Breaking Hollywood (18 page)

Tonight, she couldn’t see much going on. The only notable people in the room so far – other than a few TV regulars, who didn’t get up to anything more blatant than taking an
obscene number of selfies – were an heiress, a former child actress turned toxic mess and a current pop star who delighted in shocking the world by refusing to keep her clothes on and
crossing the explicit lines of sexual decency at every opportunity.

They’d all eschewed the VVIP room and were hanging out in a cordoned area in the body of the club. It was attention-seeking at its most obvious, but it also made it unlikely that
they’d be up to anything illicit or illegal.

Video over, she noticed the time on her phone. Midnight. Suddenly Davie’s invitation seemed pretty appealing. She could do with a few hours off, and it gave her an opportunity to make a
call she’d been delaying for days.

Outside, the valet took a few minutes to bring up her car from the underground car park, giving her time to run through the call in her head.

Only when she’d cleared Sunset did she dial the international number. Ed McCallum would have just got into the office and would therefore be particularly busy dealing with all the news
that would have come in overnight. More than any other time of day, this was when he hated interruptions, so it was no surprise when he picked up on the second ring and barked,
‘Yes?’

‘You really need to work on your telephone skills,’ she replied, laughing.

‘According to my wife, there are many skills I need to work on,’ he groaned, before dissolving into yet another fit of coughing, which lasted so long it added at least a couple of
dollars to her phone bill.

‘Ed, please give up the fags.’

‘And what would be my motivation to do that, then?’

She thought for a moment. ‘I’ll sleep with you. Twice,’ she joked.

‘I’d take you up on it if I didn’t think the exertion would kill me before the fags did.’

Another coughing fit.

‘Listen, before you croak it, I just wanted to let you know I don’t have anything on Mirren McLean’s mother yet.’

‘I thought you were big chums with her mate, that Davie Johnston bloke? Tell me you’re not sleeping with him. You could do a lot better. Always thought he was a smug
bastard.’

Sarah kept her voice perfectly even. ‘Not now that I’ve promised myself to you. Anyway, I did ask Davie and he reckons Mirren’s mother moved to Spain or France, so I
don’t think whoever is claiming parentage in Liverpool is authentic.’

‘Had a feeling it was too good to be true,’ he mused. ‘Got a Liverpool reporter doing some sniffing around and turns out this broad is a real piece of work. More active in the
operation than we thought. Razor Ritchie has been in and out of prison for the last twenty years, and according to whispers, she looked after the shop when he wasn’t around. Regular Bonnie
and Clyde.’

Sarah thought about this for a moment. If Marilyn had made the move from piece of decorative fluff to conspirator, that made her an even bigger potential threat. Sarah knew what she was capable
of. If Marilyn had expanded that single-minded loyalty to encompass her lover’s business, there was no limit to what she’d do. Marilyn McLean was a threat. Marilyn McLean with
experience and contacts on the dark side of the crime line was an even bigger one.

‘What kind of stuff was Ritchie’s operation into?’ Sarah asked casually.

Ed coughed again before answering. ‘Christ, there wasn’t much they weren’t into. Drugs. Guns. Protection. Extortion. Blackmail. The guy cast a warm and cuddly blanket of sheer
fucking terror everywhere he went. That’s why we’re finding it tough to get anything here. Everyone’s bloody terrified to go on record. And they were pretty savvy with their
technology too. A lot of hidden cameras, stuff like that. According to one fine, upstanding psychopath, the woman drove a lot of the personal stuff. Apparently she ordered a rival’s family to
be filmed for three weeks, then sent him a video of his kid’s birthday party. It was a pretty sophisticated set-up. Another rumour said they used a drone – a fucking drone – to
drop a human finger onto the table at a mole’s garden barbecue. Sounds like a peach. I preferred my criminals when they just stormed the room and battered everyone in sight. Ah, the good old
days.’

Sarah was struggling now to keep her tone light-hearted. This wasn’t good. ‘Now don’t go getting all nostalgic on me, Ed. You’ll be reading
No Mean City
and
watching old reruns of
Taggart
next,’ she quipped.

‘That was last night’s entertainment,’ Ed retorted with a throaty laugh. ‘It’s a bugger being too old for porn. Anyway, look, I’ll dig a bit more at this end,
but I’m not hopeful. We’ve got no photos, no footage, no one willing to go on record, so no story. Can’t run with a bunch of half-arsed fairy tales and urban legends. Would love
to get something, though. If this female really does exist, if she really is as dangerous as I’m hearing, and if she’s also Mirren McLean’s mother . . .’ He tailed off and
Sarah knew he was picturing the front pages, day after day, in his mind. Meanwhile, all Sarah could picture was the carnage Marilyn could cause if she turned the spotlight on Mirren, Davie and
Zander.

‘That would be some story,’ Sarah agreed, because she knew he expected her to. ‘Look, I’ll stay on it. I’ll be seeing Mirren next week, so I’ll see what I can
get from her and let you know.’

‘No worries, love. I knew it was a long shot, but it’s worth following it up.’

Hanging up, she felt a weird mix of anxiety and relief. Ed was the best editor in the business, but he wouldn’t run a story without concrete facts, and it seemed like they were proving
hard to come by here. On the plus side, that bought her breathing space to track down Marilyn. On the down side, it proved just how dangerous she was. If she was scaring the crap out of the
criminal fraternity, then she obviously wielded power and posed a genuine threat to them. If that threat had crossed the Atlantic, they were all in trouble.

Slowing the car down as she reached Davie’s gates, she pulled to a stop next to the keypad that facilitated entry and quickly pressed in the six-digit code, checking first to ensure there
was no one around who could be watching. Actually, there was absolutely no one around. That in itself was unusual. No matter what time of the night, there were usually one or two paps, leaning on
their motorbikes or SUVs, hoping to catch some kind of action. Not tonight. The street was deserted.

Which made it less embarrassing that the gates weren’t opening. Prodding the numbers sharply this time, she re-entered the code.

Still nothing.

Third time. Nothing. She had picked up her mobile to call Davie when they finally began to open, but then stopped when there was a gap just wide enough for the exceptionally large man who was
alighting from the driveway to squeeze through. Bloody hell, this guy looked like a tank.

Flicking the phone into her left hand, she quickly pressed ‘911’ but didn’t connect the call – that would be the next plan of action if she didn’t like what this
guy had to say. Who was he? And what was he doing in her boyfriend’s house?

‘Sorry, ma’am, the code has been changed. Mr Johnston told us to expect you. If you’d like to make your way up to the house, he’ll explain the situation.’

Situation? What situation? Davie must have decided to take the crazy blood-throwing incident seriously after all.

As usual, he was waiting for her at the door, this time holding two bottles of beer. This was why she loved this man. He’d waited up; he had beer. Sold to the journalist with the simple
tastes.

‘Bad day?’ To her surprise, instead of answering her, he folded his arms around her and held her tight and close for a few moments. This was new. Oh God, something terrible had
happened. She could sense it. He was holding on to her like he never wanted to let her go. In her experience, there were only three things that incited that reaction in a man – relief, fear
and guilt.

She hoped it was the first, was afraid it could be the second and prayed it wasn’t the third. His woeful track record on fidelity had never been a secret between them, but she absolutely
believed him when he said that he only wanted her and was fully committed to monogamy. She trusted him. She did. Absolutely. At least, as much as she trusted anyone who was surrounded by beautiful
women desperate to snare him all day. Oh shit, it was definitely guilt.

‘So what’s with the guy the size of a Portakabin down at the gates and the new alarm codes?’

He sighed and finally released her from his grip, handing over one of the beer bottles. ‘We had a bit of a situation today.’

Despite his grave tone, Sarah’s spirits rose. A situation? That didn’t sound like something for him to be guilty about. OK, scratch guilt. That left fear and relief. Either of which
were preferable options.

‘What kind of situation?’ she asked, taking a long slug of the beer and then sliding down the door jamb until she was in her favourite place, sitting on the front step, the lights of
Los Angeles twinkling in the distance below them.

‘Someone shot at the house.’

‘They what?’ she spluttered, choking on the bitter liquid.

‘Shot at the house. Then they put a video of it on YouTube. They could have got the kids, Sarah. Bella and Bray had just left in the car, and I’d passed just afterwards. He watched
us go. Then a few minutes later, he shot at the gate.’

Sarah’s analytical brain, comprehensively experienced in criminal activity and the actions of the seriously mad or bad, did a quick re-examination of the facts. So they’d had a clear
shot of the kids’ car but didn’t take it. Then Davie was in the cross hairs, but again, no shot was taken. So that meant that for now, the desired effect was to completely scare the
crap out of Davie. But why? Why would anyone want to freak him out and stress him like that?

What was to be gained?

‘Do the cops think there’s any relation to the whole blood thing a couple of weeks ago?’

Davie nodded. ‘Apparently both videos were uploaded from the same IP address. Came from a cafe in the Valley. No CCTV, so they’ve hit a dead end.

‘The thing is, what possible motivation would someone have to threaten me like that? I honestly can’t think of anyone who would pull this kind of stunt.’

A deep, sickening feeling sank to her lower gut as she recalled her conversation with Ed only an hour before, and her recent discussion with Mirren.

What motivation or inclination could anyone possibly have to threaten Davie’s life?

Sarah could think of someone out there who had both.

‘Life With You’ – The Proclaimers

Davie

Sarah was already sitting out on the terrace when he staggered downstairs, bleary-eyed and desperate for coffee. Ivanka didn’t even speak as she handed over his mug and
then a plate with his usual morning fare – a three-egg-white and spinach omelette, and a small pot containing twenty-six different vitamins and minerals that were – according to his
very expensive nutritionist – vital for optimum health. That was the thing about LA. They had vitamins for any deficit, ailment or imaginary affliction. If you had it, or thought you had it,
they had a natural remedy that would cure it.

He watched Sarah smile as he pushed open the door with his elbow and headed out to join her. This was when he thought she was at her most beautiful. Her deep auburn hair was tied up on top of
her head in a messy bun, freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, and her pale skin was covered only by one of his old football tops, leaving her perfect legs bare. For the first time in the
history of Scottish football, a Partick Thistle strip looked sexy.

‘Cute’ didn’t even begin to describe it. Looking at her now, it would be easy to assume she was a student or a young intern on a teen mag. It would take a pretty wild
imagination to guess the truth, that she was a twenty-six-year-old journalist who’d spent five years working as a Glasgow crime reporter, one of the toughest jobs in UK newspapers.

She was also hard as nails and fiercely independent – qualities Davie loved.

Most of the time.

In the distance, he could see Drego hosing down the terrace around the pool. The garden was simple but spectacular. Sitting above the city, the infinity pool gave the illusion that it was
pouring water down on all of Los Angeles. Three cabanas lined one side of the water, each of them equipped with a queen-size bed, a fridge and television. Lush, thick sunloungers, each of them with
an adjustable hood, lined the other three sides. The whole area was completely private, with no other house in view. And every square foot of exclusive outdoor luxury was completely wasted on
Davie, because he never used any of it. With the craziness of his schedule, breakfast on the terrace was as close as he got to outdoor living.

Leaning down to meet Sarah’s upturned head, he kissed her, lingering for a few seconds to taste the blend of fresh coffee and pineapple on her lips.

‘There was nearly a moment of feverish excitement this morning,’ she said, her grin making her look even younger.

Davie sat down across from her, putting his feet up on her lap. ‘Oh yeah? Did it involve a guy with a gun shooting at my gates?’

‘Nope. It’s more unusual than that. Ivanka almost smiled at me. Think I should be worried? Is it a last token of kindness before she bumps me off? You know, like a last meal for a
prisoner on death row?’

Laughing, Davie nodded. ‘Very possibly.’ Ivanka’s general distaste for any and every woman Davie brought home was legendary. The only woman in his life that the housekeeper was
remotely civil to was his mother, and even then it had taken several visits to raise the temperature from icy cold to remotely warm.

‘That’s why you should move in here. Establish your territory. She’d get used to you eventually. I reckon it will only take a decade or so, so we should really get
started.’

Sarah’s expression told him she wasn’t buying it. ‘I have a perfectly lovely apartment.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘And it’s working out pretty well
living in separate places, isn’t it? We’ve both got our independence, and the crazy hours I keep don’t get in the way of your routine.’