The Next Victim (Kali O'Brien series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Kali tried not to imagine the action, but failed. She could feel herself blush.

  “You want a soda or something?” Wayne asked her.

  “No thanks.”

  He grabbed one for himself from the fridge in an alcove off the hallway, then pointed her to an office with a wide wooden desk, a couple of comfortable-looking chairs, a walnut bookcase, and a credenza. As classy as the typical law office, but in place of the customary diplomas and awards of recognition hanging on the wall, Clark’s office offered framed blowups of graphic sex scenes.

  Kali studied them while trying to appear that she was looking elsewhere.

  “Have a seat,” Clark said, pointing to a chair. He ignored the desk and sat opposite her.

  She pulled her gaze from the photos on the wall. “So you make porn films?”

  Clark winced. “We prefer the term ‘adult content’ or ‘X-rated.’ It’s all strictly legal.”

  “For Web sites?”

  “No, except for what we put out as teasers. The Web stuff is generally trash. Our stuff comes out on DVDs and cable. Hotels are a huge market. Insatiable, if you’ll excuse the term.” He grinned and popped the tab on his soda. “But the home consumer market is a gangbuster, too. Americans spend over ten billion a year on adult entertainment. Did you know that? It’s a huge and profitable business.”

  In spite of herself, Kali was impressed by the numbers. “You make feature films, then?”

  Clark nodded. “Everything from artsy, soft core to really hard core, though my personal preference is for stuff in the middle. Some of the schlock out there, especially on the Web, you get no story at all, clunky dialogue, amateur filming, sometimes just a single handheld camera. We try to be a step above.” He paused to down a gulp of soda. “Well, we try to be several steps above, but I can’t say we always get there. Trouble is, too many people don’t give a rat’s ass about quality. The market gets flooded with crappy product, and then consumers, they start to think that’s the norm.”

  “Sounds like an uphill battle,” Kali offered lamely. She wasn’t sure that quality and porn belonged in the same sentence.

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Wayne said. “We want to be known for quality. Good sets, good plots, attractive people—actors who can actually remember their lines. Everything you’d expect in a mainstream movie. We don’t do the extreme stuff—no shots of women getting beaten, raped, suffocated, or strangled. No slasher films and no sadoerotic stuff.”

  “How commendable.” She couldn’t conceal the sarcasm.

  Clark gave her an amused smile. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

  “Not really, no.”

  He leaned back and held up his hands as if fending off attack. “Not one of those righteous crusaders who wants to dictate how others live, I hope.”

  “No, not that either. So what’s your role in the company?”

  “I started out as a director but I’ve gotten more into the production end. A good script and the right talent make all the difference. I try to make sure we’ve got both. Not the big-name stars, obviously. We can’t afford them. But folks starting out, fresh talent, there’s a lot to be said for that too. We’re not in the same league as the major studios, but we’re doing well and growing.”

  “Major studios?”

  “VCA, Vivid, Wicked Pictures. They’re known for big-budget films. Most of the biggies are in the Valley, near L.A. It’s the epicenter of the adult film industry. But smaller studios are springing up around the country.”

  “And my brother,” Kali asked reluctantly, “what was his role?”

  “Strictly financial. Small time, in fact. He wasn’t one of the major players.” Wayne took another long swig of soda. “The bigger studios, they have corporate backing. Some are even publicly traded. We rely on private investors.”

  “So that’s what you and John met about recently?”

  Wayne shook his head. “No. Like I said, I don’t handle the financial stuff. That was the first time I’d met your brother, in fact. I got a call from our financial guy saying John wanted to meet with me. About a girl.”

  “A girl?” Kali’s mouth felt dry.

  “That’s what he said. I assumed your brother had a friend who was trying to get into the business and he wanted to use his contacts to find a role for her. But that wasn’t it. He had a photograph of three young women. Wanted to know if I recognized any of them.”

  Kali swallowed. “Did you?”

  “One of them. Dark hair, exotic looking. A real beauty, which is rarer than you’d think in this business. She’d been murdered a couple of days earlier and John seemed to think he was a suspect.”

  “Olivia Perez,” Kali said, as much to herself as Wayne. “She’d worked for you?”

  “Only a couple of films. Minor roles. To look at her, a hot babe like that, you’d think she’d be a natural. But she had no charisma on the set. I mean zip. She did a scene with Randy Gibbons, who’s like our leading male, and she could barely manage to look interested. Her only enthusiasm was for collecting the paycheck at the end of the day.”

  Randy. The good-looking guy with the great body Joanna Sommers had told her about seeing at the mall. Not a boyfriend, but a porn film coworker.

  Clark tossed his empty can. “Happens way too often. Girls come to the industry because they think it’s an easy road to good money. They all think they’re going to be the next Jenna Jameson. Most of them bail pretty quick.”

  “Jenna’s a big name?”

  He laughed. “Guess you’re really not a fan, are you? Yeah, she’s probably the most successful porn star ever. She still makes films but she’s also CEO of her own company and brings in as much money as any mainstream celebrity. Maybe more.”

  Kali had never considered herself a prude, but she was beginning to realize she was more buttoned-down than she imagined. “When did Olivia start working for you?”

  “Last spring. But it was the other girls in the photo John was most interested in. I didn’t recognize either of them. I gave him the names of other folks in the industry who might have worked with them. And that was it.”

  Kali remembered the names and numbers written on the back of Wayne Clark’s business card. She showed them to him. “Were these the contacts you gave John?”

  “Yeah. I never talked to him after that, so I don’t know if he had any luck.”

  “Did he by any chance tell you why he was looking for the girls?”

  Wayne shook his head. “I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. Sometimes it’s best not to know.”

  So true, Kali thought. Unfortunately, not knowing was a luxury she couldn’t afford just then.

  Chapter 37

  Erling stared at the reports on his desk. It was impossible to concentrate. Rather than working on his open cases, he’d spent the afternoon trapped in his mind, watching his marriage and his career crumble.

  Why hadn’t he asked to be taken off the case the moment he recognized Sloane was one of the victims? It would have been embarrassing, but it wouldn’t have permanently impacted his job. And Deena might never have heard a word about it.

  Except, as Sloane’s ex-lover, Erling would have come under suspicion himself. His job and his marriage would have been affected. Just as they were now.

  He hadn’t avoided anything. He’d only postponed, and compounded, his problem.

  Erling shuffled the reports. He read the words, but nothing sank in. He squirmed in his seat, wiped the dampness from the back of his neck. What had possessed him to get involved with Sloane in the first place?

  He’d known it was wrong, but even now he couldn’t honestly say he regretted it. Sloane had been so alive. Vibrant and sexy in a way Deena had never been. Sloane tapped into feelings he’d thought were long dead. Maybe it was simply the novelty of the relationship, the rush of feeling desired, the excitement of breaking the rules. Or maybe it was the electric charge that had sparked between them the moment they’d met. Her blue-gray eyes had grazed his skin, taki
ng stock, causing his flesh to tingle.

  It wasn’t that Erling loved Sloane more than Deena, or in place of Deena. He wasn’t sure he’d even loved her at all. Rather, she was an addiction. He’d craved her and the dizzying pleasure of the here and now. Like a glutton in a candy shop, he’d been focused only on the next bite. It had been about him and how Sloane made him feel, not about Deena or their marriage.

  But no longer. Tonight his two worlds would collide.

  And Deena would be caught in the crush.

  Erling felt the weight of his wrongdoing like shackles on his soul. He couldn’t bear to think of the ways he’d harmed her.

  They’d married right out of college. Deena was only the second woman he’d been with, and the first had been little more than a drunken one-night stand. He was taken by her warmth, her laughter, the fact that she wanted him. Him. It was a heady feeling.

  In retrospect, Erling realized that he’d loved the idea of Deena as much as the woman herself. But over the years of their marriage, he’d grown to care about her more deeply than he’d ever imagined. She was a warm and selfless woman, maybe a little controlling at times, but also someone who propped him up when he needed it, taught him to laugh at petty annoyances and not to take himself too seriously. But after Danny’s death, she’d retreated into a place where Erling wasn’t invited. Maybe he hadn’t tried as hard as he should have. He realized that now, but after all, he’d been hurting, too.

  The unbearable loss of their son was something neither of them would ever get over. But instead of holding tight to each other in their grief, they’d pulled apart. On the surface, nothing changed. They didn’t argue or pout. Deena kissed him good-bye each morning, made his dinners, and inquired about his day. Erling checked the tires on her car, opened the jars with tight lids, chuckled at the stories she told about her students. They made love, comfortably if not passionately, but Erling sensed that the tiniest puff of ill wind would rip the fragile fabric of their marriage to shreds.

  And now he’d opened the door to that wind.

  Erling again rubbed his neck. He got up and walked to the men’s room, where he washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He dried himself off with a rough paper towel from the dispenser and tossed it into the trash. A uniformed deputy entered the restroom and greeted Erling with a friendly nod.

  “Must be nice to have that Winslow murder wrapped up.” The deputy headed for the urinal.

  “Yeah,” Erling replied, aware of the strain in his own voice.

  “You and Michelle did good.”

  “Thanks.” Erling blotted his face again and headed back to his desk.

  His family and his job. He’d made a mess of both. Not only hadn’t he removed himself from the case, protests to Michelle aside, but he couldn’t be certain he’d been totally objective in the investigation.

  John O’Brien was clearly a person of interest. His name had surfaced right away. There was evidence linking him to the crime. But Erling wondered if, in his own self-interest, he hadn’t taken the easy way out. He’d wanted the murders cleared and put away before anyone started asking questions. Before his connection to Sloane surfaced.

  Erling looked around the congested and cluttered squad room that had been his home away from home for more than ten years now. He was a good cop. He knew that. Took pride in it. He didn’t want to become anything less.

  Swallowing the fear and remorse crowding his throat, Erling pulled the file on the Winslow/Perez murders and went through it again, detail by detail. Nothing jumped out at him.

  At five-thirty he put it all away and went home to face Deena.

  <><><>

  Deena was at the kitchen table, scissors in hand, cutting shapes out of multicolored construction paper. He surprised her by announcing he was taking her out to dinner.

  “Right now?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Half an hour? I need to get cleaned up.”

  Erling called and made reservations at one of their favorites, a restaurant that was a bit upscale without being pretentious.

  “Are we celebrating something?” Deena asked when they were seated. Their table was by the window, away from the main artery of activity and noise.

  “We don’t have to have an occasion to go out to dinner, do we?”

  “No, but you have to admit this spur-of-the-moment stuff is a bit unusual.”

  That was true. Maybe going out had been a mistake. “I guess I realized I don’t tell you often enough how important you are to me and how much I love you.”

  She angled her head and smiled at him. “I sense there’s a bit more to it than that, but maybe I should just shut up while I’m ahead.”

  Deena ordered scallops and Erling had prime rib. They both had wine. The food was delicious, but Erling could barely swallow. How did one begin to broach the subject of infidelity? Confession might be good for the soul, but it was hell on the digestive system.

  “Anything more about Mindy’s new boyfriend?” he asked, poking at his mashed potatoes.

  “Only that there’s definitely someone she’s interested in. I overheard her talking on the phone in her room. I couldn’t hear what she said, but the tone was a dead giveaway. Very different from the way she talks to her girlfriends. And I’ve noticed she’s been paying more attention to what she wears.”

  Subtleties. It made Erling wonder what Deena had noticed about his own behavior. “Have you asked Mindy about him?”

  “Not in so many words. We agreed to respect her independence, remember?”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “That’s true.” Deena paused. “After Danny, I worry so much about her. I know you do, too.” She touched Erling’s hand. “But it’s important that we don’t burden her with our fears. She deserves her own life.”

  Erling nodded.

  Deena gave him a secretive smile. “I noticed a new book of poetry on her bookshelf the other day. Looks like something a guy would give a girlfriend—soft leather cover, velvet ribbon marker. Not the sort of book that’s assigned for English class.”

  “Maybe you should have a talk with her. She may think she’s all grown up, but we both know what it’s like to be young.” Erling had taken so many risks at her age that the mere memory made him cringe still.

  Deena patted his hand. “She’s entitled to her life, honey. You worry too much. Your day is filled with bad guys, but for the rest of us, bad guys are a rarity.”

  “The guy part is enough of a worry.”

  Deena smiled. “Better get used to it.”

  She’d raised the subject of their jobs. It was an ideal segue into the topic Erling wanted to discuss. He cleared his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  “Speaking of which,” Deena continued after a moment. “I saw in the paper that you finally identified that poor young woman whose body was found in the wash a couple of weeks ago. Do you have any idea who killed her?”

  Erling shook his head. “We don’t even have much of an identity. Just basic stuff—name and address. No next of kin, but we do have a lead on someone who may be a relative. A woman in Minnesota.”

  “Have you contacted her?”

  “Not yet.”

  Deena grew quiet and Erling knew they were both remembering the call from the hospital following Danny’s accident. It had come out of the blue—he’d been spending the afternoon at a buddy’s house—and that one simple call had knocked their world off its foundation.

  Now Erling was about to wield another hammer blow.

  Deena speared a scallop. “You think her killer might be someone she knew?”

  “Possibly. But she was apparently a friend of Olivia Perez’s, the girl who was killed in that double homicide not long ago.” That double homicide where one of the victims was a woman I slept with. His tongue itched with the words.

  “You caught that killer, didn’t you? An employee with a grudge against the older woman.”

 
Older woman. Sensual, passionate Sloane. Erling felt a wracking hollowness in his gut. “We were pretty sure he was the guy. We were building a case when he died.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?”

  Erling shook his head, took a sip of water. He could feel his pulse racing. Here was another opening where he might move from the case to his own misconduct. He took a couple of breaths, but again the words wouldn’t come.

  “Two young women,” Deena said slowly. She sounded worried. “You don’t think there’s a serial killer on the loose, do you?”

  “The two murders don’t fit the same pattern, but we can’t rule out anything at this point.”

  She sighed and put her hand on his. “Not good dinner conversation, is it? How’s your prime rib?”

  <><><>

  When they arrived home, Erling pulled the car into the garage and turned off the engine. Then he turned to Deena before she could get out of the car.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, honey.” Despite the dim interior light, he was able to make out the expression on her face. He watched as confusion gave way to alarm.

  “What is it?” Deena asked, her voice husky with concern. “Are you sick?”

  Erling shook his head, ashamed that her first thought had been concern about him. “I meant what I said earlier about loving you.”

  “What’s wrong? Has something . . . Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands. “I think I know where this is going. There’s someone else, isn’t there? Another woman.”

  “Not now. Not anymore. But we . . . I . . .” Erling’s heart was in his throat. This was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “I was involved with someone last spring. It didn’t last long.”

  Deena removed her hands from her eyes, but she didn’t look at him. Nor did she say anything.

  “I don’t really know why I did it,” Erling continued. “I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed, and so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

  “No, I don’t,” she whispered. She bit her knuckle.