Open Season (Alex Delaware #40)

Chapter 4

Chapter

4

Neither of us had noticed the older man anywhere else in the photo dump but we reviewed the images anyway.

Nothing.

Milo said, “All the other shots, she’s the star of the show, loving herself. She lets down her guard for a sleaze like this?” He shook his head. “Maybe he’s been criminally sleazy before, I’ll send this to Brand Leary in Vice.”

As he typed, I said, “No shots with other men during the past week.”

“She and Beef had a thing?”

“Maybe not romance,” I said. “She could’ve let down her guard because she thought he had something to offer.”

“Like what?”

“A speaking part.”

“The old fake-Hollywood-honcho deal? She could be fooled that easily?”

“Getting nothing but crowd scenes for a year and a half can sap your confidence. If he happened to show up when she was feeling vulnerable, who knows?”

“Sheep, say hi to Wolf.” He frowned.

“Or,” I said, “she’d already given up and decided to switch gears. To me he looks like a guy with a porn vibe. Washed-up actor turned producer, director.”

“Hmm. I guess a girl with her looks could make some decent short-term money. So what, last night was an audition that went bad? Let’s see what her besties have to say. At the least, maybe one of them knows how to reach her family so I can do what I hate.”

—

Learning the full names of Marissa’s female friends proved easy. She’d posted their names with links to their own social platforms.

Long blond hair was Victoria “Tori” Burkholder, twenty-five, an “aesthetician” at a salon in Sherman Oaks.

Short blond hair was Elisheva “Beth” Halperin, twenty-four, assistant chef at a French café in Encino.

Long black hair was Bethany McGonigal, twenty-five, administrative assistant to an unnamed boss in an unnamed location.

Red and curly traced to Yolanda “Yoli” Echeverria, twenty-four, staff assistant, again, no details.

DMV said Tori Burkholder lived in the same neighborhood where she worked, an apartment on Coldwater, four blocks north of Marissa’s. Beth Halperin and Yoli Echeverria roomed together in Reseda, and Bethany McGonigal listed a flat in North Hollywood.

Milo said, “Buncha Valley girls, maybe that’s where the parties were. Including the last one. And 818 is porn central, which would fit with Beef being from that world…lemme see if Leary got back—nope.”

He tried the Vice detective’s desk.

Brandon Leary said, “Hey, just got it. Sorry, don’t know the dude. He rape and kill someone?”

“Looks like he O.D.’d a woman, did his thing, and dumped her body.”

“Oh man, that’s evil. Okay, I’ll show it around, he does have that predator thing going on.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Milo. Glad it’s you not me dealing with it.”

—

No home numbers for the four friends, but those of the salon and the café were public knowledge.

He tried Christopher Van Vliet Hair & Beauty first and asked for Tori Burkholder.

A slow-talking man with a nasal voice said, “She’s not in today. Would you like me to book an appointment for tomorrow?”

“No, thanks, I need to talk to her.” Milo identified himself.

The man said, “She’s in trouble with the cops? I find that hard to believe.”

“A friend of hers is in trouble.”

“And you want Tori to rat the friend out?”

Milo exhaled. “The friend is deceased, sir. I’m gathering information.”

“Deceased. Oh my. Hold on, I’ll give you Tori’s cell.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Deceased,” said the man. “The world has gone insane.”

—

Voicemail at Tori Burkholder’s number. Milo moved on to Bistro Genial, talked to a harried-sounding woman and worsened her mood.

“We are busy .”

“It’s a police matter, ma’am—”

“Whatever. Quick, quick, what do you want?”

He began explaining.

Click, then static on the line.

He said, “She hung up on me?”

A soft, accented voice came on. “This is Beth. What is going on?”

Milo said, “This is Lieutenant Sturgis from the police department. Sorry to drop this on you but something bad has happened to a friend of yours—”

“What friend?”

“Marissa French.”

“We’re not so much friends,” said Beth Halperin.

“I see. Well, I thought you might be able to help me with information.”

“Information?” Hardened voice. “You are one of those—trying to get my data?”

“No, ma’am. Unfortunately, Marissa is dead and I’m the detective—”

“Dead!” A loud wail caused him to distance the phone from his ear. “No way!”

“I’m afraid so. She died last night—”

A gasp. “No!”

“Is there any way we could talk about Marissa?”

“Okay, yes, sure, yes,” said Beth Halperin. “I will leave now, I cannot do soufflé like this—Marie-Claire? I am leaving…no, no, I have to…a friend has died…do what you want, I am going. ”

Milo said, “Where can we meet?”

“I’m going home.” She rattled off an address on Amigo Avenue.

Milo said, “That’s Reseda?”

“Do a GPS.”