“Chanse-“ But then, she closed her mouth and suppressed a giggle. “You sound kind of Hollywood yourself, John Wayne.” After a moment, she went on, “Okay, count me in. But promise me you’re going to be more careful.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to go through this again.” I smiled at her. I stood up, wincing. “All right, I’m going to walk home.”
“Walk? Are you insane?” She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. “After what just happened? I’ll drive you.”
“No, I want to walk.” I grimaced. “It’ll be okay, Paige. Robinette isn’t out there anymore. His job is done. If he’d wanted to kill me, he could have. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“If you aren’t going to the hospital to get checked, you should stay here,” she insisted. “What if something’s wrong-like you have a concussion and you don’t know it?”
I gave a half-laugh. “Paige, I’m fine. Really. Besides-“ I waved at her couch. It wasn’t a full-sized couch-more of a longer love-seat, really. There was no way I could stretch out on it.” As sore and battered as I am, sleeping on your couch isn’t going to help. I need my own bed tonight.”
She surrendered and put her purse down on the coffee table. “Okay, fine, you stubborn asshole.”
She walked me out to the gate, her lips pursed in disapproval as I hobbled along. The more I walked, though, the easier it got. But she kept her mouth shut until she’d shut the gate behind me. “Call me and let me know you’re home safe, okay?”
“I will.”
The street was deserted, and there was no traffic on Prytania Street as I crossed it. I wasn’t sure if the media circus had been disbanded, but I didn’t care, either. Frillian wanted war, did they? Well, I’d be more than happy to fire some shots back.
When I reached Coliseum Square, I looked across to my house. The vans were gone. The sidewalk was clear. But a car I didn’t recognize was parked in front of my house-it didn’t belong to any of my neighbors. My heart started beating a little faster-you idiot, Paige was right, what if whoever beat you is waiting to finish the job?-but I took some deep breaths and started walking across the park.
As I drew closer to Camp Street, I could see two people sitting in the car. A cigarette lighter flared, and with no small relief I realized that the passenger was a woman.
I crossed the street and headed for the gate. I had just started to open it when I heard car doors shut.
Get inside the house! My mind screamed at me.
“Chanse MacLeod?” a woman’s voice said from behind me.
I turned, and a bright light blinded me. When my eyes adjusted, I realized it was the light from a video camera.
The woman approached me. The man with her was holding the camera and was aiming it at me. She smiled. She was in her late forties, with graying dark hair. She was holding a digital recorder in her hand. “I’m Debra Norris, with The Veronica Vance Show. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the Glynis Parrish murder?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t comment on the case,,” I replied.
“What happened to your face?”
I shrugged. “This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.” I turned my back and walked up my steps. I laughed grimly to myself. Chew on THAT when it airs, Frillian! Once I was inside my apartment, I called Paige to let her know I’d gotten home okay. She sounded relieved, and I promised to call her again when I got up. I walked over to my desk. I got out my cell phone and dialed Jephtha.
“Hello?”
I took a deep breath. “Jephtha, I need you to do something for me.” I closed my eyes. I bit my lower lip. I’d never specifically asked him to do anything illegal before-and it didn’t sit well with me. He’d probably done some illegal things over the years, but we operated on a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. This was the first time I’d asked him to break the law and risk his freedom.
But it was the only way I could think of to get the information.
“Sure.”
“How hard would it be for you to break into a university’s database?”
He didn’t answer at first. I was about to tell him to forget it when he replied, “Not hard, really. It depends on their security system. Their main concern is student hackers trying to change grades.” I heard him inhale. “Sure, it’s not exactly legal to break in. But I think I can do it without leaving a record.”
“I just want you to retrieve records on a student from about twelve years ago.” I swallowed. “But I don’t want you to do anything risky.”
He laughed. “Well, it shouldn’t be difficult at all. No one ever wants to access old records-they usually don’t protect that stuff much. It just depends on if they converted the old paper files to digital, or when they started keeping records on the computer. But twelve years ago-I’d imagine most colleges had started using computers by then.”
I grabbed the case file I’d started. I gave him the name of the university and the dates attended. “The student’s name was Frederick Bliss.”
“Freddy Bliss?” He whistled. “Okay, boss, I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks, Jephtha-but be careful, okay?” I hung up the phone.
I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail.
The in-box was full; all of the messages from addresses I didn’t recognize. Some of the subject lines were insulting, to put it mildly. I marked them all as spam, and went to bed. I set the alarm for eight. That would give me plenty of time to shower and wake up before meeting Brett. My body still ached a bit, but the Tylenol was working. I closed my eyes. I was exhausted.
I didn’t dream, and slept like a stone.
I woke up in the morning feeling sore and tired. I took a long hot bath while the coffee brewed, letting the hot water work its magic on my muscles and joints. I got out of the tub feeling much better. I was still stiff in places, but for the most part, I was functional. I took some more Tylenol. I still looked awful, but that couldn’t be helped. The lump on the back of my head seemed to have gone down a bit as well. With a full cup of coffee, I sat down at my computer and logged on.
The first headline on the welcome page screamed at me: Witness In Parrish Murder Beaten. There was also a photo of my battered face. I clicked on the link, and it brought up one of those video links. I clicked on the play button-and there I was, on the sidewalk in front of my house. I closed my eyes as I heard myself saying, This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.
I glanced at the Web site header line. It was a gossip site. My heart sinking, I started reading the accompanying article.
“Chanse MacLeod, a New Orleans private investigator who claims to have seen Freddy Bliss leaving Glynis Parrish’s home the night she was murdered, apparently was attacked and beaten-and from his comments to a reporter from ‘The Veronica Vance Show’, caught on tape, seems to think Frillian was behind it!
MacLeod, an openly gay man, has been involved in several homicides over the years in New Orleans. Sources tell us here at tarnishedtinsel.com that he has actually killed twice-his first victim a gay prostitute named Glenn Austin. He also was involved with soft-core gay wrestling video star Cody Dallas, whose real name was Paul Maxwell. Several years ago, Maxwell was kidnapped and murdered by a deranged fan.”
I swallowed. There was a picture of Paul wearing a skimpy bright yellow bikini, with a come-hither look on his face. The caption read, Murdered soft-core porn star Cody Dallas.
Christ, I thought. I knew I should stop reading, close the page, and forget about it. But somehow I couldn’t. I had to pick at the scab.