Angel Eyes Page 6
“I have a certain image to uphold,” I said. “And, of course, the Spenser brand.”
“You shoot many people?” she said.
“One or two.”
“Did they all deserve it?” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “Once I shot a man just for snoring.”
“When I first met Z, I thought he was joking about being a private eye,” she said. “I’d never met a real private eye before. And then he told me about being from here but then meeting you in Boston. He said you took him in and trained him.”
“Yes,” I said. “But I had help.”
“And that you and your friends all have some kind of code,” she said. “Some kind of honor system?”
I nodded. The waitress brought us over cans of Coke and clean plastic glasses. I sprung for an extra can for Jem Yoon.
“You passed on that code to Z,” she said. “He has rules about what he will and won’t do. I understand. But it can get a little tiresome. Especially when you are trying to get shit done in this town.”
“I also taught him advanced surveillance techniques and firearms safety,” I said. “Not to mention ballroom dancing. He was a quick study.”
“I bet,” she said. “How about this girl you’re looking for? That’s this Gabby Leggett woman?”
I nodded.
“She has thousands and thousands of pictures in her cloud,” she said. “I looked through as many as I could stomach. Some of them she should have protected more. They were definitely not safe for work. I don’t like to judge. But she’s pretty wild.”
“Any with a rotund Japanese man with a bad disposition?”
“Not that I recall,” she said. “Most were just showing off her tan lines. That girl took a lot of pictures in the bathroom mirror. Some in the shower. She really seemed to be only in love with herself.”
“What about with a skinny hipster-looking dude?” Z said.
“Nope,” she said. “But I did find a massive amount of deleted emails to a man named Yamashiro. The messages had been taken off an email account and placed in a special folder. Looks like that folder was trashed only three days ago. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Z looked over at me, beaming. “Thanks, Jem,” Z said. “You’re the best.”
“No shit.” Jem smiled, reached into her coat, and pulled out an envelope. “Of course I am. But I come through for a price. Your invoice, Zebulon. This time, don’t be late. Or I’ll sic my uncle on you. He doesn’t like accounts that go past thirty days.”
“Is that your natural hair color?” I said, intercepting the envelope and sticking it inside my jacket.
“Don’t you like it?”
“I love it,” I said. “How do you think it would look on me?”
“Like a pit bull in a tutu,” Jem Yoon said.
I looked at Z and grinned. “I like her.”
“He’d be nothing without me,” Jem Yoon said, punching Z in the biceps. “I’m the real brains of the team.”
“You have a team?” I said.
“Sure,” Z said. “Just what do you think I’ve been doing out here?”
11
I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to quit following me,” Eric Collinson said.
“No harm in asking,” I said.
“My agency is full of the best lawyers,” he said. “We have top-notch security.”
“You should’ve had them wipe the laptop,” I said. “You did a terrible job. Everything you deleted is still there.”
Collinson’s cocky expression deflated like an old birthday balloon, shoulders slumping, in line at Starbucks. We stood there waiting for his caramel macchiato while I, on the other hand, already had my black coffee and had helped myself to a pack of sugar. Simplicity has its rewards. Overhead, Ella sang, “It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing.”
“I didn’t touch any of it.”
“You deleted a batch of emails dealing with Gabby’s relationship with Jimmy Yamashiro.”
“I did no such thing.”
“That was awfully nice of you,” I said. “But I thought you were on Team Gabby. Why are you protecting him while she’s the one missing?”
This was pretty weighty conversation to be having in line at Starbucks. But I was sick of chasing Collinson and having to wait for him to leave the agency. He looked down, hands in his blue plaid suit pockets, the barista calling his name twice before he responded.
“Why do you think I took her laptop?” he said. “You’re the one who found it.”
“You had it in your satchel when I made you let me in,” I said. “And we saw video footage of you coming to her apartment a few days ago. You came empty-handed. You left with a laptop.”
The second part was a lie, but a decent one. Collinson started to sweat and walked over to a plate-glass window facing Fairfax and the old Farmers Market. He wiped his face with a napkin and left his macchiato untouched. He looked up, beard looking as if it had been cut by laser, and stared hard at me. His cream tie had been knotted very tightly at the throat. He blew out a long breath and simply said, “Shit.”
“Most eloquent for a Princeton man.”
“I didn’t make that mess, if that’s what you were thinking,” he said. “I took the laptop and then returned it. You and I saw that mess at the same time.”
“Why’d you take her computer?”
“Like I said, I didn’t want any part of this,” he said. “But Mr. Yamashiro is a very important man who works with many of our top-tier clients. He has nothing to do with this. It would’ve only embarrassed him and his family. You ever heard, ‘You’ll never work in this town again’?”
“Similar threats have been leveled at me,” I said. “I never paid much attention.”
I drank some coffee and watched the afternoon rush hour along Fairfax. A winding path of red taillights snaking their way into eternity. Traffic bottled up for a half-mile down the road. I was happy to stay here and discuss Eric’s dishonesty for as long as it took.
“Something happened between them and Yamashiro had it covered up.”
“Why protect him, then?”
“I wasn’t just protecting him,” Collinson said. “I was protecting me, too. Gabby and I were done, but I didn’t want to destroy my goddamn career. I said some awfully nasty things in those emails, Mr. Spenser, about Gabby and Yamashiro.”
“That laptop would’ve been a big help to the cops,” I said. “Finding Gabby is a little more important than moving up the agency ladder.”
“Gabby was a mess,” he said. “Her first boyfriend out here was unemployed. Then she met a guy in a band. And then she met me. And then there were two actors after. And then she shuffled far ahead and hooked up with Yamashiro. I think it was one of the actors who actually made it happen. Like a goddamn pimp. The whole thing is so sick and twisted, it literally turns my stomach.”
“The actor introduced her to Jimmy Yamashiro?” I said.
“Yeah,” Collinson said. “And it got him a damn good part in a feature.”
“Who was the actor?”
“I can’t say,” he said. “He was one of ours.”
“Ah,” I said. “Loyalty.”
I watched Collinson’s face soften. He bowed his head and began to cry. Not so much sobbing, but tears did fall at the Starbucks. I reached over and grabbed a handful of napkins. Eric Collinson hadn’t moved on from Gabby Leggett.
“You loved her?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course I fucking loved her.”
“Did you and Gabby discuss Yamashiro?”
He nodded.
“And how’d that go?”
“Awful,” Collinson said, wiping his face. He blew his nose into the napkins. “I warned her about getting involved with him. I don�
��t know how much research you’ve done, but Yamashiro is a collector of beautiful young women. As you can imagine, he brokers favors for jobs.”
“In Hollywood?” I said. “I’m shocked.”
Collinson pursed his lips and nodded. He reached forward and touched the coffee, finally taking a sip. “In today’s culture, that’s not entirely accepted,” he said. “Yamashiro’s image is based on that of a stalwart family man. He’s built his brand on being a real and decent man.”
“He told me his wife was complicit in his extracurricular activities.”
“She probably is.”
“But that doesn’t matter?”
“This doesn’t have a damn thing to do with his wife,” he said. “Yamashiro can’t have his image tarnished. If Gabby spoke publicly about their arrangement, it might end his career.”
“And yours if he knows what you said about him.”
Collinson nodded. He again wiped his face and nose.
“What has Yamashiro actually done for Gabby?”
“She played a murder victim on SVU and a dominatrix on this new Netflix show,” he said. “Jimmy’s not exactly beating down doors for her. Come on. I really can’t say any more. I do not and will not be a part of this. Gabby was my client. End of story. Yamashiro scares me. He knows people. Really bad and scary people.”
“Badder than me and Sixkill?”
“Who the hell is Sixkill?”
“The big, mean Indian you met at Gabby’s place,” I said. “The one who never smiles.”
“I want Gabby home safe and I want these people held accountable.”
“Jimmy Yamashiro?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with him.”
“How can you be so sure?” I said. “He’s top of the list for me.”
Collinson swallowed, his Adam’s apple nervously jumping up and down like a banjo string. He sipped on his macchiato and wiped the foam off his lip, looking to me and then across the street again. And then around the Starbucks and deep into the packed parking lot.
“You’re going to fucking get me killed.”
“That’s a little dramatic, Eric,” I said. “Even for Hollywood.”
“Have you ever been with a woman that you loved so deeply that she could crush your heart with a snap of her fingers?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did she destroy you?”
“No,” I said. “We worked out a long-time exclusive arrangement. Not to mention share a wonderful dog.”
“That didn’t happen to me,” he said. “You flew out here to find a sweet, innocent girl that left Massachusetts a few years ago. You believe some bad guys had her killed for what she knew. Or maybe it was even me who killed her in a jealous rage. I know. I know. I see it in your eyes. But that’s too easy. Way too fucking easy.”
“Then tell me what I need to know.”
“Talk to Mr. Yamashiro.”
“I have.”
Collinson widened his eyes, taking another sip. He looked suitably impressed.
“Did he tell you how he and Gabby met?”
“Nope,” I said. “Yamashiro was less forthcoming than I had hoped.”
“It wasn’t by accident,” Eric Collinson said. “And he wasn’t the one preying on her. Yamashiro was the target.”
“A studio head was being played by a twenty-four-year-old Instagram model?”
“Do your job, Spense,” Collinson said. “I can’t do that for you. What the hell do you guys do in the movies? Follow the fucking money.”
I nodded. “I appreciate the advice,” I said. “But if you call me Spense again, kid, I might have to knock you onto your bony ass.”
“Gabby always wanted to find a deeper meaning,” he said. “She really believed she was on to something. A bigger take on the world. She’s what you call a searcher.”
“Yamashiro claims she’s not missing,” I said.
Collinson snorted. “Then where the fuck is she?”
I tilted my head and eyed him. I took a sip of coffee. “Quit trying to be Deep Throat and talk sensibly and straightforward and maybe I’ll find out.”
“To hell with you,” he said. “To hell with all of you. Her mother should’ve hired better.”
I shrugged. “There is no better.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” Collinson’s face turned red and he trashed his macchiato in the bin, storming out of the Starbucks.
Ella kept on singing. “Used to ramble through the park, shadow boxing in the dark.” I found a table by the window and finished the rest of my coffee. As I watched the sluggish traffic going nowhere fast, I texted Z to meet me back in Hollywood.
12
High on the Loews fifth-floor pool deck, I stood with Z, looking down into the open shopping complex at Hollywood and Highland. Huge pillars and an elephant reproduced from a D. W. Griffith Babylonian epic accented Forever 21, American Eagle, and Sephora. Eagle gods adorning mammoth arches peered down upon Dave & Buster’s and the Cabo Wabo Cantina. Z and I took it all in as we rested our forearms on a metal railing like rustlers peering down into a canyon.
“Eric Collinson can’t keep his stories straight.”
“He’s an agent in L.A.,” Z said. “He lies for a living.”
“He first said he was protecting Yamashiro out of professional courtesy.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Nope,” I said. “But then he said he tried to purge inflammatory emails he sent. Not-so-nice words about Gabby and Yamashiro that could hurt his career.”
“Also would make him look bad to the cops.”
I nodded. “How did it go with Gabby’s young pals?”
“It was hard to keep them straight,” he said. “They were all so young and perky. Bleached blond and very positive. Two of them were named Kaitlyn.”
“Spelled the same way?”
Z shook his head. “One with a K and with a C. One had a Y. One didn’t.”
“Vive la différence.”
“I heard pretty much the same thing about Gabby,” he said. “She was beautiful and full of life. Wonderful style. Everyone seemed to be in shock that she’d disappeared. Every one of them offering to go on social media for her. They all promised to do all they could to help.”
“Who saw her last?”
“A girl named Jade Phillips,” Z said. “She said she’d seen Gabby two weeks ago, a couple days before she disappeared. She said they’d had brunch together at a place in Santa Monica. I went through every bit of the conversation and didn’t get anything. She said Gabby seemed happy and positive. Was very excited about getting some callbacks on some gigs. Jade said she’d never seen Gabby more present and alive.”
“I heard she’d been recently cast as a dominatrix,” I said.
“How is she with a whip?”
“Didn’t ask,” I said. “And didn’t see it listed on her IMDb profile.”
“Did Jade mention anything about Jimmy Yamashiro?”
“Nope,” he said. “But that was before you found out about him. She said Gabby had been dating around and had been better off after ditching Eric.”
“Does anyone like Eric?”
“Nope.”
“Can you really blame ’em?”
Z shook his head. “I spent the afternoon going through her laptop and Instagram,” he said. “She last posted the day before she disappeared. She was playing pool at some dive bar in Studio City. I couldn’t ID the people but thought I might head that way next.”
“Eat and investigate,” I said. “Drink and investigate. Just like Boston.”
“I thought we should start putting together a timeline,” he said. “Jade Phillips would start that forty-eight-hour period. Didn’t you get into her credit card account from her mother?”
“Gabby hasn’t made a pur
chase in twelve days,” I said. “At least with the accounts I know about.”
“No witnesses,” Z said. “No other credit cards we know about. No one has found her car. Her apartment was tossed. And all I’ve found on her laptop so far is bikinis, boobs, and avocado toast.”
“And emails from Yamashiro.”
“Yep,” he said. “Some sexy stuff. But nothing that implies blackmail or threats.”
We left our lofty perch and wandered past the hotel pool, the deck crowded with women at a bachelorette party passing around bottles of white wine and champagne. Some of the women were floating along in big white inflatable swans, holding plastic stemware and pointing to the Hollywood hills, almost close enough to touch in the golden light. Everything as ethereal and golden as a Cialis commercial.
“Or we could stick around here,” Z said.
“Wouldn’t get much done here.”
“Speak for yourself.”
We took the elevator down to the third floor and cut through the banquet rooms and into the shopping complex. We rode a second elevator from there into the parking garage, where Z had left his Mustang.
“Nothing on the security cameras?”
“Samuelson hasn’t said,” I said. “But they’ll see Eric Collinson coming and going twice in the last few days. I heard back from her acting coach. He gave me some more names. Friends from class that’ll speak to us.”
“Jem Yoon said she can dive deeper on the hard drive,” he said. “But she’d need a few days.”
“Seems like a good woman to know,” I said. “Just how’d you meet her?”
“Would you believe Comic Con?”
“Yes,” I said. “I would.”
Z paid at a kiosk and we walked into the garage, following a long row of cars and turning down deeper below the shopping center. As we got within twenty feet of Z’s car, I noticed a light go on in a black Mercedes SUV. We kept walking, Z’s cowboy boots making dull thuds in the cavernous space.
Two men emerged from the vehicle and watched us as we got closer to the Mustang. The men didn’t look like tourists.