Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  Giving Dinah a reassuring look, I went into the bathroom and shut the door, turning on the shower to drown out my voice. “Listen to me. This asshole just called and freaked her the fuck out, but we ran a trace. The call originated from somewhere inside the hotel. Bringing her back there is the same as handing her over to him.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “It was the hotel’s main line. We’re guessing the call was placed from within one of the rooms, but we can’t rule anything out.” I took a breath. “How much do you trust the men on your team?”

  “How much do you trust the people you work with?” Scar retorted. He let out an exasperated snarl. “My mission is to keep Dinah safe. Under these circumstances, you’ll need to take over until something more permanent can be arranged. Whatever you do, keep her away from here.”

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  “That will be up to Miss Allen to decide,” he replied.

  “Well, that’s what I would recommend, but I’ll let you discuss it with your client.” I returned to the living room and held out the phone.

  While they spoke, I called Cross. Maybe he would be able to talk some sense into these people who thought they were too famous for the likes of local law enforcement. I didn’t know who this asshole stalker was. All I knew was he was inside the hotel and knew enough about Dinah’s safety protocols to call Scar. It was a power play designed to force her security chief to demand her return. When that failed, the stalker would try something else, and the only other place Dinah was guaranteed to be was on set.

  Twenty-three

  “You should reconsider,” I said for what felt like the millionth time. “The phone call was a threat. It put you in direct contact with whoever is terrorizing you. We should assume matters will continue to escalate.”

  Scaratilli and Dinah exchanged glances. Based on her body language, Dinah was on the fence, but Scar wasn’t convinced. It might have been a point of pride, or he’d been in the business long enough to know police involvement would turn the entire matter into a circus.

  “They don’t need the police,” Cross retorted. “That’s why they hired us.” He offered our clients a sheepish smile. “Please excuse, Miss Parker. She’s new and has yet to fully grasp the services Cross Security provides. It’s from her conditioning as an FBI agent.”

  Dinah met my eyes. I could read the apology on her face, but she agreed with Cross. “That is why I signed with your company, despite already having a private security detail.”

  “My team will maintain a constant presence until you have identified and removed the threat. Should another attempt be made, we will notify you immediately.” Scar opened the door to the conference room and waited for Dinah to exit. Ty Johnson was just outside the room, and another one of the guards was waiting near the elevator at reception. “Keep me looped in,” Scar insisted.

  Cross nodded, and we remained silent until Dinah and Scar were halfway down the hall. Cross dropped into a chair and rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t even five a.m. Dinah hadn’t slept after the phone call, and since she had an early call time, we decided to meet before she went to the lot at a safe location – the Cross Security offices.

  “All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Cross said, fighting back a yawn. “I have teams inside the hotel. We will figure out where the call originated, even if we have to bang down every damn door. I don’t care if the other security teams don’t like it or think we’re violating their clients’ privacy. They can get over it.”

  “Great.” I wasn’t sure how he was going to make those things happen, but it would be unwise to question him.

  He looked up, as if realizing he wasn’t just verbalizing his strategy for his own benefit. “You spoke to the stalker. We need a workable profile. Get on that.”

  “What are we doing about Dinah?” I asked.

  “Her security team is taking point. I have a secondary unit shadowing them, and several additional units providing around-the-clock protection at the lot. Even if one of her associates is responsible, we’re keeping a careful watch. No one will be able to get to her. We’re doing checks at the gate. No weapons will get on set.”

  “What about the ones that are already there?”

  “The guns are props, so are the knives.”

  “Not the ones at craft services.”

  He practically rolled his eyes. “I’ll ask them to switch to plastic. Anything else?”

  I didn’t like it, but Lucien knew the security business inside and out. And Scaratilli was no slouch. They would keep the actress safe. I just had to figure out who wanted to cause her harm.

  “Do you think one of the medics upstairs could hook me up to a caffeine drip?” I asked.

  Cross chuckled and rose from the chair. “Get to work, Alex. No one should be here for another hour or two. The breakroom is yours.”

  Returning to my office, I set to work creating a profile. Cross and I had already created a preliminary profile the night we found the dummy posed on the soundstage, but after speaking to the stalker on the phone, I had a few additional details to add. Over the course of an hour, I came up with what I imagined to be a workable lead.

  Based on the phone call, the stalker believed he loved Dinah. He was clearly jealous of her sexual partners. However, that confused matters. Was he a jealous former flame or someone she rejected? Either option fit, but since we were unaware of Lance Smoke or Neil Larson receiving any threats, I was baffled. The stalker insisted he wanted to protect Dinah or save her from these men and these bad decisions. He didn’t want her to be used, or so he had communicated through his note and phone call. Why didn’t he do something to the men who hurt her and used her? Why target Dinah?

  He’s probably a weakling, I figured. If he were physically strong or formidable, he would strike out against them. He would want to be her protector. Her hero. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he was attempting to fancy himself more of a lover than a fighter by delivering flowers and warning her away from these powerful men. It’s the type of thing a good friend would do.

  “Shit.” I wasn’t sure that theory fit. Whoever was after Dinah had vaulted up the staircase and disappeared onto the roof, assuming that’s what happened. He had to be in some sort of shape. Maybe I made a mistake, unless Lance or Neil was responsible. The star needed the director just as much as the director needed his star. Due to the nature of their working relationship, neither could target the other. They would only be able to focus their efforts on Dinah.

  The only other alternative was the stalker’s access was limited to Dinah, not the cast or crew. At least not to the same extent. That would indicate it was someone Dinah employed or one of the men she was speaking to outside of the film.

  “Anything?” Cross barged into my office and took a seat, checking the time.

  “This is bullshit. I’ve just gone in a complete circle. We still don’t know enough. We don’t have any idea who’s stalking her or what his endgame is.”

  “Did you manage to rule anyone out? You had a list of several possibilities from set.”

  “Lance has made several attempts to win Dinah back. Even though he has his own stardom and the most to lose, he makes the most sense. Neil Larson could just as easily be responsible, and since he couldn’t act against Lance on Dinah’s behalf, he’d be stuck threatening her to stay away from Lance and maybe even the production.”

  “The director is the reason Dinah was granted a ride-along. He wouldn’t appease her if he wanted her to abandon the movie, and he wouldn’t have paired her up with an investigator if he was going to terrorize her. That doesn’t fit.” Cross leaned over and scratched his name off my list. “Logically, it just doesn’t.”

  “This isn’t logical.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It isn’t him. It doesn’t feel right, and if you think about it for a few minutes, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “You’re right.” I looked down at the names. “If it was the stunt coordina
tor, he could probably kneecap Lance and make it look like an accident. If he was stalking Dinah, he would make it known and take credit for his chivalrous tactics to protect her. Kurt talks a lot. He wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.” I scratched off his name.

  Cross smiled. “See, that’s progress.”

  I frowned at the paper. “Not really. We already decided it wasn’t Scar, so the only name left on the list is Lance Smoke.”

  “Unless it’s someone we have yet to consider. In theory, it could be anyone on set. Maybe even someone behind the scenes. Most stalkers are nameless, faceless nobodies who blend into the background and are never seen or noticed. That’s why they do what they do and how they manage to get away with it. You need to broaden your scope.”

  I gave him a look. “You don’t think it’s Lance?”

  “It’s possible. But we need to be certain, and the only way is to rule out everyone else.”

  “Easier said than done,” I mumbled.

  He ignored me and pushed a thumb drive closer. “Here’s what my search for Reaper has unearthed. You can get started on that while I lead the morning meeting. It might be time I bring in a few more investigators to assist.”

  “You think?”

  He glared and went to the door. “I will speak to you when I am finished.”

  Great, now I was in trouble. Me and my big mouth. Shaking it off, I plugged the drive into my computer and waited. In moments, Reaper’s entire life filled my screen. His name was Chaz Relper. His parents actually named him Chaz. It wasn’t short for Charles, and an easy misspelling is probably what led to his nickname. Based on his arrest record, he had been in and out of the criminal justice system. As a kid, he’d done some petty things. By the time he hit twenty-five, Chaz had been charged with extortion, B&E, trespassing, vandalism, public nuisance, harassment, lewd behavior, and public urination.

  Besides his criminal record, Relper’s or Reaper’s credit card statements, phone records, and family connections were included. Access to most of these things was difficult or illegal to obtain, but Lucien didn’t follow the rules. I was convinced there was a line, but I had a feeling my boss wouldn’t agree. Instead of allowing the moral and ethical quandaries to be debated in my brain, I parsed through the details for relevant facts.

  By the end, I knew Reaper had recently purchased a drone. In addition, he had several recent transactions at a local hardware store, but I had no way of determining exactly what he bought. I wrote down the VIN and license plate of his vehicle, along with his home address and phone number. I didn’t want to call and risk tipping him off. Instead, I thought I’d pay him a visit.

  When Cross returned to my office, I was in the middle of shrugging into my shoulder holster. He didn’t seem surprised I was on my way out. He also seemed to have mellowed since our previous conversation or simply forgot he intended to chew me out.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To see if I can pin down Reaper.”

  “His phone’s been turned off for the last three days. I tried to track it, but it was impossible.”

  “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Excellent.” Cross stepped back into the hallway, and by the time I picked up my keys, he was gone. At least I finally had some autonomy.

  When I arrived at the apartment, I knew why my boss had made such a hasty retreat. The drive to Chaz Relper’s apartment took far longer than it should on account of morning traffic. His place really was in what Dinah would call the ghetto. It was a sketchy neighborhood. Several homeless people were asleep on the sidewalks and in the alleys. I dropped a few dollars into someone’s coffee can on my way to the apartment building while I wondered if there were any spare blankets in the trunk.

  The building was old. Several of the windows were broken, covered with cardboard and tape. The front door was hanging off one hinge, and I pushed inside, afraid of what I might see. Even at this early hour, I could hear people arguing, a baby screaming, and what sounded like three or four cats fighting or mating. With cats, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

  I went up a few flights of stairs, stepping over some questionable patches that might have been old rust spots or recent bloodstains. When I reached Reaper’s apartment, I pounded against the door. No one answered. I tried again. After glancing around, I saw a woman peeking out from behind her door.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and she slammed the door shut. “Ma’am,” I knocked gently on her door, “I’m looking for Mr. Relper. Have you seen him?”

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked, her voice barely more than a cackle. “You a bill collector?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m a friend.”

  “That asshole doesn’t have any friends,” she said from behind the door.

  “Everyone has friends,” I said. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “He left four days ago, middle of the night. He hasn’t been back since.” She cracked the door open again and stared at me. She was a tiny woman with tightly curled gray hair. “Are you a cop?”

  “No, ma’am.” I offered a friendly smile.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “You look like one of them. They were here earlier. You just missed them.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “The police?”

  “Yep.” She gave me a challenging look. “If Chaz is one of your friends, you might want to warn him that they’re looking for him again.”

  “Thanks.” Before I could even get the syllable out, she slammed the door in my face.

  Taking a step back, I waited for her shadow to disappear from beneath the door before I returned to Reaper’s apartment. Why were the police looking for him? They didn’t know about the situation concerning Dinah Allen or the incident at the hotel. At least, that’s what I had been told. However, I wasn’t positive the hotel hadn’t filed a report. After all, they sustained property damage. They might have been obligated to file a police report for insurance purposes.

  Unsure why the police might want Reaper, I figured they’d be back eventually. If he was wanted for a crime, they’d return with a warrant and search his place. I needed to look around first. This way, they couldn’t remove a potentially important piece of evidence before I had a chance to see it. For all I knew, he might have a shrine dedicated to Dinah Allen right inside.

  Convincing myself this was necessary, I removed the lock picks from my purse and set to work. His lock, like the rest of the building, was in poor shape. The door opened without putting up much of a fight, and I slipped on some gloves and tied back my hair before stepping inside.

  Small didn’t even begin to describe it. The rear wall had a fridge, sink, and oven. The counter jutted out maybe two feet, and the front door scraped against it. A loveseat was against the very back wall with a TV tray in front of it. The bathroom was in the back, and a cot took up the rest of the living space. The counter, tray, and furniture were covered in camera equipment, and the closet was packed full of clothing, coats, a sweeper, and mop. The food in the fridge had gone bad, and I wondered if it was possible Reaper hadn’t been home in more than four days.

  I didn’t find a drone or any photographs of Dinah Allen. All of the camera equipment was broken. Carefully, I checked each one for a memory stick. Most were empty, but I did find two and removed the cards. I went through the pockets of Reaper’s clothes. He had a parking stub from the hotel garage dated five days ago, so he had been staking out the hotel and possibly Dinah Allen. Other than that, I didn’t find anything of use. I didn’t find the drone, Reaper’s phone, or any indication that he might be able to identify the stalker.

  Feeling defeated, I let myself out of the apartment. The parking stub meant he’d been home sometime in the last five days, so his neighbor’s timeline appeared accurate. I just didn’t know if lengthy absences were commonplace for him. The man lived in a sardine can. He probably only went home when it was absolutely necessary.

  When I made it out of the building, I checked the nearb
y streets for his car, but I didn’t find it. He wasn’t home, and wherever he was, he probably had his car. A sick feeling washed over me. I wasn’t sure why, but I was worried, even though I didn’t spot any threats. No one was after me, but I couldn’t help but think someone had come for Reaper. He really should have found a better nickname. The irony might just mean his death.

  Twenty-four

  I clicked through the photographs on the memory cards. The first card contained several images of the exterior of the studio. Reaper had obviously spent some time walking the entire length of the fence, taking shot after shot as he went. He even captured the small defect at the bottom of the fence. Several zoomed in shots of the trailers were taken, but from this angle, I couldn’t tell one from the other. It was possible he’d pinpointed Dinah’s trailer, but without anyone in the shot, I couldn’t be certain. However, from these vantage points, even zoomed in, I was positive Reaper never made it onto the lot.

  Moving on to the second memory card, I scanned through those photos. These were taken at the hotel. Several caught glimpses of the actors entering or exiting. The celebrities were always flanked by security and assistants with their heads ducked as they dove into their cars. Lance, Clay, Gemma, Dinah, and a dozen other lesser knowns were photographed. Based on clothing and the light patterns, the photos on this card had been taken over the course of several days.

  I kept scrolling. Almost all of the shots were taken from nearly the same position, just to the left of the hotel doors. I minimized the photo viewer and checked the file information to see when each photo was taken, but the camera Reaper used wasn’t properly programmed. The date was listed at 1/1/00, and the time was 0:00:00. Neither detail was accurate or useful. Perhaps the techs could do something about it.

  The memory card contained over five hundred photographs. Most were nothing more than blurry images. I clicked through even faster, wondering if the stalker might have been caught in one of these blurry shots. Cross and I had wondered the same thing about the memory cards we had purchased the day the drone went down, but those were a bust. I had a feeling this would be too. If these cards contained anything of value, Reaper wouldn’t have left them with his broken camera equipment. His building wasn’t exactly safe, so anything of value must be elsewhere, probably with him.