I was driving faster than usual. Before I knew it I passed Latigo Shores and Escondido Beach and came to Paradise Cove, where Karen had been picked up on the highway by someone in a red Ferrari.
Lowell asking for a pretty one to set up the tables and chairs.
App- or a lackey- picking her up.
Private party before the big one.
Lowell and App and Trafficant? Had the producer worn a mustache, back then?
Nothing nasty Friday night; she'd been in a good mood the next morning. But something had gone very bad the next day.
Make it a good-looking one.
Felix Barnard was no Sherlock, but he'd managed to put enough together to merit his own payoff. And a finale at the Adventure Inn.
App, sitting there, talking to me about deals.
Playing with me?
He was Lowell's patron. Powerful enough to be ordering Lowell around… I recalled his explosive reaction to my intrusion, then the cold, cruel way he'd fired his receptionist.
Allowing me in when I told him what it was about.
Sounding me out, assessing the threat.
Talking about Mellors/Mullins's violent nature. The script definitely a diversion. Which wasn't to say Mellors hadn't written it.
App, with years of experience weaving and darting in Hollywood.
Had he bought my biography story?
Maybe. He hadn't tried to restrain me or harm me. Hadn't even kept my card.
Waiting for me to get back to him on the deal…
I pressed down on the gas pedal, forging into rural Malibu. This far up, there were no lights on the road. The highway darkened and twisted. I kept picturing Karen, getting into the sleek red car with golden expectations.
Playing with Lucy and Puck the next morning until Gwen had had Doris, the experienced mother, take over.
Doris, putting the kids to bed, then sneaking out to frolic. Returning later to discover Lucy gone.
She runs out to look for her. Finds her sleepwalking, babbling.
Men hurting girl.
Powerful men. Mopping up the evidence of murder… in a motel owned by some guys from Reno. The Advent Group. Now I knew why the name was familiar.
The other outfit sharing the twentieth floor with App's production company.
Advent Ventures.
App keeping Mellors on a financial leash in order to control him and use him. First, the "idiot job" at the production company, then moving him into the motel job.
Literary critic to brothel manager. Lowell would have appreciated it.
I could imagine App's spiel.
"Think about it, Denny. I know the job is below you, but it's just short-time and all you have to do is look in on the dump once in a while- maybe even pick up some material- how about a series based on a motel? All these crazy characters drifting in and out? We can pitch it to the networks. Don't feel pressure to make a decision right now. Think about it and let me know. Come up to the house, we'll look at the ocean and break some bread."
Everything falling into place, but, still, Gwen had admitted to nothing more than seeing Karen step into the crowd with her hors d'oeuvres tray, and Lowell's payoff could be construed as a generous tip.
I heard Milo's voice, superego by way of the LAPD:
No evidence.
41
I tried to call him again that night, and the next morning. No answer at home, and the desk officer at Westside Division was unhelpful.
All this information and nowhere to go. Lucy wasn't focusing on Karen, so that bought some time. But I wasn't sure last night's intimidation would keep Gwen Shea in town and, without her, what did I really have?
I'd keep trying to find Milo. In the meantime, I'd run off the tension.
I was changing into shorts and a T-shirt when my service called with Dr. Wendy Embrey on the line.
Trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, I said, "Hi, Wendy."
"Hi, how's Lucretia doing?"
Off the case, she had no privileges. "She's fine."
"Well, that's good. It was an odd case, I never really felt I had a handle on it."
"In what way?"
"The suicide attempt. She was so adamant about not trying to kill herself, but she seemed so coherent. So, no subsequent psychosis or major depression?"
"None."
"Good. Anyway, say hello to her for me. I still think about her."
"Will do, Wendy."
"Actually, I was calling you about something else. This is awkward and don't feel obligated to answer, but have you had any trouble getting paid for treating her?"
"I'm fine with that."
"Oh. Hmm. I know this is tacky, but I think I told you Woodbridge is in a major financial bind; the staff's under a lot of pressure not to take on any nonpaying cases. I'm under special pressure since it's my first year there- probationary status. Lucy had no insurance and no clear ability to pay. Strict hospital policy is to take care of the crisis, then transfer them over to County. I didn't do that because I liked her and because her brother told me he'd handle it. But the hospital just notified me that a bill they sent to his company was returned unopened, and he hasn't returned any of their calls. None of mine, either. Have you been in contact with him?"
"He's been tied up," I said. "Their brother Peter OD'd a couple of days ago."
"Oh. God. I'm so… sorry for bringing it up. Good-bye."
I ran and had breakfast. On the news, one of the Bogettes, a sunken-cheeked, twentyish harpy named Stasha, was granting an interview to a breathlessly eager reporter. Her hair was cropped to the skin and she wore a goat-hair vest and a necklace of animal fangs. Jobe Is God tattoo just above her left eyebrow. Her mouth twisted constantly and her eyes pursued the camera.
The reporter was a blond woman in her late twenties, with conspicuous hair. She said, "So you're saying the police have bungled the investigation so badly that Jobe Shwandt deserves a new trial? But surely-"
"Surely Jobe lives," said Stasha. "Surely the truth will spawn its own certain becertitude." The rest of her speech succumbed to bleeps.
I turned off the set. The phone rang.
"Hey." Milo, finally.
"Just saw one of your girls on the tube."
"Spent all night following those hags around town. El Monte, San Gabriel, South Pasadena, Glendale, Burbank. They drive slowly, use their turn signals, make full stops."
"Where'd they go?"
"Nowhere, just cruising. Pulling over to the curb, waiting, then pulling out again- goddamn game. Final stop was for burgers and fries at an all-night grease palace in San Fernando. One of them comes up to me in the parking lot and offers me a Pepsi. After spitting on it and inviting me to mate with pigs. Then she told me where they'd be going next. "Want a fucking road map, clown?' "
"Fun."
"Join the blue army, see the world. Anyway, that was some message you left me on Ms. Shea. What, you tailed her, then interrogated her?"
"It just kind of happened."
"I'll bet," he said, grumbling. "Hopefully she won't sue you. Think she was on the level?"
I told him why I did.
"If App and Lowell are so ready to bump people off," he said, "why'd they let the Sheas live?"
"Several possibilities," I said. "If Gwen was being truthful, she and Tom don't really know much. And each year the Sheas kept the secret and didn't hit on Lowell for extra money would have reassured them. Also, by now the Sheas are as invested in the status quo as Lowell and App. Respectable business people. The fact that they took money to withhold information on a girl who ended up murdered wouldn't do much for their civic image. And if Doris ever found out they held back money from her, she'd blow her stack and probably try to incriminate them. As it is, she resents their success."