Vampyres of Hollywood (14 page)

I heard the doorbell ring in the distance and frowned, wondering who would arrive without calling first. Maral would get it.

“Are these all vampyre novels? There must be a hundred books in this section alone. These are guys I’ve never heard of.”

“I use them for research. I’m not above purloining an idea now and then.”

King smiled and stepped away from the shelves and sat down facing me. I was just opening the cognac when Maral stumbled through the door, spilling coffee from the sterling espresso pot she was carrying on a salver. Thomas DeWitte was right behind her, pushing her forward. I was on my feet instantly as Neville Travis and the bodyguard, Anthony, piled in behind him.

“I’m sorry, Ovsanna,” Maral began. “We never closed the gate and they just barged in. I told them you were busy.”

“I don’t care how busy you are, you royal bitch, I’ve had it with you!” Thomas’s face was livid. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Detective King stepped out from the coffee table and stood next to me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Ovsanna?”

Whatever was surging through DeWitte’s veins obviously gave him some misplaced bravado, or maybe it was just his usual arrogance. He got right into King’s face and then poked him in the chest with a stubby forefinger. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, which means you’re nobody. So get the fuck out of my sight. I’ve got some business with the lady.”

BEL AIR
7:35
P.M.

I could have identified myself, flashed the badge and all, but my hand was throbbing and I didn’t have the patience to deal with some coked-up queen, even one with good fashion sense. When he jabbed his fat finger into my chest and tried to push me out of the way, I grabbed his arm, spun him, and locked it behind his back, bringing him right up onto the balls of his feet.

“Manners, buddy. Where’re your manners?” Keeping a grip on him wasn’t helping the pain in my hand any but made me feel good nonetheless.

“What the fuck—”

The big bald guy in black fatigues, who was straight from central casting, reached behind him to the small of his back.

And stopped.

Facing a Glock 17L stops most people. There are some cute guns on the market, some that look like fashion accessories, nickel plated, ivory handled, all smooth and rounded. And then there’s the Glock. It’s big, black, and chunky and it holds seventeen rounds of 9mm.

“I’m Detective Peter King, BHPD. Let me see your hands.” He raised his hands very slowly. “Good boy. Now, wanna tell me who you are?”

That stopped Baldy in his tracks. The one I was handling stopped struggling but kept shouting. “I’m Thomas DeWitte of Anticipation Studios and this is none of your goddamn business. Let go of me! You can’t do this to me. I’ll have your badge. I’ll sue the department from here to kingdom come!”

“Are you threatening an officer of the law, Mr. DeWitte? Sounds like bad business practice to me.” I twisted his arm a little higher. He was practically standing on his toes.

Ovsanna moved away from me to face DeWitte. She had a smile on her face. “You’d better calm down, Thomas. I don’t think Detective King is someone to fuck with.”

I had to hand it to her, she was one cool number. “You know these guys, I take it,” I said.

She crossed over to her assistant, who was still holding the tray in her shaking hands, and took it from her. “Sit down, Maral,” she said, “and pour yourself a glass of cognac. Everything’s under control.” Then she turned back to me and the jerk I still had a grip on. “Thomas is my business partner, the head of development at Anticipation. That’s Neville Travis.” She motioned to the skinny guy with an addict’s sniff, standing just inside the doorway. “DeWitte’s boyfriend and the
former
director of
Hallowed Night.
And the one with the arms and facial hair is what passes for Thomas’s security. Anthony, right?”

Mr. Beefcake gave a short nod up and down.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to do this,” I said. “I’m going to let go of your arm, Mr. DeWitte, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut until I check Anthony for weapons. If you say anything, if you move, I’ll cuff you.” I let him back down to the ground. “Good. Not a sound. Now you can have a seat if you want.”

He kept quiet but stayed standing. I patted the bodyguard down and plucked a Skorpion vz.61 submachine pistol from his belt—a ten-round fully loaded Skorpion. He was also carrying a Taser, a NATO military switchblade, two extra ten-round clips for the Czech gun, a flat boot knife strapped to his right calf, and a brass knuckle-duster. No wonder he was wearing combat pants. He could have used a suitcase. I dropped them all on the couch beside me and slipped the knuckle-duster onto my left hand. It fit like a glove. “You looking to do a lot of jail time, Anthony?”

“Naw, man, that’s a belt buckle. Look, it’s got a screw and everything.”

“Well, that’s creative. I thought you were going to tell me it’s a paperweight, like all the other muscles who shop the Web.” I pocketed the knuckles and examined the Skorpion. It had been converted to full automatic—850 rounds per minute. Very illegal. “You got a license for the gun?”

DeWitte answered me. “It’s
my
gun. I have the license in the car. Anthony just carries it for me for protection.”

“Well, that’s an interesting arrangement. Not sure how legal it is. What else do you carry to protect your boss, Anthony? Got a pocketful of Trojans?”

Ovsanna burst out laughing.

I put the gun on the desk behind me and turned back to DeWitte. I was on shaky legal ground, but DeWitte didn’t seem to know it. The weapons cache and the illegal submachine gun gave me a little playing room.

“All right, Mr. DeWitte, you seem to be the one with the agenda. Seems to me, you and your friends are trespassing, maybe with intent to do harm. I’ll give you a chance to correct that impression. Why are you here and what’s going on?”

“I came to talk to Ovsanna.”

“With your boyfriend and bodyguard. And an arsenal? Wasn’t going to be a friendly chat, was it?”

“None of your damn business,” he snapped.

“It is actually,” I said mildly. “I’m investigating a murder at Anticipation Studios and here you are threatening Ovsanna Moore, who just happens to be the head of Anticipation Studios. Your boss. So tell me, where were you this morning between eleven o’clock and one?”

The question caught him completely off guard, and even through the coke—or maybe amphetamine—haze, I watched as the seriousness of the situation began to sink in. “I was in my office,” he said eventually.

“No, you weren’t,” Maral said immediately. “I called your secretary before noon and she said you were having breakfast at the Abbey and then scouting locations in Boys Town. We got to the office at one thirty and Jesus hadn’t even parked your car yet. You had to have just driven in.”

Real old-fashioned hate blossomed in DeWitte’s eyes. “I was out all morning on business.”

“What sort of business?” I pulled out my notebook. “I’m going to need names and addresses.”

“You cannot seriously think I had anything to do with—”

“You are the head of development in a studio that had connections with the three dead stars, then one of your own FX staff turns up dead, and a few hours later I find you threatening the head of the studio. With hired help carrying concealed weapons,” I added. “I can think a lot of things.”

“I didn’t know he had those knuckles.”

“Let’s start with where you were this morning, and then we’ll move on to why you’re here.”

He glanced quickly at Neville Travis and then away. “I was doing research for an upcoming movie,” he said.

“Where?”

“In Hollywood.”

“Where in Hollywood, Mr. DeWitte? Let’s be a little more specific.”

“A club on Santa Monica Boulevard.”

“In the middle of the day? What kind of club? What’s the name?”

Another glance at Travis. “It’s called Rough Trade.”

“Tommy!” The cokehead Ovsanna had called Neville Travis spoke for the first time and stepped farther into the room. “You promised you wouldn’t go there anymore!”

“Oh, grow up, Neville. And shut your mouth,” DeWitte shot back.

Rough Trade. I turned to Ovsanna with an inquiring look.

“It’s a private S&M club between La Jolla and Sweetzer. Hidden entrance, you wouldn’t find it if you didn’t know where to look. And no, there’s nothing we’re filming that needs that kind of location.”

I turned back to DeWitte. “What time were you there?”

“I got there around ten
A.M.
and left about one.”

Jesus. Almost three hours of sexual sado-masochism. I wondered if he was giving or receiving.

“So I’m assuming you weren’t alone. Anybody there who can verify this?”

Neville looked like he was going to burst into tears. “Not Jeanne Paul, Thomas. Just say it wasn’t Jeanne Paul!”

“You were at work, you silly little twat. What was I supposed to do? Nobody works me over like Ms. Marat. You should take some lessons from him.”

“So you were with this what…guy? Girl? This Ms. Jeanne Paul Marat? Will he—she—remember you?” I was getting irritated.

“Of course he’ll remember me. I am not unremarkable. And he’ll certainly remember the three-hundred-dollar tip I gave him.”

“You bitch!” Neville hissed.

“Besides, there were other people there and Anthony was waiting at the bar.”

I turned to Anthony, who nodded. He was blushing. “People asked me to beat them,” he mumbled, sounding genuinely embarrassed. “Offered me money, too.”

“Should have taken it. It’s a better gig than the one you have here,” Ovsanna said quickly.

“Okay, well, all that will be easy to check. What are you doing here now, Mr. DeWitte?”

Color touched his cheeks and flowed along his neck. This guy had a temper problem, what Sheila Stein calls
control issues
. “Ovsanna fired Neville off the set of
Hallowed Night
this morning!” He made the announcement in that breathless voice newscasters reserve for presidential resignations.

“Yeah?” I glanced at Ovsanna. “I presume that Ms. Moore, as head of the studio, can do that?”

“She can’t—,” DeWitte began.

“She can,” Ovsanna said. “I’ve got a health and safety issue with directors doing coke on set. My health and safety.” She frowned. “But I told you this morning that Travis had been fired. Why are you here now?”

“Neville went back to the set to pick up the rest of his things and that geriatric guard wouldn’t even let him on the lot. Said he needed a drive-on from production. When he tried to get through the gate, Gant pulled a gun on him, for Christ’s sake! Told him he’d shoot him for trespassing.”

Good for Gant, I thought.

“Neville called me and I had to drive all the way out there to fire him. A huge waste of my time.”

“You fired Officer Gant!” Ovsanna snarled. The angles and planes of her face subtly altered as the pleasant, innocuous mask fell away. I suddenly realized how she had survived so long in Hollywood. This girl was a fighter. She looked over at Maral. “Sort it out. Now.” She looked back at DeWitte and I swear the whites of her eyes turned red for a moment. “You work for me, Thomas. You do not give orders and you do not fire my employees. How dare you!”

“God damn you, Ovsanna, you don’t have the—”

I tried to regain some control of the situation. “Answer my question, Mr. DeWitte. You came here to…?”

“To talk some sense into Ovsanna.”

“Threaten her, you mean.” I turned to Ovsanna and nodded toward the center courtyard. “You three—don’t move. I don’t want to have to pull my gun.” I walked through the French doors and out into the cool night. Ovsanna followed me. She was smiling.

“I have to apologize, Detective Ki—may I call you Peter?”

That took me by surprise. I nodded.

“Peter. Thomas can be excitable. He reacts rather than thinks. But I don’t think he’s a killer.”

“I agree. And I assume his alibi will check out. That’s not one he’s likely to be making up. And it’s certainly one of the more interesting alibis I’ve gotten in my time.” I glanced back inside. Travis and DeWitte were having a lovers’ spat and it looked like Travis was winning. DeWitte must definitely be on the M side of his S and M proclivities. “What do you want to do?” I asked. “Press charges for trespass, unlawful entry, threatening behavior? Nothing’s going to stick, but it will interrupt their plans for the evening.”

“No. I’ve got to work with Thomas. In spite of his personality, he’s good at what he does and I need him for the studio. I’ve got Japanese investors coming in three days’ time. They’re looking to put millions into Anticipation; I need the studio running smoothly. It’s bad enough I had to fire my director in the middle of the shoot. I can’t afford any more upsets and I can’t afford any bad press. I’d prefer to keep this evening quiet.” She turned to look at me, eyes huge and dark in her face. “Can you do that for me?”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you, Det—Peter.”

“Okay then, I’ll confiscate the weapons and let them go. And I’ll check out DeWitte’s alibi in the morning—just in case.”

Ovsanna’s smile was startling. She tipped her chin at DeWitte. “Look at him; he’s been standing since he walked in. His butt is probably raw from whipping. I’ll bet it’s too painful to sit. I think his alibi will hold, believe me.”

“I’ll get rid of them, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You haven’t had your coffee yet. Or your cognac. Would you mind staying a little longer? I’m sure Maral would appreciate the sense of security your presence offers.”

She’s a damn good actress. I couldn’t tell if the invitation was a genuine plea for protection for her assistant or something a bit more personal for her. It was already nearly eight o’clock and there wasn’t anything else I could do on the Cinema Slayer that night. Ovsanna reached out and touched the back of my hand. Something like static must have crackled between us because, for a moment, I thought she’d cut me again. “Are you in a rush?” she asked.

“No…no, not really.”

“A girlfriend to go back to? Or a wife you’re rushing home to?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Boyfriend?” she asked, but in a voice that suggested she didn’t really mean it.

“No boyfriend.” I laughed.

“Then stay for a while. We’d both feel more comfortable if you did.”

Both of them? Was she coming on to me or was she telling me they were a couple? Or was she just asking me to stay a little longer? A real detective would know. Maybe if I stuck around, I could do some more detecting and figure it out.

“All right, I’ll escort the boys off the premises and stay awhile. Put Ms. McKenzie’s mind at rest.”

“Good. We’ll have coffee and cognac in the library.”

Cognac with Ovsanna Moore in her library. Wait till my mother hears this.