Obsession (25 page)

“Okay,” I said.

Another clap. “Excellent. When?”

“Have his mother call me.”

“Give me something more specific.” An order, not a request. He sat up straighter, buoyed by the shred of control.

“Have her call and I promise I’ll drive up and meet with Philip as soon as I can,” I said. “You’ve done what you can, the rest is up to her.”

Fortuno breathed in sharply. “She will call you soon. Perhaps Philip can come visit you at that nice pretty white house. See those pretty fish in your pond.”

My gut tightened. “Happy to show them to him.”

Petra said, “Enough small talk.”

“Blaise De Paine,” said Mario Fortuno. “Rotten kid.”

“How so?”

“I do not approve of thievery. However…” Throat clear. “…in the course of my profession, I am forced to deal with individuals of dubious morality. Much the same as it is with you, Detectives.” To me: “You, too, given your long association with law enforcement. My Philip will be a breath of fresh air.”

Petra said, “What business did you do with De Paine?”

“His profession, such as it is, places him at various clubs and the like. Many of these nightspots feature so-called VIP lounges where inhibitions are relaxed, not to mention lavatories equipped surreptitiously with peepholes and hidden cameras by individuals of dubious ethics.”

“He sold you incriminating pictures of celebrities.”

Wanamaker said, “Be careful.”

“Wesley, I owe these good people
something
.”

“Be careful.”

Fortuno sighed. “Skirting some paper-thin ice here, what I believe I can tell you within the bounds of Special Agent Wanamaker’s approval is that Mr. De Paine found himself in possession of data concerning various individuals of interest to me for reasons I cannot and will not get into.”

“Does he also sell drugs?” said Petra.

Fortuno glanced at Wanamaker. The agent was silent. “If he did, I would not be shocked. However, I have no firsthand knowledge of such transactions and, in fact, possess a strong aversion to toxic substances as they de-oxidify the body.” Hoisting the orange juice. “Vitamin C.”

“Which substances does De Paine peddle?”

“I’d term his activities…eclectic.”

“Heroin?”

“It would not shock me.”

“Cocaine?”

“Same answer.”

“Ecstasy?”

“Detective Connor,” said Fortuno, “the young man in question is enterprising. A type I’m sure we’re both familiar with.”

“What type is that?”

“The me generation. So many of them yearn for stardom but lack talent. Not to mention a moral core.”

Petra said, “What did you give De Paine for his information?”

Wanamaker waved a finger. “Uh-uh.”

“Did you trade him personal data for narcotics?”

Wanamaker said, “Change the subject, Detective.”

Fortuno’s cheeks quivered. “Wesley, throughout my relationship with you, your colleagues and your superiors, has anyone—
anyone—
come across a shred of evidence suggesting my active association with narcotics other than helping children of clients get clean and sober?”

Wanamaker looked at his watch.

Petra said, “How long were you and De Paine in business?”

“Awhile,” said Fortuno.

“Months or years?”

“The latter.”

“How many years?”

“I’d have to check my records.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Five’s a nice round number.”

“What about Robert Fisk?”

“Who would that be, Detective?”

“A known associate of De Paine.” Petra showed Fortuno the mug shot.

“He looks like an extremely resentful person. Bad eyes…is he De Paine’s conduit for violence?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because De Paine is a sissy who avoids confrontation. Because you didn’t take time out from your busy day to visit me due to a shoplifting violation.”

“You don’t know Fisk.”

“Never heard of him, never laid eyes on him.”

“What about Moses Grant?” Flashing the DMV shot.

Fortuno said, “This person I
have
witnessed in De Paine’s company. I believe De Paine termed him his disk jockey. Another would-be music person. If you call that music.”

“Call what?”

“In less enlightened times, what would’ve been termed jungle rhythms. Being a Chicago person, Sinatra is more to my taste.”

“Sinatra was from New Jersey.”

“His music is esteemed in Chicago.”

“Tell me about Moses Grant.”

“I have seen him in the company of Mr. De Paine several times—three or four times. He never spoke in my presence. My impression was he was a lackey. I believe I saw him driving Mr. De Paine’s car.”

“What kind of vehicle?”

“Two vehicles, to be precise. One of those gas-guzzling Hummers and a Lexus sedan. The Lexus belongs to Mr. De Paine’s mother.”

“Mary Whitbread.”

Fortuno chuckled.

“What’s funny?” said Petra.

“How she came to call herself that.”

“You know her.”

“That,” said Fortuno, “is quite a story.”

“We’ve got time.”

Wanamaker said, “Forty-one minutes to be exact.”

Fortuno removed a loafer, slipped a finger between his toes, dug and scratched, produced something that seemed to intrigue him.

Petra said, “Mary Whitbread.”

“Her given name is Maria Baker. Her hometown is Chicago.”

“Old neighbor?” said Petra.

“We grew up in different neighborhoods. I became acquainted with Maria through my activities in law enforcement.”

“You were a cop?”

“I contemplated becoming one. Only briefly, all the perfidy and corruption…no offense, assorted gendarmes, but Chicago was quite a city back then and sometimes it was difficult to differentiate the good guys from the miscreants.”

“What was your association with the cops?”

“I did some security consulting to various political figures. Occasionally that led me to interface with your Windy City counterparts. Because of my familiarity with various individuals of Italian ancestry—”

“Uh-uh, nope,” said Wanamaker.

“Wesley,” said Fortuno, “at some point you need to develop a sense of trust. I have no intention of breaching our agreement, if for no other reason than a breach would not be in my best interests. The events that interest Detective Connor predate any you’d be concerned with and I am simply providing context—”

“Provide it another way.”

Fortuno drew back his lips, scratched pale, pink gum. “I met Maria Baker over thirty years ago.”

“Where?” said Petra.

“If my recollection serves me well, the first time was at a club called The Hi Hat. Maria danced there, as well as at other nighteries.” Lizard-smile. “Sans clothing. The Hat and the others were owned by various individuals of…a certain Mediterranean descent. From time to time, Maria became romantically entangled with some of these various individuals as well as with other individuals.”

“Other?”

Fortuno smiled. “Comedians, drummers, assorted riffraff. Maria was rather…easy to please. Unfortunately, there came a time when one of the individuals—of a certain descent—became deceased in a highly non-natural manner and Maria Baker became concerned for her personal safety. I, having just moved to Los Angeles, and through my associations with law enforcement in both cities, was able to facilitate her passage here. Maria took well to the climate. Meteorologically and professionally.”

“The profession being stripping.”

“As well as other aspects of show business.”

Milo said, “She became a casting agent.”

Fortuno broke into laughter.

“What’s funny?” said Petra.

“Who told you that?”

“She did.”

“Maria, Maria,” said Fortuno. Humming a few bars from the
West Side Story
tune. “
That
was music, Leonard Bernstein…Detectives, the primary aspect of casting that Maria Baker ever encountered was removing her clothing for gentlemen in Canoga Park.”

“Porn actress?” said Petra.

“I’m sure none of us are devotees of the genre,” said Fortuno. “However, we all know that the real Hollywood
is
Canoga Park.”

“Mary Whitbread was her stage name? That doesn’t sound too sexy.”

“The genre relies upon clichés, Detective. Or used to, back when the product was shown in theaters and plots were believed essential. One common motif is the innocent maid debauched. One rather successful film was a full-length feature titled
Losing Her Innocence
. The story line was hackneyed but effective. A Victorian chambermaid travels to London and is seduced by lords and dukes and the like.”

“The maid was Mary Whitbread.”

“Thirty years ago,” said Fortuno, “she had girl-next-door looks. The director thought she was so perfect that he used her real name as the basis for her
nom de film
.”

“Baker to Whitbread.”

Fortuno closed his eyes. “The essence of wide-eyed Victorian purity. Even as her orifices were explored.”

“Who was the director?”

“A gentleman named Salvatore Grasso. Deceased.”

“In a highly unnatural manner?”

“If you consider a stroke unnatural.”

“Wide-eyed purity,” said Milo. “You’re a fan of her work.”

“On the contrary, Lieutenant Sturgis. It bores me.” Half shutting his lids. “As I’m sure it does
you
.”

“Did your relationship with Mary ever turn personal?”

“With me,” said Fortuno, “everything is personal.” Turning away from Milo he faced Petra and leered. “Did I
fuck
her?”

She didn’t budge.

“The answer is yes. I
fucked
her. I fucked her at will, every which way, on numerous occasions. That doesn’t make me the member of an exclusive club. Nor was the relationship emotional.”

“Casual sex.”

“Your generation didn’t invent it, dear.”

“Tell us about the relationship.”

“I just did.”

“You helped her move to L.A., set her up in the porn business, and sampled the wares.”

“I didn’t set her up. I introduced her to various individuals. My sampling of the wares was by mutual consent.”

“Blaise De Paine is twenty-eight. You’ve known him since he was born.”

“I have.”

“What can you tell us about him?”

“Nothing more than I already have.”

“What’s the relationship between De Paine and his mother like.”

“Such as it is.”

“They don’t get along?”

“Mary probably thinks she’s a wonderful mother.”

“She isn’t?”

“Actresses,” said Fortuno. “It’s all about
them
.”

“Who’s his father?”

Fortuno held up his palms.

“There’s something you
don’t
know?” said Petra.

“There are many, many things I don’t know, Detective Connor. In this case, paternity would be difficult to ascertain. As I said, Mary was eclectic.”

“Was?”

“I haven’t had contact with her in a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“She lost her interest in courtesanship and found a substitute passion.”

“What’s that?” said Petra.

“Real estate. She owns buildings, collects rent, believes that makes her nobility.”

“How’d she get the money to buy buildings?”

“The old-fashioned way,” said Fortuno. “She
fucked
for it.”

“Any person in particular?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“How about some names of her benefactors?”

Wanamaker said, “How about not.”

Petra said, “We don’t care about any of the creeps he’s going to spill on, unless they’ve been involved in murder.”

“Same answer,” said Wanamaker.

“Whose murder?” said Fortuno.

“A man named Lester Jordan.”

Fortuno didn’t react, but holding still seemed to take effort. “Don’t know him.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Couldn’t be surer.”

“Boy,” said Petra, “here we were thinking you were the Human Rolodex and look at all these holes in the data bank.”

Fortuno reached for his nose again. Picked with gusto.

“Life,” he said, “can be disillusioning.”

“Who else did De Paine hang out with?”

“I don’t pay attention to who punks hang out with.”

“You don’t like him.”

“He’s got no—”

“Moral core, I know,” said Petra. “As opposed to all your other vendors and clients.”

“Knowledge is power, Detective. I provide a legitimate service.”

“The federal government seems to feel otherwise.”

Wanamaker cleared his throat.

Petra said, “De Paine trashed the place he rented from Mr. Benezra and he cut out on several months’ rent.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“You knew he was a mope but you gave him references?”

“Mr. Benezra asked me to help find a short-term tenant at a rundown property he planned to demolish imminently. I happened to be speaking to Mary and she happened to mention that her son was looking for lodgings.”

“Thought you hadn’t seen her in a while?”

“She called me.”

“Why?”

“To help find lodgings for her son.”

“Where was he living at the time?”

“That she didn’t say.”

“Mary Whitbread owns properties,” said Petra. “Why would her son need to look for lodgings?”

“You’d have to ask her that.”

“She didn’t want him close by?”

Fortuno said, “That’s certainly possible.”

“He’s caused trouble for her.”

“I’m not aware of any specifics, but once again, it wouldn’t—”

“The notion of his being involved in murder doesn’t shock you.”

“I am
un
shockable, Detective.”

“Where did De Paine live after he left the house on Oriole Drive?”

Long, slow head shake. White strands came loose and Fortuno tamped them back in place. “I’ve told you all I know.”

Petra waited.

Fortuno drank orange juice.

Wanamaker reached for his pocket watch.

Petra said, “I know, the big hand’s on bureaucracy and the little hand’s on bureaucracy.” To Fortuno: “Give us something else about Blaise De Paine.”

Fortuno finished his juice, wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Wiped the sleeve on the couch and flicked pulp off a cushion.