“No, Charlie did. I stepped out for some ice, and the SOB pulled a gun on me by the vending machines. We went back to my room, and he conked me on the head. But what he didn’t know is that Nick Brock has one hell of a thick skull. While I was down, he started to torch the place. So I jumped up, punched him in the throat, grabbed his wallet and keys, and got the hell out. The joint was already on fire.”
“And you left him there to burn to death?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I feel really bad about it too. I mean, hell, lady, check out what this bozo did to me.” He bowed his head and parted a clump of hair to reveal a fresh, ugly scab. “You ought to feel this bump. The guy was trying to ice me, for Pete’s sake. Go ahead, feel it.”
“That’s okay. I’ll take your word.”
“I checked out his apartment. Lots of expensive shit: a big-screen TV, state-of-the-art computer, jacuzzi in the can, the works. Yet the guy lived like a pig. The place was a sty. And old Charlie had a stash of porn tapes and magazines that would curl your hair. Real kinky stuff. I kept only a couple of the videos. The rest, forget about it. Too out there, even for Nick.”
Sean glared at him. “During this
He nodded. “With the porn stash, I found some Polaroids he’d taken of naked hookers. And this was among them.” Nick pulled a photo out of his vest pocket. “I’m not sure I should show you, honey. It’s of Charlie Stample— with Tony Katz after they finished with him. It’s pretty sickening.”
“Give,” Sean said, her palm out. But as soon as he handed her the color snapshot, she regretted even glimpsing it. Like a proud hunter, Charlie Stample grinned for the camera and held Tony’s head back by the scalp so his face was visible. Tony’s eyes were open in a dead stare. The handsome movie star had been stripped naked and tied to a tree. Lacerations covered his limp body, and long streaks of blood ran down his chest, torso, and legs. It looked as if his genitals had been mutilated. Charlie Stample brandished a pistol in his other hand, and aimed it at Tony Katz in a jocular fashion.
“Oh, my God,” Sean muttered in horror.
“Still feel bad about good ole’ Charlie the Crispy Critter?”
Handing the Polaroid back to him, Sean quickly shook her head.
Nick tucked the photo back inside his pocket. “I combed through his place, but couldn’t find an address book. I don’t know who his buddies are.”
“I have some names from the old woman across the street,” Sean said. “She gave me a lot of useful information about her neighbors. Mrs. Bender picks up the mail for this group.”
“Mrs. Bender? You mean the heifer with the two brats?” Nick asked.
Sean winced. “You’re really offensive, you know that?”
Nick chuckled. “Oh, a tough classy broad, just like Dayle Sutton.”
“Dayle’s not so tough. In fact, she was pretty broken up over your premature demise. God knows why. But she actually cried.”
He smiled. “Really? Well, let’s not mend her broken heart just yet. These jokers have somebody working close to Dayle. I’m better off if she thinks I’m toes up.” He nodded up ahead at the LeBaron. “Guess that’s as good a place as any to ditch his car. I’ve been driving it around since yesterday morning, scared shitless someone would mistake me for Charlie. I high-tailed out of town after the fire. Came back this morning to watch the post office. I had a hunch about you when I saw you hanging around—”
“Heads up,” Sean said.
Vicki Bender emerged from the house with the bundle of mail. She said something to the two children, then headed into her station wagon.
“Looks like she’s going to make her delivery,” Sean murmured, starting up the car. “I can’t believe she’s leaving those two kids alone.”
“Oh, you missed it,” Nick said. “About twenty minutes ago, while you were with Grandma, this older kid came home on his bike. Mama met him at the front door, and jumped on his skinny ass about something. From what I could hear, the twerp was supposed to baby-sit for the other two brats.”
Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, let Mama go for half a block, then start to follow. It’s how I tailed you.”
Sean let out an exasperated sigh, but took his advice. She watched Vicki Bender back out of the driveway. Then she followed a safe distance behind the station wagon. She wished Avery were with her now—instead of this rude, cheese-ball detective. Wherever he was, Avery had to be worried about her. She hated leaving Dayle in the dark too.
“You know,” she said, watching Mrs. Bender’s station wagon. “If I don’t get in touch with Dayle by tomorrow morning, she’s sending in the FBI.”
Nick let out a defiant laugh. “Tomorrow morning? Listen, counselor, the shit’s going to hit the fan a hell of a lot sooner than tomorrow morning. Let’s just try to survive the evening, okay?”
Sean studied him in the rearview mirror for a moment. Then she nodded, because she knew he was right.
Dayle listened to the answering machine in her study while she slipped off her shoes. Leaning over her desk, she lowered the volume on the machine. She didn’t want Ted hearing if Sean came on. He was getting comfortable in the guest room down the hall. So far, there were three messages from studio publicity people. Dayle skipped ahead to the next:
She quickly grabbed a pen. Jonathan’s gravelly voice somehow managed to sound unmasculine; on the phone he could have been mistaken for a brash old aunt who smoked too much. “I just flew back into town today and got your message. It’s funny too, because I saw you on the E-Channel Friday night, giving a fabulous pro-gay speech, and next to you is one of the biggest homophobic assholes I’ve ever met. I’m talking about Teddy Kovak. It’s true, he worked for Gil, but—well, I’m just surprised you hired him. Anyway, I’m home tonight, so give a buzz….”
Dayle dialed the number on her cordless, then glanced down the hall. Ted’s door was open a crack. She heard a toilet flushing.
“Hello?”
“Jonathan?” Dayle whispered. “Hi. It’s Dayle Sutton.”
“Well, hello there, Dayle. You got my call back?”
“Yes, thanks.” She ducked into the study again, and closed the door. “I’m not sure I understood your message. Ted was Gil Palarmo’s personal bodyguard for nearly a year, yet you say he’s homophobic?”
A robust laugh came over the line. “Did Picasso paint? Of course, it took old Ted a while to figure Gil out. At first, he believed that ladies’-man routine Gil sold to the public. Plus Gil always had these bimbo groupies following him around, and he gave Ted his pick of the harem. If not for those fringe benefits, I think Ted might have quit, because after a spell, like I say, he realized he wasn’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. And let me tell you, he didn’t try to hide his contempt for Gil and the rest of us.”
“Why didn’t Gil fire him?” Dayle asked in a hushed tone.
“Oh, we were having way too much fun teasing him. Gil used to flirt with Ted, drove him crazy!” Again, Jonathan bellowed that husky laugh. “I mean, Ted wasn’t hard to look at, and we delighted in getting a rise out of him. He was so uptight, so easy to piss off.”
“Then Gil just had him around for laughs?” Dayle whispered.
“No, Teddy was good,” Jonathan said. “He knew his business. Gil hired him in the first place because he’d had a bad brush with the mob. They wanted Gil to sing in certain clubs, and he wouldn’t play ball. Ted knew how they might get past all the security in Gil’s penthouse undetected, where they could plant bugging devices or a bomb, how to tap a phone line. He knew everything there was to know about surveillance. I tell you, if Ted was working on the other side, Gil would have been a goner.”
A knock came upon the door. It gave her Dayle a start. She hadn’t heard any footsteps. “Just a sec,” she whispered into the phone. Then she opened the door. Ted had changed into a pair of khakis and a T-shirt. He also sported a shoulder holster and gun. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I was going to order Chinese. Do you want some?”
