Obsession

“Or one killing took everything out of her,” said Petra.

Milo said, “Watching a guy fade out could dampen your enthusiasm.”

I said, “And prey on your mind forever. Shortly after Bandini’s death, she moved to Culver Boulevard, a big comedown. Right after, Tanya came to me for the second time. She talked about Patty being nervous, cleaning compulsively in the middle of the night.”

“Anxiety,” said Petra.

“Part of the move could’ve been moving away from Pete’s sphere of operations but maybe there was an element of self-punishment, as well. Eventually, she made some kind of peace with it. Then a decade later, Pete reincarnated as Blaise De Paine shows up in her E.R., recognizes her, tells her something that frightens her. I’ve been assuming verbal menacing of Tanya but what if De Paine threatened to expose her for Bandini’s murder?”

“‘I know what you did that summer’?” said Petra. “But De Paine and Patty were the only two people aware of what happened and self-preservation shut both their mouths. So why would De Paine shake that up?”

“He’s gotten away with crimes his entire life, is impulsive and egotistical enough to think he’s invulnerable. Coming face-to-face with Patty triggered his mouth, he couldn’t resist harassing her. It brought back all those memories she’d fought hard to bury. And terrified her. If De Paine chose to incriminate her, her life would fall apart. Everything she’d worked for would be history. Or even worse, it’s possible De Paine decided to take revenge by coming after her and Tanya. Maybe she tried to ward him off with a counterthreat. ‘I know what you did that summer-the missing girls’-and he laughed it off. She realized he was a total sociopath, couldn’t be counted on to be careful.”

“Risky move bringing up the girls,” said Milo. “Be easier just to shoot him.”

“But when De Paine showed up in the E.R., he wasn’t alone. Patty may have eliminated a hungry speed freak but stalking and murdering three apparent bad guys was way out of her league. Maybe she even contemplated ways to do it. But then she got sick. As a nurse, she knew she had very little time left, had to prioritize getting Tanya’s future in order. Once she did that-when her strength had waned to almost nothing-she tried to warn Tanya. Refused her pain meds so she could cling to consciousness. She managed to direct Tanya to me, but I was a stop along the way. It was you she wanted involved.”

“Aw, shucks,” said Milo, grimacing. “Getting terminally ill right after being reminded of your big sin, a religious person could see that as divine retribution. What was Patty’s take on faith?”

“We never discussed it,” I said. “But whatever views she started off with, knowing death is imminent changes everything. She had so much to do in so little time, struggled to sort out what to tell Tanya. Whatever her cognitive state, her worries stayed with her because she was obsessive. Pinpricks in a fading brain.”

He winced at the image.

Petra said, “As she’s trying to figure it out, Tanya brings her those magazines, she leafs through, spots De Paine hobnobbing. That could’ve been seen as Cosmic Fate. She decides to tell Tanya about the terrible thing with an eye to warning her, but is too sick to get it all out?”

“That and she didn’t want Tanya handling it alone.”

“She sows, we reap.”

Milo said, “Let’s talk about Brandy and Roxy. Two girls vanish from a nice neighborhood without being missed?”

Petra said, “I put a call in to Stark’s father, haven’t heard back. Stark Junior does seem to be right about no MP report being filed. So what do we do now, put an ad out about two strippers who haven’t been seen for a decade? Girls in that business can lead transient lives. Maybe they did move out in the middle of the night-escaping debt. Left the Vette behind for the same reason. For all we know, the car was days from the repo man.”

“Maybe they weren’t strippers,” I said. “Became Mary Whitbread’s tenants through a work connection.”

“Porn actresses.”

“It would explain the irregular hours.”

“Daytime shoots,” said Milo, “and nighttime’s the right time for some extra-cash escorting. Being a Hollywood person, you know anyone in the biz, kiddo?”

Petra said, “Hey, that’s Valley stuff.”

“If the two of them made films ten years ago,” I said, “they might be listed on some video Web site.”

“Ah,” said Milo. “The rigors of research.”

Petra said, “I don’t think I should do that on the department computer. Things are so jumpy around here since Fortuno went into protective that even a righteous porn search is going to look sleazy.”

I said, “Speaking of which, Fortuno might remember the girls.”

Petra pulled out S.A. Wanamaker’s card, punched the number. Hung up. “Disconnected. If I have time, I’ll try his superiors and if that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to Stu. But my gut says the Feebies have cooperated as much as they’re going to. You guys mind surfing a few dirty sites?”

“I’d do it,” said Milo, “but my delicate constitution and all that. Also, there’s actual detecto-stuff I’d like to try, like harassing various Vice personnel around town to find out if Brandy and Roxy ever got busted on their turf.”

They both looked at me.

“Sure,” I said.

“Hey,” said Milo, “if you enjoy it, all the better.”

At seven thirty, I took Robin out to a quiet dinner at the Pacific Dining Car in Santa Monica. By nine, we were back.

She said, “Want to play Scrabble or something?”

I said, “Sorry, got to look at filthy pictures.”

Vivacious Videos’ Web site had logged five million viewers during the last three months. Videos and DVDs on sale, special offers if I acted NOW!

User-friendly site, just plug in the names and catch an eyeful.

Brandee Vixen and Rocksi Roll had co-starred in eleven movies, all girl-on-girl, filmed during a one-year period.

Ten years ago.

The films were classified as “old-school classics.” The director and producer were proud enough to list their names.

Darrel Dollar and Benjamin Baranelli, respectively. Maybe Baranelli wasn’t a pseudonym.

His name pulled up twelve hits and three images. Little knob-nosed, white-haired man in his seventies, presenting the award for best oral scene at the Adult Film Convention in Las Vegas to a six-foot blonde in pigtails.

She was topless. Baranelli wore an amethyst velvet dinner jacket, tomato-red turtleneck, chest medallion the size of a dessert plate, and grotesquely wide denture smile.

I switched to various yellow-page sites. No business listing under Baranelli’s name. I tried 818 information on a lark, was stunned to get a residential hit.

Baranelli, Benjamin A., Tarzana, no address.

A wheezy, dry old man’s voice answered, “Yeah?”

I rattled off a fast, ambiguous introduction, threw in Brandee and Rocksi’s names.

Baranelli said, “Finally you idiots do something.”

“Which-”

“You cops. They were gorgeous girls, what, they just walked off the face of the earth? I called, over and over, got nowhere. Because of jobism.”

“Jobism?”

“Discrimination cause by what they did for a living. This was some so-called straight actress who sucked cock and did weekly bukkake to get her sitcom job and then pretended she was born without a pussy, the SWAT team woulda come out in force. You guys are fucking puritan hypocrites.”

“What can you tell me about-”

“I can tell you those girls had a bright career. No way-no fucking way-would they just boogie off and not tell me. We did a film a month, each one doubled the gross of the last, they were making good