Body on the Backlot Page 4

  I didn’t think I had an answer to my question, but I accepted it. In spite of myself, and all the hooey, I had recognized a ring of truth to her words. I sometimes felt like a ghost wandering around in the shadows of my own life and I was familiar with the fact that a thought in the wrong direction can release a demon or two that you thought were strapped in. Then again, she may have just read that in one of those how-to books for mystics.

  “Okay,” I said. “Do us a favor and don’t leave town.” Gus gave Kunda his card and started toward the door.

  “We’d appreciate a call if you think of anything that could help us,” he said. “I’m sure Autumn in spirit would be grateful.”

  I hope to be of service,” she said, having returned to her serene beingness.

  As I followed Gus out, I glanced up at the poster of the Goddess of Death. Silvery and blue, with a young white colt in the distance and a huge horse skull in the foreground, there were swirls of prismatic light and smoke around a pale ghost of a woman’s face.

  A peculiar surge of electricity ran through me. I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant.

  “That’s Epona,” said Kunda.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her. She seemed to levitate toward me, her gaze a beam of fire.

  “Epona,” I repeated.

  “Yes. Comfortable in both the realm of life and that of death.”

  I nodded and suddenly felt threatened by something. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough as I continued toward the door.

  “Epona is a strong symbol of nurturing, instinct, and vitality. She’s a protector of women and children,” said Kunda.

  I turned back one last time.

  “Did you have to go to some airy-fairy university to learn this goddess stuff?” I asked.

  “Mythology is taught at the finest universities, detective. In fact, the first university, ever, was one of religious science. The Sorbonne? Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  “Sure, I’ve heard of it. It’s in France, right? Paris. Though I think you might be thinking of Bologna. Do you actually have a goddess degree?”

  “You kid me, but I see through your dismissal. You recognize yourself in Epona, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. But let me ask you a question on a different subject. What do you know about voodoo?”

  Gus stood waiting beside the door during this exchange. “Nothing, really. I don’t do spells and don’t dabble in black magic. To be fair, voodoo is a whole culture of which I have no information.”

  “Did Autumn dabble?”

  “Not to my knowledge. She never shared such interests with me. If she had, I would have counseled her against it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I bet you have Jupiter in Leo,” said Kunda.

  “Say what?”

  “She means in your astrological chart,” offered Gus.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “I’m sure of it. Grace and poise in contact with the public, you act while others dream, you achieve your goals, but you must be careful not to become arrogant, and you have a tendency to overdo things.” I looked at Gus. He shrugged.

  “Thank you for that insight,” I said.

  “Feel free to call me.”

  “You can count on it,” I said on the way out the door.

  Outside, Gus put his hand on my shoulder. His tall form and gray eyes looked soft against the black asphalt and the occasional determined dandelion. Behind him, cars raced by on the Pacific Coast Highway. He squeezed my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “I dunno. Do you think I’m arrogant?”

  “That’s a yes.”

  “And that I overdo?”

  “There’s no doubt.”

  “But I do achieve my goals.”

  “No one would deny that.”

  “And what’s that got to do with Jupiter in what was it?”

  “Jupiter in Leo. I couldn’t tell you.”

  “She’s invasive. It’s creepy.”

  Gus chuckled and said, “Yeah, well. I get the feeling we’re gonna drop through a few rabbit holes on this one.”

  “That a premonition?”

  “You could say that. So…” he added, lighting up a cigarette with something that looked like a ray gun. “You in the mood for a Hollywood Movie Meister?”

  “I dunno, sounds like a drink.”

  “No, Joan. A Movie Meister is a person, and they often get up in the wee hours of the morning to be on the set,” said Gus.

  “Oh. Okay. You think Glenn Addams might have made a breakfast call to Autumn Riley? That’s kind of bright and early to be leading anybody down a dark path.”

  “Maybe he had to squeeze it into a busy schedule.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE GLARE OF THE sun nearly blinded me as we ran into traffic on the drive downtown to Parker Center and were creeping along with every variation of the theme of SUV on the Santa Monica freeway when Gus’s cell phone chirped awake. The conversation was one-sided. Whoever was on the other end was quite the talker. Gus didn’t look too happy when he rang off.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “The mayor is leaning hard on the captain about Autumn Riley.”

  “Why?” I knew why; I really meant who, as in, Who was leaning on the mayor…?

  “Autumn’s parents have been on the phone, and it seems their address book has the right numbers in it. The Manchesters, among others.”

  “Who’re the Manchesters?”

  “Manchester Theatre?”

  “Never been. Whaddya know about Glenn Addams?”

  “I think he’s doing a film right now. He might even be on location.”

  “Oh yeah? Where?”

  “I heard the film takes place in Spain.”

  “Spain? Always wanted to go there. Well, hey, you’re the senior detective, don’cha think we should get a warrant to do a search on his pad in Spain?”

  I smiled at Gus, enjoying the fantasy for moment.

  “I’ll make a few calls, run it by Satch. I suppose you want an expense account.”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  I dropped Gus off on Spring Street. He wanted to check in with SIS and make sure they put the top guy on surveillance of Autumn’s bungalow. It’s just a couple blocks from Parker Center, so I headed over to Specials. I had just stepped into the building, pocketed my sunglasses, and was feeling sentimental about the big yellow brick walls. When you live your life in institutions long enough, the structure of it all becomes one with your psyche. I was thinking how pitiful that is when I spotted Jesse Cand, the reporter, coming down the hall toward me. He must have made a beeline here from the crime scene. Damn. Curses. Double damn, and damn again. The yellow bricks of the hallway closed in on me. I made my way toward the exit at the West end of the building to get the hell out of there. I was hoofin’ it on out of there pretty good when the hallway was suddenly washed in the glare of a photographer’s flashbulb. A brilliant flare of white bounced off the yellow brick. Ah, Jesse brought his photographer to get photos of me. I was blinded for a moment, then through blobs of black, purple, and blue I saw the round waddling form of Kip, the photographer. He came toward me, I guess to get another photo. This had to be the Joan-in-the-hallways-of-justice shot. It irked me to no end. I went for the exit, but Jesse came out in front of the photographer. This Jesse was fast on his feet, skinny enough to be a marathon runner. I made it out the glass door but not quick enough. Jesse came up on my right.

  I’d made about three steps of descent down the stone steps and felt him gaining on me. What would he do? Chase me down? What if one of us tripped and we both went sprawling down to our deaths? At the bottom of the steps, traffic blew by on the street—Mercedes, Jaguars, BMWs, an old landscaping truck, a silver, oversized food truck selling coffee and egg sandwiches, more SUVs… God, I had to get out of Los Angeles, all these friggin’ cars. I quickly resigned myself, stopped short, turned back, and Jesse nearly ran right into me. He had a combined look of shoc
k and concern on his face.

  “What is it, Jesse? What now?”

  He put out his hand, but I didn’t take it. Somehow, standing outside the building of Parker Center I felt even more intruded upon and vulnerable than I had when we were inside. My eyes were stung by the blustering wind; my short hair blew back from my face.

  “You look stunning as ever,” he said with a sticky smile.

  I took in his stylish brown hair, thick on top, short on the sides, his thin neck and slight build in a suit that was too large for him. Maybe he was planning to grow into it. It gave him a fragile appearance. He probably used that to catch his victims off guard. I felt violated. I decided it was an appropriate reaction to some degree.

  “Did you want to ask me something? Let’s get to it. What?”

  He dropped his smile and gave me a concerned look.

  “Today you’ll receive a great honor, the commendation from the community.”

  We were standing in the shadow of the Parker building. I looked back at the pair of columns that decorated the west entrance and a strange forlorn mood overtook me. I felt I would forever be standing in shadows, living in the great darkness of an imprecise despair.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. If you have something else to ask me, get to it.”

  “I need to inquire about the beautiful Autumn Riley.”

  “No comment, Jesse.”

  “Come off it, Joan. Cough up some information. It’s all too mysterious. What’s going on?”

  “She’s dead. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Joan. You have to give me something.”

  “No coroner’s report, so there’s nothing I can say at this point.”

  “You’re holding up the investigation for the coroner’s report?”

  “No. And if you write that, I will kill you.”

  “I would never do anything like that. Listen, can I just say that you and I really need to have a better working relationship?”

  “Why can’t you wait for the press release like everyone else? It may be all of one hour.”

  “There’s special pressure on me.”

  “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Joan, you need to get that I’m on your side. In fact, my boss liked the work I did on you last time so much, he wants me to do a special profile for the LA Times Magazine. Now, there’s this commendation. The public loves you, Joan. And the Autumn Riley thing is big news, you can’t avoid it.”

  The fabric of his pant legs flapped in the bluster of wind from the street, creating a bizarre percussion.

  “You don’t get it, Jesse. You want to make a big deal out of me. I don’t want that. Why single me out? My partner, Gus, he’s interesting, been on the job twenty-seven years. Do a profile on him. Do one on my old partner, Carl Erskin.”

  “We’ve done Carl.”

  “Yeah, and you about buried him.”

  “Joan, you’re a woman, and that plays better with our readers. Besides, I feel like I know you.”

  “My friend, you are nothing if not mistaken. You know zero about me and I’ll be keepin’ it that way. So I’m a detective and I’m a woman, not sure why that makes me so special in the eyes of the LA Times. If anything, it’s an insult and dishonors the work of my colleagues.”

  “Oh, that’s a good statement, Joan. Very noble.”

  He pulled a small notebook out of his coat pocket and grinned at me. God, the guy had gall.

  “But really, you have to get over the idea that it’s insulting. The public wants to know about you. They want to understand what makes you tick, why you do this work.”

  “I do it for the same reasons the other detectives do it.”

  He wrote that down, too.

  “Just give me one short comment about the commendation, okay?”

  “You don’t get it, you know that? You are completely off.”

  We held each other’s gazes, locked in a standoff. His face softened. “You know this fight is not really between you and me. I’ll wait for the press release on Autumn Riley, but you have to take me in Joan, really.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Since you mentioned Carl, I heard word he’s leaving the force. Is it true he resigned?”

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, but before I could stop it, a pressure came up my spine, and from nowhere a tear dropped over from the inside of my eye and down the edge of my nose to my lips. I tasted the saltiness.

  Jesse gasped. A blinding flash whitened everything before me. I had forgotten about Kip. Jesse’s photographer must have approached during the conversation. He’d held back, hiding behind the column maybe until the best photo opportunity had presented itself.

  I put my hand to my face, covered the tear. I looked at Jesse. He held me in his gaze. I wiped the wetness off my face in one stroke and flew down the steps.

  Jesse Cand didn’t pursue me. Once I got to the bottom of the concrete steps and was on the sidewalk, well out of his reach, I looked back and saw Kip position himself for another photo, this one of my retreat, but Jesse reached out to stop him. They probably couldn’t believe that they had been able to get a tear, such a revealing moment. Me neither. It was smooth, him asking me about Carl. I had shown him a different woman from the one he was familiar with. I knew he’d exploit that, draw a courageous profile of a vulnerable, caring woman in a raw, hard world. He would follow my career, never letting me out of his sights. I spotted Gus as he came around the corner and down the street. I dashed to his side, dread and foreboding coming off me like strong perfume.

  “Jesse after you again?”

  “Always, he follows me around like a bad mood.”

  “I think he likes you.”

  “Yeah, right. I like him, too.”

  We headed to the central entrance of Parker Center. The entrance hall is very grand, very Jungian. You feel like you’re entering something that is going to decide your fate and chances are good that it’s an accurate assumption. It’s a threshold. I looked back once more toward Jesse and Kip on the west end of the building to be sure they weren’t pursuing me, but they were nowhere in sight. Not that it’s any guarantee.

  “You going up to the third floor?” Gus asked.

  “You guessed it. Gus, did you know that Carl had resigned?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I asked if you had talked to him.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You should have been in touch with Carl yourself. You could have called him.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “One call wouldn’t have killed you.”

  We rode up the elevator in silence to the Homicide Division and finally made it back to Specials. The office was quiet. I calmed a bit and settled in. The sun, filtered through smog, was a dirty haze that came in the window, hurting my eyes. I reached up to let down the blinds and made a phone call to get a list of released sex offenders in the Marina Del Rey and Venice area. It’s standard protocol to do such a check. It shows that you’ve researched all possibilities for suspects other than just going for the husband, ex-boyfriend, or whomever. It was reassuring to sit at my old scratched-up desk. My calendar pad was exactly as I had left it. I was surprised by that and looked through the rest of my drawers in amazement that nothing was missing. I was sure I’d have to spend my first half hour back locating supplies. A sentimental flush came over me as I realized that my desk had been respected, saved for me to come back to work—like family that keeps your room ready for your return.

  In seconds, the sex-offender list was provided. I recognized the name of Mason Jones. I checked the date of his release. I called his probation officer, and he told me that Mason was working at Costco, collecting carts in Marina Del Rey. Sex offenders like familiar areas, and often commit crimes repeatedly in the same neighborhood before they’re caught.

  I smelled designer men’s cologne. The scent brought back a rush of warm memories combined with a primal sense of danger. I turned my head to see Carl Ersk
in, my ex-partner and ex-lover, standing at his old desk, straight across from mine, and I stopped still as a deer. Yep, it was the scent of Karl Lagerfeld. Funny, how a fragrance can have such a strong impact.

  My throat constricted. When Carl and I were partners, we worked Special Section together. Let me say that everyone who works Special Section gets frustrated dealing with the media and celebrities. It gets to you. Carl had less tolerance than most. I thought that we did a good job of balancing each other out, but the last case we worked escalated in drama by the minute. It probably didn’t help that we were romantically involved on top of everything else. We were trying to keep that under wraps, as it’s frowned upon. Though no one had officially called us on it. Everybody knew. Of course, they didn’t know that we broke up. Or maybe they did. Now was as good a time as any to confront him since I had been avoiding him for a month. In fact, this was ideal. He wouldn’t make a scene here at work. Would he? I found it hard to swallow.

  Carl glanced over and when he saw that I was looking at him, a light came to his face. He’s a hard-ass, but those eyes told another story. He didn’t greet me. Instead he picked up several items from his desk and put them into a milk crate. I noticed his beer belly was a little bigger since I’d seen him last, not that I mind that sort of thing. I had always found his body comforting, like a big strong teddy bear. I walked over and stood in front of him. He was waiting for me to say something and he looked up at me again.

  “Hey, Carl.”

  “I’ll be there. Front row center,” he said. “You deserve it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I was due a commendation in twenty minutes.

  “Yes, you do. You’re the one who broke the case when nobody else could.”

  He was talking about the case that did us in. He felt I was getting too close in, putting myself in danger. I felt I was doing my job. I changed the subject.

  “Why are you cleaning out your desk?”

  “I’m leaving, going to open my own investigating firm.”

  “Big demand for that these days.” I bit my lip until it hurt. “Fastest growing industry besides computers and security.”