"April never promised a specific part to one of her clients?"
"Oh my, no."
"What was the part April had locked in for Heather? It's very important."
Stephanie concentrated, then shook her head.
"April was sure that Heather had the part nailed?"
"She said it was a done deal."
Jimmy nodded. April had never expected Heather to be killed that night; Heather's rape was to ruin Garrett's career, and his arrest would make Heather a household name, a player. A high-profile film role could turn Heather into a star, and a contract would guarantee that April got taken along for the ride. Even Mick Packard at the height of his power couldn't have opened that many doors to Heather. Neither could a jealous coke dealer or a software king. No, that took real juice.
Stephanie sniffed. "You okay?"
"It's like I said before, sometimes it takes a while to put things together, and when you finally do, you wonder what took you so long."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not healthy. I think that's why April committed suicide-she must have blamed herself for what happened to Heather."
"You think April committed suicide?"
"April-underneath it all, she was a very spiritual person."
"Willard Burton thinks she was murdered."
Stephanie was very still, a rabbit trying to blend into the background. "Willard Burton is a man who doesn't understand guilt," she said at last. "April knew about guilt. Just like me. That's why we both overate." She looked at Jimmy. "If the thing with Heather had worked out the way it was supposed to, April wasn't going to have anything more to do with Willard Burton. I'm sure of that. She disliked that man as much as I did." Her eyes were downcast now, remembering. "The afternoon Heather signed with the agency was such a good day. Heather was going on about buying a Corvette, a pink Corvette, and April was talking about getting a new office, and maybe one of those ergonomic chairs for me. A wonderful day. My hand actually shook when I notarized the contract."
Jimmy stared at her. "How could Heather sign a contract? She was a minor."
"Her mother was there. She signed too. We were all so happy, and then Garrett Walsh ruined everything. Me and Burton, we're the only ones left alive. It kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?" She looked at Jimmy. "That sounded bad, didn't it? Should I be worried?"
"Just stay put. I'll be back in touch soon. If you remember the name of the movie April had promised Heather, let me know."
Stephanie glanced out the window and checked the street. "I knew I shouldn't have answered the door."
Chapter 40
Darn it. Sugar slowly pulled the splinter out from the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger, then flicked it out into the weeds surrounding the playhouse. He sucked at the wound and tasted copper. He smiled at the double entendre.
The playhouse was a small structure with a peaked roof about ten feet off the ground, with a ladder on one side and a long slide on the other. It was built of raw boards painted to look like logs, blistered by the sun now. FORT APACHE was stenciled onto the sides. There was room for about four or five kids, but Sugar filled it up, lying there on his belly, his legs sticking out the back as he peeked out the front entrance. Down the street he could see Jimmy Gage standing on the front porch of the blue rambler, talking to a woman in jeans and a white blouse. She looked familiar.
Sugar had followed Jimmy all the way from Huntington Beach to this godforsaken bump in the road, keeping fifteen or twenty miles back. He didn't even play the radio, listening instead to the beeping from the locator-receiver on the passenger seat. The transmitter attached to the undercarriage of Jimmy's car sent out a steady signal.
One of Sugar's old cop buddies had retired and gone to work for LoJack, an electronic tracking service that retrieved stolen cars equipped with the device. Last year Sugar had traded Vince a cooler full of bonita for one, and a demonstration of how to use it. Vince had winked, asked if Sugar had a girlfriend he thought was fooling around on him. Sugar had winked back, said you never knew when fancy gear would come in handy. It had come in handy too. After saving Jimmy's bacon that day at the marina, then driving him home when he was too beat up to drive himself, Sugar had hooked up Jimmy's car.
Sugar had been keeping tabs on Jimmy ever since. He just had to turn on the receiver in his own car and follow the blinking light on the map readout to know where Jimmy was. Following Jimmy over hill and dale, from one end of the county to the other was too much like work, though, and Sugar was retired. Catching those yellowjack a few nights ago, well, it was just flat-out relaxing hooking that first fish, hearing the line spool out as it headed off to freedom. Particularly after dealing with that Felix the Cat fellow.
Sugar adjusted his position, making sure that he stayed in the shadows, careful of splinters now. The playground was deserted, the basketball hoops bent, the swings rusted. Half the houses on the block were empty. He had spotted Jimmy's car parked in front of the blue rambler, made a U-turn, and parked on the next street, taking up his position in the clubhouse, where he had a good view and privacy. The houses on either side were boarded up. He didn't have to wait long until the front door opened and the two of them came out, dragging out their good-byes. Sugar rested his chin in his hands. He just knew he had seen the woman before.
Chapter 41
"Danziger residence."
Jimmy drove with one hand on the wheel, thinking.
"Danziger residence, may I help you?"
Jimmy disconnected the call. He wanted to talk to Danziger's wife, but not enough to go through the butler or whatever the hell Raymond was. He punched in the main switchboard of SLAP, then the extension for the magazine's gossip columnist.
"This is Miss Chatterbox, talkee-talkee."
"Hi, Ann, it's Jimmy." He kicked the Saab up to eighty-five and passed the silver Toyota 4x4. The kid behind the wheel was in a backward Lakers hat and toasted Jimmy with a beer. "Do you know anything-"
"I know you're in heap big trouble. Napitano has been looking for you all day."
"Yeah, I got a couple of his messages."
"He's been cursing in Italian."
"Ann, do you know anything about Michael Danziger and his wife?"
"Film producer, right? Used to be somebody?"
"Used to be head of Epic International."
"Oh, yes, I remember him now. Got canned five or six years ago. Taurus Rising finished him, if memory serves. Budgeted at eighty million and did less than five million at the box office. Sayonara, Mikey."
Jimmy could hear Ann flipping through her Rolodex. She was one of the old-school gossip columnists who preferred card files to computer directories. There were plenty of Hollywood big shots who April McCoy could have been working for, plenty of executives who could have promised a film career for Heather Grimm, but Michael Danziger was the one who had hired Walsh, the one who showed up on set halfway through the shoot. He'd been keeping an eye on the production, he had told Jimmy. Maybe. Jimmy remembered Danziger swimming against the jets in his lap pool, swimming hard and steady, his workout routine precisely calibrated. Yeah, there were plenty of suspects, but like Jane said, when your investigation stalls, start with what you have in front of you.
"Michael and Brooke Danziger," Ann must have been reading it off the card, "married twelve, no make that thirteen years ago. No children. The usual charities, Cedars-Sinai, AIDS America, Lupus, Parkinson's. I see them at parties and fund-raisers once in a while. He's a smoothie, handsome as the day is long, always shaking hands. Perrier drinker, vegetarian… Oh, this is interesting. I made a note to myself a few months ago. Seems Michael's last two-no, three charity pledges haven't been honored. I was going to run it, but I decided to wait until he had another hit. How is his new movie? My Troubled Girl, Trouble with My Girl, something like that. Can I run with my item?"