barry?”
“Here’s to it, man,” said Barry, clinking glasses with Pete.
Here’s to what, was the question in his eyes.
CHAPTER 26
Wrightman Security Inc., Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles – Tuesday
Cortez rose to greet the young security guard when he walked into the lobby to find his guest, easing the obvious reaction he expected from Vince Axle with a warm firm shake and his winning smile. As an experienced FBI agent he could discern the impact, although it appeared on the younger man’s face for a second only. It was on such tiny revelations that Cortez gained his success over the years. He loved the challenge of gaining someone’s confidence without having to hold up the famous badge. His one and only Armani suit and the accessories that went with it were what counted here in L.A., and in a company that rated their clients by money and style.
This is going to be fun, he thought as Vince awkwardly ushered him into a small conference room, not his office, indicating that his employee ranking was on the level of small open cubicle. That was a useful detail to make use of somehow.
“Where do we start?” Cortez asked cheerfully. “Actually, I’ll answer my own question. Let me introduce myself again. Here’s my card. My business has something in common with yours. Security. Believe me it will be the buzzword of this century. Ours is the very confidential recovery of missing persons, somewhere between collection agency and bail bondsman, with government connections of a sort. We seem to be looking for the same person.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” Vince glanced at the card. “But you said he was employed by your company.”
“He was on our payroll, yes. After that time he lost contact and we’ve recently found a need for his services. For reasons I can’t divulge. You could call it sources and methods.”
“Sounds important.”
“Our problem, Vince, is that neither of us know his current identity. It’s possible he will be using one of several. I’m hoping you can give me a person to connect him with. That will be enough for me to track him down.”
He looked hopefully at Vince but there was no response.
“Which I must do, I hope you understand, with utmost care and discretion because of client confidentiality. Hate to use that word, but he has the potential to disappear easily.”
“Understood. I’ve got confidentiality here, too. My client doesn’t want his name to be revealed.”
“If there’s a contact you can supply me with then I will most certainly give you all the information I get. There’s no reason not to, and you will be able to satisfy your client’s needs. And get paid for it, I hope.”
Vince grinned. “No problem there. What I do know is that a trusted friend of my client saw Rivkin recently in a late night club in L.A.”
“Who?”
“Madeleine Raleigh. She was a star of some kind back in the sixties, everyone knew her. Here’s the coincidence. She turned up at the Rose Bowl for the Swindon Lodge show last week. I was on the VIP security gate.”
“Who was she with?”
“She was alone, and I never saw her again. So that’s a dead end. I don’t know the name of the club either.”
“Is there a time factor in your delivering the man’s current identity and whereabouts to your client?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Then we have an understanding. That 800 number on my card gets my answering service. Feel free to leave a message if you like. I’m always on the move. Be assured I will call you as soon as I get a lead.”
They parted like compatriots. This was perfect. Cortez knew he was way ahead of Vince Axle. Next stop Miss Stapleton. It only took a twitch of the brain cells for him to imagine a connection between this Madeleine and the sixties story the other woman was researching. Rivkin’s embarrassing escapade in England. That was it. He thought her name was familiar. It was falling into place. This was going to be easy.
CHAPTER 27
Pete’s House
The atmosphere during the morning following their dramatic reunion dinner was convivial and a great relief to everyone in the household. Tony’s mum, who knew nothing of the details but was accustomed to being in the eye of the storm without asking any questions, exercised her authority role in the family by making fresh croissants for breakfast and watching the ecstatic, ooohs and aaahs as people slapped on the butter and homemade apricot jam and gobbled up every one of them.
Neither Barry nor Carol really wanted to leave, and allowed themselves to be persuaded that before they drove back up north they should walk down to the local public house for a late lunch and a few glasses of ale. Barry relished being in the company of superstar Pete, especially in the pub, where he was recognized immediately and patted on the back more than a prize cow. Pete was gracious and amicable. Ling Pai didn’t join them at the pub, nor Mum.
But Carol and Tony were in full conversation, ambling along together like old friends while Tony told her that he intended to keep up the good connection, and he would be calling her, quipping to Barry that he was not to be jealous. Pete jested by adding that Barry had nothing to fear from Tony, who was married to his mum and her home cooking anyway.
There was no talk of Mister X and none of them knew that the fast car whose motor they had revved up was now being driven by someone else on the other side of the Atlantic.
CHAPTER 28
Outside Ann’s Apartment – Tuesday
Cortez decided it wasn’t such a bad day for the first one of tracking Ann Stapleton; he couldn’t expect a bull’s-eye too soon, and he was learning something about the environs of Los Angeles, at least those chosen by this particular lady. He’d started off early in the afternoon at the office of the Weekly Independent, charmed the receptionist with a two-step about an appointment he thought he had, finding out that Ann Stapleton was not a regular office worker but was definitely on her way in during the next hour. He’d watched her arrive from a doorway across the road, but she was out again so fast he almost had a heart attack getting back to his carefully parked car before she drove out of his sight.
The rest of the day was spent following her discreetly to a health food store, three book shops, a lending library, dry cleaners, then a couple of hours waiting outside a small movie production office off Melrose, before she finally led him to her home in what he now knew was West Hollywood. It was a sigh of relief that at least he now knew where she lived, and could use that as a base from which to wait patiently and hopefully for her to lead him to Leonard Rivkin.
That seven o’clock turned out to be the end of her day was something of a disappointment, and waiting another five hours to be sure of that fact was tedious, but the stakes were high and he filled his thoughts with optimism.
He’d selected a small hotel in the area for price and convenience, but when it came to finding a place for dinner he was disappointed again to find one that didn’t have a crowded gay clientele. It wasn’t the gay part, that never bothered him; it was that zest and noisy chatter. It didn’t suit his mood, so he ended up in an even noisier place on the corner next to the Troubadour which reminded him of New York.
CHAPTER 29
Long Beach Audit
orium
Vince Axle didn’t smile much on the job. He considered it a professional obligation that his size and presence be a serious threat to troublemakers, whether they were sports fans or music hysterics. He’d noticed lately that potential mayhem seemed to thrive amongst the teen rock fans. As well as keeping his keen eyes roving around the crowds, watching for violent movements, he kept himself busy thinking a lot. Inside he laughed at the ideas he came up with, this solitary gladiator, and how surprised most people would be at the intelligence he possessed, behind the grim face atop the massive body.
He’d spent most of the night thinking hard about the visit from Cortez, working out what was phony about the man and why. He knew he should try to check him out on the office computer, but he hadn’t yet. The machine intimidated him for one thing. He’d managed to follow very confusing instructions for the $500 he was getting from the man Reggie. Vince was more interested in direct contact, with the visual aides to guide him, and his gut instinct, which never failed.
On a gut level he looked at the facts. A handsome, well-groomed middle-aged black dude in an expensive suit turns up out of nowhere in response to an enquiry he’s registered for a man’s name. A surprisingly immediate response. That was a mystery in itself. He tells Vince nothing, but is more interested in finding out the man’s whereabouts himself. That’s provocative. He hands over a business card that could have been printed this morning. He casually mentions ‘government connections’. That really tweaked the curiosity.
Vince was pleased with himself for being quick to withhold one vital piece of information: the people Madeleine Raleigh left with. He saw them, and knew she must have met them in the green room, so they would be on Swindon Lodge’s backstage pass list. What really rankled him was the superiority that the black man conveyed. Treating him like a dork. Therefore I’ll behave like one, Vince decided during Prince’s hopefully last encore song.
CHAPTER 30
Pete’s House, Virginia Water – Wednesday
Pete, Tony and Ling Pai arrived at the outside gate, now slowly opening to admit them after an early morning run. Tony was doing most of the panting, Pete was still in good form though his face registered relief to be back, and Ling Pai looked ready to do it all over again. She sprinted ahead, calling over her shoulder.
“Yoga in ten minutes, Pete.”
“Okay, dear,” said Pete, rolling his eyes at Tony, with a resigned half smile.
“Can I have a word, Pete? Before you go in.”
Pete put his hands on his hips, bent over, took some huge breaths in and out, and nodded.
“Something interesting I heard. Vis-à-vis Madeleine’s call the other day. Just chewing the fat over the phone with one of my management friends in the States, Reggie actually. On my private line.”
“What then?”
“She met that Mister X through an old friend of hers. She didn’t just run into him in a club.”
“Really now? Who was it? Anyone we know?”
“Yes, actually. None other than Ann Mayberry, she’s Ann Stapleton now. I barely remember her, but you would. She was the girlfriend of Tarquin…”
“Blimey, of course I do. A very serious little dolly bird she was. Never saw her since the funeral, she vanished. This is a mindblower you came up with, Tony.”
“Yeah, she works at something called The Weekly Independent.”
“Great. Well, keep me up to date on anything else you find out. Only out of curiosity, mind. I’ve left that whole era behind.”
“Right you are, guv.”
***
Pete and Ling Pai lay on their yoga mats in the final prone position after an intense hour of stretching and breathing. The music had come to an end. Tony, on the other side of the door, had timed their regular session and knew it was safe to give a knock and walk in, clearing his throat politely, another ritual.
“Just another thing, Pete. I’m scheduling the Bentley for an oil change and tune up for the next two days. Anything you need it for that’s not on my calendar?”
“No, mate. Matter of fact I’m going to Los Angeles, just made up my mind lying here. Got to talk to those two record companies, and might as well see the persistent film geezer, you know the one. So about three days. Wouldn’t mind leaving tomorrow, back Monday. Put me in that new trendy place on Sunset. It’s in the current Vanity Fair. Splash out with the room though, because it looks a bit boxy, and a view of the pool. Everything else as usual, rental car at the airport. I liked that last one we used, but I don’t want any flashy color.”
Tony’s eyebrows had risen almost into his hairline. Did he hear right? Pete slipping off to L.A. on his own, and not a word about Mister X? Puzzling. But Tony was patient and knew how to scoop out the truth eventually.
“Right you are. Got it. And I’ll make sure your agenda’s up to date with phone numbers and addresses there. Any new ones to add?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Ling Pai had remained motionless on the floor but some subtle evidence of body tension betrayed her innate sense of insecurity about Pete. Three days removed from her grip and anything could happen to the compulsive alley cat she’d pinned her hopes on. She rose and slipped out of the room before she could be disappointed by Pete’s loss of interest.
She was right. Pete’s secretive thoughts were currently engaged with the rediscovery of Ann. He was downright curious about her now. After all these years had she become someone he could bond with, he pondered. No one else but God knew this was his private dream. To find his eternal sweetheart, wife and best friend.
He allowed the possibility that years in L.A. after the tragic times in London could have turned her into a hard-nosed phony Brit. He’d met plenty of them in the business over there. Something told him that she would be different. Pete Stebbings, the hopeful romantic, not an image for public consumption, thanks to the bitter rhetoric of many discarded and disqualified women. He always tried to do it without causing pain and anger. He never fucked a girl only once, knowing from early experience what rage the one night stand could evoke in a female. But they still ended up disappointed when he couldn’t sustain the lasting relationship most of them craved. He’d have to be subtle with Ann because she’d twig to the fact that he was using her to make contact with Leo, but he was very clear that seeing her again was the stronger mission. He’d have to make sure she would see it the same way. He was starting to feel alive.
He felt a small tremor of guilt from the lingering presence of Ling Pai, the way she just got up and left without a word. How would she react when the inevitable happened? Oh well, don’t go there yet, he thought as he turned over on his side preparing to get up and start the day.
The L.A. trip was something to look forward to, he needed a new blood rush. He’d already made up his mind to say yes to the movie. This guy had the energy and originality of Scorsese, everyone wanting to be him over the last ten years of course, but it was only five days of shooting and a ton of cash, plus all the perks, the most important one to Pete being the huge juggernaut of publicity that these Hollywood machines put out.
The media coverage would just embellish everything else he had in the pipeline, and no doubt stir up the two record companies, who were both taking far too much time to commit to a deal. If he made some new headlines they’d be falling over each other to sign him up.
Pete intended to enjoy being brown-nosed by those obsequious Hollywood people who’d been phoning him and flattering him about the role, anticipating with relish the lavish meals and fancy club scenes they’d invite him to before he agreed to accept it. Pete loved not having to pick up the tab. He also liked the screenwriter’s clever tongue-in-cheek cameo role as himself surrounded by some eager hot young teens. It was all good. The promise of a lively few days. And he would get to keep the cool outfit. Bottom line he wanted the chance to meet Ann again, and yes he honestly wanted to terminate the obsession with Leo, with no idea what to expect.
***
Tony
himself enjoyed the ritual of packing for the trip; he knew exactly what Pete liked to wear in California. He went over to the bookshelf and pulled out a few interesting books, Chuang Tzu, the new one from Hawkings, an old leather bound John Donne and, this took some thinking, a first printing of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex in French. Tony chuckled at his last choice. He’d witnessed the awed reaction of American movie people when they saw such literature nonchalantly placed around the suite. When they found out it was actually Pete’s current reading material, they were impressed. This one was guaranteed to get Pete laid by a surprised leggy intellectual, a writer perhaps. Tony could picture her quite perfectly. He mentally slapped himself on the wrist for playing with these fantasies. But hadn’t it always been this way? Plus ça change, as Madame Simone might have said.
CHAPTER 31
Offices of The Weekly Independent – Los Angeles
Ann looked at the darkness creeping over the newspaper’s main office, then at her watch, and wondered how long she would stay at her desk finishing the story for tomorrow’s noon deadline; she couldn’t seem to wrap it up. Ann usually worked at home but tonight she had to keep away from the temptation of speaking to Griffin. He had a knack for guessing when she was there, and she hated not being able to pick up her own phone. Having interrupted her concentration on the last three paragraphs, she decided to check with the office answering service, having ignored that chore and the ringing phone for hours now.
The familiar night shift voice greeted her cheerfully with his usual touch of dry humor.
“Good evening, Miss Stapleton. Since you called we’ve had Mrs. Bennett from the Hollywood Theater at four seventeen, you’ve got that number? Your friend Janice, she’ll call you back, and Mr. Griffin called five times. Do you want the specific times?”
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