Dead Ringers

by Camilla Chafer

  "Do you think you'll get anything off Sammy's car?" I asked.

  "Unlikely. If this guy's smart, he wore gloves before tampering with the engine. Plus, we had a couple of rainy evenings last week, which doesn't help for recovering anything externally. You said you picked up the keys?"

  I fished them from my pocket and handed them over. "My prints are probably all over them. Sorry."

  "If the perp was there, I doubt he or she even touched them. Plus, after two weeks outside, countless people could have come into contact with them, thought better of it and dropped them again," said Ashleigh. "Whom do I speak to about the security camera?"

  "The bearded bartender," I said, pointing to Kelvin just as he looked up. I knew the moment he spotted Ashleigh's badge on a lanyard around her neck. His eyes widened and he heaved a sigh, then he nodded to acknowledge her presence.

  "I'll take it from here," said Ashleigh. "Enjoy your evening. See you at Daisy's? Did you all get the group text?"

  "Looking forward to it," I said.

  "I'll be there," said Jenna.

  "Not me," said Mike. Then he winked, "But you know where I'll be."

  "Oh, please," said Ashleigh as she walked off.

  "Do you have to hit on everyone?" asked Jenna.

  Mike nodded, a serious expression on his face. "Me hitting on women is like a monkey flinging mud. Eventually, it sticks somewhere."

  Jenna and I looked at each other and shook our heads. "Did Mike just compare himself to a monkey?" she asked.

  "A flirtatious, desperate monkey," I clarified.

  Mike sat up straighter and grinned, taking my insult with his usual good humor. "Speaking of nothing to do with that analogy, I do have a gig to perform. Do you two want to be groupies? If you throw your bras at me while I'm on stage, I promise to give them back later."

  "No," said Jenna.

  "No chance," I added. "But yes, we'll watch you perform."

  "And the gig?" Mike wanted to know.

  "Why do we hang out with him?" I asked Jenna.

  "No clue. It's just become a habit," said Jenna.

  "Let's go," said Mike. He handed us a pair of tickets. "I have to grab my guitar and I'll see you there."

  "I still think he's adorable," said Jenna after Mike left, completely ignoring the mob of blonds who all turned to look at him as he pushed through the door.

  "Bunny rabbits are adorable," I told her as I hopped down from the bar stool. We grabbed our things and left, another group occupying our seats within seconds. With only a block to walk, we didn't take long to reach the bar where Mike was engaged to play. We got our tickets stamped, found a table near the back and ordered drinks as we idly chatted while we waited for him to come on. By the time he was announced, I was relaxed. I pushed thoughts of Sammy and all the other girls to one side. I needed a break from the horror of it. Ashleigh had new information to follow thanks to Mike and me. Tomorrow, I had a CD of footage to peruse. Then, almost like an electric shock, I realized I hadn't thought about Ben even once. I reached for my phone. No messages. Sliding it away, I smiled at something Jenna said before we quieted when a woman appeared on the small stage and announced Mike to rapturous applause.

  I ignored the sinking feeling I got when I thought about Ben and listened to Mike as he crooned a love song about the broken-hearted. When he finished, he sought me out in the audience and, from the stage, fixed me with a warm smile before launching into his next song.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since the previous day was long and exhausting, I took advantage of the opportunity to sleep in. When I got hungry, I made coffee and toast, bringing it back to bed along with my laptop. I felt a little guilty and indulgent for having enjoyed the previous evening's entertainment after the revelation at the Diamond Lounge bar, and then loafing around my apartment today. But I knew the reality: no matter how hard I pounded LA's streets, I wouldn't find Sammy on my own and certainly not today. There was so much I didn't yet know. I had to investigate the only way I could: finding little pieces, slowly putting them together, and hoping they fit.

  Last night gave me a crucial, new clue I'd yet to fully investigate. The Diamond Lounge’s camera footage was copied to a CD currently residing in my purse. If Ashleigh knew I had a copy, she didn't send a message scolding me, so I had to assume that Kelvin didn't tell her. I would probably never know whether that was because he didn't want to get into any trouble with the police, or because he felt some guilt about not doing anything to solve Sammy's disappearance. However, I had no doubt that the moment Ashleigh reviewed the footage and found his statement lacking in any way, she would be back.

  Leaning over to reach my purse, I remembered I tossed it onto the couch last night. With a less than charming grunt, I swung my legs out of bed once more and padded through the living room, my empty plate and cup in hand. I put the plate in the sink, replenished my coffee cup and grabbed my purse.

  Back in bed, I retrieved the CD and stuck it into my laptop. Moments later, after some reshuffling of pillows, I hit play and the desktop screen was replaced by grainy images of the bar. Sammy worked the evening shift and, according to Kelvin, arrived at six PM. I moved the time slider along until I reached a half hour before. I concentrated on the corner where the external camera overlooked the employee parking lot. Unfortunately, as suspected, the angle of the camera partially cut off the entry gates and a small chunk of the currently empty space where Sammy parked her car.

  Placing the tape on double speed, I sipped my coffee and waited. At five forty-five, a car pulled into the lot and reversed into the space. I rewound the tape, placing it on normal speed and watching again. Sammy was alone. No one followed her into the lot and she didn't wave to anyone. Although the picture wasn't top quality, I had a good view of her getting out of her car, throwing a small purse over her shoulder before pushing the door shut and locking it. She paused to stuff her keys in a dark bomber jacket, then walked across the lot and disappeared under the camera.

  I had to wait a few minutes before another camera angle showed her walking behind the bar. The purse and jacket were gone and she high-fived the bartender already stationed there. I had to lean in to check but I was sure the other bartender was Kelvin. For the next couple of hours — viewed in double time — Sammy didn't move from behind the bar. Instead, she glided up and down the length of it, serving bottles and glasses, and engaging in small talk with the patrons, Kelvin, and a dark-haired woman I guessed was Kelvin's girlfriend, Marika.

  After a while, I turned my attention to the patrons but I didn't spot anyone familiar and not once did Sammy look uncomfortable with any of the interactions. Around nine, she took a few minutes break and although the cameras didn't follow her, I guessed she probably visited the restroom or maybe went to sit in the employee lounge. I put the tape onto double speed again and made my way through the rest of the night. The bar got busier, people were standing a couple of rows deep waiting to buy drinks and the growing crowd crushed parties together. From the camera's vantage point, I saw a lot of backs of heads but some turned as they left the bar. I still didn't recognize anyone. It seemed logical to me that everyone who went into the bar would buy a drink at some point, ensuring they crossed the camera's path but as carefully as I looked, I couldn't see Ryan Ellison. That didn't mean he wasn't there. There were plenty of dark-haired men in ball caps and the low-quality image didn't help.

  Knowing that her car was operational when she arrived, and tampered with by the time she left, my gaze fluttered between the two cameras. Finally, at eleven-thirty, I saw what I was waiting for. Someone darted towards Sammy's car, ran their fingers under the hood and slid open the catch. They pulled the hood up, and a sleeve constricted to reveal pale skin. A quick tug and the sleeve was down; then the person reached into the engine and yanked. Stepping back, they reached for the hood, pulling it shut before jogging away. The whole thing took less than a couple of minutes and with their back to the camera the whole time, while wearing dark, indistinctive
clothing and a knit beanie, there was no way I could identify anyone. The only thing I was fairly sure of was the person was a white male.

  When my phone beeped around the time the video showed the midnight time stamp, I paused the tape and scrabbled under the covers, trying to find it. Daisy texted a reminder to join her for "girl time" at her apartment on Sunday. I shot back a confirmation, refreshed my coffee, and settled in to watch the rest of the footage.

  Nothing remarkable happened for the remainder of Sammy's shift. There were no bar fights, no grabbing, or apparently unwanted attention. Sammy took orders, served drinks, took cash; everything I expected her to do, completely oblivious that someone sabotaged her car. I noted that she didn't linger in any conversation too long or appear overly friendly with anyone; there were no hugs, just the occasional high-five. Throughout the shift she looked busy but happy, and not at all nervous. There appeared to be no indication that she was worried or cautious in any way.

  By the time the bar closed, the crowd had already begun to thin, no doubt moving onto other clubs in the area. I watched Sammy and Kelvin wipe down the bar, straighten bottles and collect glasses along with the other staff. After twenty minutes of clean up duty, Sammy said something and waved, taking off towards the rear. A couple of minutes after that, she stepped into view in the parking lot, wearing her bomber jacket and carrying her purse. She walked over to her car, pulled out her keys and got in. In less than a minute, she smacked the wheel with a shake of her head and stepped out, running a hand through her hair. Then she paused, looked up, waved and moved out of view.

  I sat up straighter, eager not to miss a thing. What caught Sammy's attention? Was this the moment? I relaxed when Sammy came back into view, still alone. She walked to the driver’s side door, leaned in and pulled out her purse. Then she slammed the door and walked back to the gates before she disappeared from view. I watched thirty minutes of footage, waiting for her to come back, but all I saw was Kelvin leaving with Marika, like he said, and a couple other bar staff getting into their cars and driving away too. No one seemed to notice Sammy's car was still there.

  I stopped the tape, knowing I came to the end. Sammy spotted someone on the other side of the gates and waved, indicating she knew them. The rest I could surmise; realizing her car wouldn't start and seeing someone she knew, Sammy willingly went over to them. She must have been offered a ride and felt safe with the unknown person. There was no struggle and no attempt to run. No one grabbed her, causing her to lose her keys in the struggle. No one attacked her. She went willingly and that person was very careful not to be seen.

  While I processed what happened that night, I decided that Ashleigh probably already arrived at the same conclusions. I threw my PJs in the hamper, took a shower and washed my hair. Dressing in jeans, a t-shirt and flat sandals, I quickly blew out my hair so that it wouldn't frizz badly in LA's recent, but rare humidity. Feeling a little more human, I drew the drapes and opened the windows, allowing a tiny flutter of breeze inside.

  "Thought you were dead," yelled Mike from where he stood by the pool with a long-handled net.

  "If I were, I'd haunt you!"

  "Kinky," he yelled back.

  I rolled my eyes and stepped away from the window, moving over to my phone as it beeped again.

  Ready for tonight? inquired Hayden.

  I texted: absolutely!

  Little black dress to impress? he asked.

  That was something I hadn't devoted any thought to. I padded through my bedroom and opened the closet. I didn't have a lot of fancy outfits because I didn't go to a lot of fancy places. I hadn't bought any new evening wear since my move and I doubted the few smart dresses I brought from Montgomery would cut it amongst the high-powered LA crowd. They were neither expensive designer items nor from the current season. The best I had was a black satin, halter-neck dress that finished a couple of inches above my knees and high-heeled pumps that I splurged on as an investment. Plus, I reminded myself, I wasn't going to the party to impress anyone. I also had no agenda except to find out if anyone was connected to the missing girls and if they knew who might have harmed them. Just knowing the types of creeps that would be at the party sucked the fun out of getting glammed up. I didn't need anyone to like me or hit on me. I just wanted someone to talk to me.

  Yes, I typed.

  I'll pick you up at 8.

  I clicked the phone off and pocketed it, wishing I had a copy of the guest list so I could research some of the guests. I knew it was almost certain that, as a guest, Hayden wouldn't have any access to it, but what about Coral's friends? They might be "in the know" on what parties were being held, or who was invited. With a shiver of annoyance, Gabi popped into my head. She would probably be up on all the celebrity gossip. And that reminded me of Ben. Not a single message from Ben. I wondered if the lack of communication was the message. Had he changed his mind in the short time between our last date and now? If he did, I wasn't chasing after him simply to be dumped. He could pull his ass together and do that without any prompting from me. I had important stuff to do!

  The only people I knew who would be clued in on Hollywood parties were Coral's friends. I called Annette, hoping she would answer.

  "Annette?" I asked when a peppy voice answered.

  "This is she."

  "It's Shayne, from the LA Chronicle."

  "Shayne! I'm so pleased you called. Coral got in touch. She said you tracked her down. I can't thank you enough. I was so relieved to find out she was okay," she gushed.

  I smiled. "I'm glad she called you."

  "So what can I do for you? Did you just want to tell me about Coral?"

  "No, I'm calling for a small favor, although I'm not sure you can help."

  "Go ahead. If I can, I will."

  "There's a party at Pacific Palisades tonight. The address is Minerva Drive. Is that a party some of your friends and colleagues might attend?"

  "For sure. As it happens, I'm invited. Did you want me to sneak you in? I'm not sure it'll work but I can try."

  "No, that's not a problem. I'm already going as a friend's plus-one. Can you introduce me to some of your friends?"

  "Sure, I'm happy to introduce you around but why? What's going on?"

  "I mean, not just your friends but specifically the women who…"

  "I know what you mean now," cut in Annette. "And yes, I can talk to them but I don't know if they'll want to talk to a journalist. All this stuff is an open secret but no one wants their name in the papers. They still have careers to protect."

  "I protect my sources. None of their names will ever go into print, I promise."

  "Since you found Coral like you said you would, your word is good enough for me but it might not be for them."

  "I appreciate that. Do you know if a man named Ryan Ellison might be there?"

  "Ryan? Yes, I think so. I know he's done business with the hosts so it's pretty likely he'll be there."

  My spirits soared. This could be the break I needed!

  "What's he like?"

  "I don't know him well but he's always been pleasant to me. I don't think I'm his type."

  "He has a type?" I asked, waiting for her to say young and brunette.

  Annette laughed. "I'm not sure what his type is only that it's not me. Maybe one of the others will know. I'll see what I can do and tell you when we meet up. Is that good enough?"

  "Yes, and thank you, Annette. I appreciate it."

  "Don't thank me yet. I'm not making any promises," she reminded me.

  I hung up after telling her I would find her at the party. Taking a look in my closet, I pulled out my satin dress and pumps. The dress had convenient pockets, perfect for storing my cellphone, which could be handy for recording video or audio evidence if I needed it. I had no idea what I was walking into tonight and I wanted to be prepared.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent conducting my usual weekend chores. First, I updated the murder board with my recently gleaned information; then, when
I was satisfied with that, I went out to buy groceries. A walk in the sunshine helped to negate the small headache that was growing and lifted my mood slightly. Yes, the story was compelling but dwelling too much on murder wasn't good for my soul. Nor was thinking about Ben. Despite that brief uplift, my thoughts returned to Sammy and remained with her as I got ready for the party.

  Exactly on time, Hayden buzzed the entry phone and I hit the button to let him in, telling him where to find my apartment. Moments later, just as I opened my door, he appeared in the opening.

  "You look sensational," he said with a broad smile. "Am I going to have to protect you from advances all evening?"

  "Hardly," I scoffed as I took in his dark navy suit and crisp blue shirt, a couple of buttons casually open at the neck. A waft of aftershave reached me and I gave an appreciative sniff, recognizing it as the same brand Ben wore. A little spicy but not overpowering. It made my heart sink a little more.

  "Ready to go?"

  "Let me grab my purse," I said, turning and hurrying as fast as I could towards the couch where I dropped it. I picked it up, turning when Hayden stepped through the doorway, frowning at my murder board.

  "What's that?" he asked, nodding to it, then stepping in for a closer look.

  "Just a story," I told him, ushering him out and pulling the door shut behind me.

  "Looks complicated with all those photos and arrows and question marks. Anything special? Oh! Is it the prostitution story you're working on?"

  "Vague ideas about it," I lied. I should have thrown a cover over the board but I never anticipated Hayden coming inside.

  Hayden offered me his arm as we descended the stairs. "You'll have to tell me your process along the way. I have no idea how journalists do it, keeping all those interviews in their heads, and so much information, before turning it into a story. I just take the pictures and that tells the whole story."