Poor Little Bitch Girl

  No . . . but he was in Rosa’s mama’s Buick.

  Fuck! Better get out of here before they saw him. Better get out fast.

  * * *

  Carolyn heard the sound of tires squealing on the wet street. The noise, the yelling. And then suddenly she heard gunshots somewhere in the distance.

  She covered her ears. This had to be her worst nightmare.

  Huddling deep into her corner, she prayed for morning.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Bobby

  Prowling restlessly around the suite, Bobby wasn’t used to being sidelined. He would’ve preferred going with Denver to see the Hendersons, but as she’d decided it wasn’t a good idea, he’d stayed behind.

  After ordering coffee from room service, he switched on the TV. The Today Show was in progress, with Matt Lauer interviewing yet another politician accused of cheating on his wife with a hooker.

  Recognizing the guy’s name, Bobby recalled that the man had been outed in the tabloid piece on Annabelle and Frankie. Poor ill-advised bastard, the jerk was actually on TV attempting to defend himself.

  The politician’s interview ended, and on came the news. The lead story was all about the arrest of a suspect in the Gemma Summer murder case. The newscaster did not name the person who’d been arrested.

  Was Denver aware that an arrest had been made? Probably not.

  Well, one thing he knew for sure, she’d want to hear the news immediately since her boss was Ralph Maestro’s attorney.

  Picking up the phone, he got the number of the Hendersons’ room. He now had an excellent excuse to go there.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Denver

  I must say that I was kind of delighted when Bobby arrived in time to accompany us to the police station. Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m relieved that he’s here with me. Usually I’m super-confident that I’m able to deal with any situation, but imagining what could’ve happened to Carolyn was making me queasy.

  I’m not a very religious person, but all I could think about was, Please, God, let her be alive.

  Horrific scenarios kept running through my head. I remembered reading about the girl who was buried alive and found three months later. Another shocking case was the serial killer who’d dismembered his victims and buried them under his house – including several young women. Then there was the famous case of Washington intern, Chandra Levy, whose remains were discovered in a park thirteen months after her disappearance.

  Chandra had worked for a politician with whom she’d been having an affair.

  For a moment I thought about Carolyn’s boss, Senator Gregory Stoneman. Carolyn had often spoken about him in glowing terms. I’d once accused her of having a crush on him, and she’d become most defensive instead of laughing it off.

  I thought about her last text – We must talk! So much happening! And her text before that – Call me as soon as you get this – I have major news!

  What was her major news? And what did So much happening mean?

  I wondered if the police had spoken to the Senator. If they hadn’t, then I was going to suggest that they should.

  As soon as he arrived, I introduced Bobby to the Hendersons. By this time Clare was a tad calmer.

  Bobby, who did not know about George’s involvement with Gemma Summer, filled me in on the recent arrest.

  I noticed George go on major alert; he was obviously desperate to ask questions, but he refrained from doing so, remaining tight-lipped.

  At least he wasn’t the shooter, merely the lover.

  Bobby had a car and a driver waiting downstairs. Thank goodness it was a low-key sedan and not a flashy limousine.

  “We’ll all ride together,” I suggested to the Hendersons. They agreed.

  It was too early, L.A. time, for me to call Felix and hear the news about who’d been arrested – my money was on the stalker – but believe me, I couldn’t wait to find out everything.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Hank Montero – The Wild Card

  Hank Montero was no virgin when it came to police questioning, but the two Beverly Hills cops who’d arrested him were relentless. They’d kept him in a room all night asking him the same questions over and over. His head was reeling, it was so intense. And Hank Montero did not do well with intense.

  It was all his damn wife’s fault – Pinky, the nineteen-year-old stripper with the foreign accent and huge bouncy boobs. She’d been after a Green Card, and he’d been cross-eyed at the thought of spending leisurely nights playing with those boobs. But it all turned sour as soon as he married her, what with the house going into foreclosure, and his two appalling kids – the Goth and the slut – both of whom flatly refused to leave home.

  After they were married, Pinky had stopped stripping, turned into a nagging shrew, and announced that her boobs were off-limits.

  Damn! What was a man supposed to do?

  He’d taken a bad-ass job he’d known was wrong, collected the money, stashed it in a safe-deposit box in his name only, and celebrated by screwing their next-door neighbor – a flat-chested Southern bleached blonde, who made up for her lack of boobs by behaving like a maniac in bed.

  Unfortunately, Pinky had come home early from her latest job at Hooters, caught him at it, gone for his gun and made a dangerously close pass at shooting him in the balls.

  The Southern blonde had run from their house, a neighbor had called the cops, and all would’ve been fine if Pinky hadn’t left a pound of coke on the kitchen table. Yeah, she dealt coke as a sideline for a neighborhood thug. Lovely girl.

  The cops had hauled everyone down to the station.

  Later, when they’d checked out his gun, they’d discovered it was the same weapon used to kill Gemma Summer.

  Big whoopee.

  Hank was well aware that they had him in their clutches and they weren’t letting go anytime soon.

  Unless . . . he could make a deal.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Annabelle

  Following Fanny’s orders, Annabelle dressed down, all in black. With her pale red hair, her favorite diamond Maltese Cross nestled at her neck, and a more subtle make-up, the effect was quite startling. She looked a little bit like her famous mother.

  Staring at herself in the mirror she was conflicted. Half of her wanted to run back to New York, hide away in her apartment and not speak to anyone. The other half wanted to face the world and fuck ’em all, as Frankie was prone to say.

  But could she maintain that attitude?

  She wasn’t as strong as everyone seemed to imagine. And the thought of facing Ralph – Big Daddy – at the funeral was making her stomach cramp up.

  Ralph, in a fury, was a frightening sight to behold. She remembered that as a child, she would run and hide in a closet whenever her father lost his temper.

  Annabelle decided she needed more than Frankie and Fanny to bolster her confidence. She needed Denver by her side. Her old schoolfriend was so together, always exuding total confidence. That’s what Annabelle needed – a positive person who had nothing to gain by being there for her.

  Denver had promised to accompany her to the funeral. But that was before the embarrassing headline story in Truth & Fact. Denver probably wanted nothing to do with her now that she’d been painted as a goddamn madam! Besides, Denver was on Ralph’s side – she worked for his lawyer.

  All the same, she knew that Denver was a good person, and perhaps if she contacted her, they could work something out.

  * * *

  Frankie had a lot going on. Contrary to backing off, Rick Greco was hot to get into business with him. They’d started talking about creating a new club situation – maybe involving Bobby and M.J. if they were interested.

  Fanny Bernstein had turned out to be a star, she knew everyone and was proceeding full speed ahead. Frankie and Annabelle had already signed a letter of agreement giving Fanny 25 per cent of future earnings. Fanny wasn’t one to sit around.

  “I’ll be talking to Bravo, E! an
d MTV about a reality TV show next week,” she’d informed him. “You’ll hang out in L.A. until we go to New York for Annabelle to appear on The View. Stick with the big picture, Frankie. You’ll be shifting to L.A. permanently, so get your skinny ass into moving.”

  Frankie hadn’t revealed that golden nugget of news to Annabelle. Right now she was agitated, so he had to handle her with care. Hopefully, after the funeral she’d return to her usual self, then they could both start enjoying their upcoming success.

  Frankie Romano – media star. It had a winning ring.

  Yeah! Finally! Frankie Romano was going to be famous!

  * * *

  Fanny Bernstein didn’t just enjoy funerals, she reveled in them. Funerals to Fanny were not a place to mourn the dead, they were a place to cement old connections and forge new ones; a place to see and be seen; to talk about future projects, and make lunch arrangements. Fanny had never come across an opportunity she didn’t embrace, and funerals were full of opportunities – especially if the deceased was a famous person.

  The Gemma Summer funeral should be a hotbed of new and interesting connections. And Fanny was certain she’d have an excellent seat, because she’d be walking in with her two new clients.

  Surprise, surprise, Ralph Maestro. Let’s observe your reaction to this little play.

  Fanny selected a black ruffled dress, enormous earrings, sparkling silver slippers (high heels hurt her feet), and many silver bracelets.

  Eventually she was good to go.

  * * *

  Preparing for his wife’s funeral, Ralph Maestro chose what clothes he would wear.

  Gemma was dead. He would be the center of attention, every eye would be on him. And not all of them for the right reasons, thanks to his dear daughter, Annabelle.

  Annabelle Maestro. A rebellious child, an impossible teenager, and now, as an adult, she’d brought disgrace to the Maestro name, humiliating him beyond redemption.

  His first instinct had been to separate her from her sleazy boyfriend, drag her back to the house and shake some sense into her – hence his fast trip to Vegas. But when he couldn’t find her in Vegas – no doubt she’d fled back to New York – he’d changed his mind.

  The solution to Annabelle was to cut her off, disown her – allow her to bury herself in her own filthy profession. He was through.

  Lupe buzzed his dressing room. “Meester Saunders is here,” she announced. “An’ Meester Pip.”

  “Tell them I’ll be right down,” Ralph said, fixing his tie. A recent purchase. Black silk. Six hundred and fifty dollars.

  Yes, every eye would be on him.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Carolyn

  At first light, Carolyn awoke from a half-sleep with a start. She was freezing, every bone in her body ached, her mouth was parched, and her foot was throbbing. Yet she felt elated because she’d managed to survive the night, and now she was almost certain she could find someone on the street to help her, or at least call the police on her behalf.

  Gingerly she stood up, barely able to feel her feet. The rain had finally stopped, but it was still bitterly cold.

  Was it safe to venture out of her hiding-place?

  She still wasn’t sure.

  * * *

  Senator Gregory Stoneman left his house early on Thursday. He’d spent a restless night fretting about why Ramirez wanted to see him. Ramirez had said it was urgent and that it was something concerning his brother, so as Gregory approached the community center he was prepared for the worst.

  If it was blackmail he’d pay up. He had no damn choice.

  Carolyn was also on his mind.

  Where was she? What had Benito done with her? He was supposed to have taken her for a few hours, shake her up until she lost the baby and then let her loose. It was now two days and there was no sign of her.

  What if they’d harmed her? Could he be held responsible?

  Jesus Christ! WHAT HAD HE DONE?

  * * *

  Florita swore her daughter to keep her silence when Rosa had confessed how she’d helped Benito kidnap the Senator’s woman. Florita crossed herself, sank to her knees, then in Spanish she began begging the Lord for her daughter’s redemption.

  “You will never see that desgraciado cabrón again,” she wailed, when she was finished praying. “The moment you leave the hospital I send you to your cousin in Guatemala.”

  “No, Mama, no,” Rosa protested. “What about my baby?”

  “For your protection,” Florita admonished, wringing her hands. “I look after baby. You stay away. This a very bad thing you have done, Rosa. Estúpido. But God will watch over you, mi amorcita. He will be your savior.”

  Rosa nodded. Mama was right. God had punished her for doing a bad thing. Now God would protect her.

  * * *

  Slowly Carolyn peered down the street, and in the light of day she saw what the neighborhood she’d been trapped in was really like. There were several vacant lots littered with garbage, rusting half-finished buildings, protected by broken construction fencing, packs of stray dogs, and a couple of neighborhood shops – one selling hardware, and the other a small market. Neither of them were open.

  Across the street she spotted the man who’d exposed himself to her the night before. He was pushing his shopping cart filled to the brim with useless junk, and singing to himself. When he saw her, he waved as if they were old friends. His mangy dog trotted behind him, a sad little creature.

  She thought about approaching him again, but then realized he wasn’t capable of helping her.

  At least it was daylight and she was still alive, so was her baby. She patted her stomach, and set off down the street. There had to be a police station or a post office, somewhere official where she could get help.

  Never again would she ignore a homeless person on the street, for if you didn’t have the money to make a phone call or buy a loaf of bread, you were utterly lost.

  Chapter Seventy

  Denver

  On the way to the precinct I opted to sit up front with the driver, leaving Bobby in the back with the Hendersons.

  It was already eight a.m. in Washington, which meant it was five a.m. on the West Coast. I didn’t dare disturb Felix, but I had no qualms about waking my intern, Megan. Pulling out my cell from my purse, I did just that.

  What a surprise, the girl was awake!

  Thinking she was an early riser, I said, “Megan – getting up early is a very positive way to start the day. You’ll get so much extra work accomplished.”

  “Actually,” Megan replied with a most unbusinesslike giggle, “I’m just getting home.”

  Oh, great! Was she drunk? I couldn’t tell.

  “I need a report on the Maestro case,” I said briskly. “I understand there’s been an arrest. Who is it?”

  “Who’s what?” Megan asked, her words followed by a couple of random hiccups.

  Ah yes, unfortunately my brainy little intern was totally wasted.

  “Does the firm know who’s been arrested?” I said, all business.

  “Dunno,” she replied, vague as usual.

  “Find out and call me back,” I said tersely. “I’m on my cell.”

  “Will do,” Megan said, followed by a series of muffled giggles.

  Megan was not alone.

  Half of me wished I was in L.A. finding out for myself what was going on. The other half knew I was exactly where I should be, trying to discover the truth about Carolyn’s disappearance.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Bobby

  Detective Lennox was a tall man, lean and weathered, with knowing eyes, and a deep voice.

  Bobby thought he looked like a man who knew what he was doing, and Denver’s initial reaction toward him was positive. To both of them he seemed like he was in charge.

  “Mr and Mrs Henderson,” Detective Lennox said, ushering the distressed couple toward his office. “Please follow me.”

  Bobby and Denver were right behind them.

>   Detective Lennox stopped for a moment and held up an authoritative hand. “And you are?”

  “Friends,” Denver said quickly. “I’m a lawyer, Carolyn’s closest friend.”

  “We have no need for a lawyer,” Detective Lennox said.

  “She’s not here in an official capacity,” Bobby interrupted, asserting himself. “We’re both here to help find Carolyn.” Denver threw him an appreciative glance. “This is Denver Jones and I’m Bobby Santangelo,” he continued. “We’re ready to assist in any way we can.”

  The detective nodded. The name Santangelo sounded familiar. When word had filtered down from the Chief to treat this case as high priority, he’d heard the name Santangelo mentioned somewhere along the way.

  “Well,” Detective Lennox said unsurely, “if it’s okay with the Hendersons?”

  “It is,” George said.

  They all crowded into the detective’s cramped office. There were not enough chairs to go around, so Bobby took up a position by the door.

  George Henderson spoke up. “Can you please bring us up to date,” he said in a strained voice.

  “Yes, I can,” Detective Lennox said, linking his fingers together, making an arc. “Since yesterday there has been some progress.”

  “Progress?” Clare Henderson said, her face lighting up. “Have you found my little girl? Is she all right?”

  Detective Lennox cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs Henderson, we haven’t found her, but we do have an excellent lead. We’ve managed to trace several calls made from her cell phone – they’re all coming from the same area.”

  “What area would that be?” Bobby asked.

  “Not a very salubrious part of town, I’m afraid. We suspect that the calls are not being made by Carolyn. Right now we have people checking on the recipients of the calls.”

  “Have you spoken to Senator Stoneman? And Carolyn’s co-workers?” Denver asked, thinking that for a cop he sure used a lot of fancy words.