by Anna Burke
“Oh, I heard about it. The way I heard it, she didn’t just take that pistol, but made sure all the bullets went away, too. Right into the front of that sweet low rider they were driving.” He abandoned his stern demeanor. “Okay, I admit it. I wish I could have been there to see that.”
“Better you than me, Detective. Bernadette, our detective friend here loves your salsa. He wants the recipe.”
“¡Claro que si! Of course, Detective, I’ll have Jessica send it to you.” She bent toward them and lowered her voice, “The key is good tequila.” She smiled angelically as she made her way back through the kitchen and out the door to the garage. “You going to help me with the groceries, Jessica, or do I have to go drag that big guard man away from his post?”
Jessica sat there with her mouth open. “You’d better go help the little lady. I don’t want her to change her mind about giving me that recipe.” He stopped talking and shoveled the last of the salsa into his mouth with gusto. Besides, I have to go. I’ll get those photos to you as soon as I get back to my office. I’ll send you a copy of the evidence log once the miserable slob’s belongings have been inventoried. You can tell me what you want to take a closer look at, okay?”
“Sure, Detective. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Go! Go help Bernadette. I can find my way out.”
The detective gave her a jaunty wave as he moved toward the front of the house. Jessica headed out to the garage, stunned by what had just transpired. She wasn’t sure which was more startling, the detective’s sudden burst of charm or Bernadette’s willingness to give up the secret to her salsa. Jessica felt a surge of hope that someone could stop the scurrilous Mr. P and his still elusive ally, the doc. Preferably before they could kill again. Or order up another murder, as seemed more their style. At this point, there still was no clear evidence for their involvement in Kelly’s death or anyone else’s murder, for that matter. Yet she was keenly aware of their presence. Mr. P and the doc hovered like dark, misbegotten shadows.
CHAPTER 31
Friday night with Paul was a bright spot in an otherwise distressing week of fights and frights. Jessica was distracted, but Paul was so thoroughly engaging, she soon felt lifted up out of the malaise that had settled in after meeting with Detective Hernandez. The down-and-out around her were dropping like flies: two dead and one in the hospital within the week. The reprobate who lost his hoodie by the side of the road was probably in need of some medical assistance, too. She wasn’t sure what that much pepper spray might have done to his scrawny ass, but it couldn’t have been good.
Frank called Friday morning to let her know that Arnold Dunne was stable but the doctors had asked that he give the man another day to recover. Frank and his partner agreed and were driving down to San Diego on Sunday to interview Mr. Dunne. If they found out anything interesting about how he happened to put up that money for Chester Davis, Frank would be back in touch. Especially if they learned anything that led back to Mr. P or his elusive partner-in-crime, the doc.
Meanwhile, Frank and his colleagues at the Sherriff’s department had identified one of the punks with whom Jessica had the run-in in Riverside. He was a small-time hustler by the name of Justin Baker. His last known address was actually in LA. Frank asked his fellow officers to see if Baker was tied to the other investigation involving Jessica Huntington, undertaken at the Brentwood estate. Lo and behold, they found a link. The low rider turned up in the video surveillance tapes.
In addition, they found blood on the fence surrounding the house, along with a few fibers from torn clothing, indicated someone had tried to scale the fence. Not realizing, until too late, that the spikes were more than ornamental, they had left a bloody mess behind. Fibers on the fence matched trace on the doll’s clothes at the curb. More importantly, preliminary analysis of DNA from the blood at the Brentwood estate led them to Justin Baker. As did DNA taken from the saliva on the mouthpiece he spit out on the exit ramp into Riverside. They could place him at both scenes. Like Chester Davis and Arnold Dunne, Justin Baker had a long rap sheet of low level misdeeds. Rather prolific for a twenty-two-year-old, but nothing that had landed him in the kind of trouble he now faced.
The police in Riverside and surrounding counties had orders to pick up Baker for the attempted B & E and vandalism at the Brentwood site, as well as attempted kidnapping using a firearm, and arson for torching the low rider in Riverside. He also fit Dick Tatum’s physical description of the man who had lobbed a Molotov cocktail at his car. If Dick could I.D. him they’d nail him for that incident too, and for driving a stolen vehicle torched later on. Frank was hopeful they’d catch up with the scurrying rat, and by asking him the right questions might get closer to Mr. P.
That night, it was a relief to watch murder and mayhem rendered in vintage Hollywood style. No booming beat of psycho rap or a dead friend’s face in sight. The images of a teen-aged Kelly intruded. Detective Hernandez had scanned and emailed them to Jessica after leaving her house on Thursday. In all, there were nearly a dozen shockingly licentious photos of her gorgeous young friend.
Adding to their shock value was the fact that several were indeed taken of Kelly as a young teenager. In some, she sported the same maniacal glint in her eye that Barbara Stanwyck flashed at Fred McMurray in Double Indemnity. In those shots, she was Kelly the teenage femme fatale. Some of the photos taken later, when Kelly was 18 or 19, revealed something else. In them Kelly appeared weary and lost, less defiantly sure of herself. The light shone less brightly in her pale, languid eyes. She stared blankly at the camera lens, as though some part of the life inside her had already fled beyond its grasp.
Was Kelly, by then, deeply addicted to a drug that was sucking the life out of her? How could Jessica have missed the loss of that light in her friend? Could that loss have gone unseen by all those who loved her, even Tommy?
Jessica flashed again on that last New Year’s Eve with Kelly. She was struck by how hard Kelly had shoved Jessica and her other friends away in a drunken rage. Perhaps, by that point, no one could get close enough to see what was happening to Kelly Fontana.
Between films, Paul and Jessica talked again about a lot of things. That included another round of discussion about how to manage their business relationship and a personal one. Should she be concerned about the fleeting glances from colleagues as she and Paul left the building together on Tuesday evening?
“I’m sure there’s a lot of curiosity about who you are. The rumor mill will churn away when a junior colleague and a senior colleague are seen dashing off together somewhere. We could try to be more discrete, I suppose. My intentions are aboveboard, and my reputation is squeaky clean. It’s squeaky clean because I’ve worked hard keeping it that way. Integrity matters to me, and that’s not going to change.”
“I know that, Paul. That’s why we’re having this conversation. I don’t want to mislead you about my intentions, since they are virtually incomprehensible to me at times. I feel overwhelmed by your kindness and generosity toward me. I’m so needy right now. I don’t want to respond inappropriately to the attention you show me. I’m afraid I’ll cross a boundary that I shouldn’t cross because I’ve been knocked on my behind by my ex-husband.”
She gazed into his blue eyes, which fixed her with an amiable twinkle. He was such a good sport, so balanced and judicious in his interactions with her and others. Maybe it was that stolid even-handedness, and his directness that appealed to her. Or maybe it was just those piercing blue eyes and the little crinkles in the corners around them. It could be the handsome set of his jaw, the sensuous lips and the engaging smile.
“Well, I won’t deny that I’m drawn to you, Jessica. I’ve told you that already. I’ve heard every word you’ve had to say about your struggle to make a new life for yourself. I hope I can be part of that new life in some way. Let’s leave it at mentor and friend for now. I’m no fool, though, and I’m a lawyer. I understand the sensitive nature of the power difference between us. If I do or say anyth
ing that makes you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me. I’ll do the same if you do something I find troubling. I’ll try to keep my wits about me, even when you throw your arms around my neck. Deal?”
“Deal,” Jessica said as a rush of emotions engulfed her just thinking about those hugs. “Bergamot and amber,” she thought, hoping she could hold up her end of their bargain.
“Speaking of deals, guess who called me and wants to make one, involving you, by the way?”
“Let me guess, a gentleman by the name of Mr. P. Am I right?” Jessica asked, cringing as she uttered the man’s name.
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?”
“I should have updated you about my latest encounter with psychopaths at dinner the other night. After that wonderful surprise about the exhibit honoring Dad, I didn’t want to ruin things by bringing it up. I figured I’d find a better time to fill you in on my latest foray into sleuthing. I guess now’s the time.”
Jessica spent the next twenty minutes bringing Paul up to date on the cold case involving her friend Kelly, whose boyfriend had recently turned up with a bullet in his head. She included the fact that her “pro bono” client, Chester Davis, had met his maker. Perhaps at the hands of a former cellmate, only one hypodermic needle away from the same fate. She detailed her admittedly impetuous visit to the man himself, their tumultuous conversation in his office, and the string of incidents involving the destruction or near-destruction of numerous autos before and since that visit.
“Wow, things have taken a few twists and turns, haven’t they? I guess it’s good that Mr. P made that call. I presume that means he still sees you as someone he can woo with the promise of billable hours. While, of course, still trying to scare the living daylights out of you. I’m not sure what to make of the work he wants us to handle. It’s not really my bailiwick. They want the firm to take a look at copyright issues related to a video archive the studio has in its possession. Some still shots and music videos they’ve produced. Also older, more valuable films purchased with film preservation in mind. In addition to sorting out ownership, he also has a concern about putting the collection into a charitable trust with provisions for maintaining the archive long-term. That’s as far as we got during our initial conversation. I could steer the man toward others in the firm. Except for his expressed intention to include ‘that stunning young woman newly in your employ, Jessica Huntington’.”
“I’ll defer to you on this, Paul. The man is loathsome, and I dread the thought of working with him. I suppose it’s probably smart not to disabuse the man of his belief that I can be bought off. Is there a way to say yes and no at the same time?”
“What I can do is stall. It doesn’t sound like there’s any urgency about Mr. P’s plans for the archive. I’ll have Gloria put him on my schedule two or three weeks out. That’ll allow more time for law enforcement to carry out their investigations. You’ve got a horde of police detectives in at least three counties hard at work. If he’s behind even a small part of the trouble spinning around you, especially the deaths of Chester Davis or Bobby Simmons, your trouble with Mr. P may soon be over.”
“Oh my God, Paul, I hope that’s true. I’d like to get justice for Kelly and Chester but I’ll settle for getting enough on them to bring an end to the murder and mayhem.”
He was right. There were a lot of people working on a lot of angles. According to Frank, even Art Greenwald and the cold case team were still at it. They were chasing down a couple new leads of their own as well as following up on the information Jessica and her friends had dug up. If they could connect the dots, there might be a way to stop Mr. P and get belated justice for Kelly. The missing piece was still the matter of a motive for killing Kelly. Perhaps she had pissed him off, as Jessica had done. It was not hard to imagine the tantrum-prone Mr. P acting on his rage from behind the wheel of an expensive luxury sedan transformed into a lethal weapon. “What did you do, Kelly?” Jessica wondered as she went back into hostess mode for her movie night with Paul.
CHAPTER 32
Saturday, Jessica gathered the cat pack, determined to deliver the news that their investigation into Kelly’s death was over. They were silent and wide-eyed as Jessica detailed recent events. The toll of misdeeds was astonishing: Chester Davis and Bobby Simmons dead, two cars in Jessica’s possession vandalized, and three others torched by the punks who apparently pursued her from LA to Riverside. Or maybe even from Palm Desert to LA and then to Riverside, if it turned out they were also the ones who left that first warning for Jessica on El Paseo. With Arnold Dunne in custody, and the police on the hunt for Justin Baker, Jessica tried to sound optimistic about the chances of nailing Mr. P.
Two things particularly alarmed members of the cat pack seated in a circle on the patio, after cooling off in the pool: First, Jessica’s confrontation with Mr. P, in particular the fact the he was so far out ahead of them. Second, that doll left at the Brentwood estate. It was clearly meant to terrorize and disgust by being posed to mimic the way Kelly’s body was found at the scene of her murder.
Jessica reluctantly revealed yet another secret about Kelly. Kelly was dressed in much the same way as that doll in some of the photos Bobby Simmons had in his possession. That made the creepy doll scene even creepier, if that was possible. His sister’s waywardness distressed Tommy. He confessed that he had no right to criticize her, since he had similarly confusing encounters as a young gay boy.
“Gay culture has the same problems as straight culture when it comes to a preference for young and pretty. It’s a cover for pervs looking to exploit the young and dumb, pretty or not. No kid is a match for one of those freaks. Jerry’s helping me work through it, but I’ve got a ton of damage from trusting the wrong guys for the wrong reasons, you know?”
“Tell me about it, Tommy.” Jessica sighed. How did you ever really know who you could or could not trust? She was in her twenties when she fell for Jim Harper. Certainly no fifteen-year-old should have been put in the position Kelly had been placed by the likes of Bobby Simmons or Mr. P. Or, whoever it was that had lured the lovely, mixed-up, young girl into posing for those photos.
“Could anyone have spared you any of that, Tommy? Could I have done more for you or Kelly to prevent you from getting into those situations?” He thought about it for a bit before replying.
“Probably not, Jessica. I was so angry, confused and needy.”
“Kelly was involved with Bobbie Simmons for so long. Some of those photos look like they were taken while she was still in high school or maybe even junior high. She never mentioned him to me. Did she ever say anything to you about him?”
“Not a word. I thought they hooked up once she started working at the casino. Getting connected to that slime ball might actually make more sense if it happened when she was younger. You know, easily impressed? I could totally see the creep conning her into modeling. That could lead back to Mr. P and the doc, given what we found out. Do you want to tell them, or should I, Jerry?”
“Go ahead, Tommy. You start, then, I’ll jump in.”
Tommy and Jerry had unearthed a studio of another kind owned by Christopher Pogswich: Pure Porn Studio Group. The activities of the small adult film studio were not illegal, and it was a lucrative endeavor. They had released a stream of low budget films with suggestive titles, many of them tawdry twists on the names of mainstream Hollywood hits.
“Here’s what we think is most important,” Jerry interjected. “California mandates that adult film companies have physicians who certify the health of their actors. I’m using that term loosely, of course. In any case, we have a name. The physician of record for the porn studio, since they opened their doors in 1989, has been a Dr. Maxwell Samman.” When he spoke that name, Laura sucked in a breath of air.
“Oh my God, I heard that name, too, or something like it. I went to lunch with one of the women in the grief group I’m in. I knew her before Roger died. She worked at Eisenhower hospital for 30 years until she retir
ed a couple years ago. I don’t know exactly how we got onto the subject, maybe I was trying to avoid talking about Roger and me.” Laura paused for a split second and then went on.
“Anyway, I started out asking about her work in the ER, sort of curious about the records they keep, stuff like that. Then, I told her why I was interested. The whole story tumbled out. When I described what the doc looked like, she knew immediately who I was talking about.” Laura leaned in speaking excitedly.
“She says this guy came into the ER, covered in blood, with a scrape on his head and a gash in his neck. His companion was doing the talking, because the big guy had part of a ball point pen casing poking out of his throat. He claimed the man had choked while eating dinner and then fell, hitting his head. Someone had tried to perform an emergency tracheotomy. He didn’t say who had done that. This gigantic mangled man was just lying there in the ER, weak and nearly unconscious. While examining him they found he had fractured a couple ribs and one had punctured a lung. So they admitted him to the hospital.” Laura paused longer this time. Like she was trying to remember all she had been told.
“She remembered his name because it wasn’t just his name that sounded fishy to them. According to my friend, his name was salmon, ‘like the fish.’ A young guy with him gave them cash: no insurance company, no check, no credit card, just a lot of cash to pay for the bloodied goliath’s care. They thought something was suspicious about them, and their story.”
“Why didn’t they report their suspicions to the police?”
“It was really odd, but nobody was accusing anyone of wrongdoing. This nice-looking young man, sucking up to this repulsive older man in such bad shape, had them all wondering. Not so much about foul play. More that something kinky involving sex, money or drugs had gone terribly wrong.”
