“So you let Ben grow up thinking he was the son of a man who had taken advantage of a mentally ill woman.”
“It had to be believable, Diana. Nobody doubted it.”
“And it made you more of a saintly victim, a woman who had kept her baby against the worst possible odds.”
“I was raped. I just didn’t get pregnant.”
“Did Celia tell Ben she was his mother?”
“I don’t know who told him.”
“Did Parson know that Ben wasn’t your son?”
“No. But he knew what Ben had been doing. Robert pleaded with him not to hurt Ben. Now that he knew he was his real father, Robert asked Parson to kill him instead. But he didn’t. He handed him the gun and said ‘Do it yourself.’” She pushed her hair back with both hands, her lips twitching.
“You need to call the police.”
“Heath will take care of it.”
“But he’s not calling you back. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Why wasn’t Heath returning her calls? I spoke as calmly as I could: “You have to call the police. Of course Parson doesn’t want Robert, he wants Ben. He’s in danger.”
Her back stiffened. “If you call the police, I will deny everything I’ve told you.”
“But why? Oh, God … did you kill Jenny?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just found out last night what they were doing, when Ben told us. He wanted us to know every sordid detail.”
“You don’t care that he could be in danger, do you?” I walked back into the living room and picked up the cell phone from the sofa.
She was right behind me, snatching it from my hand.
“Don’t you dare call the police. Don’t you destroy my life, Diana.”
“It’s already destroyed. It was destroyed in Switzerland. It was destroyed when you married Robert and didn’t tell him Ben was his son.”
“We are still a powerful couple in this town.” She looked like a desperate actress who clings to every word in her script because she was afraid to ad-lib, only to discover her script has been thrown out.
“Christ, Gwyn. I liked you better when you were nuts.”
I turned on my heels and walked out of the room, out of the house, past the gardeners, and got into my car. I rooted through my purse and found Detective Dusty Spangler’s card and called her. I got her voicemail. Was nobody answering their phones? I left a message saying it was urgent and disconnected.
I drove down the long driveway to Sunset Boulevard. Glancing at my gas gauge, I saw I was driving on empty. What a perfect metaphor. I pounded the steering wheel with my fist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I coasted on gas fumes into the station at the corner of PCH and Sunset. With the nozzle jammed in the tank and the dollars ticking off like seconds, I thought of Robert, Gwyn, Ben. And Celia. If Celia could lie to Robert and Ben, what else could she lie about? Jenny Parson?
I watched two surfers secure their boards on the top of their dented-up Jetta. A wet Lab with sand stuck to his black nose hung his head out the back window, keeping an eye on the two young men. I called information on my cell and got the number of Platinum Security, Heath’s firm. A girly female voice answered.
“This is Diana Poole. Is Leo Heath there?”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“No,” I said, taken aback by the question.
“Oh, well, don’t worry,” the girly voice continued. “He sometimes disappears after spending the night with someone he likes. I think it’s because he wants to build his defenses back up again. And trust me, he always does.”
I gritted my teeth and breathed in ethanol. “Look, this is an emergency. I’m calling about a case he’s working on. I have very important information. Would you tell him I called?”
“Okey dokey.”
“Okey dokey? Who the hell am I talking to?”
“Collette. I was just here picking up a few things. Bra. Panties. But I’m quite capable of leaving a message. You got his home, sweetie, not his office.” She hung up.
Hell. The dog and I stared dumbly at each other. My cell rang in my hand, causing me to jump.
“Heath?” I answered.
“Where are you?” I recognized Parson’s cajoling voice immediately. My permanent chill crawled up my legs.
“Where are you?” I asked back. Out in the open I felt exposed, a perfect target for Rubio. I quickly got back into my car.
“I’m at Celia’s house.” His voice lowered. “I discovered something heartbreaking.”
“Her house has been trashed.”
“Do you really think I would consider that heartbreaking?”
“You don’t have a heart. So I have no idea.”
A long pause. I heard the gas hose click off. The gallons, the dollars, the seconds, stopped. Then he spoke, “I hope you’re not too far away. Heath is not feeling very well.”
My stomach tightened as he continued. “And you sounded, let’s say, emotional, when you spoke his name. No police.” He hung up.
I got back out of the car and quickly took the nozzle out of the gas tank and replaced it. Twisting the cap back on, I wondered if Heath was simply being used as a ploy to get me there. Maybe Bruno had told Parson I was with his wife when she jumped. Maybe he wanted to hurt me. But that would compromise Bruno. No, it was Heath. He would’ve returned Gwyn’s calls. Leo damn Heath. The two surfers and the dog grinned at me lasciviously as they drove off.
In my car again, I turned on the ignition, threw it into gear, and, tires screeching, pulled out joining the traffic, driving right into Parson’s dark world with my sunglasses on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I pulled up behind the Mercedes limousine parked in front of Celia’s cottage. Ben’s Jeep was in Celia’s drive, and Heath’s SUV was blocking her driveway entrance.
Leaving my purse and gun, I got out of my car. Running past the Mercedes, I saw Gerald in the driver’s seat, ignoring me. At Celia’s front door, I hesitated a moment, then tried the knob. It was unlocked. Opening it, I stepped in and walked down the hallway. Glancing into the living room, I continued to the kitchen. Peeling an apple, Parson sat at the table. He did not bother to look up. Dressed in polo shirt and slacks, Luis stood behind him. Lithe and lethal looking, his teak-colored skin glowed as warm as the table. Bruno leaned against the Sub Zero, managing to make it look small in comparison. I could almost smell the stink of his sweat when he’d pressed his body against mine in the elevator
“Luis found this in the refrigerator for me. He’s always trying to get me to eat more. I think apples are better left out in the fresh air. Please sit down, Ms. Poole.” Parson wore a gray cashmere windbreaker with the collar turned up and gray slacks. His skeletal face looked as if the flesh had been scooped out from under his cheekbones with a spoon. His lips drawn down toward his goatee, he cut the apple in half.
I remained standing. “Is that Ben’s car in the drive? Where’s Heath?”
“Right to the point.”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
Luis moved swiftly to my side, a knife appearing in his hand.
I stopped breathing for a moment. “Where are Heath and Ben?”
“You’re a ballsy woman. Just like your mother.” Parson set down the two halves of the apple and pushed himself up from the table. “She told me to go fuck myself. But I’m afraid you won’t be able to do that. Come along.” He moved to the door that connected to the garage and opened it for me. Luis pocketed his knife.
Inside, a single ray of dusty light shone through a small window. A chair lay on its side in a faded oil stain, flip-flops resting nearby, and a shadow moved over them. I looked up. I staggered backwards. From the garage’s crossbeam Ben hung by a rope, the noose tight around his neck, his face swollen, his eyes looked down at us.
<
br /> I lunged for him, screaming, “No, no, no!” As I tried to lift his legs up, to take the weight off the noose, Luis and Bruno pulled me back.
“He’s been dead almost an hour.” Parson watched from the door.
“You did this.” Tears ran down my face as I struggled to free myself from the two men.
“Let her go,” Parson ordered. “No. I found Ben hanging just as you see him.”
“I don’t understand. I spoke to him here and then he left.”
“He must’ve returned.”
I leaned against the wall for support. I thought of Ben standing in the kitchen fixated on the door. Was he thinking of suicide when I had surprised him?
“When I arrived,” Parson said, “Heath was trying to get him down. Ben may have been alive then. It’s hard to say. Of course, Luis and Bruno had to stop Heath.”
“Where is he?”
Parson nodded and Luis moved to a pile of tarps in the corner and flipped one up. I followed him. Heath lay on his back, bound and gagged. Blood ran down his unshaven face from the top of his head. He still wore the shirt I had ripped the buttons off of last night.
Luis slapped Heath twice. Heath groaned and opened his eyes. Seeing me, he immediately began to struggle to free himself. I put my hand on his bare chest and he stopped moving. Feeling the warmth of his skin, his heart beating wildly, I leaned close and whispered “I’ll be all right. Remember, you promised not to underestimate me.”
Heath closed his eyes, then opened them. Bruno moved in and struck him in the head with the butt of his gun. I grabbed for Bruno, but Luis pulled me away and shoved me back into the kitchen.
“Now, shall we talk?” Parson was already easing his long body back into the kitchen chair. Meticulously, he sliced the inner core from each apple half.
Shaking, I wiped my tears with the sleeve of my sweater. “You want me to tell you where Celia is.”
“Personally, I don’t think you know where she is. But I think you’ll find her. You know her better than any of us. Even Zaitlin.” He shook his head sadly.
“I’m not sure of that anymore.”
“Yes, you must feel deeply betrayed by her. I know that feeling. Did you know my wife killed herself?”
“No.” I glanced at Bruno, who was busy wiping Heath’s blood from the butt of his gun with his handkerchief.
“We kept it out of the news. Suicide is a betrayal, too. First my daughter dies, now my wife. This has been the blackest period of my life.”
“I wonder if Hitler felt as victimized as you do.”
Luis was trying to decide if that was a slur against his boss.
“What am I supposed to do when I find Celia?” I asked.
“Get the memory card from the camera that Ben and my daughter used to film their … clients. We will do the rest.” He neatly sliced each apple half into two more equal parts, creating quarters.
“You mean kill her. How do you know she has the camera?”
“We’ve searched Ben’s condo. He didn’t have it. We searched the Zaitlins’ house. They don’t have it. It’s not here. We know the police don’t have it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Let’s just say I have contacts. I think when Celia killed my daughter, she took it. Or maybe she took it when she shot Zackary Logan. You look perplexed.”
“Why would she murder either one?”
“A mother’s love, however late it may be. She was trying to protect her son.” He stabbed his knife into one of the apple quarters, raised the piece to his mouth, and bit.
“You know?”
“Of course.” He chewed.
“Protect him from what?”
“From my daughter. I’m speaking from Celia’s point of view. I see it the other way round, of course. Logan was probably an act of necessity. Under duress, Zaitlin told me he had just found out that Ben was his son and Celia his real mother. He pleaded with me not to hurt Ben. He even asked me to kill him instead. So I gave him a gun to use on himself.”
“You are an evil bastard.”
“Is that the same as being a sick bastard?” He grinned. “Keep your cell phone on, Ms. Poole. I will be in contact with you. Any more questions?”
“No.”
“Odd. I thought you might ask me when I was going to let Heath go.”
“You have no intention of letting him go.”
His jaw tensed. “Don’t try to be more clever than me.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” I was just hoping to be as clever. “I know why you were blackmailing my husband. You should be very proud of your daughter. She was just like you. A psychopath.”
He rose up out of his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. The apple pieces danced. I turned my back on him and left. They let me walk out of the house. They had to. Parson wanted Celia more than he wanted me. Until he was finished with her, that is.
I stopped and watched Gerald position his rump against the side of the limo and adjust his sunglasses, getting ready to take in some beach air and sun. I had no idea how I was going to find Celia, or how I could save Heath, or even myself. But I did know I had one small area of power left.
I approached Gerald. “Don’t forget about the bargain I made with you and Bruno in the penthouse.”
Straightening up, he wiped off his sunglasses. “I didn’t make any deal.”
“Sure you did. I don’t tell Parson I got into his penthouse because the two of you screwed up and made it easy for his wife to jump, and you and Bruno will get to live.”
“We can take you out any time.”
“I’ve thought of that. So if I should die prematurely, I’ve made sure that what I know about that night will go viral.”
“Viral?” He was confused.
Christ. “I’ve made sure every TV station and newspaper in town will have my story.”
He blinked his penny-shaped eyes at me. “You’re full of crap.”
“Oh, and the same goes if Heath dies.”
“He wasn’t part of the deal.”
“So we do have one. Excellent, Gerald.” I patted his arm.
Heading toward my car, I hoped he bought my story. If nothing else, I knew he didn’t feel quite so secure anymore.
I drove a few blocks, then pulled over to the side of the highway. No longer able to control my anger, my fear, or my grief, I called Celia and screamed at her voicemail. “I know Ben is your son. I know what he and Jenny Parson were doing. I know …” I stopped and took a deep breath. I couldn’t tell her that I knew Ben was dead, hanging from a beam in her garage. Not in a voicemail. I continued in a calmer voice. “I need to talk to you. I’m in danger. I need your help. You probably need mine. If our friendship means anything to you, call me.”
I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and leaned my head back, closing my eyes against the images of Ben’s distended features and Heath struggling to free himself when he saw me. I felt the sun hit my face through the windshield, the heater hot on my legs, and I listened to the endless line of growling cars racing by. I was completely alone, and I had no idea how I was going to find Celia.
There is an acting term called the star pause. It’s when the actress is left alone on stage, waiting for the next character to enter. In those few moments, she must find something real to do, something the audience can believe and not think she’s just waiting for her next cue. My mother told me all great actors relished this moment. “So don’t blow it, darling, by pacing, smoking, or running your hands through your hair. Any idiot can do that. Find something that reveals your character.”
I ran my hands through my hair. Then I grabbed the steering wheel, stepped on the gas, and drove off. Drive, it’s what L.A. people do. I didn’t know where I was going until I found myself on Sunset Boulevard. It was then that I realized I was headed back to Bella Casa.
>
CHAPTER FORTY
Bella Casa was a house you could hide in. Years ago I had done the same thing when I wanted to get high so I could obliterate my feelings. Or to keep out of reach of Brad, Beau, or Bob, who wouldn’t take no for an answer after I had said yes the first time. Celia knew the house as well as I did.
Peering in the rearview mirror, I checked to see whether Parson’s men were following. There was no limo, and all the other cars behind me looked the same—unfamiliar. I turned left and went through the Bel Air arches and started up Stone Canyon Road.
The gates to Bella Casa were open. Pieces of yellow crime-scene tape still clung to them. Maybe the cops had forgotten to close them. Driving in, I didn’t see a car parked in the driveway. I got out of the Jag and tried the front door. Locked. I walked around to the side of the house and tried the pool door. It opened. Somebody had been here, or still was. Wondering if Celia was a physical threat to me, I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and felt the weight of the Glock.
Moving quickly around the pool, I entered the gallery, then veered into the foyer. I stopped, waiting for any sound that might tell me another person was in the house. Not hearing anything, I crept up the tile stairs and down the long hallway past what was once my mother’s bedroom. At the end of the hall I carefully opened a door that let out a loud creaking noise reminiscent of the bad sound effects in a slasher movie. I froze, listening. But I seemed to be the only one making noise.
I entered my old bedroom, which was big and square with a small, pretty crystal chandelier hanging daintily from the ceiling. In the night when I couldn’t sleep, I used to observe how it scattered its prismatic stars above my bed, making me feel there was a better world, a better way of life. Somewhere.
Crossing to the closet door, I rested my hand on the wrought-iron knob, then turned it. I walked in and stood facing the back cedar-paneled wall and whispered “Celia?” No answer. I pushed twice on it, and the panel popped open, revealing a long narrow room with one window that held a view of the top of a shaggy eucalyptus tree.
City of Mirrors Page 21
