The Next Victim (40 page)

But she was spared the need. The maitre d' approached her, asking, "Are you here to see Mr. Silverman?"

When she nodded, he showed her to a table in the center of the dining room.

Ron Silverman was on his cell phone. He nodded at Kali and gestured to the empty chair across the table. He was probably in his late forties, with a full mouth, thinning hair, and skin rendered soft by an underlayer of fat. His white silk shirt was open at the neck, revealing a gold chain and way too much chest hair.

After a moment, he snapped his phone shut and held out a hand weighted by a diamond pinky ring. "Ron Silverman," he said. "Sorry about the call. Nobody's willing to take the ball and run with it anymore. They all gotta pass it by me first. Cover their asses if there's a screwup."

If Silverman was upset with the arrangement, he was hiding it well. More likely, he thrived on being indispensable.

"Kali O'Brien," she replied.

"What are you drinking?" He waved a waitress over.

"I'll have a glass of Chardonnay."

He repeated the order for the waitress. "And another vodka gimlet." Then he turned to Kali. "So, how's Larissa? What's she up to these days?"

"I really only just met her."

His phone sounded again, the theme from
Mission: Impossible
. Silverman checked the number, then silenced the ring. "Never a moment's peace. You looking for work?"

In a porn film? She almost laughed. "No, I'm trying to locate someone. Did you get a chance to check the party guest list?"

"Yeah, I brought it with me, in fact. What were the names?"

"Hayley Hendrix and Crystal Adams."

Silverman pulled a folder from his soft-leather briefcase and flipped through the sheets of paper inside. He shook his head. "No one by either name on the list. Course they could have come in on someone else's invite, or with a date. Hot babe shows up, we don't always insist on an actual admit card."

Their drinks arrived. Silverman finished off his other one first and handed the empty glass to the waitress. "Put them on my tab," he told her.

Kali pulled the photograph from her purse and handed it to him.

"This them?" Silverman asked.

"The girls on either end."

"Nope, they don't look familiar. I do remember the one in the middle. She was at the party. Spent time with one of the local investors."

Kali's heart skipped a beat. "John O'Brien?"

"You know John? Wait"--Silverman held up an index finger--"O'Brien. I should have made the connection sooner. So what are you, the wife?"

"I'm his sister."

"I seem to recall some trouble. He passed away recently, didn't he?"

She nodded. "A couple of weeks ago."

"Sorry to hear it. But no, it wasn't John. He didn't mingle much with people in the business. His interest was strictly financial." Silverman angled sideways in his chair so that his eyes could take in a broader sweep of the room. "Some folks view their investment as a way to live vicariously. Adult entertainment groupies, know what I mean? John wasn't like that."

Good for John. "What is it you do?" Kali asked. "Are you a director?"

"Producer. I've put together, oh, hundreds of films by now. And I'll admit it"--he grinned at her--"I'm a groupie with the best of them. I mean, where else is an old, soft-around-the-middle guy like me going to find himself surrounded by gorgeous female flesh?"

Silverman was clearly fishing for a compliment, but Kali wasn't about to lie just to oblige him. "Not many people can be so objective about themselves and their limitations." She sweetened the jab with a smile.

He choked on his gimlet, then laughed. "Good comeback."

She sipped her wine.

"Wit," Silverman added pointedly, "is an asset in a woman. Not as useful as a great body or real beauty, but at least it's something to fall back on when the other two are lacking."

Tit for tat. Kali laughed, too. She had no illusions about her body or her beauty, though she'd never heard complaints about either.

"How long have you been doing this...production work?" Kali asked.

"Probably too long, if truth be told. With VCRs, DVDs, the Internet, guys like me are getting squeezed. On one side, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is coming out with product. On the other, the conglomerates have moved in big-time."

"Change is pretty much the norm in every industry."

"Some more than others. Excuse me. I see someone I want to say hello to." He rose from the table. "I'll be just a minute."

Kali watched as he crossed the room and greeted another man, taller and younger than Silverman, who was just sitting down at a table of women, all of whom displayed even white teeth and ample cleavage.

While he was busy talking to his friend and ogling the women, Kali reached for the guest list he'd left by his drink. She scanned it quickly, hoping she'd find a name she recognized. The list was several pages long, in small print, and nothing jumped out at her as familiar. Except an Angus Nash. Angus. A.J.?

She saw Silverman returning to their table and slid the list back to his side.

"Sorry about that," Silverman said. He remained on his feet. "I haven't seen Randy for a while. Last I heard, he was in L.A. Signed on with the big guys."

Was this the porn star Olivia had worked with? "Randy Gibbons the actor?"

Silverman gave her a smarmy grin. "You're familiar with Randy's work?"

Kali shook her head. "No, I've just heard the name recently."

Silverman gathered his belongings and drink. "There's plenty of room at the table. Care to join us?"

She glanced at the half dozen twenty-somethings swooning over Randy, and decided she definitely wouldn't fit in. "I need to be going, but thanks." She reached for her purse. "My brother had a friend, another executive at Logan Foods, A. J. Nash. Was he by any chance at the event?"

"Yeah," Silverman said. "That's who I was telling you about. The guy that Hispanic girl in your photo was talking to."

Erling drummed his fingers on the gouged metal table of the interrogation room. The two hours spent waiting for the arrival of Tony Perez's attorney, a sharp-featured terrier of a woman named Carmen Escobar, had put his nerves on edge.

Michelle handed Tony a can of Coke, and Escobar a glass of water. Then she sat down next to Erling.

Tony pulled himself up in his chair and popped the tab on the soda. "Don't suppose I can get a glass and some ice for this?"

"Afraid not," Michelle replied, with what looked like a smile.

Erling fought to keep himself from backhanding the creep. "Tell us about Hayley Hendrix," he said.

"What's to tell?"

"Your relationship. Your breakup."

Tony took a long gulp of soda. "There was nothing to break up. We went out a few times. That was it."

"But you stopped going out. She must have said something to put an end to it."

Escobar's dark eyes narrowed, shooting venom in Erling's direction. "You don't know that's what happened. Maybe it was my client who lost interest."

Erling leaned forward. "Is that the way it was, Tony? You decided she was beneath you?"

"Don't answer," Carmen instructed sharply. When she looked at the detectives, her expression softened. "We're trying to cooperate here, but I'm not going to allow these scattershot questions. You've got no evidence tying Tony to Ms. Hendrix's murder. The fact that he had a few dates with her is irrelevant."

"It is her refusal to continue seeing him that pushed him over the edge and drove him to kill her."

"Oh, please." Escobar rolled her eyes. "Kids date. Kids move on."

"Two of the women he gave books of poetry to were murdered," Michelle added. "It's a pattern."

Carmen laughed harshly. "There have got to be a lot of people the girls knew in common. They were friends, for heaven's sake."

"Why did you give a book of love poems to someone you only dated a few times?" Michelle asked Tony.

Tony shrugged. "Girls like stuff like that. They like poetry. They like guys who like poetry. And they like to think they're special. It's a no-brainer."

Erling's skin crawled at the thought of Tony with his daughter. "Why your sister, then? Or were you trying to get into her pants, too?"

"That's disgusting," Tony said.

"And entirely out of line," Carmen Escobar added. "Tony didn't come here to be insulted."

He didn't come here at all
, Erling thought.
We hauled his ass in
. "Where were you the night your sister was killed?" he barked.

Tony shrugged. "I worked until midnight. Then I went out for a few beers with some friends." Another slug of his soda. "Talk to them if you want. They'll vouch for me."

Michelle slid a notebook over the table to Tony. "Give us their names and contact information."

He looked to Carmen Escobar, who nodded. Tony started writing.

"What about Crystal Adams?" Erling asked. "Do you know her?"

"Nope. Never even saw her except for that photograph Kali O'Brien showed me."

Michelle leaned on the table. "Did Olivia ever talk about Crystal?"

"Olivia didn't talk about anyone but Olivia."

Erling scooted his chair away from the table and rose to lean against the wall. His nerves were as taut as steel. "What about Mindy? What's your interest there?"

Tony held up his palms, mocking the question. "My intentions were honorable. Your little girl is safe."

"What's your interest in her?"

"Why not?" Tony looked genuinely puzzled. His eyes softened. "She's cute. She's bright. She's fun."

"How'd you meet her?"

"She's taking this contemporary fiction class I sit in on sometimes." Tony's expression grew animated. "We discovered we like a lot of the same stuff."

Erling couldn't imagine that Mindy would have anything in common with this creep.

Carmen Escobar gathered the papers she'd pulled out at the start of the interview. "This is a waste of everyone's time. You've got nothing on my client. I assume he's free to go?"

In the heat of Erling's fear for his daughter, Tony had seemed a maniacal threat. Now Erling wasn't so sure. The kid was a punk, but bottom line was, they didn't have enough to hold him. "He's free to go for now," Erling said.

Tony pulled himself to his feet, a smirk distorting the earlier softness Erling had noted. "Thanks for the Coke," he muttered.

"We'll have our eyes on you," Erling warned. "We'll be watching your every move."

Tony laughed. "You're in for some boring days."

Carmen Escobar ushered her client out, stopping at the door to glare at the detectives. "You have your killer--John O'Brien. I don't understand why you're hassling the victim's brother. The family has been through enough."

"We're not hassling him," Erling said. "We're looking at all viable possibilities."

"Does that mean you've cleared O'Brien?"

"No," Erling said emphatically.

Michelle nodded in agreement. "It's still an open investigation. We're looking at several different angles."

When they were alone again, Michelle tapped the notebook where Tony had written the contact information for the friends he was with the night of his sister's murder. "We can check his alibi pretty easily," she pointed out, "but I suspect it will hold up."

"Then why did he originally lie about knowing Hayley?"

"A stripper who thinks she's too good for him. He probably didn't want to get into the whole seamy story with us."

"Maybe." Erling shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll feel better when I know he has a solid alibi for the time when she was killed."

Michelle rolled a pen between her palms. "For myself, I'd feel better if I knew what Kali O'Brien is keeping from us."

Erling nodded. "I think it may be time to push her a little."

"You're off the case, remember?"

"Right. But it wouldn't hurt to talk to her. Sort of a follow-up on our little conversation with Tony."

He was afraid Michelle would refuse. She regarded him for a moment, then tossed her pen on the desk. "Let's go."

Kali hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the half glass of Chardonnay she'd had with Silverman had gone straight to her head. The smart thing would be to go home. Sabrina would be arriving soon from Scottsdale. They could eat something healthy and call it a night. But after seeing Nash's name on the guest list, the questions buzzing in her brain wouldn't leave her alone.

As soon as she got back into her car, she pulled out her cell phone and called him. If he wasn't home or if he sounded annoyed at being bothered, she'd forget it and try to reach him at work the next day.

Instead, he sounded pleased to hear from her.

"I was just going out to grab a bite," he said. "You want to come along? Nothing fancy, I'm afraid. But I'm starved."

"Sure. Where are you going?"

"I was thinking pizza or Chinese. What's your preference?"

"They both sound good."

"Let's do Chinese. There's a great place near St. Phillips Plaza. It's called Hunan Village." He gave her the address.

"Great. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."

Nash had already ordered when Kali arrived at Hunan Village, a cozy place with a large plastic fern near the entrance and red upholstered booths along the walls.

"We can add to it," he explained, "but I thought food sooner was better than food later."

Kali slid into the booth across from him. "Sooner is definitely better." She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she smelled the spicy aromas of vinegar, hot peppers, and soy sauce.

The waitress brought spring rolls and fried wontons, followed by hot and sour soup. While they were working their way through those, they ordered two more dishes along with steamed rice.

It wasn't until the Schezwan prawns and Mongolian beef arrived that Nash asked the obvious.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He nudged the prawns closer to Kali. "Something about John? Or was it my personal charisma that prompted your call?"

"A little of both." It had seemed so straightforward earlier, but now she wasn't sure how to approach the subject. Finally, she just blurted it out. "Why didn't you say anything about knowing Olivia Perez?"