Reel Stuff (30 page)

Pausing and catching my breath, I kept on going. “You killed Hall. I assume he was a threat. Is it true that once you kill, it just gets easier every time you do it?”

He smirked, shaking his head.

“You should have been a screenwriter, Moore. Great imagination.”

And again on the calendar that Kathy Bavely had put together for Juliana when I hacked her computer, I remembered the meetings with C.A. and B.T. Over and over. C.A., Clint Anders, and B.T., Betsy Timmermeister.

“And Miss Timmermeister, you were financial advisor for not only Jason Londell, but Clint Anders too.”

She didn't deny it.

“Do you understand, Mr. Moore, you've committed a felony, stealing personal financial information?”

I spread my hands wide open on the conference table. “At this point, does that really make any difference? You are all involved in a murder. A murder, for God's sake. Maybe several. That makes copying personal financial information seem pretty petty, doesn't it?”

“I think this has gone far enough,” she said. Opening the door, she pointed at me, but I stayed glued to my seat. The minute I stood up, I was afraid my fate was sealed. They'd be in charge and could kill me any time they wanted. I didn't move.

“You are the financial advisor for Jason Londell and for Clint Anders. Am I right, Miss Timmermeister?”

Her sharp glance to Roberts told me I'd scored a point.

“You, Anders, and Juliana are pretty tight, aren't you? You get together for lunch, have meetings together.”

“How would you know that?” Her voice reverberated in the small room.

“Time to go,” Roberts said.

“Anders is having trouble with his production company.” I didn't move. “He's behind on some payments, trying to cut costs, cutting back on filming, among other things. Maybe he's, I don't know, gambling a lot?”

I saw a glimmer in Roberts's eyes. He knew that Anders had some indulgences.

“Paying for expensive hookers?”

“Jesus, stop. Get him the hell out of here, Roberts.” Betsy Timmermeister was practically screaming at Randy, and I was afraid my time of bluffing might be coming to an end.

“Just tell me. Please. Was this a way to get Londell's fortune?”

There was no other reason.

“Close to eighty million in assets, a ten-million-dollar insurance policy to Juliana, and what? Six or seven million dollars to Anders if the show was disrupted?”

“Now.” Roberts walked up, grabbed me by the sleeve of my T-shirt, and yanked me to my feet, his gun pointing directly at my face.

“Come on, Randy. Almost one hundred million dollars. How much were you going to get? Being the guy who had to actually kill people. Well, you and, what was his name? Teller?”

And it all came together. It was a scheme to split the Londell fortune plus all the insurance money they could get.

“Yeah. That's what it was.” Roberts pushed me into the hallway. “That's exactly what it was. You know, Moore, when there's a pool of money that big, there's enough to go around. No greed. And believe me, there's more than enough to go around. One guy gets out of debt—”

“Shut up.” Betsy Timmermeister shouted at him, but he ignored her.

“Someone gets out of a bad relationship and is compensated for her suffering.”

“Honest to God, Randy, you don't need to—”

“One lady,” Roberts said, pointing at her, “gets the fruits of her labor, and one of us doesn't have to worry about climbing up the ladder in this industry. Ever again. Instead of begging for recognition, pleading for jobs, all his problems go away. He has more than he can possibly use. Not that that's a bad thing.” Roberts smiled as he shoved his gun barrel into my back.

“Teller?” I asked.

“Teller? I can't see much of a cut at this point. He couldn't even deal with you. There's the punch line, Moore. Our shooter couldn't even deal with a low-level punk like you. That's the funniest story out there. I'm trying to figure out who they should cast as Teller when they make the movie. Curly, Moe, or Shemp?”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

He didn't pull the trigger. Instead, we all got into the Escalade. Timmermeister drove. There was no more conversation. About fifteen minutes into the drive, I started to recognize the neighborhood. I'd walked it, scouted it, and burglarized it. We were on the same street where Londell's office was located.

Parking across the street, Roberts ordered, “Out.” He encouraged me with a push of his handgun.

I stepped down and crossed at the light, walking toward the office building. I thought about the cameras. The stoplight camera, the two cameras mounted in the doorway, the cameras mounted to the outside wall less than a block away. They were all monitoring our miniparade, and could be used, I suppose, as evidence in the case surrounding my murder. I didn't see that they had any other choice.

And as I wondered about my murder, I thought about Em. Now that they knew, her dream of acting had probably come to an end. And there would almost certainly be a second murder. And yet it all seemed surreal. Everything so far was phony. The
fact that James, Em, and I were being paid to
investigate
a murder when we were often clueless, the phony résumé and union card, a phony cameraman, so maybe my imminent death was phony as well. I was a lot calmer than I thought I'd be under the circumstances. I actually was more worried about Em. She'd almost pulled off a modern-day miracle, and no one would ever know.

Roberts pushed open the door, and we entered Londell and Bavely's domain.

The Waronker lady was not at her station, and Kathy Bavely's office door was open with no sign of the agent.

Juliana Londell and Em sat in Juliana's office, talking across the desk.

“Ah, there you are, Randy. Betsy.” She stood up and strode out to the lobby. “Mr. Moore, the boyfriend and fired agent.” A bright smile was on her face, the first real toothy smile I'd seen.

“You had me going, Mr. Moore. You really did. You were good. I thought you two were the real thing. But then, I think Kathy brought some credibility to the situation. I didn't realize at that time that she was involved with you. Exactly when did she hire you and Emily?”

Again with the Bavely-as-client theory. I didn't say a word, but glanced back to the office and saw Em watching us.

“Oh, your girlfriend? She doesn't understand just yet that we know. Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

I said nothing.

“Emily, come out here.”

Em approached cautiously. I wanted to just tell her to run for it, but she would have hesitated, slightly confused, and anyway Roberts had a gun. A gun almost always dictates the call.

“I must admit, Emily, I'm very disappointed. I really thought you had something. I mean that. I seriously expected you to go somewhere. Possibly my finest hour in the industry. Someone off
the street who makes it big-time. But, I've learned that life isn't always what you expect it to be.”

Em's eyes were wide open. She'd seen the pistol by Roberts's side.

“This is Betsy Timmermeister.”

Juliana motioned to the Timmermeister lady.

“Betsy is my financial advisor. She helped Jason accumulate quite a portfolio of investments, as you know. Your ex-manager discovered just how much on the computer when he broke into my office.”

“Juliana, what is this? What do you think—”

“You're not
that
good an actress, Emily. You got me, okay. But now that we have all the evidence, I realize I should have figured this out one hundred times by now. I wanted to believe I could pull this off.”

I thought Em was a great actress. She'd almost become a two-day wonder, a star on her first attempt. And if it all ended here, she'd accomplished more than ninety-nine and nine-tenths of actors in this town ever did.

“Kathy Bavely is running an errand for me, Mr. Moore. Once we have taken care of the two of you, she will meet with an unfortunate accident and—”

“Bavely isn't involved.” I had to keep this going. The end was much too near.

“Oh, we know that—”

“Your sister hired us. Neither of us had ever heard of Kathy Bavely until we arrived in L.A.”

“Ashley?”

“Ashley. Do you have other sisters?”

I was pretty sure she didn't.

“The two-time widow? She hired you? No kidding.”

Juliana genuinely sounded surprised.

“It makes no difference. Kathy's involved, trust me.”

Roberts opened the office door, escorting us out onto the sidewalk. I don't know why one of us didn't run, except that the other would have been left behind.

“Where are we taking them?” Juliana stared at the Escalade across the street.

“Warehouse number three.” We walked back across the street. “There's no reason Betsy has to go,” Roberts said.

“We've worked too hard to get here,” the Timmermeister lady said. “I want to be there to see that all the loose ends are tied up.”

So our parade continued and we all got into the Escalade, Juliana sliding behind the wheel. I wondered what happened to rental cars when they're not returned. Maybe they have GPS units installed so they can track them down. They'd find mine down by Bavely's office with half a burger inside an In-N-Out Burger sack on the floor of the backseat. A sad souvenir of our trip to the movie capital of the world.

Juliana pulled away from the curb, and as I glanced out the window, I saw a black BMW cruising in the left lane beside us. The windows were tinted so I couldn't see inside, but it wouldn't be a surprise to see Mitch and Teller giving us an escort. I had a feeling that both of those guys would love to get their hands on me.

“I've seen your prenup, Mrs. Londell. Pretty specific about fooling around on your husband.”

She turned her head for a brief instant and looked at me in the backseat.

“You've been a busy boy, Mr. Moore.”

“I've seen you in a lip-lock with Rob Mason, but that was after Jason died. There was somebody before that wasn't there?”

Em was sitting next to me, shaking her head, as if to tell me to shut up.

She was silent.

“Juliana, it was Clint Anders wasn't it?”

All those meetings with C.A. It had to be.

“Who caught you?”

Em nudged me, hard. I didn't see why I should stop now. Whatever I said or didn't say wasn't going to change the outcome of our trip.

“Did Jason walk in on you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Moore.” Roberts pointed the pistol directly at my forehead. He wasn't stupid enough to fire a gun in the middle of Los Angeles traffic. I didn't think.

“No, it wasn't him. I saw on the calendar he was on location in Singapore for that month.”

She looked over her shoulder one more time.

All of a sudden I realized that Greg Handler was right. The mind is an amazing thing. It can put pieces of the puzzle together while you're not even trying. Jason Londell was on location while Juliana Londell was seeing Clint Anders.

“You and Anders, you set up the Miami shoot. Oh, my God, you had to kill Jason to keep him from finding out.”

“Finding out what?” Em asked, looking at me as if I'd lost my mind.

“Em, Jason Londell wasn't even in the country when the kid was conceived. That baby bump you said she was hiding with her serape, it belongs to Juliana Londell and Clint Anders.”

That's when I heard the clash of metal on metal, and we were thrown out of our seats.

CHAPTER FIFTY

The Escalade careened to the right, and Betsy Timmermeister banged her head on the rear passenger door glass with a thud. Em and I followed her, sliding across the leather seat.

Juliana straightened up, keeping control of the vehicle, and I noticed Roberts's face, grim as he gritted his teeth. He steadied the gun, pointing into the back seat.

“What the hell was—”