Fixed in Blood (22 page)

“I found the connection.” Lydia didn’t offer any greetings as she entered Mort’s office. She stood, breathing giant gulps of air after her dash from the hotel to the police station. Mort’s team was assembled. She glanced around the room. Micki Petty was seated at the small table to the side of Mort’s desk. Jim DeVilla sat on the sofa on the far wall, Bruiser at his feet.

Mort was at the whiteboard. He nodded to his team. “I brought Mick and Jimmy up to speed on what we got today.”

“Busy, busy.” Jim DeVilla leaned forward.

Lydia nodded toward him. “You know about Delbe’s call?”

“We do,” Micki said. “Mort said you might be able to trace it? How’s that work?”

“What do you have, Liddy?”

Lydia was grateful for Mort’s redirection. There was no easy way to explain why a seemingly innocent psychologist from small-town Olympia would have access to a communication surveillance system rivaling the NSA’s.

“Delbe’s in Seattle.” Lydia wanted to be precise. “At least she was when she made the call. Somewhere in the 98119 zip code.”

“West side,” Jimmy said. “Between Queen Anne and Magnolia. You think Fellow’s…what? Running a brothel? Holding her there? Setting up another film?”

“Delbe was terrified,” Lydia explained. “She repeated the word ‘movie.’ Given the way Crystal and Francie died, and the fact they’re connected to Rite Now, as is Delbe, yes. We need to get to her now.”

Micki read off the screen of her laptop. “I’m seeing two Rite Now locations in the area. One on Nickerson Street and another on Sixth Avenue.” She looked up at Mort. “You think he’d be stupid enough to hold her in one of his stores?”

“I remember Greg telling me Charlie was away a lot. Moved from office to office.” Lydia stepped toward Mort. “Shouldn’t you be sending a squad car?”

“Who’s Greg?” Jimmy asked.

Lydia hesitated. For an instant she found humor in the disconnect between wanting to protect her former patient’s privacy and her total disregard for federal laws governing hacking secured computers. Micki stepped in and saved her the ethical lapse.

“He’s Fellow’s money man.” Micki turned to Lydia. “He always works out of the main office, right? That’s not in 98119. But he got pretty spooked when we asked him to call up Delbe Jensen’s record. Remember? He left that meeting like he had someplace he needed to be.”

“Let’s get Delbe,” Lydia said. “She can tell us everything.”

Mort shook his head. “We need more than a zip code. What’s this connection you have?”

“The phone Delbe used. It was the same burner Jennifer used to call Social Services.”

Jimmy rose to his feet. Bruiser stood, eyes locked on his master, waiting for his next command. “That’s a solid physical linking Delbe Jensen to Crystal Tillwater. Any progress on Jennifer?”

“We’ve got eyes everywhere,” Mort said. “Friends, school, home.”

“Bring her dad down here,” Lydia suggested. “He thinks you work for Boss Man. Let him know you’re a cop. That we know what his daughter’s mixed up in. He may have felt the need to protect Jennifer from Boss Man, but he might feel different when he knows who you really are.”

Mort looked unsure.

“We’re not going to see anything more off that burner,” Lydia said. “That voice roaring in the background of Delbe’s call was either Boss Man or someone who works for him. That phone’s dead now.”

Mort nodded. “Go get Jennifer’s dad, Jimmy. And don’t wait.” The urgency in Mort’s voice was clear. “Let him know the situation. We’re trying to stop a murder and his daughter is in danger. If he gives you any indication where Jennifer is, go.”

Mort turned to Lydia. “Any way we can pinpoint the location of Delbe’s call more precisely? There’s a lot of addresses in that zip.”

Lydia shook her head. Her equipment was as good as it gets, but she would have needed Delbe on the line a few seconds more to be that detailed. An all-too-familiar feeling burned her brain. Despite her attempts to accept destiny, helpless was a state she’d promised herself long ago she’d never feel again.

“What about warrants for the film crew?” Lydia asked. “Delbe sounded like this movie would be shot soon.”

“Any word on Eddie Yaz?” Micki asked. “Or let’s get a look at Verte’s and Feldoni’s hands. One of them has those scars we saw. Maybe we don’t need Jennifer.”

“The warrants are on their way.” Mort stepped toward Lydia.

She pulled back. “Whoever took that phone from Delbe knows she was calling for help.” Lydia hated the constraint of by-the-book. “Jennifer and Delbe could both be dead by now.”

Mort’s look demanded she hold her frustration. “The warrants are on their way.”

Every cell in her body hummed with electric readiness. A primal whisper grew in volume deep in her soul. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to focus on the texture.

Stay in the moment. Stay right here. Do this the right way.

“Go get Fellow,” Lydia said. “He arranged this. He could stop this whole thing with one phone call.”

“We don’t have enough, Liddy.” Mort’s voice was filled with concern.

“What more do you need?”

“We’ve got nothing.”

The electric hum was now a crackling arc. “We have the burner connecting Jennifer to Delbe. Jennifer was delivered to babysit in the same limo that drove Crystal Tillwater to her death. Both Crystal and Francie had the same tattoo. Delbe told me she’d been marked. Isn’t that enough?”

“We need something linking all this directly to Fellow.” Micki crossed to where Lydia stood. “Something more than all three women having a loan from Rite Now. Lawyers are smart, Lydia. They’ll argue the same thing Charlie Fellow did. Pick any ten people off the street and odds are at least three of them are his customers. We need something to tie him to the burner. Or to the limo. Or to the tattoo. Something solid.”

Lydia forced herself to breathe.
This isn’t justice,
she thought.
This is regulated bullshit. This is the kind of bureaucratic nit-picking that lets children die. That leaves people to suffer and mourn while the savages roam free.
A low-pitched whistle burrowed in her ears. Her jaw churned with words she dared not speak.

Mort’s phone rang. Lydia and Micki turned to watch his face as he answered.

“Got it,” was all he said before he hung up. “The warrants are out for Anthony Feldoni, Ben Verte, and Eddie Yavornitzky.” Mort turned to his right. “Micki, you stay here. Coordinate with Jimmy when he brings in Tom Lightfoot. Do what you need to find Jennifer. Whatever manpower or firepower it takes, bring her in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll be with Delbe. If she isn’t, get her to tell you what she knows. Then go get Delbe. Keep me posted every step.”

Lydia held her breath. She didn’t know in that moment which she wanted more, to be there when Mort arrested the man in the snuff films or to be free to go search for Delbe herself. She needed to do something.

Mort nodded as though he’d read her thoughts. “Liddy, you’re with me.”

Mort kept one eye on the road and the other on the woman sitting next to him. Lydia stared straight ahead as he zoomed down I-5, the lights and siren mounted on the roof of his Subaru clearing a path through midafternoon drivers. He’d asked Lydia to trust the system and feared what could happen if that system failed.

Mort turned off the interstate and made quick time on the side roads and gravel climb leading to their destination. He might have shown the discretion of turning off the lights and siren as he approached the closed movie set, but he wasn’t in the mood for subtlety. Hollywood needed to know they were here.

“Hang tough, Lydia.” Mort pulled his car into the same parking area and cut the engine. “We’re almost there.”

She turned toward him with cold eyes, then got out of the car.

River Leaf was the first to run up to them. This time her blond pixie cut was lit up with streaks of pink.

“Hold on there, Sheriff,” she said. “What’s with the drama? Ben’s going to have your hide. It was all-quiet-on-the-set time and here you come, sounding like the town’s on fire. You ruined his shot. He is definitely
not
going to be happy.”

Mort and Lydia ignored her and walked toward a knot of cameras. All eyes were on them as they passed by extras and support crew. Mort remembered Anthony Feldoni’s rant about no one having access to cellphones. He smiled to think of the fading actor’s reaction to the dozen or so people recording every one of Mort and Lydia’s determined steps.

Ben Verte walked toward them, his anger evident. Behind him trotted Anthony Feldoni, still sporting the prizefighter-ready-to-spar costume he’d worn during their last visit.

Right down to the taped hands.

Ben got to them first and launched into his rant. Mort wondered if it was in spite or for the benefit of the scores of people watching.

“What the hell?” The director reached up to yank off his
Nothing but Money
baseball cap. He again wore the fingerless gloves he’d said helped him grip the cameras. “I was twelve minutes into a thirteen-minute shot. You assholes ruined it all with that damned siren. I made myself perfectly clear, didn’t I? You were to
call
. Now get off my lot.”

Feldoni caught up with him, huffing from the jog across the field. “The fuck you doin’ here?” His attention to Lydia was particularly foul. “You think you’re gonna trick me again or something? That’s what you think, you fucking cunt? No way in hell I’m letting you or anybody botch my movie. You understand?”

Mort glanced over to see Lydia unmoved by Feldoni’s threats. “Anthony Feldoni, Benjamin Verte,” he said, adding volume to his voice. He wanted anyone filming this mid-field encounter to have some audio to go along with it. He pulled two folded sheets of paper out of his jacket. “I have warrants authorizing the examination of your persons. You have the option of participating in said examination at the precinct, in a local hospital, in your attorney’s office, or we can do it right here.”

Ben Verte looked dazed. “An examination of our persons? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah.” Feldoni puffed his chest out and looked around to see who was listening. “What’s this about, anyway?”

Mort kept his volume high and his words clear. “I am authorized to examine your hands. Right and left. Top and palm. I am authorized to remove any makeup that may be on those hands and to take photos.”

Verte looked at Feldoni, who looked back over his shoulder to a foursome of actors coming up behind them. They were costumed like Feldoni. Mort remembered Feldoni saying his character was a retired heavyweight who had a business training young fighters.

“And I am further authorized to take action as I deem prudent following said examination.”

“This is an outrage.” Ben Verte looked like a balloon with too much air in it, ready to pop. “I’ve got a movie to finish. The studio attorneys are going to have a field day—”

“Hold on a minute.” Anthony Feldoni held up a taped hand. He yelled for makeup and two young women ran toward them. They each wore aprons with multiple pockets. Brushes, sticks, packets, cans, and tubes Mort couldn’t identify poked out of them.

“What the hell are you doing, Tony?” Verte asked. “Let’s get our lawyers on this.”

Feldoni shook his head. “Like you said, we got a movie to finish. Let’s get this gumshoe…” He turned again to Lydia. “…and whatever the fuck
you
are, out of our hair and get back to it. They wanna see our hands, let’s show ’em our hands. Simple as that.”

Verte bounced his gaze between Feldoni and Mort. “I don’t like this. They’re looking for something. We should have representation.”

Feldoni chuckled. “What is this? Contract negotiations? They wanna see our hands.” He tilted his head to the young women in the aprons. “The gals can have us back to normal in no time. This thing with the cops goes away.” He looked at Mort through droopy eyes. “Who you want first? It matter?”

Mort didn’t know what Feldoni was up to, but was willing to see what came next.

“I’ll go.” Feldoni held out his hands to the makeup assistant closest to him. “How about it, doll? Chi Chi, am I right?”

The pretty brunette shook her head. “My name is Willa.”

Feldoni laughed out loud. “Well, you look like a Chi Chi to me. Got your scissors, Willow? How about you cut me out of this tape and let the detective get an eyeful.”

Willa pulled blunt-edged scissors from her apron. Mort saw Lydia take in every move. Ten seconds later Anthony Feldoni’s hands were free of the tape. Mort was surprised to see the amount of makeup revealed.

“I need ’em clean.” Mort turned to the makeup assistant. “Is that something you can do, Willa?”

“I got wipes right here.” Willa pulled a foil packet from another pocket. “This stuff will wipe the paint off a wall.”

Feldoni smirked. “By all means. Wipe away.”

Anthony Feldoni stared at Lydia while Willa cleaned the actor’s hands. First the right, then the left. Lydia and Mort watched as each swipe revealed more of the actor’s actual skin. Willa used four presaturated wipes to remove all the stage makeup. She ran one last swipe over Feldoni’s palms before turning to Mort. “Squeaky clean.”

Mort saw pale skin, veins, and age spots. He held his disappointment in check. “Dr. Corriger, could you examine?” He hoped using her honorific would up the tension in the two men.

Lydia reached out to take Feldoni’s right hand in hers.

“A doctor, huh?” Feldoni’s tone was dialed to full swagger. “I usually don’t go for smart broads. Too much trouble. But a
doctor
. I guess you know all about how to make a body hum, am I right?” He looked over his shoulder again, grinning to the actors behind him. “Maybe exceptions could be made.”

Lydia leaned in close, seeming to examine every pore. She ran her own hands over Feldoni’s, as though feeling for residual scarring. In the end she turned to Mort and shook her head.

Feldoni rolled his shoulders and played to the crowd. “We gonna take pictures now? You two a couple of pervs who get off on photographs of movie stars’ hands?”

Mort ignored him and turned to Verte. “You’re up. Don’t ruin my hope for California by telling me
you
have makeup on your hands.”

“I don’t like this,” Verte said. “I feel like I’m walking into something I shouldn’t be. Why don’t you just tell us what you’re looking for?”

“I made myself pretty clear,” Mort said. “I’m looking at your hands.”

“Do it, Director Man.” Feldoni was holding out his arms again. The assistant who wasn’t Willa was reapplying coats of tinted cream to the actor’s hands. “Patty here…it’s Patty, am I right?”

The young woman didn’t look up. “I’m Elaine.”

Feldoni blinked in confusion. “My bad. Anyway, show your hands, Ben. I promise it don’t hurt. Ellie here’s gonna get me all trussed up and maybe we’ll be able to reshoot this scene in time for me to get home to bath time with my kid.” He gave another lecherous leer to Lydia. “Family’s everything, am I right?”

Ben hesitated.

“You want me to count to ten, then haul you down to the station?” Mort asked.

Ben Verte gave an exaggerated shake of his head. He mumbled something about human rights while he ripped open the Velcro on his gloves. He pulled off the right, then the left and held his hands up. Turning them this way and that for inspection.

“You satisfied?” he asked.

“Willa, wipe him down, please,” Mort said.

“Mr. Verte doesn’t get made up,” Willa said. “He’s the director. He’s always behind camera.”

“Humor me, Willa.”

The assistant pulled a fresh wipe out of its foil wrap. She used just one to swipe his hands. She held up the cloth for Mort. “See?”

Another wave of disappointment surged through him. Verte’s hands were smooth. His nails trimmed and buffed to a satin shine. His hands were tanned, but from where Mort stood, that was it. He saw no flaking, no discoloration.

No psoriasis. No scarring.

One glance to Lydia showed she saw the same thing he did. Still, she asked the director if she could touch him. Verte agreed and Lydia inched her hands over his, rubbing, probing, sensing. Again, she turned to Mort and shook her head.

“Are we done here, Detective?” Verte asked.

Mort sensed they weren’t. The cameras used to film Crystal’s and Francie’s deaths came from this lot. The cameraman who had them last was missing. Mort turned to the makeup assistants.

“You two know Eddie Yavornitzky?” he asked.

The two women looked at each other with vacant expressions.

“Eddie Yaz,” Lydia said. “He’s a cameraman.”

“Oh, Eddie Yaz.” Elaine pointed a makeup brush toward her colleague. “You know who they’re talking about. That great-looking guy with that fabulous hair. Always asking questions. Curious about how everything works.”

“You mean the guy with the limo?” Willa asked. “Yeah, we know him. Everybody on the set knows Eddie Yaz. I mean, what techie comes to work with a car and driver? Daddy’s money is what I heard. Handsome enough to be on the other side of the camera. Charming, too. But he’s got the attention span of a squirrel. Shoves his way into conversations. Wanting to know stuff. Kind of not respecting boundaries, you know?” She waved a finger back and forth. “I always say that much cash is bound to ruin people.”

“Seen him lately?” Mort asked.

Both women shook their heads.

“You ever notice his hands?”

“Don’t answer that,” Ben Verte barked. He leveled a glare at Mort. “We’re running a movie set here, not a fishing expedition. You want to talk to anyone on this set, you get another warrant. Or you take the whole group of us downtown, I don’t fucking care. Everyone here watched us comply with your requests. In good faith. Without complaint. Now I suggest you leave before I ask all the ways the studio attorneys can spell ‘harassment.’ I’d love the publicity. Maybe it’ll get some people in to see this fiasco of a vanity project.”

“Hey!” Feldoni shouted.

“Leave now, Detective.” Verte bent down, picked up his baseball cap, and pulled it back on his head. “I’ve got a movie to wrap up.”