Chapter 25
It was one of the classic Hollywood courtyard buildings, constructed in an O-shape around a central oasis, often with a small pool or lush greenery. But there was nothing lush about this now. The landscaping was withered and brown.
Packed with cars, it took some doing to find a place to park on the street. We had to leave the Ferrari a block over. Not particularly the best neighborhood for an unattended exotic sports car.
Mindful of the street signs, we hopped out, hustled down the sidewalk, rounded the corner, and approached the building. At the call box, I buzzed Seth Porter's unit.
"What do you want?" a voice crackled through the speaker a moment later.
"Seth Porter?"
"Who's asking?"
"County sheriff. I have a few questions for you about Vivian Steele.”
"I already talked to you guys. I told you everything I know. And fuck you for releasing my name to the press. I told you I wanted to remain anonymous.”
The line disconnected.
I shared a look with JD and buzzed the unit again.
It rang and rang and rang, but Seth didn't answer.
At least we knew he was in the complex.
We waited around for 15 or 20 minutes, then someone finally left the apartment. We slipped in before the security gate closed. The young woman looked at us with concerned eyes, but continued about her business.
We scanned the complex, looking for Seth's unit. He lived in #6 upstairs. JD and I climbed the steps, hustled down the walkway, and I banged on the door. "Seth, county sheriff. We really need to talk to you. I'm sorry you had a bad experience with the West Beverly PD."
Floorboards creaked as he shuffled around.
"We're not going anywhere,” I assured. “We can stay here all day if you like? Or you can just answer a few questions, and we’ll get out of your hair.”
Seth finally pulled open the door. His concerned eyes flicked between the two of us. "You don't look like cops."
I flashed my badge faster than he could blink.
Seth was a short, scrawny guy with rust-colored hair, freckles, and hazel eyes. He wore a T-shirt and jeans.
"I already told the police everything I know,” he said. “What does it matter now, anyway? Lucas is dead. He killed himself. Are you people happy?”
"Did Lucas admit the murder to you?"
Seth's face tensed. "No. He didn't come right out and say it.
But he was acting strange that night. Knocked on my door and told me to tell the cops that he was with me all night if they came around asking questions.
I told him hell no, I'm not gonna lie. That's like obstruction or something, isn't it?
You can go to jail for something like that, right? "
I nodded.
"Did he say anything specific about the crime?"
"No. He just said he was in West Beverly, and some shit went down. He wanted to give me his gun, but I didn't take it.” Seth frowned. "In hindsight, I probably should have. Then he wouldn't have killed himself.”
"He might have found another way,” I said. “Don't beat yourself up about it.”
"It’s my fault! Lucas was a friend.” He hung his head.
“I don't have a lot of friends around here. It’s hard to make real friends in this town.
Everybody wants something from you. And I don't have what they want.
I'm not rich or famous. My uncle isn’t in the business.
I don't know anybody. I just want to be an actor. Is that too much to ask?"
"Stick with it, I'm sure you'll make it.”
Seth scoffed. "Doubtful."
"Well, you’re not going to make it with that attitude," Jack said. "If you don't believe in yourself, who will?"
Seth frowned, but didn't disagree.
"You knew Lucas pretty well then," I said.
"Yeah. He moved into the complex about two years ago. I don't know, we just hit it off right away. We had a lot in common. But I think he struggled with depression. Obviously. Then, when the cops closed in, he just lost all hope.”
"If he was your friend, why did you call the police?”
Seth frowned. "I don't know. I shouldn't have done it. But I saw what happened to that lady, and the way Lucas was acting. It was obvious to me what happened.”
"Was Lucas an aspiring actor?“
"No.”
“What motive would he have for shooting Vivian?"
“I don’t know. He was broke. Just a few days prior, he was telling me he didn't think he had enough to make rent.”
"Nothing was stolen from Vivian."
Seth’s face tightened. "Lucas never struck me as a violent guy. I didn't even know he had a gun until that night.”
"Was he medicated?”
"Sometimes. But he didn't always take them. You could kind of tell because he’d get a little manic, then crash.” Seth paused and hung his head, ashamed. "I just thought maybe he’d gone off his rocker and had done something stupid. He had a lot of pent-up rage.”
"Where did he work?”
"He was sacking groceries at Rockford’s on Hollywood Boulevard.”
I shared a look with Jack. "He’d barely make enough sacking groceries to pay rent around here.”
"Tell me about it. I think that added to the stress.”
"Did he have any aspirations to be in the business?”
"You know, everybody's got a screenplay."
I gave Seth a card and told him to get in touch if he thought of anything that might be helpful.
He nodded and said he would.
Seth slipped back inside and closed the door. We took the steps down to the courtyard.
Jack said, "This case stinks. Lucas didn’t have much of a motive.”
I shrugged and played devil’s advocate. “People shoot people for the most ridiculous reasons sometimes.”
Jack shook his head. “Something’s off.”
We hurried out of the complex and took the steps down to the sidewalk. We were greeted by a woman in a pantsuit with aviator sunglasses. She flashed a shiny badge. "Afternoon, gentlemen."
She wasn't a bad-looking woman—5’4”, athletic physique, chocolate hair that kissed her shoulders. She had a California tan and strong features.
I smiled. "What can we do for you, officer?”