City of Mirrors (21 page)

I
coasted on gas fumes into the station at the corner of PCH and Sunset. With the nozzle jammed in the tank and the dollars ticking off like seconds, I thought of Robert, Gwyn, Ben. And Celia. If Celia could lie to Robert and Ben, what else could she lie about? Jenny Parson?

I watched two surfers secure their boards on the top of their dented-up Jetta. A wet Lab with sand stuck to his black nose hung his head out the back window, keeping an eye on the two young men. I called information on my cell and got the number of Platinum Security, Heath's firm. A girly female voice answered.

“This is Diana Poole. Is Leo Heath there?”

“Isn't he with you?”

“No,” I said, taken aback by the question.

“Oh, well, don't worry,” the girly voice continued. “He sometimes disappears after spending the night with someone he likes. I think it's because he wants to build his defenses back up again. And trust me, he always does.”

I gritted my teeth and breathed in ethanol. “Look, this is an emergency. I'm calling about a case he's working on. I have very important information. Would you tell him I called?”

“Okey dokey.”

“
Okey dokey
? Who the hell am I talking to?”

“Collette. I was just here picking up a few things. Bra. Panties. But I'm quite capable of leaving a message. You got his home, sweetie, not his office.” She hung up.

Hell. The dog and I stared dumbly at each other. My cell rang in my hand, causing me to jump.

“Heath?” I answered.

“Where are you?” I recognized Parson's cajoling voice immediately. My permanent chill crawled up my legs.

“Where are
you
?” I asked back. Out in the open I felt exposed, a perfect target for Rubio. I quickly got back into my car.

“I'm at Celia's house.” His voice lowered. “I discovered something heartbreaking.”

“Her house has been trashed.”

“Do you really think I would consider that heartbreaking?”

“You don't have a heart. So I have no idea.”

A long pause. I heard the gas hose click off. The gallons, the dollars, the seconds, stopped. Then he spoke, “I hope you're not too far away. Heath is not feeling very well.”

My stomach tightened as he continued. “And you sounded, let's say, emotional, when you spoke his name. No police.” He hung up.

I got back out of the car and quickly took the nozzle out of the gas tank and replaced it. Twisting the cap back on, I wondered if Heath was simply being used as a ploy to get me there. Maybe Bruno had told Parson I was with his wife when she jumped. Maybe he wanted to hurt me. But that would compromise Bruno. No, it was Heath. He would've returned Gwyn's calls. Leo damn Heath. The two surfers and the dog grinned at me lasciviously as they drove off.

In my car again, I turned on the ignition, threw it into gear, and, tires screeching, pulled out joining the traffic, driving right into Parson's dark world with my sunglasses on.

I
pulled up behind the Mercedes limousine parked in front of Celia's cottage. Ben's Jeep was in Celia's drive, and Heath's SUV was blocking her driveway entrance.

Leaving my purse and gun, I got out of my car. Running past the Mercedes, I saw Gerald in the driver's seat, ignoring me. At Celia's front door, I hesitated a moment, then tried the knob. It was unlocked. Opening it, I stepped in and walked down the hallway. Glancing into the living room, I continued to the kitchen. Peeling an apple, Parson sat at the table. He did not bother to look up. Dressed in polo shirt and slacks, Luis stood behind him. Lithe and lethal looking, his teak-colored skin glowed as warm as the table. Bruno leaned against the Sub Zero, managing to make it look small in comparison. I could almost smell the stink of his sweat when he'd pressed his body against mine in the elevator

“Luis found this in the refrigerator for me. He's always trying to get me to eat more. I think apples are better left out in the fresh air. Please sit down, Ms. Poole.” Parson wore a gray cashmere windbreaker with the collar turned up and gray slacks. His skeletal face looked as if the flesh had been scooped out from under his cheekbones with a spoon. His lips drawn down toward his goatee, he cut the apple in half.

I remained standing. “Is that Ben's car in the drive? Where's Heath?”

“Right to the point.”

“You're a sick bastard.”

Luis moved swiftly to my side, a knife appearing in his hand.

I stopped breathing for a moment. “Where are Heath and Ben?”

“You're a ballsy woman. Just like your mother.” Parson set down the two halves of the apple and pushed himself up from the table. “She told me to go fuck myself. But I'm afraid you won't be able to do that. Come along.” He moved to the door that connected to the garage and opened it for me. Luis pocketed his knife.

Inside, a single ray of dusty light shone through a small window. A chair lay on its side in a faded oil stain, flip-flops resting nearby, and a shadow moved over them. I looked up. I staggered backwards. From the garage's crossbeam Ben hung by a rope, the noose tight around his neck, his face swollen, his eyes looked down at us.

I lunged for him, screaming, “No, no, no!” As I tried to lift his legs up, to take the weight off the noose, Luis and Bruno pulled me back.

“He's been dead almost an hour.” Parson watched from the door.

“You did this.” Tears ran down my face as I struggled to free myself from the two men.

“Let her go,” Parson ordered. “No. I found Ben hanging just as you see him.”

“I don't understand. I spoke to him here and then he left.”

“He must've returned.”

I leaned against the wall for support. I thought of Ben standing in the kitchen fixated on the door. Was he thinking of suicide when I had surprised him?

“When I arrived,” Parson said, “Heath was trying to get him down. Ben may have been alive then. It's hard to say. Of course, Luis and Bruno had to stop Heath.”

“Where is he?”

Parson nodded and Luis moved to a pile of tarps in the corner and flipped one up. I followed him. Heath lay on his back, bound and gagged. Blood ran down his unshaven face from the top of his head. He still wore the shirt I had ripped the buttons off of last night.

Luis slapped Heath twice. Heath groaned and opened his eyes. Seeing me, he immediately began to struggle to free himself. I put my hand on his bare chest and he stopped moving. Feeling the warmth of his skin, his heart beating wildly, I leaned close and whispered “I'll be all right. Remember, you promised not to underestimate me.”

Heath closed his eyes, then opened them. Bruno moved in and struck him in the head with the butt of his gun. I grabbed for Bruno, but Luis pulled me away and shoved me back into the kitchen.

“Now, shall we talk?” Parson was already easing his long body back into the kitchen chair. Meticulously, he sliced the inner core from each apple half.

Shaking, I wiped my tears with the sleeve of my sweater. “You want me to tell you where Celia is.”

“Personally, I don't think you know where she is. But I think you'll find her. You know her better than any of us. Even Zaitlin.” He shook his head sadly.

“I'm not sure of that anymore.”

“Yes, you must feel deeply betrayed by her. I know that feeling. Did you know my wife killed herself?”

“No.” I glanced at Bruno, who was busy wiping Heath's blood from the butt of his gun with his handkerchief.

“We kept it out of the news. Suicide is a betrayal, too. First my daughter dies, now my wife. This has been the blackest period of my life.”

“I wonder if Hitler felt as victimized as you do.”

Luis was trying to decide if that was a slur against his boss.

“What am I supposed to do when I find Celia?” I asked.

“Get the memory card from the camera that Ben and my daughter used to film their … clients. We will do the rest.” He neatly sliced each apple half into two more equal parts, creating quarters.

“You mean kill her. How do you know she has the camera?”

“We've searched Ben's condo. He didn't have it. We searched the Zaitlins' house. They don't have it. It's not here. We know the police don't have it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Let's just say I have contacts. I think when Celia killed my daughter, she took it. Or maybe she took it when she shot Zackary Logan. You look perplexed.”

“Why would she murder either one?”

“A mother's love, however late it may be. She was trying to protect her son.” He stabbed his knife into one of the apple quarters, raised the piece to his mouth, and bit.

“You know?”

“Of course.” He chewed.

“Protect him from what?”

“From my daughter. I'm speaking from Celia's point of view. I see it the other way round, of course. Logan was probably an act of necessity. Under duress, Zaitlin told me he had just found out that Ben was his son and Celia his real mother. He pleaded with me not to hurt Ben. He even asked me to kill
him
instead. So I gave him a gun to use on himself.”

“You are an evil bastard.”

“Is that the same as being a sick bastard?” He grinned. “Keep your cell phone on, Ms. Poole. I will be in contact with you. Any more questions?”

“No.”

“Odd. I thought you might ask me when I was going to let Heath go.”

“You have no intention of letting him go.”

His jaw tensed. “Don't try to be more clever than me.”

“I wouldn't think of it.” I was just hoping to be
as
clever. “I know why you were blackmailing my husband. You should be very proud of your daughter. She was just like you. A psychopath.”

He rose up out of his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. The apple pieces danced. I turned my back on him and left. They let me walk out of the house. They had to. Parson wanted Celia more than he wanted me. Until he was finished with her, that is.

I stopped and watched Gerald position his rump against the side of the limo and adjust his sunglasses, getting ready to take in some beach air and sun. I had no idea how I was going to find Celia, or how I could save Heath, or even myself. But I did know I had one small area of power left.

I approached Gerald. “Don't forget about the bargain I made with you and Bruno in the penthouse.”

Straightening up, he wiped off his sunglasses. “I didn't make any deal.”

“Sure you did. I don't tell Parson I got into his penthouse because the two of you screwed up and made it easy for his wife to jump, and you and Bruno will get to live.”

“We can take you out any time.”

“I've thought of that. So if I should die prematurely, I've made sure that what I know about that night will go viral.”

“Viral?” He was confused.

Christ. “I've made sure every TV station and newspaper in town will have my story.”

He blinked his penny-shaped eyes at me. “You're full of crap.”

“Oh, and the same goes if Heath dies.”

“He wasn't part of the deal.”

“So we do have one. Excellent, Gerald.” I patted his arm.

Heading toward my car, I hoped he bought my story. If nothing else, I knew he didn't feel quite so secure anymore.

I drove a few blocks, then pulled over to the side of the highway. No longer able to control my anger, my fear, or my grief, I called Celia and screamed at her voicemail. “I know Ben is your son. I know what he and Jenny Parson were doing. I know …” I stopped and took a deep breath. I couldn't tell her that I knew Ben was dead, hanging from a beam in her garage. Not in a voicemail. I continued in a calmer voice. “I need to talk to you. I'm in danger. I need your help. You probably need mine. If our friendship means anything to you, call me.”

I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and leaned my head back, closing my eyes against the images of Ben's distended features and Heath struggling to free himself when he saw me. I felt the sun hit my face through the windshield, the heater hot on my legs, and I listened to the endless line of growling cars racing by. I was completely alone, and I had no idea how I was going to find Celia.

There is an acting term called
the star pause
. It's when the actress is left alone on stage, waiting for the next character to enter. In those few moments, she must find something real to do, something the audience can believe and not think she's just waiting for her next cue. My mother told me all great actors relished this moment. “So don't blow it, darling, by pacing, smoking, or running your hands through your hair. Any idiot can do that. Find something that reveals your character.”

I ran my hands through my hair. Then I grabbed the steering wheel, stepped on the gas, and drove off. Drive, it's what L.A. people do. I didn't know where I was going until I found myself on Sunset Boulevard. It was then that I realized I was headed back to Bella Casa.

B
ella Casa was a house you could hide in. Years ago I had done the same thing when I wanted to get high so I could obliterate my feelings. Or to keep out of reach of Brad, Beau, or Bob, who wouldn't take no for an answer after I had said yes the first time. Celia knew the house as well as I did.

Peering in the rearview mirror, I checked to see whether Parson's men were following. There was no limo, and all the other cars behind me looked the same—unfamiliar. I turned left and went through the Bel Air arches and started up Stone Canyon Road.

The gates to Bella Casa were open. Pieces of yellow crime-scene tape still clung to them. Maybe the cops had forgotten to close them. Driving in, I didn't see a car parked in the driveway. I got out of the Jag and tried the front door. Locked. I walked around to the side of the house and tried the pool door. It opened. Somebody had been here, or still was. Wondering if Celia was a physical threat to me, I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and felt the weight of the Glock.

Moving quickly around the pool, I entered the gallery, then veered into the foyer. I stopped, waiting for any sound that might tell me another person was in the house. Not hearing anything, I crept up the tile stairs and down the long hallway past what was once my mother's bedroom. At the end of the hall I carefully opened a door that let out a loud creaking noise reminiscent of the bad sound effects in a slasher movie. I froze, listening. But I seemed to be the only one making noise.

I entered my old bedroom, which was big and square with a small, pretty crystal chandelier hanging daintily from the ceiling. In the night when I couldn't sleep, I used to observe how it scattered its prismatic stars above my bed, making me feel there was a better world, a better way of life. Somewhere.

Crossing to the closet door, I rested my hand on the wrought-iron knob, then turned it. I walked in and stood facing the back cedar-paneled wall and whispered “Celia?” No answer. I pushed twice on it, and the panel popped open, revealing a long narrow room with one window that held a view of the top of a shaggy eucalyptus tree.

My mother had explained that this was a room where people used to store trunks when they traveled by ship or train. “Think of Marlene Dietrich or Greta Garbo perched on top of a pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases. I should have been a star then instead of in the eighties when people's hair is bigger than their talent.” I knew immediately it would be my safe room.

There was no sign that Celia had been hiding here. On one wall was a built-in cabinet. I opened it, reached into the deep wide shelf, and felt around with my hand. I found a wrinkled newspaper. I looked at the date on the front page of the
Los Angeles Times
. It was yesterday's date. The day I had told Celia to leave her house. What were the odds of that?

Had she wrapped the camera in the papers and hidden it here until she could come back for it? But why hide it at all? Why not take it with her? Because Parson would want the memory card. If he found her with it he'd kill her and take it. But if he found her without it, she might be able to buy some time. So had she left it here and then come back to get it. The one thing I was certain about was she wouldn't have left the security gates open.

I rubbed my forehead. I was thinking too hard. Concentrate on one thing, Diana. The gates are open. There is no car in the driveway.

I ran down the stairs, out the back door, and across the area where Zackary Logan had been found dead to the old rickety garage. I lifted up the wooden door. Inside the dank space was a bright red BMW convertible, just like the one P. J. Binder owned. The beige leather seats smelled of a too-sweet perfume. With the severity of his wound, Binder had to still be in the hospital. So Pearl was here.

Before I went back to find her, I decided to check and see if I had been followed. Skirting the drive, I hurried down to the wall that fronted the house and edged to the entrance, peering around the gate. About two blocks away was a parked blue van. I stepped back quickly. Christ. It could be a delivery van, but I doubted it.

I ran back into the house and strode through the first floor, yelling. “Pearl! I know you're in here. Pearl!”

In the foyer I heard a tapping sound, and then Pearl's muffled voice, “I'm locked in. Get me out of here.”

She was inside a four-foot-high cubbyhole built into the side of the stairwell. The door latched only on the outside. It was where we had kept logs for the fireplace. I lifted the lever.

Pearl scampered out on all fours, then leaped to her feet, madly brushing at her bleached-white hair and slapping at her body. “There're spiders in there! I couldn't open the door. I thought I was going to die!” She waved her cement-gray nails for emphasis, then frantically brushed at her low-cut pink T-shirt.

“What are you doing here, Pearl?”

“What? I was looking for something.”

“A camera?”

“An earring.” She slapped dust from the knees of her jeans.

“Really? After all this time you expect to find an earring? Where's your purse?”

“In my car.”

“How do you think I knew you were in the house? I just saw your car in the garage. There was no purse in it.” I pointed to where she'd been hiding. “Get it.”

“You'll lock me in there.”

“I'm not going to do that. Get it!”

Trying to keep an eye on me, she bent over and pulled out her purse by the shoulder strap. As she stood up, she swung her bag at me. I ducked, but not far enough. She hit the side of my head.

Stunned, I grabbed the straps. Letting go, she ran. Clutching both of our purses, I chased her through the living room into the dining room and down the gallery. She darted into the swimming-pool room. I caught up to her as she careered around the pool's corner where the deck angled down to the water. Losing her balance, she slipped and fell to her hands and knees. Before she was completely up on her feet again, I reached her and shoved her into the water.

She thrashed around. “I can't swim!”

“You're in the shallow end. Stand up.” I rummaged in her purse, pulled out the camera, and opened it. There was no memory card. “Where is it?”

Spitting water, she stood up, angrily pushing limp hair out of her eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.” She extended her hand up to me. “Help me out.”

“So you can pull me in? I don't think so. There are steps in the corner.”

As she sputtered and waded her way to the stairs, I checked the recent calls on her cell. I saw Celia's number.

Crawling out, she realized what I was doing. “Give me that.” But it was a half-hearted demand. She was dripping and shivering, her arms wrapped around herself trying to get warm.

“Is Binder still in the hospital?” I asked.

“Valley Presbyterian.”

“Does he know you're in contact with Celia?”

“Who's she?”

“There's no way you knew where this camera was hidden without someone very familiar with this house telling you. And her number's on your phone. Why don't I call Binder and tell him you've been in touch with Celia and …”

“No, no. Please don't!” Her smooth brow knitted in fear. “She called me at the store this morning and told me if I didn't do what she said, she'd tell Parson I was the one who made Jenny have sex with all those guys. And that he would kill me. I want my purse. I want to go. I'm all wet.” She reached for it.

I let it slip out of my hand. As she bent over I shoved my hand down the front of her scoop-neck shirt between her rock-solid breasts and grabbed the card. Then I gave her a hard push back into the pool.

Waiting for her to stop splashing and swearing, I put the memory card between my soft breasts. “Where's Celia?”

“She wouldn't tell me,” she spat. “I'm supposed to call her when I get the camera.”

I thought a moment. “Okay, here is what's going to happen. Parson's men are parked outside the house, so I'm going take your car. I need to make sure I can get away.”

“What?” she slogged through the water again. “No way!” She crawled out, shivering worse.

“You'll take my car.”

“Parson's men will follow me. They'll try to kill me. Everyone wants to kill me!”

“Are you on one of the videos?”

“I thought I wasn't, but Celia said I am.”

“Listen to me. You'll drive to Valley Presbyterian Hospital. Stay with Binder until you hear from me. You'll be safe there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do I know Parson's men are even out there?”

Christ. “If I'm lying, you don't need to worry, do you?”

“What if they push me off the road?”

“They won't. They need you alive. They want you to take them to Celia.”

“I can't do this. I'll lead them to P.J.!”

“The hospital has security. Anyway, you should've thought about him before you got involved in this mess.” I held out her cell. “Call Celia and tell her you have the camera. Get her address. Don't screw with me, Pearl.”

“I can't.” She pursed her lips.

“Why?”

“Please just give me the memory card, please let me go.” She stamped her feet, her teeth chattered.

“You were going to double-cross Celia?”

“I have to protect P. J. and myself.”

“Call her now. I have a Glock in my purse.”

“Who doesn't.”

“You don't. Call her.”

She snatched the cell phone away, closing her fist around it, and punched in the number. Listening, she finally spoke, “I have it.” She hung up.

“You didn't get the address.”

“I'm supposed to leave a message on her voicemail. She'll call me back.” The phone rang. “See?” She answered it and listened. “Okay. Okay.” Ending the call, she looked at me. “Celia's at the Larchmont Motel off Ventura Boulevard on Kinross. Room 10.”

I grabbed Pearl's wrist with my left hand and wrenched the cell lose from her tight grip with my right hand.

“That's mine. I may need it,” she said.

“I'm keeping it in case Celia calls. Remember, you'll be safe in the hospital. They want Celia. Not you. Especially if you don't have the memory card.”

She blinked water from her big eyes. “You sure?”

“Yes.” I was lying, but she needed some sense of security, and I needed to get out of there. “Stay with Binder. Don't leave.”

“I won't.” She sniffled like a child, which she was, in a way. “Does your car have a heater?”

“The best there is, trust me.” I handed her my keys.

Reluctantly, she gave me hers and then hurried outside.

Hearing her rev the Jag's engine, I walked back through the gallery and into the living room and looked out the front window in time to see her pull out onto the street. I waited, hoping she would make it safely.

A few seconds later Bruno and Gerald appeared at the opening of the drive, trotting up to the house. My permanent chill shot through me. Shit. Why weren't they following the Jag? Frantic, I ran back into the foyer, up the stairs, and down the hall to my bedroom. In the closet I tapped on the panel and hid myself in the safe room. Heart thumping, trying to control my loud breathing, I took the Glock out of my purse, fumbled off the safety, and gripped it in my hand.

I could hear the sound of doors being opened and slammed shut below. The men were moving systematically through the house. There was a pause, and I figured they might be coming upstairs. Soon I heard the opening and closing of doors in Mother's bedroom. I didn't dare move or the floor would creak.

Then they were in the guest room. My bedroom was next. Sweat ran down my back. My black sweater itched my skin. I heard my bedroom door groan open. Aiming the gun at the cedar panel, I listened to the two men stride across the floor toward me. My pulse throbbed in my temples. The closet door opened, and my body involuntarily stiffened as if they could see me.

“Nobody.” Bruno's voice.

“What do you think they're asking for this piece of shit? It needs a lot of work.” Gerald's voice.

“What, you thinking of buying it?”

“Who says I can't?”

“You still tracking the Jag?”

“Yeah.”

“Let's get going before she drives out of range of the GPS.”

Finally, the sound of their heavy footsteps grew distant. I waited for anther ten minutes, thinking that Gerald had to have put some kind of device on my car so could they track it. I tried not to think of Heath. I tried not to think he could already be dead. I didn't want him to be another ghost. Then I fled the house, got into the BMW, and sped away. I looked about as inconspicuous as a blond in a red convertible.