Chapter 2
J immy’s gut tensed when he saw the crime scene tape roping off CAS. A young cop stood guard at the door. Cripe, the kid still had acne and looked like he’d just joined the force, nervous as all hell. The first thing you learned in his business was the art of getting around greenhorn cops. He smiled to disarm the kid, waved his press credentials under the kid’s nose, and ducked under the tape.
The cop hanging around the door stared at the press pass being waved under his broken one too many times nose. “Hold it right there,” the cop said, his voice cracking.
“James O’Brien, SXY.” Jimmy flipped open his notebook, breathing steadily to calm his pounding heart. His connection to Clar couldn’t be exposed if at all possible. “What can you tell me about the attack?”
“You’ll have to talk to the officer in charge.”
“O’Brien, what the hell are you doing in my crime scene?” The annoyingly familiar gruff Midwest accent grated on Jimmy’s nerves. Talk about a blast from the past. More like a grenade that’d blown his life apart before. His crime scene! What the fuck? He turned to see Reed Cameron rocking back on his heels looking as ominous as he’d last seen him that fateful Chicago night seven years ago. He was older and heavier but the same gruff SOB nonetheless. Crooked cop, in the pocket of the DeLuca family, ran me out of Chicago years ago. So, what is he doing here? The DeLuca’s turf doesn’t extend this far. Then he saw the black and pink striped candy box with Kandi Kisses written on it in Cameron’s beefy hand and froze. It was stained with blood and sealed in an evidence bag. His gut turned to ice. What the hell was going on?
“A bit out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it, Cameron?” Much as he wanted to take a swing at the man, he held back. He needed to find out what was going on pronto...before it got to Clar...although looking at the candy box it seemed that was a moot point. This couldn’t be good. A dirty Chicago cop with known mob ties at a murder scene at a west coast porn studio? When in the hell had he come to California, and for what? If he connected him to Clar, things could go from bad to worse to impossible far too quickly. Jimmy flipped to a clean page and wrote SOB. Chicago.
“None of your damned business, you washed up scum bag reporter. So don’t fuck with me or my people. I got rid of you in Chicago and I can do it here.” Cameron spat out with venom.
That night was seared into Jimmy’s memory. He had been following up some leads from an informant and decided to make an unannounced visit to the Chicago mayor’s office after hours one night. Detective Reed Cameron arrived just after Jimmy broke in and found the documents he needed to throw the mayor out of office.
Cameron burst in gun drawn with a platoon of plain clothes men in tow, many looking more like hired guns than officers of the law. Jimmy had gotten off light thanks to Cameron, so he guessed he should have thanked him back then. He’d only lost his job, and his credibility, not his life. Jimmy had been forced into an early retirement after a trumped-up newspaper article. He was advised to keep his mouth shut or suffer the consequences. He didn’t fancy having his mug on a missing person’s poster or being fitted for a pair of cement boots. Shutting up, which for him was hard to do, and disappearing had seemed the only option. And he’d gone to LA and reinvented himself as a tabloid reporter after nearly draining his bank account living on the beach. It was miles away from the hard-hitting journalism he’d once practiced and while he didn’t cover the latest gang drive-by or the current elections, it paid the rent.
Clearing the distance between them in three steps, Cameron’s rigid posture attempting to throw authority around something Jimmy no longer feared. The fact that Cameron was in LA spoke volumes; there’s been a falling out of some sort or another, but what? Last Jimmy knew, Cameron had been tight with the DeLuca family. So why was he here? What, if anything, had severed that relationship?
“I hope you’re not here as a reporter.” Cameron took a step closer, his husky body ramrod straight. Jimmy could smell stale gyros on his breath as he hissed. “You remember the agreement, don’t you? And the consequences?”
“And I hope that you’re not here as a crooked cop. The DeLuca’s have no power here.” He saw Cameron wince at the mention of his mob bosses and wondered about it. “You can’t hurt me here, Detective.” Jimmy smiled, tapping his notebook. “I’m wondering why it is you happen to be in sunny California and at the scene of a murder no less.”
“Humph, shows how good your skills are these days, O’Brien. If you’d been on the side of the cops, you’d have known I came on board a few months ago.” Cameron stood inches from Jimmy. A dark sadness flashed in Cameron’s eyes, then he jabbed a finger into Jimmy’s chest. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.”
Jimmy swiped the warning away, then came nose to nose with his former adversary. “Is that a threat, Detective?”
“Take it any way you like, O’Brien.” Cameron turned then stomped past the LA officers and detectives going through papers and reviewing a statement from the receptionist, Evelyn Dagmyer. Jimmy knew he’d gotten to Cameron; he’d seen red creep up that grimy neck of his.
Jimmy might have won this encounter. He wasn’t about to let his guard down for a moment—not this time. He turned and spotted the officer who’d been at the door when he’d arrived. He might be able to worm some information out of the rookie.
Years back, Clar’s father had been one of the cops who turned in several of the mob’s insiders. Karl Turner was dedicated to the ideals of law enforcement and built his life around it. While Clar was tucked away at UCLA, he’d been about to retire after thirty years of service. Karl and his wife Candyss were California bound to join her when they were killed. Jimmy believed that somewhere deep inside, Cameron knew Clar’s parents’ accident was anything but, which made his appearance here all the more alarming. He wove his way through the policemen, and tapped the officer on the shoulder hoping this time he’d caught him a bit distracted.
“So, tell me officer, is Levi Andres dead and where did you get the candy box?”
***
C LAR SLUNG HER BAG over a shoulder and wove through the crowd. LAX swarmed with people and she needed to find a taxi before the droves of other people did. She glanced at a wall clock then stepped through the doors to snag a ride to LAPD when a sharp whistle caught her attention.
Shading her eyes from the morning sun, she caught a glimpse of a cowboy hat. Clar leaned slightly to the right and smiled. Under a cream-colored Stetson was a shock of auburn waves and a face she’d hoped to see...Jackson Wolfe.
“Thanks for coming, and it’s good to see you.” Clar hugged her friend and burst into tears. “Let’s go, Jacki,” she sniffed, “I need to find out what happened.”
“You know me, I had to be here for my BFF. While my plane was being readied, I did some digging on my own, but the cops won’t tell me anything. Even with my contacts lingering around the precinct, I hit a dead end. No one is talking, so either they haven’t much to go on or they’ve been told to keep a lid on it.” Jacki pulled the black F-150 rental onto I90 and headed toward the 110 to downtown LA and police headquarters. “Evidently Jimmy O’Brien was one of the reporters at the scene so I’m betting he’ll show up sooner than later.”
Clar sighed and settled her head against the headrest. Jimmy was the last person she wanted to see. “Maybe you can help me avoid him, Jacki. I’m not up to him or his school-boy-crush antics.”
“Tell me what you know, Clar, and maybe I can help figure this out. I’ve checked the medical examiner’s office, and my old contact there told me Levi Andres wasn’t brought in to their facility, or any other for that matter. Which tells me he’s alive somewhere, probably in protective custody at a local hospital. If that’s so, you’ll have to go to the station, find out where they have him, and get clearance to see him. Barging in at every hospital in LA will only land us in jail and unable to do any good. When was the last time you talked to Levi?”
“I don’t remember exactly. It’s been a couple of weeks or so. Everything seemed fine. He sounded the happiest I’ve heard him in years. I felt like he’d finally come to terms with Dylan’s death.” She sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. She tried to focus on the passing buildings as her world fell apart around her. “Yesterday I was making bunnies, thinking of my parents, and today...”
“Bunnies?”
“Molds for Easter. Grand opening was supposed to be this weekend.” Clar sucked back the urge to cry. Everything she worked for was about to go down the drain. Her life nothing but a heap of dirty laundry she’d tried to desperately get to the cleaners. Mentally shaking the thoughts away, she took a deep breath and steadied herself for whatever happened next. “Anyway, LA Adult Entertainment Today came on as usual and I didn’t pay too close attention until I heard Jimmy say how ‘Kandi Kysses’ had retired to make chocolates. I was so flabbergasted, I immediately picked up the phone to call Levi.”
“And he wasn’t there,” Jacki said gently.
“Right.” Tears stung Clar’s eyes. The what ifs had been plaguing her since she’d heard the news. What if she’d never left Levi, what if she believed all his sky is falling calls for help. She sighed.
“When did you talk to the police?”
“Just before I called you. Before that I called the studio right after I heard O’Brien’s report to ask Levi if he knew who’d leaked my information. I got no answer, so I had to leave a message. I called back a second time after the news of the assault, this time Evie Dagmyer answered with her usual bitchiness saying they were busy, only to have the phone taken from her.” Clar closed her eyes, trying to chase away the reminders of the sorrowful sobbing she’d heard during that call and shuddered. Evelyn was always so tightly controlled. To have her go off the deep end that way. It was shocking. Something about Evelyn Dagmyer always set off her warning bells, no more so than yesterday. “That’s when the police told me about Levi. Also, it sounded like a woman, at least I think it was a woman, crying in the background. Lots of muffled voices and the cop would only tell me that I was to come to LA and report to Detective Cameron immediately upon my arrival.”
“Cameron, wasn’t that Dylan’s last name?” Jacki stepped on the gas and jockeyed for position on the 110.
“Yes, and that’s when the investigative training you gave me kicked in and I called you. Something tells me this is more than a coincidence.”