Chapter 93
Kirsten
If there were naked photos of me on the dark web, I think I’d want to hide away too. Maybe we should let Ella be? #findMaple #dontfindElla
I pull into a space in the airport parking garage and unfurl my fingers from the steering wheel. This Lexus was supposed to be a symbol of my success, but today it feels more like a getaway car. Helping me escape Detective Nicholls’ clutches.
I climb out, zap the lock, and take the elevator to departures.
Judging by Ella’s address, a penthouse apartment in LA’s Century City, she’s clearly not in need of saving, but it sounds like an awesome place to hang out, so I’m praying that’s what Maple’s doing.
Enjoying the fruits of whatever labor is funding Ella’s luxury lifestyle.
And that everyone else – Garrett, the police, the internet – has got it wrong.
I shake off an uncomfortable sense of foreboding, a whispering voice telling me my mother’s instinct is off, and head to airport security.
I flash my driver’s license and the boarding pass for my Delta flight to LAX at the TSA officer, then drop my bag into the plastic bin.
I have to remove my phone, expose it to people in uniform, which makes my neck bead with sweat.
But it slides through the X-ray machine without anyone showing an interest, and I arrive at the gate just as the screen above the desk flashes, Boarding.
It’s late afternoon by the time the Uber pulls up outside Ella’s address, and I instantly realize that this isn’t going to be as easy as I hoped. Park Place is a sprawling, gated community, with a gatehouse that doesn’t look easy to slip past.
I take a deep breath, find my best smile, and walk up to the gate attendant.
‘Hey there,’ I say breezily. He’s young, dark and beautiful, so looking doe-eyed and grateful isn’t too much of a stretch.
‘I’m here to see Leah Tarl in apartment 106.
’ That’s the fake name Stu Miller told me about in his voice message.
And maybe Ella thought she was being clever, but frankly, it doesn’t take a genius to work out an anagram of her own name.
‘Of course,’ the attendant says, with the requisite Californian smile. ‘Is she expecting you?’
I shake my head, max out on my demure look. ‘No, it’s a surprise,’ I say. ‘I guess surprises are allowed here?’
His sparkle dims. ‘We actually value privacy a little more here at Park Place. How about I call Ms. Tarl, check she’s cool with your visit. If you could give me your name?’
I sigh silently. Here goes. I lose the smile. ‘Detective Nicholls. With the Provo police department in Utah. I’m investigating the disappearance of a minor in my jurisdiction and there’s strong evidence to suggest that Ms. Tarl has information that could help us locate her.’
This can only work if he doesn’t ask to see my badge, so I nod at the gate, like he’s obstructing my investigation now. But he holds his ground.
‘Let me call her,’ he finally says. He disappears back into the gatehouse, then re-emerges a minute later.
His arm is lifted at a weird angle, and I think for a moment that he’s holding a pistol, that the City of Angels’ reputation for gun violence is playing out in front of my eyes.
But then I realize it’s a phone. Except my relief doesn’t last long because he takes a photo of me.
‘What the hell?’ I splutter. ‘You can’t do that without my consent! I thought you valued privacy?’
He shrugs. ‘More for residents than guests, I guess. And Ms. Tarl requested a photo.’
Damn; that’s my cover blown. Ella Hart was a kidfluencer for eighteen years. There’s no way she won’t recognize me. How the hell am I going to get into her apartment now?
‘She says it’s fine.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘What?’
‘Ms. Tarl says you can go on up.’