Riverstar (3) (23 page)

“Can you prove that?”

“Depends on if anyone saw them go back to their hotel. After
she left with the man at the bar, the tools had the brilliant idea of dealing with her in morning.”

“Where were they staying?”

“How should I know?”

“It’s important you remember because it could determine their innocence without question.”

“How’s that?’

“The murderer had to be a guest at the hotel. Surveillance shows no one but the man who picked Tiffany up that night entering the lobby after eleven.”

Jocelyn bounced the bottle cap back and forth between her
hands like a game of air hockey. “Okay, give me a minute. It’ll come to me.
Something like Second Chance Inn or something. Told me some
stuffy gay boy runs it and he had an unexpected cancellation so they were able to get a room there.”

Linus’s inn. The detectives couldn’t have killed her.

“I want to talk to your henchmen,” said Peter. “How do I get in touch with them?”

“My
detectives
have an office on Wilshire.”

Peter wrote something in his notebook. Then he took a business card out of his suit jacket and set it on the table. “Call me if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

“Stop by my place sometime. I’ll have my girls take good care of
you.”

“No offense, Madam Zinn, but it would be a cold day in hell
before I ever set foot in your establishment or laid a hand on any of your
girls.” He shuddered. Yes, physically shuddered, thought Bella. She
must remember to tell Cleo his reaction.

“And why is that exactly?” asked Jocelyn with a slight smile.
How could a smile be so thoroughly nasty?

“For one, it’s illegal. Two, your business is debasing to women. Three, I have no intention of exposing myself and therefore my wife,
who’s an angel I’m privileged to have by my side in this cruel and
unpredictable world, to whatever diseases your girls, as you so affectionately refer to them, may or may not have. And four, I’m
married. It means something to some people.”

Jocelyn laughed. It was husky and sarcastic. “Go easy now, choir boy. There’s such a thing as condoms.”

Peter’s mouth was a straight line. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for talking with us.”

“My pleasure.” Again, the nasty smile before she left, leaving her empty beer bottle on the table.

“So much for rehab,” Bella said to Peter.

“Vile woman.”

“You think?” She chuckled and poked him on the arm. “Choir boy. I’m going to call you that from now on.”

“I’ll have you know I used to be a player. I’m retired now.”

“Now that you’re married to an angel.”

“Exactly right.” He opened the door for her, stepping aside so she could pass. “Let’s get something to eat on the way. I’m starving.”

“I know a great taco truck.” They stepped out into the bright sunshine of late afternoon. The palm trees swayed in a warm breeze. She squinted, looking at the sky. It was actually bright blue today without the usual haziness that came with smog.

“God no. Do you want to be poisoned? How about vegetarian Thai or sushi?”

“Poisoned?” She searched the bottom of her bag for her
sunglasses.

“Those places are not clean. And the amount of grease in that food can clog your arteries in one sitting.”

“It’s impossible you were once a player.”

He laughed. “Being health conscious and a player are not
mutually exclusive.” He put on his sunglasses. “Now watch your step. The sidewalk’s uneven.”

***

Bella took Peter to a sushi place in Beverly Hills, not far from the
private detectives’ office. The weather was a pleasant 72, as it so
often was, although not usually in October. Peter was quiet during lunch, nibbling on a plate of sashimi he dipped in low sodium soy sauce. Bella could only imagine what his sharp and precise mind was doing with everything they’d learned thus far.

She picked at her spicy tuna roll, thinking of Ben, of his face as he was hauled into the police car yesterday. Peter’s cell phone rang. “It’s your brother,” he said to her. “Hang on.”

His face turned from serious to grave as he listened to Drake. After a minute or so, he hung up, running a hand through his hair and staring at the table.

“What is it?”

He looked up at her. “They set the bail at a million dollars. And
the
District Attorney held a press conference. They’re going for the
death penalty.”

A roar started between her ears. What she’d eaten of her lunch
felt as if it might come up. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Peter dipped a napkin into her water glass. “Put this on your
face and take deep breaths.”

“What’re we going to do?”

“We’re going to find the killer.” He smiled and squeezed her
hand. “Well, first we’re going to interview those two assholes and
find out what they know.”

***

They found the private detectives’ office in an alley off Wilshire
Boulevard. The two men were as Ben described, clean-cut and in
their early thirties with an air of having served in the armed forces. Bella would never have guessed they were gay. These weren’t the kind of gay boys she was used to. The taller one by several inches was Matt Reed. He was fair skinned and blond, trim and muscular, but with a
bland expression that seemed never to change. His partner, in life
apparently as well as business, was Jose Torres. Obviously Latino,
given his dark eyes and skin, his expression was as apathetic and unreadable as his partner’s, except for eyes that seemed to display an inquisitive nature.

“You know why we’re here?” asked Peter as they took seats in a small conference room adjacent to the main office.

Matt nodded but didn’t say anything.

“It’s our understanding you were in southern Oregon, with the intent to recover Ms. Zinn’s book? Is that right?”

“Yep,” said Matt.

Jose pointed at Bella. His head was almost square, emphasized by the way he wore his hair short and spiky. “Who’s she?”

“My partner,” said Peter.

Matt shifted his eyes to Bella. She wanted to cringe under his
scrutiny but held steadfast. No way was this guy going to intimidate her. “Bullshit. Where’s her badge?”

“I’m a friend of Ben Fleck’s,” said Bella. “He’s the man that
picked Tiffany up outside the bar. Remember him? You know when you
were following her into the parking lot? He was arrested for
Tiffany’s murder this morning.”

Matt, without moving a muscle, asked, “Did he do it?”

“He did not,” said Bella, as firmly as she could.

“How do you know?” asked Jose.

“I just know.”

“Look, guys, we’re looking for any kind of lead. There could be a
connection between the blackmail scheme and her murder. Do you
have any clue who the men were that were being blackmailed?” asked Peter.

Matt shook his head. “Ms. Zinn only told us that there were four
of them. She didn’t give us their names. She’s careful to protect the
anonymity of her clients.”

“According to Ms. Zinn, you guys went back to the Second
Chance Inn after you were unsuccessful in making contact with Tiffany that night,” said Peter. “Is this correct?”

“Yes,” said Matt. “We intended to talk with her in the morning and gently persuade her to give us what belongs to Ms. Zinn.”

“This clears you of any suspicion,” said Peter. “The murder was committed by someone staying at the lodge.”

Neither man showed any sign of relief or even acknowledgment. Matt sat forward slightly, his eyes livelier than the moment before. “The book wasn’t in her room, at least not that afternoon when we searched it.”

“Wait a minute, you were in her room earlier that day?” said
Bella. “How did you get in? She didn’t say anything had been
disturbed.”

Matt interlaced his fingers on the desktop. “We’re professionals,
Miss Webber. How we got into the room isn’t the point. We were there. There will be no fingerprints to prove it but we were there just the same. We searched the room thoroughly. The book was not there.”

“That means whoever searched the room later didn’t find it either,” said Peter, almost under his breath. He looked at Bella. “We have to get the names of the four men being blackmailed.”

And where was the book?

They stood. Peter shook first Matt’s hand and then Jose’s. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your help. Please call me if you think of anything else.”

Jose walked with them to the door. “You know, Mr. Ball, there’s a way to get Ms. Zinn to give you the names of the men being blackmailed.”

“What’s that?” asked Peter.

“Tell her you’ll get her book back if she tells you who they are.”

***

Chris met them outside his trailer. “She’s in there. I got her to
come by promising to play backgammon with her.”

“She plays backgammon?” asked Bella.

“I know. Weird, huh?” said Chris.

Jocelyn Zinn appeared nonplussed to see them again, her eyes
skirting to them and back to her game in a matter of a split second. “You again?”

Peter proposed Jose’s idea to her.

She didn’t take her eyes from the board. “What makes you think you can find it?”

“My gut tells me at least one of these four men knows something that will help us locate it.”

“You’re a cop. You really think I’m going to trust a cop with my client list? If you could even find it, which I doubt.”

Peter paused for a moment, surveying her, before seeming to
come
to a conclusion. “I’m going to level with you, Ms. Zinn. I’m not
actually assigned to this case. A good friend of ours has been accused of Ms. Archer’s murder and I’m trying to clear his name. I have no interest in making trouble for you. They’re threatening to try him for the death penalty.”

“And I’m not a cop. I’m a makeup artist,” said Bella.

Jocelyn Zinn looked up then, her impenetrable eyes softer for the first time. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“I can’t emphasize enough how little interest we have in causing you or your clients any troubles,” said Peter.

“The man accused is my boyfriend. I’m desperate.” Bella’s voice
caught. She swallowed against the lump in her throat before
continuing.
“I’m trying to help him. He’s a good person who was at the wrong
place at the wrong time.”

Jocelyn looked at Peter. “And you’re sure this dude didn’t do
it?”

“We are,” said Peter.

“Well, shit, I know how it feels to be falsely accused of
something.
Plus, I don’t think an innocent man should die, especially over something like this.” She put her hand out, with an open palm.
“Give me your notebook. I’ll write the names down. But you cannot tell them I told you. You’ll have to say you uncovered the blackmail plot when she was murdered.”

“Fine,” said Peter.

There was nothing but the sound of the pen scratching on the paper for a moment. She handed the notebook back to Peter.

His face showed no emotion as he scanned the list. “Are these all current clients?”

She shrugged and tossed her hair. “Depends on what you mean by current. I’m technically not in business any longer.”

“No need to play games, Ms. Zinn,” said Peter. “I could care less
about whether or not you’re currently in business. We’re here to
solve a murder, not pass judgment on your business. Honestly, I don’t know
why anyone gives a crap about prostitution considering the real
crimes being committed.”

Jocelyn appeared to consider him. Was it Bella’s imagination or did she shift her perspective of Peter just then? She got up from the table and sidled up next to him, tapping the book twice. “These two are no longer clients.”

“Why’s that?” asked Peter

“The first one was too rough with my girls. The second one
found Jesus when he married America’s Sweetheart.”

“Thanks for this,” said Peter, closing his notebook and stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “Come on, Bella. We’ve got work to do.”

“Remember, keep me out of it,” they heard Jocelyn say as the
trailer door slammed.

Now we’re getting somewhere
, thought Bella.
Ben, just hang tough.
We’re going to figure this out.

Peter was quiet until they got to the car. He opened the
passenger
door and she slipped inside the warm car. Specks of dust had settled on the black dashboard. It smelled of new car and leather. Silently, Peter handed Bella the list. There were four names, all with phone
numbers.

Cash Cutler. He was the lead actor of a popular television show and well-known bad boy about town. No surprise there.

Connor Jenkins. CEO of a major discount grocery store chain.

Austin Blu. Lead singer for the rock band Crazy House. Married to popular movie actress Carlie Cullen, nicknamed America’s
sweetheart. Classic nice girl marries bad boy.

The last name on the list caused her to gasp.

Rawley Hough. Los Angeles Assistant District Attorney.

“Holy shit,” said Bella.

“Yep,” said Peter. “And he’s the one who was too rough with the girls.”

They drove south toward Los Angeles. The late afternoon sun was bright on the asphalt, and the brown hills in the distance seemed stark and barren to Bella after the lush green of the dramatic Oregon
mountains. “How do we get them to talk to us?” This seemed
impossible.

“Leave that to me. How do we get to your apartment?”

***

In Venice, they turned onto Bella’s street, parked in her garage, and took the elevator up to the third floor. Once inside, she opened the screen door to the deck. The ocean breeze brought all the familiar smells of home. Or was it home? Perhaps home was up north now with the swaying firs and rushing river.