Shattered

by Jason Richards

  After several hours of reading The Hollywood Reporter and other entertainment magazines, I learned two things about Grant Worthington. The first is he is one of the biggest players in the entertainment industry. Maybe the biggest. The second is that rumors of his infidelity are as common in Hollywood as sunshine.

  It appears Grant Worthington uses escort services like Premier as his own personal ATM for mistresses. So why have Ashley and Hannah killed? What made them different from the others? I wrote a big question mark on my pad of paper.

  “What do you think, Dash?” He ignored me and continued sleeping. I got up and looked out my office window. All was as it should be on Brattle Street.

  No sign of Garavito’s men lurking around the corner. No Escalade driving by slowly. Maybe they had lost interest. Somehow I doubted that. But not being grabbed at gunpoint or having my window shot out was an improvement.

  I checked my watch, Terry and Dave from Pinnacle would be arriving soon. They would serve as my backup as I continued to stick my nose into places where Eddie Garavito preferred I did not. First on the list of visits for the day was Worthington Entertainment Group’s Boston offices. I doubted anyone would have much they wanted to share with me, but you never find out if you don’t ask.

  After rubbing elbows with Hollywood east, I’d head over to Brookline to meet with Brooke Chambers. That meeting may get Garavito’s attention. Good thing Terry and Dave will have my back.

  A blue Volkswagen Jetta pulled out of a parking spot in front of my building and a black Ford Fusion pulled in. Timing is everything. Two men in dark suits got out of the car. Terry and Dave from Pinnacle.

  I texted Terry I was on my way down. Dash woke from his slumber when he heard me take his leash off the hook by the door. We went downstairs and greeted Terry and Dave. Well, I greeted them. Dash first had to mark his favorite bush.

  Terry was a big guy who stood a head taller than me with broad shoulders and long arms. Dave was closer to average height and looked like he was carved from stone. They looked every bit the part of two former Secret Service agents. I was disappointed to learn Terry and Dave had investigated financial crimes, but I figured they must have had some protective training. Either way, I appreciated the back up.

  After we dropped Dash off at daycare, we crossed the Charles River into Boston. All was quiet as we drove to Worthington Entertainment Group’s Boston offices. I only hoped it wasn’t a calm before a storm.

  Worthington Entertainment Group occupied several floors of an office building along the Boston waterfront. I expected more pizazz from the office of a movie studio. But Worthington Entertainment Group’s office looked like any other I had ever been in. The outer offices did have great views of Boston Harbor, but most of the workers occupied a cluster of inner cubicles. I wondered if those workers felt like Dilbert.

  Despite my first-rate business cards, no one wanted to talk to me about Grant Worthington. Security politely asked me to leave, and I complied. Given I had pretty low expectations for the visit, I wasn’t terribly disappointed. But hope does spring eternal.

  “Mr. Patrick,” a young woman’s voice called out to me as I waited for the elevator. I turned around. The woman’s eyes shifted from me to Terry and Dave.

  “My babysitters,” I said.

  “We can wait downstairs,” Terry said as the elevator doors opened. Terry and Dave stepped on the elevator.

  “They work for another detective agency and are helping with my case,” I said to the young woman as the elevator doors closed. She nodded her head.

  “I could get fired for speaking with you,” the young woman said looking over her shoulder. Satisfied no one was around, she turned her head back in my direction and continued, “You should speak with Walter Meyers. He is directing a film for us here in Boston.”

  “Okay,” I said. “How might Walter Meyers help with my case?”

  “Walt had done a number of films with us over the years. He’s been in lots of meetings with Mr. Worthington.”

  “So he has some good firsthand knowledge?”

  “Yes,” she said nodding her head. “And he can’t stand Mr. Worthington. He’ll be happy to talk.” She paused a beat. “Off the record, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Here’s a pass to get you on set,” she said as she handed me a laminated card on a lanyard. “I’ll call Walt and let him know you are coming. They are filming on location near Old North Church. According to the schedule, they’ll break for lunch soon, so he can give you a few minutes.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Not that it matters, but why did you decide to help?”

  “Grant Worthington is a creep,” she said.

  “Reason enough,” I said. I put the set pass in my jacket pocket and pressed the elevator button. The young woman went back into the office suite. The elevator doors opened, and I got on.

  CHAPTER 24

  The film crew was set up on Salem and Hull Streets across from Old North Church. Extras wandered in and out of Caffe Lil Italy. I flashed my set pass in front of the security guard. He scanned the bar code with a reader and nodded his head for me to go ahead. Terry and Dave sat back on Salem Street.

  “Can you tell me where I can find Walter Meyers?” I asked the guard.

  “Over on Paul Revere Mall,” he replied.

  “Thanks.”

  I walked past Old North Church along the Freedom Trail. Lights, cameras, and sound booms were being set up on Paul Revere Mall. A man sat in a director’s chair with the name ‘Walt Meyers’ stenciled on the back. Either he was my guy or someone was bold enough to sit in his chair on set.

  “Walt Meyers?” I said as I approached.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Who are you?”

  Walt Meyers was short and wiry. He had wispy black hair under a Red Sox baseball cap. He wore jeans and an Emerson College sweatshirt.

  “Drew Patrick,” I said. “I’m a private investigator.” I handed him my card.

  “We have all the security we need,” he said. “Or maybe we don’t. How did you get on set?”

  “Free country,” I said. Walt frowned. I showed him the set pass. “A young lady at Worthington Entertainment gave me this. She told me she was calling to let you know I was coming.”

  “I haven’t had time to check my voice messages,” he said. “I’m in the middle of making a movie.” Walt got up out of his chair and walked over to a set of cameras. “I need camera one ten yards over. Camera two should be near the Paul Revere statue.”

  I followed and waited for him to finish giving directions to the crew. Then I said, “she told me you might be willing to discuss Grant Worthington with me.”

  Walt turned and waved for me to follow him. Which I did. We went into a trailer parked on Unity Street.

  “Have a seat,” Walt said to me. I sat in a captain’s chair that swiveled. Walt grabbed a Coke out of the fridge. “Want one?” he asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  Walt sat on the couch and cracked open the can. He took a sip and seemed refreshed. “So what is this about Grant Worthington?” he said.

  “I’ve read pretty much every Hollywood magazine and too many newspaper articles to count,” I said, “but I’d like to know about the man from someone who actually knows him.”

  “You have some sort of detective confidentiality?” Walt asked.

  “I’m not an attorney or a priest. But I’ll keep your name out of it.”

  Walt leaned forward and looked me directly in the eye. “I need your word,” he said. “I’ve been fortunate to have a steady stream of projects. I can’t afford to blow that all up in talking to some guy I don’t even know.”

  “Who’s the cop handling security for the film?” I asked.

  “Thomas Kelly.”

  “Give Kelly a call and ask him about me.”

  “You seem pretty sure of yourself,” he said.

  “I am sure of myself,” I said.

  Walt sat back and nodded. “Alrig
ht. We’ll see.” He took out his cell phone. “Officer Kelly, this is Walt Meyers.” He paused while Kelly spoke. “Everything is fine on the set. Although I may need to tighten the reign on set passes.” He paused as Kelly spoke again. “No, no. I think it’s okay. Listen, what can you tell me about a PI named Drew Patrick?”

  I waited as Kelly talked on the other end of the phone. He seemed to have a lot to say. Walt was smiling. He even laughed a few times. When Kelly was done talking, Walt thanked him and hung up.

  Walt looked at me and smiled. “Kelly says you can be a real pain in the ass, but you’re a stand-up guy and I can trust you.”

  “It seemed like he said a lot more than that.”

  “He went into additional details and used some colorful language, but he respects you. Also said you were with the FBI.”

  “I got tired of wearing suits,” I said.

  “So what do you want to know about Grant Worthington?” Walt said.

  “Are the stories in the Hollywood magazines true?”

  “For the most part. Grant has a different girl with him nearly every night of the week.”

  “What about Mrs. Worthington?”

  “I’m sure she knows,” Walt said. “I guess she puts up with it because of all the money and power. She certainly didn’t marry him for his looks.”

  “Were you aware Grant Worthington uses escort services?” I said.

  “Like legitimate escort services or fronts for prostitutes?”

  “Either? Both?”

  “I’ve heard rumors he uses an escort service here in Boston,” Walt said. “Mostly because he doesn’t spend as much time here and isn’t as connected into the social scene as he is in LA.”

  “Have you heard rumors about him sleeping with any of those escorts?” I said.

  “I just assumed he was sleeping with all of them. Isn’t that what an escort service is?”

  “Not all of them,” I said. “There are legitimate escort services.”

  “Point is,” Walt said, “Grant liked to sleep around. He’s ugly as sin, but he has power and money.”

  “Would he have any reason to silence any of the women? Particularly those from the escort agency?”

  “Silence them? In what way? Like pay them off to keep quiet?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I suppose he could have secrets I don’t know about. But it’s hard to keep secrets in Hollywood.”

  “How about in Boston?”

  “Easier here,” Walt said. “But word eventually gets around.”

  Walt finished his Coke and went for another. “I need the caffeine to keep me going,” he said. “These fourteen-hour days can drag you down.” Walt sat back on the couch and cracked open the new can.

  “Is there any history of violence?” I said.

  “With Grant?” Walt shook his head. “No. Not that I’ve ever heard.”

  “And you would have heard?”

  “Most likely,” Walt said. “I’ve done enough films for Worthington Entertainment to know pretty much everything that goes on there.”

  I leaned forward in the captain’s seat. “Does Grant Worthington have any criminal connections?”

  “Like the mob?” Walt said.

  “Like the mob. Or any criminal connections.”

  Walt took a sip of his Coke as he thought. “No,” he said shaking his head. “Grant’s a bit of scumbag, but I don’t think he has any criminal connections.”

  “Does he know people who do?” I asked.

  “Grant Worthington has a wide circle of people he associates with,” Walt said. “If you scratch hard enough, you’ll probably find somebody with connections to organized crime.”

  “Did you hear about the murders of Ashley Holland and Hannah Parks?” I said.

  “Read about them in the Globe.”

  I sat back in the captain’s chair and swiveled gently from side to side. “Were you aware they were escorts at Premier Escort Services?”

  “No.”

  “Grant Worthington was a client of the company and those two young women had escorted him to various functions in recent months.”

  Walt paused mid sip. His eyes grew wide. He leaned forward and rested the Coke can on the couch between his legs.

  “You don’t think Grant had something to do with their deaths?” he asked. “The news said they were accidents.”

  “Even with the 24/7 news cycle,” I said, “once in a while the cops can keep some details out of the press.”

  “So they weren’t accidents?”

  “No.”

  “Shit,” Walt said as he dropped back against the couch cushions. He took of the baseball cap and scratched his head. “So you think Grant killed them?”

  “Not directly,” I said. “But he is a suspect in hiring a professional hitman.”

  “Jeez,” Walt said. “This is like the type of stuff in the movies we make.”

  I stopped swiveling and rested my hands on my legs. “Can you recall anything that might help with the investigation?”

  “Grant plays the field,” Walt said. “And he is a real jerk most of the time. In fact, personally, I can’t stand the guy. But I don’t think he is capable of having two girls murdered. Why would he?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said.

  CHAPTER 25

  Brooke Chambers lived in a ninth floor condo on Longwood Avenue in Brookline. I stood at her living room window looking out over Coolidge Corner. Brooke was in her well-appointed galley kitchen making coffee using fresh beans and French press coffee maker. Premier escorts are sophisticated.

  A ginger cat walked into the living room wearing a sparkly necklace with a little bell on it. She stopped when she saw me. Considered me a moment, and then scampered across the parquet wood floor toward the bedroom. Perhaps she sensed I was a dog owner. Though I have nothing against cats.

  “Here you go,” Brooke said as she handed me a cup of the freshly pressed and brewed coffee.

  “Thank you,” I said. The coffee smelled great. I took a sip. It tasted even better.

  “You approve?” Brooke said.

  “It's delicious. And I'm not just being polite. This really is fantastic.”

  “I get it from a local shop in Coolidge Corner,” she said. “It's not far from the Coolidge Corner Theater.”

  We sat at a cafe style table Brooke had in a nook. The nook's window offered a similar view as the living room window.

  The ginger cat made another appearance and padded across the floor.

  “She's decided to give me another try,” I said.

  Brooke smiled. “She's a little shy at first. I recently adopted her from the shelter. Her name is Cookie.”

  “Because she's the color of a ginger snap?” I said.

  “You are a detective,” Brooke said.

  “Not just a license from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” I said. I took another sip of coffee. I couldn't get enough. Then I said, “I'm glad you got Cookie from a rescue shelter. I adopted my dog from a shelter in Cambridge.”

  Cookie took a few cautious steps toward me. I slowly held out my hand. She sniffed and then inched closer. She took a closer sniff and then nuzzled up against my hand. I patted her and she began to purr.

  “Now you're friends,” Brooke said.

  “Dash might be jealous,” I said.

  “Dash is your dog?”

  “Yes. He's a beagle-mix.”

  “Does he have floppy ears?”

  “Yes,” I said. I took another sip of coffee. I may need to get a French press coffee maker.

  “Thanks, again, for agreeing to speak with me,” I said.

  “Anything I can do to help. It is just so awful what happened to Ashley and Hannah.”

  Brooke held her cup with both hands. Like the other women at Premier, Brooke looked like a fashion model. She had long chestnut hair and warm brown eyes. Her work wardrobe would be similar to the clothes I saw in Ashley's closet, but Brooke was dressed casuall
y for her day off in blue jeans and a Boston College sweatshirt.

  After she took a sip of her coffee Brooke said, “So by their deaths being suspicious, I'm assuming that means they may not have been accidents?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “The evidence is circumstantial at the moment, but when you've seen enough cases you sense when foul play is involved.”

  “Even if you can't prove it?” she said.

  “Every case is a process,” I said. “Eventually I'll know enough.”

  Brooke considered me a moment. She said, “Have you ever not been able to prove it? Not be able to solve a case?”

  I gave a slight nod of my head. “Unfortunately, there are a few cases from when I was with the FBI that we couldn't officially solve. Leads went cold.”

  Brooke looked at me with genuine concern on her face. “Those must bother you,” she said.

  “They do,” I said. “It is one of the reasons I left the Bureau. As a private investigator, I can continue to investigate even if leads go cold. I can also pursue a case when there isn't much of anything to go on from the start.”

  “Because those cases matter to you?” Brooke said.

  I liked her. She was intuitive and caring, without prying.

  “Perhaps you should be a therapist,” I said.

  “I'm actually getting my masters in psychology at BC. Premier helps pay the bills while I go to school. I hope to go on for my doctorate.”

  “I'm pretty good at reading people,” I said. “I imagine psychology will be a good profession for you.”

  Brooke smiled. She had a comforting smile. “Thanks,” she said. “If I can just get through my upcoming exams.”

  “What about Ashley and Hannah? Did they have any plans beyond Premier?”

  Brooke shook her head and said, “Not that I'm aware of. To be honest, I didn't know either of them all that well. With school, I don't have time to socialize with the other escorts. I can give you the names of the escorts I know they hung out with it. If that helps.”