Chapter 22
Griffin
When Griffin and Lana arrived at Beverly Grove Health Center, fans were already outside with homemade posters imploring Darnell to get well, alongside paparazzi and TV crews.
Griffin barely cared as they filmed and photographed him.
He barely noticed being whisked through reception and taken up to intensive care.
As they walked into Darnell’s room, Griffin’s focus zeroed in on the bed. His friend’s head was bandaged and he was intubated and hooked up to multiple machines. For once, he looked every one of his seventy-two years. Griffin touched his shoulder. “Hey, buddy.”
“You’re his next of kin?”
Griffin turned. A man wearing scrubs stood to one side of the bed—a tall blond guy in his thirties. Beside him was…
“Detective Graham?” Lana said.
She somehow looked even more pregnant standing up.
“Yeah, I’m his next of kin, for medical purposes,” Griffin said, “ever since he was here for stent surgery a few years back. He has a sister in New Orleans—she’s on her way.” Griffin had sent the plane for her.
“We tried calling you, but the number we have on record didn’t work,” the man said.
“No, it wouldn’t have.”
“I’m Dr. Kincaid. Sam.”
Griffin introduced himself and Lana.
“Yes.” The doctor nodded to Lana. “We met yesterday.”
Lana pressed her lips together. It had to be the doctor who’d seen her speaking with Walter.
The doctor confirmed what Griffin knew from his parents and the media—Darnell was found just before dawn, washed up on the beach near his home with a head injury. The theory was that he’d fallen off his surfboard and hit a rock.
“If it was an accident,” Griffin said to the detective, “why are you here?”
“I’m just confirming as much,” she said. “You high-profiles get special treatment. But rest assured, there’s nothing from the witness to suggest foul play.”
Griffin frowned. “Witness?”
“Mr. Lascelles here was lucky. An off-duty nurse was taking an early-morning jog. In the dark, she thought it was a seal at first, with the wetsuit. He was breathing, just. She managed to pull him clear and stabilize him and call an ambulance.”
“He was initially en route to County but we offered to take him,” the doctor added. “Most high-profiles tend to come our way—it’s what we’re set up for, and we offer a high level of discretion. If there were, for instance, drugs in his system, prescription or otherwise…”
“He’s been clean for decades.”
The doctor nodded, evidently unconvinced. He’d probably heard that claim before, especially from people in Darnell’s zip code.
The detective pulled a clear plastic bag from her satchel. It contained a cell phone. “This was on him, in a dry bag, but we can’t access it to check his last calls and things. You know the code, by any chance?”
“No way in hell will anyone be able to get into that phone. Darnell takes cybersecurity seriously.” Griffin held out his hand. “I’ll look after it for him.”
The detective hesitated. “I could get our techs to look into it.”
“Darnell really wouldn’t like that.” Griffin grabbed it before she could object, and she reluctantly let go. “How is he?” Griffin asked the doctor.
“Hard to know what the damage is until the swelling subsides and we do some more tests. Mostly, it’s a matter of waiting it out. In the meantime, he’s sedated and comfortable.” The doctor laid a hand on Darnell’s shoulder. “We’ll take great care of him. If you’ll excuse me.”
As the doctor left, Detective Graham turned to Lana. “Have you discovered anything more about your sister?”
Lana glanced at Griffin. “Yes, and no. We know about this celebrity extortion gang—I’m guessing you do too? And that Vivien got wrapped up in it.”
“You’ll understand that I was limited in what I could say—still am, given that it’s an ongoing investigation. Mind if I…?” The detective gestured at one of the visitor armchairs.
“Oh, please do.”
She didn’t so much lower herself in but position her butt over it and let go, landing with a whoosh that could have come from her lungs or the chair. “What do you know?”
Lana filled her in on the details Estelle had shared about the extortion operation—without identifying Estelle. She evidently didn’t want to say anything about Walter, which was understandable.
“It’s a sophisticated operation,” the detective said. “Celebrity blackmail is nothing new, but these guys have evolved. None of our usual methods are working. Would you mind…?” She pointed at a carafe of water on a tray table, and Lana poured her a glass.
“What do you know about them?” Griffin said.
“It’s a tight group at the top, and they have feelers everywhere.
Sometimes we’ll catch a foot soldier—maybe a hotel maid, a limo driver—but they can’t even identify the next person on the ladder, let alone the ringleaders.
They’re careful, smart, they play the long game.
If they sniff some dirt, or something comes to them, they go after it like professionals—take their time, do their research, get their facts straight.
Sometimes they put years into one rumor.
We advise their targets not to pay, but when you’re facing the end of your career and your reputation, I guess it’s hard to see the wider picture. ”
“So they pay?”
“Usually. These guys keep their word, and people know it. If the target pays, it all goes away. If they report it to police, the compromising material gets released. They write it off as a cost of doing business. We’ll hear about it later, or second-hand—or from the TV news.
The scandals that have made big headlines in the last decade?
More often than not, you’re looking at the people who refused to pay. ”
“But if you know so much…”
“We’re not talking blackmail notes and suitcases of cash.
Their communications and payments are untraceable.
This is not the ‘legit’ industry—and I use that word loosely—your shakedown lawyers, your hush-money brokers, non-disclosure agreements, civil settlements for ‘personal injury claims.’ They’re not the Hollywood hustlers with offices in Beverly Hills.
‘Had a car accident? Call 1-800-BANG-INTO-ME.’ ‘Caught herpes from a celebrity? Call 1-800-SCREW-THAT-SUCKER.’ This is organized crime.
” She went to haul herself from the seat, and appeared to conclude it wasn’t going to work.
“Can I help you there?” Griffin said, approaching.
“I’m pregnant, not disabled!” she snapped.
She launched a series of maneuvers that involved turning and pushing herself up until she was leaning over the chair, panting.
“We’ve tried to go after the publications and websites that print this garbage, but because they’re not the ones who’ve broken laws, it’s tricky—and again, they don’t have direct contacts, so they can’t finger anyone.
” She pushed to standing, and wobbled. Griffin went to catch her, but she stopped him with a dirty look.
“The reputable media don’t buy the dirt, but once the story breaks, the fallout becomes legit news, so they carry it anyway. Careers ended. Lives too, sometimes.”
“Toby Fong?” Griffin said.
“I can’t comment on that, but…” Her expression said it all.
“And my sister?” Lana said. “This was her ‘crazy idea.’”
“Listen, if it puts your mind at ease, I believe she simply doesn’t have enough on this gang to be a serious threat.
She had nothing to give us that we didn’t already know.
They wouldn’t want the mess and risk of silencing her.
They tried to recruit her as a foot soldier, sure, but they didn’t send her into a meeting with the boss.
Her ‘crazy idea’ was that she could help us set a trap to bring them down.
It was the stuff of fantasies—they’re far too careful for that, and we weren’t about to risk years of work in someone who wasn’t credible. ”
“But she found out who the ringleaders are! That last text she sent said as much.”
“She certainly didn’t tell me that when I met her. Pretty sure I would have remembered.”
“Maybe she was coming to tell you and someone else got to her first?”
“Have you found anything at all that might help us identify this extortion ring?”
Lana shook her head. “We think the information was on her laptop, or a binder she was carrying around, or both. But we can’t find them.”
“So you have nothing concrete.”
Lana sighed. “Nothing.”
“How about non-concrete? Plastic, metal, Styrofoam? I’ll take anything.”
Griffin shook his head. “As far as we know, Vivien is the missing link.”
The detective crossed her arms. “Can I take a wild guess that you’ve been in contact with a certain pain-in-the-ass celebrity vigilante group?”
“A celebrity vigilante group?” Griffin said, using his best I-have-no-idea-what-you-mean expression.
“I’m not asking you to name names, but I suggest you extract yourself. That lot have more money than sense, and the security team they’ve hired are knuckleheads.”
Griffin raised an eyebrow. That he could attest to.
The detective smiled sympathetically at Lana.
“My gut feeling is that your sister is staying out of sight until things settle down. But if you hear anything else, for god’s sake, call me, day or night.
Lord knows I’m not getting any sleep these days.
” She crossed the room, rubbing her belly.
“I hope your friend recovers okay,” she said from the doorway.
“I used to watch his show, as a kid. What was that thing he said? ‘The city never sleeps, and neither do I.’ I loved that. That man inspired me to be a cop.” She left, closing the door.
“Do you believe her now?” Lana asked.