“We have,” Detective Lennox replied, mildly annoyed that this beautiful young woman who claimed to be a lawyer, was speaking to him as if he was an amateur. Of course he’d interviewed everyone the missing girl had worked with! And her neighbors.
“How about her ex-boyfriend?” Denver asked.
“Nobody’s mentioned an ex-boyfriend.”
“His name is Matt London. I’m sure he’s listed.”
“Thank you, Miss Jones,” Detective Lennox said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Always a bonus to get help on the job.”
Bobby glanced over at Denver. He had a strong feeling she was going to lose it. Attempting to diffuse the situation, he asked the detective to pinpoint the area the cell calls were coming from.
Detective Lennox said he could not divulge that information, but that he would keep them up to date on everything, and the best thing they could do was go back to their hotel and wait.
Bobby suspected that sitting and waiting was not about to fly with Denver, so as soon as they were outside the precinct, he walked to the corner and called Lucky again.
One thing about his mom, she was a real sport, and even though he was waking her, she promised to call him back once she had the information he needed. “Make it soon,” he urged.
“It’s me you’re talking to, Bobby,” she responded dryly.
Back at the hotel, the Hendersons went straight to their room. Bobby turned to Denver and suggested breakfast.
“I’m not hungry,” she said listlessly.
“You’ve got to eat.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you should stay strong.”
“For what?” she said with a helpless shrug. “So I can identify her body when they find it?”
“Don’t think like that,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not the kind of girl who gives up.”
“How do you know?”
Bobby gave her a long, slow look. “I just do.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Hank Montero – The Wild Card
The Public Attorney assigned to Hank Montero was short, fat and bald. His name was Dewey Find, and he was in the middle of a personal crisis – an acrimonious divorce that was costing him everything he had.
Dewey had loser clients up the kazoo, and quite frankly he didn’t give a fast fuck about any of them. His plan was to opt out of the rat race as soon as he’d saved enough money, and flee to Hawaii, where he planned on finding himself an innocent native girl, and living in a hut on the beach for next to nothing.
Dewey existed in a dream world of his own making.
He hated Hank Montero on sight. Hank was all the things he wasn’t. Tall, well-built, with a full head of hair.
“Make me a deal,” Hank implored.
Yeah, Dewey thought. You did a bad, bad thing, so I’ll make you a deal that’ll guarantee you at least ten years behind bars getting butt-fucked by all the guys who used to jerk off to Gemma Summer’s movies.
“Write a confession,” Dewey advised his latest client. “Full disclosure. It’ll go a long way to helping you receive a much lighter sentence.”
So Hank, not the smartest pebble on the beach, did just that.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Annabelle
There is nothing the media likes better than a good old-fashioned funeral with all the trimmings. Gemma Summer’s funeral promised to provide everything and more. A church service, followed by an outdoor burial service, with stars and top executives galore. Plus – bonus-time – the exquisite Gemma’s celebrated movie-star husband. And her extremely notorious – as of twenty-four hours ago – daughter, Annabelle – recently exposed as a top New York madam who wasn’t adverse to turning a trick or two herself.
This all was nirvana to the hordes of press assembled at Forest Lawn Memorial Park – a burial place for mega-stars. Especially as they’d gotten word through an anonymous source (Fanny Bernstein) that Annabelle Maestro would indeed be attending.
The excitement level was high.
Amongst the throng was Mario Riviera, who hoped he might get a glimpse of Denver. He’d certainly blown it on their last date, and he’d been trying to make amends ever since without much success.
Denver could be privy to some inside scoop she might share with him. It was always a coup, getting one over on the rival entertainment shows with information they didn’t have, and since he’d recently been promoted to co-anchor on the new show Hollywood Word, he was out to prove himself. Why not make use of any connections he could muster?
Mario Riviera was not just a pretty face.
* * *
Leaning toward her new client, Fanny grasped Annabelle’s hand. “Stay strong, dollface,” she said, full of good cheer. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I’m not on my way to the dentist!” Annabelle said tartly, thinking that sometimes Fanny could be quite irritating.
Along with Frankie they were sitting in a low-key black town car on their way to Forest Lawn Memorial Park in the Hollywood Hills.
Annabelle was apprehensive about facing Ralph. Her father was such a frightening figure, so much larger than life. When she was a child she’d sometimes experienced nightmares starring his massive face. It had been very disturbing.
Even thinking about it now brought back creepy memories. That larger-than-life face, looming over her . . . it was not a pleasant recollection.
Unfortunately, Ralph now knew all about the business she was running with Frankie. She was well aware how furious he must be.
But then she had to believe that Fanny was right, that there was nothing he could do or say to her in front of everyone, especially as there would be a huge media turn-out observing his every move.
Fanny, clad in the black ruffled dress which made her look twice her size, reached for the bottle of champagne she’d thoughtfully brought with her. She handed it to Frankie along with some plastic glasses. “Open,” she ordered. “Then pour, dollface. We are in dire need of a tipple to take the edge off.” She turned to Annabelle. “Am I speaking for both of us, Princess?”
Annabelle nodded her agreement. A glass of champagne was exactly what she needed to get through the upcoming ordeal. Maybe two or three glasses. Slightly buzzed seemed like a grand alternative to stone-cold sober.
* * *
Accompanied by his lawyer and his trusty PR flack, Pip, Ralph Maestro left his house quite prepared for the circus that was to follow.
There had been much speculation over the past week about Gemma’s murder, but now thankfully all the gossip and innuendo had been put to rest. An arrest had been made, and that was that.
The police had not revealed any details, but the general assumption was that the stalker from New Orleans who’d been tracking Gemma was the person arrested. Even Felix didn’t know for sure.
Ralph was still steaming about the recent revelations concerning his daughter. Annabelle was not a smart girl, she’d always been jealous of the relationship between himself and Gemma. She’d barely been able to hide the resentment she’d felt toward both of them.
It was sad, but now he was done with her. Annabelle would never receive another penny from him.
* * *
The funeral procession was small and dignified. Gemma had no immediate family, she was an only child and her parents were deceased. Ralph had invited only a few of their friends to be part of the line of black limousines following the hearse containing Gemma’s flower-bedecked coffin. Actually not so much friends as heads of studios and important executives. Ralph, like Fanny, was never one to let a career-enhancing opportunity pass by.
Several helicopters containing news crews hovered over the procession.
Even in death, Gemma Summer could still make headlines.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Hank Montero – The Wild Card
As confessions go, Hank Montero’s was a winner. With the help of his attorney, he’d worked on it all night. Put in every detail he co
uld recall. One thing about Hank, he had a pretty good memory for details.
Nobody was locking Hank Montero up for a murder he was hired to commit. No freaking way.
Yeah. That’s right. He was a paid assassin.
An outside contractor.
Not responsible.
And Hank Montero had no compunction about pointing the finger at the person who’d hired him.
No compunction at all.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Denver
Under different circumstances I would be falling madly, crazily in love with Bobby – and believe me, I am not a romantic, but there is something about him that is so damn irresistible. Not only is he totally drop-dead gorgeous in a very manly way, he’s actually thoughtful and kind – and most of all, nice!
What I should be doing is backing away big-time, because he’s actually too good to be true. But then I remembered Zeena and the blow-job incident, so maybe he’s not that perfect. Hmm . . .
I shouldn’t be thinking about him; all my concentration should be on Carolyn, my vanished friend, most possibly the victim of foul play. She could’ve been raped and killed and left for dead, and here I am falling in love with a man I’ll probably never see again after we part ways.
He lives in New York.
I live in L.A.
No chance of anything happening here.
Besides, I’m sure he has an army of beautiful women falling at his feet, because apart from all his other attributes he’s mega-rich.
Not that I care about money, I don’t. It’s the person who counts.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Bobby lectured, guiding me through the lobby into the hotel dining room.
“You sound like my mother,” I murmured.
He threw me a quizzical look. “I’ll let you off the hook with that remark because you’re under stress.”
A hostess led us to a booth, giving Bobby an extra-special smile along the way.
Seconds later, a waitress came over to the table and handed out menus. Once again, Bobby received a special smile.
That’s what it would be like, being with a man like Bobby – women coming onto him all the time.
Why do I always pick the handsome ones? Mario, a classic example with his three-in-a-bed plan.
Sam, the screenwriter I’d left in New York, was a better fit for me. And Josh – when he was interesting. Not now, with the ten extra pounds and the I think we made a mistake breaking up attitude.
Men! Life would be much simpler without them. But not as much fun!
“I’m ordering for you,” Bobby said, taking control.
“And why’s that?” I asked.
“’Cause you’re staring at the menu like it’s written in a foreign language.”
“Sorry. I can’t concentrate.”
“I know,” he said, giving me a long, sympathetic look. “It must be tough.”
“Carolyn and I have been best friends since high school,” I said, my eyes welling up with unexpected tears. “She’s like the sister I never had.”
“You can’t give up hope,” Bobby said, moving nearer and sliding his arm around my shoulders. “The police have found her phone, that’s a positive.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, Denver, it is.”
I managed to down a glass of apple juice, a few sips of coffee and half a piece of toast.
Bobby went through a plateful of eggs, bacon and sausages like a starving man. Then we both took out our phones and started checking messages.
I had quite a few, several of them from Mario, saying things like I miss you. Where are you? Why aren’t you returning my calls?
Hey, Mario, it’s ’cause you’re an asshole.
There was a crisp text from Annabelle. I know things are different now, but I wish you would come to the funeral with me. I really need you.
Annabelle Maestro needed me! Wow! Never thought I’d hear that coming from the Princess of Beverly Hills.
There was a terse message from Felix, obviously sent by his assistant because no one over the age of fifty has any clue how to text – I am very disappointed in you, Denver. Work should always come first.
Screw you, Mister Shark Teeth. As far as I’m concerned, personal emergencies will always take first place.
I contemplated sending him that message. Then I thought, Why bother? I’d definitely decided it was time to move on.
Bobby’s phone vibrated and he hurriedly answered the call. After talking for a few moments, he clicked his fingers for the check.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Instead of sitting around waiting, I have a plan.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Carolyn
Carolyn soon discovered that if you had the look of a homeless person, you were regarded as invisible. The few people on the street, scurrying about their business, went out of their way to avoid her. They either crossed the street or hurried on by, pretending she didn’t exist.
She knew she must be a frightening sight. She was filthy, with matted hair, her clothes coated with mud, no shoes. She presented a pathetic figure, limping barefoot along the street.
A couple of drunks, sitting against a graffiti-decorated wall, shouted lewd insults at her as she passed by. A gaggle of kids heading for school jeered and laughed in her face. One of the boys picked up a large stone and threw it, hitting her on the forehead, drawing blood.
She quickly ducked into another doorway and took refuge.
When was somebody – anybody – going to help her?
* * *
“Good morning,” Gregory said, entering the community center. He was disgusted at what he was being forced to deal with. Most of all he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to hear what Ramirez had to say. He already knew that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it.
Ramirez was sitting at an old wooden table scribbling notes with a pencil in a dime-store notebook. He glanced up. “You’re early, Senator,” he remarked.
“Got a lot to do today,” Gregory answered, thinking, Let’s get right to it, you blackmailing son of a bitch.
“Pull up a chair,” Ramirez said. “Sorry the coffee machine is broken. Nothin’ to offer you. That’s the way it goes around here.”
“Perfectly all right,” Gregory said. He sat down and stared at Ramirez. “What exactly can I do for you?” he asked.
“It’s about my brother,” Ramirez began, putting down his pencil.
Yes, Gregory thought, I’m sure it is. Then he waited for Ramirez to tell him that unfortunately Benito had gone too far with Carolyn, and now that she was dead, he’d better be prepared to pay up, because it was all due to his devious plan.
“He’s in big trouble,” Ramirez continued, his long pockmarked face quite somber.
“And how exactly can I help?” Gregory asked, playing along.
“My brother is a target,” Ramirez said. “He refuses to listen to me. But you – a Senator . . . I was thinking if you offered him a job. Maybe you need a gardener, a pool man, someone to do odd jobs. If he could live on the premises, get off the street . . .”
Gregory kept his face expressionless. This was insane. Did Ramirez honestly think he would hire his brother for no good reason? Why would he do that?
“It would only be for a few weeks, a temporary situation, while I take care of the threat.”
“What threat?” Gregory asked hoarsely.
“It’s the usual story,” Ramirez said. “You’d probably call it gang warfare. My brother – Benito – has a girlfriend who had a baby with a member of a rival gang. This cholo wishes Benito dead. It’s as simple as that. And if I don’t intervene . . .” Ramirez trailed off.
Benito. Dead. Would that be such a terrible thing? Especially as he’d harmed or maybe even killed Carolyn.
Gregory shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ramirez. I can’t help you with this.”
Ramirez’s eyes were like two steely slits. “Can’t?” he questioned. “Or won’t??
??
Gregory felt hostility in the air. He stood up. Now that he was not about to be blackmailed, he needed to get away from this depressing place and forget all about Ramirez and his goddamn brother.
“Can’t, Ramirez,” he said in a tone that invited no response.
Ramirez also stood. “I see,” he said. “But Senator, I must tell you this – if it was a member of your family in peril – perhaps one of your lovely children – I would do everything in my power to help you.”
Was there a threat in Ramirez’s words? Was he threatening Gregory’s children?
Goddamn it. Why had Evelyn introduced him to this man? These people were toxic. Evelyn should have known better.
* * *
After a while Carolyn emerged from the doorway where she’d taken shelter. The streets were filling up, people hurrying to work, all of them avoiding her as if she had a communicable disease.
All she needed was enough change to make a phone call, but her pleas for help went unanswered.
* * *
“I’m sorry I cannot assist you,” Gregory said, walking firmly toward the door. He had an urge to get away from Ramirez and this place as fast as possible, especially as the threat of blackmail was no longer looming over him.
Ramirez followed him to the door. “You are a disappointment to me, Senator,” he said. “I thought, like me, you were prepared to help get these kids off the street.”
“Your brother’s not a kid,” Gregory snapped.
Ramirez blinked several times. “And how would you know that?”
Gregory shrugged. “I simply assumed,” he said, opening the door and walking outside.
It had started to rain again and Gregory was annoyed that he’d left his umbrella in the car. He had on his new grey suit, and raindrops would ruin it.
As he started to leave, an unmarked police car pulled up outside, and a plainclothes detective emerged.
Gregory immediately recognized the man as the same detective who’d been at his office asking questions about Carolyn.
What was this all about?