"What do you think that's all about?"
"I don't know. But here's our girl," Smith said.
Bridgette walked out the front door, looking dazed and quite pale. Her demeanor certainly was different from when she'd gone into the elevator with Callahan. Something was wrong. She handed the valet her parking stub. Smith started in again with the photos.
"Callahan should be right behind her," he remarked. "Typical." He shook his head. "I've seen this kind of thing go down way too many times. The woman leaves first and then a few minutes later, the man follows. But man, they were quick. Guess that happens when you're with a woman who looks like her." Smith chuckled.
Michaela didn't find his comment amusing. But Smith was right. Callahan did exit a few minutes later, only he was on the EMTs' stretcher. She turned to the private investigator. "You see that very often?"
TWENTY-FIVE
"CAN'T SAY THAT I HAVE," SMITH REPLIED.
Michaela remained fixated on the scene as she watched the paramedics load Callahan into the ambulance. What was going on? Why had Benz taken off so suddenly, and then Bridgette? Had they killed Callahan, or tried to? He looked to be alive. In fact, from where she and Smith stood, the paramedics appeared to be speaking to him before closing the back doors and speeding off.
"What in the hell?" Smith muttered.
"I've got the same question."
"Look, it's obvious that Callahan is on the way to the hospital. What those two did to him is a mystery. It's also obvious that you have a stake in finding out who killed your friend. I have a stake in getting paid by Bowen, but this little scenario ups the ante quite a bit. Do you know what a scandal like this is worth in this town? I could sell these photos to the tabloids and take a five-star vacation in the tropics." He paused. "Want to get some coffee? Maybe share some thoughts on this?"
She considered it. "Yeah. Maybe so."
"Good. Let me make a phone call and see if I can find out where they're taking Callahan and how bad off he is. We'll start there. I know this place probably costs ten bucks a cup, but…"
"My treat," she interjected.
They walked back into the café and ordered coffees. Smith made a call, inquiring about Callahan. "He's headed to Cedars-Sinai. No word yet on his condition, but I'll get it. So…"
"So?" Michaela said, still shaken by what she'd witnessed.
"Your friend who was murdered…"
"Audrey."
He nodded. "You mentioned that Benz threatened her."
Michaela told him about the races the other day and what had occurred inside Olivia's dressing room.
"That guy is an ass."
"Do you think the three of them could be involved in Audrey's murder? Why else would they be meeting? Maybe to talk business, I suppose."
"There are other possibilities. A hotel room? One woman, two guys…although typically, it's usually the other way around—two women."
Michaela brought her hand up to her mouth. "No. Don't even go there. That's disgusting. The three of them…together?"
"It's possible. I doubt Benz came here for a drink. But there is another possibility. Maybe I know the reason Benz paid a visit to the lovebirds. And if my guess is correct, it might have caused the old geezer to have a problem with the ticker."
"What's that?
"What if I told you that Steve Benz has been known to supply Mrs. Bowen with some good old-fashioned cocaine?"
"Oh." Michaela thought about Olivia and what had fallen from her purse at the coffee shop the night before. This was twisted. Olivia using drugs, Bridgette using drugs, Callahan trying to get Olivia to pose for his magazine, Benz possibly the supplier and maybe—just maybe—Audrey somehow got caught up in the middle of it all, and they'd killed her. Or one of them might have killed her. But Benz was a real up-and-comer on the country western scene. What about his career? Why would he jeopardize what he'd worked so hard at? "How do you know this?"
"It's the nature of the business. When things get slow, I start snooping and I sell some of my information to the tabloids. This situation here might have taken on an entirely different angle for me, and an added bonus. I know a guy at one of these rags who has it in for Benz. Says he had a one-night stand with his girlfriend after some bigwig Hollywood party. He's asked me to pass any information about Benz on to him. He knows that I work for the people who run in fast circles."
"What about Hugh Bowen? Would you exploit him if you found out that his wife is not only cheating on him, but might be linked to the murder?"
"If that's the truth, someone will discover it and put it out there. Besides, if that is the situation, he's a victim here. And so is Audrey. What was her last name?" She hesitated. "I won't lie to you, I will be checking into this thing. If Callahan, Benz, and the latest Mrs. Bowen are up to no good, I will exploit it. You want justice, don't you?"
"What if it's the wrong path?"
He shrugged. "It's a starting point."
"Okay, I'll tell you what I know, but you need to give me some of your insight. About Benz."
Dennis produced a notepad and repeated Audrey's name as he wrote it down. "Okay. Steve Benz is a party boy who started out in this town as a pool boy."
"Pool boy?"
"Yeah, you know, cleaning pools for the rich and famous. He met Bridgette on the party circuit before she hooked up with Bowen. They liked to hang together. Then, Bowen and Bridgette hooked up and he put her in rehab, right after the two of them got married. They tried real hard to keep that hush-hush, and for the most part Bowen's money did a good job of it. Money can pretty much buy you anything in this town. But people do talk. So, Mrs. Bowen's stint in rehab was one of those unspoken things amongst the rich and spoiled."
Michaela thought about Bob Pratt, his stint at Betty Ford, and a possible link between him and Bridgette Bowen, as well as the fact that Bob was now missing in action. Could it be coincidence, or was it linked to what had happened to Audrey? Was it possible that Bridgette and Bob had been in rehab at the same time? "Tell me then, or at least confirm if I'm on the right track."
"Go on."
Michaela's theory came from the center of her gut. "Bridgette went through rehab, tried to stay straight. That didn't happen. She's back at it with Benz as the supplier, because she trusts him and she knows that with him in the limelight, he'll keep things quiet. She likes rich and powerful men, thus her rendezvous with Callahan. Benz brings the party favors for the two of them, and in return uses Callahan and Mrs. Bowen to become a superstar. Because from what I hear, Benz is looking to do a magazine spread with Olivia Bowen for Pleasures magazine. He thinks that Callahan can help put him on the map. Maybe he also thinks that Bridgette has some kind of in with her stepdaughter. Although, that's the furthest thing from the truth from what I understand."
"What did you say you do?" Dennis asked, placing his elbows on the table.
"I didn't. Why?"
"Because I think you'd make one hell of an investigator."
"Not everyone would agree with that," she replied, thinking of Jude. "I'm a horse trainer."
"Horse trainer? Really? Nah."
She didn't reply.
"Oh, shit. You're serious. You're really a fucking horse trainer? Sorry for my trash mouth. I pegged you for a bored, rich housewife, or maybe a mistress."
"Oh. Thanks, asshole. Pardon me for my trash mouth; I'm not used to being insulted."
He laughed. "I gotta say, you are a breath of fresh air. You are in a town knee-deep in bullshit, and here you are going around just trying to get the truth by telling the truth. You may have to change your ways to ever really find the truth. Nothing wrong with a bit of whitewash to get what you need."
"Sorry, lying isn't my style."
"Did I say lie? I said whitewash."
She couldn't help but smile. As offensive as this Dennis Smith seemed to be, there was something about him she was warming up to. Maybe the no-nonsense part appealed to her. Whatever it was, she wasn't in that fear-for-her-life mo
de around him any longer.
"Where did you hear about Olivia Bowen posing for Callahan's magazine?" he asked.
"The horse's mouth."
"Is she going to do it?"
Michaela shrugged and decided to go ahead and tell him about Kathleen Bowen's possessiveness over her daughter, and how she seemed to be the one behind the girl's career. Michaela decided to hold one piece of information back from Smith, not certain if it was important and not completely trusting him yet.
"They are a strange bunch. You see it all in this town."
"Looks like it. What do you think happened to Callahan in the room?"
"Possibly a heart attack, or maybe Bowen's wife and Benz had it in for him and it backfired. But someone called the paramedics. I can't imagine that if either one of them were up to no good where Callahan was concerned, they would've placed that call. He might have been able to do it himself, but the timing of Bridgette leaving the room doesn't work for me. I'm not sure, but trust me, I will find out."
"She seemed different when she left. Kind of like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. But why leave behind Callahan when something bad had obviously happened?" Michaela asked.
"That might have been a necessity. You said that she was jumpy on the phone earlier with Callahan. Maybe after whatever happened up there, she figured to save her own skin, she'd have to pull herself together. I'm sure she didn't want to have a chat with the paramedics or the hotel management. That would certainly get back to her husband."
"Yeah, but what she doesn't know is that it's already going to get back to her husband."
Dennis held up the camera. "Yep. Listen, you're a nice lady and I'm sorry for first scaring you in the parking lot, and then insulting you. My bad. But can I give you some advice?"
"Something tells me that you're going to give it to me anyway."
He ignored the comment. "This crew you're keeping tabs on, they've got a lot of cash, and if any one of them has something to hide and finds out that you're trying to uncover their dirty laundry, you could get hurt."
"Trust me, I've heard this before."
"Well, then…be careful. Here's my card. I'll see if I can't get anywhere with what happened to your friend, and not only because I want to sell a big enough story so I can head out on the next flight to Tahiti, but because I can tell you really cared about Audrey, and I think you deserve answers."
She took his card. "Yeah, Sorry about the asshole thing. I don't usually call people names."
He laughed. "Are you kidding? That's a compliment. Trust me, I've been called worse. By the way, do you need directions to Cedars-Sinai?"
"Why would I need that?" She tried to play dumb.
"Fresh air. That is what you are." He stood and shook a finger at her. "Just take my advice and watch your back, horse trainer. Watch your back."
TWENTY-SIX
MICHAELA HAD HAD ONE OF THOSE LUCID MOMENTS while speaking to Smith at Shutters, and because she still had plenty of time before dinner with Hudson Drake, she figured there was no better time to check her theory. Marshall Friedman had flown under the radar during this entire thing. But everyone knew him. Everyone involved had a connection to him. He sent Benz to make a nasty threat to Audrey at the races. He was using whatever tactic he could to pressure Olivia into signing with him as her manager. He obviously had business ties to Callahan. She didn't exactly know how Bridgette Bowen was connected to him, but she had a sense that Kathleen Bowen was somehow in his inner circle.
It was the last minutes of the day at the racetrack that hit her: minutes that at the time had gone by in a blur, and she hadn't stopped to really consider them. But now she had a hunch that she was right. Kathleen Bowen had asked her to call the chauffeur. She'd told her to press five. When Michaela had, she'd gotten a man, but not the driver. When she looked down at the call that had been made, the initials MF had come up. It had struck her as odd at the time, and she believed it had been just a mistake on Kathleen's part. It could be someone else with those initials. Michaela was aware that she was betting against the odds, but it made sense to her. The name Marshall Friedman had popped up in the course of conversations between her and Kathleen, her and Josh, her and Olivia, and her and Hugh. Marshall Friedman was lowlife Steve Benz's manager, and they were in cahoots over signing Olivia to a recording contract with them, and then some—like baring herself for Frederick Callahan's sleazy magazine. Who was this Friedman, anyway? How well had he known Audrey? As Michaela thought back to earlier that day at the races, she also recalled Benz's threat—or what had now, in retrospect, sounded like a threat. Weren't his exact words something like, "Audrey's days are numbered and that Marshall Friedman will have Olivia under contract in a matter of a week."? Interesting how things had gone down after that.
She dialed Information and was connected to Friedman's office. She made up a story that she was with one of the major hotel chains that she was in town on a quick trip and wanted to speak with Mr. Friedman about contracting some of his talent for entertainment in their larger hotels. "I don't have much time, and I promise I won't take much of his. I need ten minutes. I'd really like to speak to him. This is a major opportunity." She was told that he was in a meeting for the next half hour. She asked where the office was located. It was off the I-10 in Century City.
The secretary hemmed and hawed for a second, then finally agreed to allow Michaela to meet with him. Okay, she'd taken Smith's suggestion of whitewashing to heart. And, she'd apparently learned a thing or two from Joe. What would he say? What was she going to say when she came face-to-face with Friedman? Oh well. She would come up with something. She had to give it a try. Audrey's murder wouldn't stop haunting her.
By the time she made it to Century City and got out of the truck, she was perspiring and her nerves were shot. Was she crazy? It sure felt like it at the moment. What the hell. She'd never have to see this man again, and if he gave her any answers to satisfy her curiosity, it would be worth it.
She started toward the building just as two familiar figures emerged: Kathleen and Olivia. She called out to them, but with the din of the traffic they didn't hear her. They slid into the back of a limo before she could reach them, and it pulled away. She felt relieved that Olivia was okay, relatively speaking. But what were they doing there? They must have been there to see Friedman. Had Kathleen convinced Olivia to sign an agreement with him?
Michaela found his office on the eleventh floor. The receptionist took her name and eyed her. She knew she didn't exactly look the part of a traveling businesswoman.
Michaela eyed her back. She was just a little slip of a thing and Michaela had no doubt she could take her if she wanted to. "I'll let him know that you're here," the girl said.
"Thank you."
She came back a moment later and said that Mr. Friedman would see her. She followed, and was led to a well-appointed office where Marshall Friedman sat behind a huge desk, one devoid of papers and files and the normal clutter of a busy man.
He stood. "Good afternoon, Ms. Bancroft."
"Good afternoon." Her stomach became one nauseating wave.
"Have a seat."
Michaela sat down in a plush leather chair opposite him.
"You're from Starwood Resorts, my secretary said. It's unusual to schedule an appointment on this short a notice. How can I help you?" Friedman was bald with a big nose and light blue eyes.
This was the tricky part. Michaela shifted in the chair and tried to sit as tall as she could. "I've heard quite a bit about you."
He gave her an odd look. "Many people have. Again, how is it that I can help you?"
Beating around the bush was going to get her nowhere. "I was with Audrey Pratt, Olivia Bowen's manager, at the races the other day. The day that Audrey was murdered."
He held a finger up. "Ah, yes. You mean former manager, don't you?" He smiled slightly…or maybe it was a smirk. "Is that what brought you to our fine city? The races? You knew Ms. Pratt, huh?"
What a jerk. "E
xcuse me? The former manager? That seems callous, considering what happened."
He held up what looked to be a contract. "I don't mean to be disrespectful. My apologies, if you knew the woman. However, I've recently acquired Ms. Bowen as a client."
"That's convenient, isn't it? Audrey Pratt is murdered and the singer you've been after to sign with you for some time now is suddenly available."
Friedman shifted in his chair. "What are you getting at, Ms. Bancroft? It's obvious that you didn't come here to speak about entertainment for the Starwood Resort chain. Why are you wasting my time?"
His asinine comment about Audrey and his overall pompous attitude pushed her buttons, pressing her to go for the jugular. "I'm here because you represent Steve Benz, who was one of the last people to see my friend before she died. He said something to her that I'll be sure to mention to the police—or maybe the tabloids—since you represent such an up-and-coming star." His face flushed. "It was something like a threat actually, about how Audrey didn't have much longer to manage Olivia, that she'd be signing a contract with you within the week. I'm also aware that when the two of you were with Olivia after the show, Mr. Benz stepped out to grab drinks. To me that feels like he had time and also motive. Maybe that motive is directly tied to you."
"I barely knew Ms. Pratt. Steve is full of hot air at times. Whatever he said to Ms. Pratt does not concern me. Steve is certainly no killer, and if you are implying that I would ask him to murder a woman because I have a business-related issue with her, or for any reason for that matter, I'd say you are full of shit, lady. Certainly the reason I am representing Miss Bowen now is because she is wise enough to make an intelligent career choice—"
"I'd like to know how and why you took Olivia Bowen from the races."
"I don't think that's any of your business. It's time for you to leave." His face flushed once again.
She stood. "I'm sure that the police will probably find it as interesting as I do that you now have Olivia as a client only a few days after Audrey was murdered."
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 35
