Riverstar (3) (15 page)

“Her sister?” asked Peter.

“Yeah, apparently her twin sister is her manager or something like that. Said her sister’d be lost without all the money she makes in
the movies. Then, she said something about how she had a best
friend for a while but they’d gotten in a fight because the friend accused her of taking something that didn’t belong to her.”

“Do you know who she was talking about?” asked Peter.

“Well, I asked her, ‘cause by now I was real curious and I’m
hanging on every word—it’s like watching a show, you know, and my life’s pretty boring. So I asked and she said, ‘You ever read in the
papers about Jocelyn Zinn?’ And I said, ‘That the one accused of running a
brothel?’ And she nodded in the affirmative. I started feeling embarrassed given the fact I would never have gone to a place like that because of my wife Myrtle, but I know they exist and
everything.”

“What did she say next?” asked Bella, horrified and curious at the same time.

“She said Madam Zinn was her roommate at rehab and they became best friends, until she accused Tiffany of taking her customer book and blackmailing some of the men who are in it.”

Both Peter and Bella stared at him. This was motive. Blackmail? She could only imagine the list of names in that customer book.

“I told her a nice girl like her should stay away from anything
like that and find a nice man to marry. And she said she had a
boyfriend but he was married. And I told her to run away from that as fast as she could. Nothing good could come from seeing a married man, I told her. Then I told her a story about one of my customers getting bludgeoned to death by a jealous husband one night a few years back. But she was the type of girl who doesn’t listen. You know the type?” He said this to Peter, as if it were only something another man would understand.

Peter nodded, serious, and then wrote something in his pad
before looking up, his placid expression suddenly animated. “How loud was she talking? Could the suits hear her, you think?”

Spike looked at the counter, thinking. “She talked loud for sure. However, the jukebox was playing so I’m not sure if they could hear her or not.”

“Do you remember if they seemed agitated at all when she was talking about the blackmail stuff?”

“Can’t say I noticed.”

“Could you describe the men to me?”

“Clean cut. Military-looking haircuts. Like secret service types
for the president or something.”

“Did you tell the other cops all this same information?”

Spike looked blank for a moment. “No, matter of fact, they never asked much about Tiffany. Those two buffoons didn’t know which
end was up. They just wanted to know if I’d seen the man who
picked her up in the parking lot.”

“Did you?”

He nodded, picking up a towel from under the counter and
rolling it into a ball. “I didn’t want her to drive in her state,
especially
because I’m liable now for over-serving. But when I tried to get her to stay and let me call someone to pick her up, like her sister, I
suggested, she got furious and threw her empty shot glasses at me. Knocked
down three bottles of booze.” He pointed to the shelf behind him.
“Yep, went totally crazy like a mama bear surprised in the forest, I swear to Jesus. Next, she came up over the bar and pushed me so hard I fell back, knocking a bunch of glasses to the floor. After she practically demolished my bar, she charged out the front door, making this
clacking sound in those shoes of hers. It took me a minute to
recover—I
ain’t young, you know—anyway, after I got up, I ran out the
backdoor to try and stop her at the pass but by then there was the young man
who works for Hylink
—
I recognized him from his photo in the
paper when they announced the call center coming here—offering her a ride. Once I saw he had it under control, I came on inside. Can’t trust folks these days not to help themselves to a couple of drinks while I’m gone.”

“Okay, just one more thing,” said Peter. “Can you describe to me exactly what you saw in the parking lot?”

Spike proceeded to describe what he saw. It matched Ben’s story almost perfectly.

After Spike finished, Peter handed him his card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“You’re with the Seattle cops?” said Spike. “What’re you doing down here?”

“Making sure an innocent man doesn’t get blamed because of faulty police work,” said Peter.

“You sure you two don’t want a beer?” asked Spike.

“Not today, Spike,” said Bella, putting her hand on top of his rough one. “But I’ll come back. I promise.”

“Say hi to Annie for me.”

“Will do.”

***

In Peter’s car, they sat for a moment, taking in what they’d just
learned. After a moment, Peter took out his phone. “Jocelyn Zinn,
right? Yeah, here it is.” He shook the phone in the air, almost triumphantly. “Rumored Madam is what the press calls her.”

“There’s no rumor about it in Hollywood. I’m sure that little
black book of hers was filled with half the actors and two-thirds of the elected officials in Los Angeles. But seriously, I can’t imagine Tiffany was doing this. For one thing, where is the money? Sabrina said they were broke.”

“The industrious Miss Zinn’s been arrested a bunch for refusing
to give up her client list. Could make her angry enough to kill if she
thought, even erroneously, that Tiffany took it and was blackmailing some of these guys.”

“Which means we have yet another suspect,” said Bella. “What do we do next?”

“Let’s go back to Drake’s and tell Ben what we learned. Should give him some peace of mind.”

On the way, Bella’s phone rang.

“Bella, it’s Sabrina.”

“Oh, Sabrina, I’ve been worried about you. Did you get my message?”

“No. My phone’s so full I haven’t been able to sift through
anything. I’ve just been sitting in my hotel room staring at my hands.
I can’t believe she’s gone. And the police are saying she was raped. Her room was torn apart too, like someone was looking for
something.” Her voice broke. There was the sound of tears on the other end of the phone. “I can’t stop thinking about her final moments.”

“Oh, Sabrina, don’t think about that. You’ll make yourself
crazy.”

“I’m glad our parents aren’t alive to see any of this.”

She glanced at Peter and mouthed, “Sister.”

He nodded, understanding.

“Bella, the cops told me they brought Ben in for questioning.”

The wipers were on intermittent. Rain fell steadily, causing the window to blur until the wipers wiped them clean. She fiddled with the car vents, moving the lever up and down. “Yes.”

“I told them how nice he’d been to pick her up outside the bar and that he didn’t seem the type, what little I knew of him, to be
violent. But they didn’t seem to believe that. Bella, they seem like
complete idiots. Or worse, not on the up and up.”

“I know. Ben’s scared and so am I. We had a friend come down
from Seattle. He’s a detective, Sabrina, with the Seattle Police Department. He’s helping me poke around a bit.”

She heard Sabrina sigh. “You have no idea how much better I feel to hear you say this. I want whoever did this brought to justice. Do you think your friend can help us do that?”

“They say he’s the best.” She glanced over at Peter. He reminded her of the Australian actor Simon Baker, only younger. Had anyone ever told him that?

“Will you come see me? I feel so friendless here and the press and paparazzi are swarming the hotel. I’m like a trapped animal in
here.
Maybe I could tell your cop friend something that would be
helpful?”

“Of course, we’ll come.”

“Now?”

She made eye contact with Peter who nodded in the affirmative. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

Bella filled him in on what she knew about Tiffany’s financial situation, according to what Sabrina had told her the night before. At the lodge, they parked in visitor parking. Sabrina was right. Every
big and small news station, magazine, and newspaper seemed to be represented. As they walked past the vans and cameras and reporters wearing heavy coats and sipping coffees, several of the
reporters gave them the once over, but clearly decided they were no one important and turned away.

The lobby was quiet; the two front desk people nodded in their direction as they walked past the desk to the elevators. There was no one in the elevator or the hallway. All the movie folks were inside their rooms, thought Bella, probably in shock over the news and also hiding out from the press.

Sabrina answered the door wearing one of the lodge robes. Her hair was dirty and she wore no makeup, making her crimson scar seem more vivid than usual. Bella’s hands itched, wishing she could dim it with foundation and powder. But Sabrina had never let her do her makeup, refusing to attend any public events with her sister. “I don’t want to deal with the stares,” she had said once.

The two women embraced; Bella held her tightly for a moment before releasing her. There was an open bottle of wine on the table. Bella looked at her with surprise. “I’ve never seen you drink.”

“I don’t really. Well, I never wanted to in case it made it harder
for Tiffany. But today I just felt like it. Would either of you like
some?” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Sabrina Archer.” She held out her hand to Peter.

“No thanks on the wine,” said Peter, shaking her hand.

“Me either,” said Bella. She needed one. But she’d wait until she was back at Drake’s. She thought of Ben then, at home with Drake and Annie, probably scared out of his mind. How could this be happening? What had Tiffany Archer done to her life? This was the inevitable question. What was it that had made her self-destructive? Early fame as Stefan had suggested? Or something deeper, some seed of madness that lay in wait, dormant until the cruelties of the world made it bloom and take root? Why else would someone as talented and privileged as Tiffany Archer destroy her life? Not that she deserved to be murdered and raped, of course.

The three of them sat in the easy chairs in the sitting room.
Sabrina, seeming to have forgotten her wine, folded and unfolded her hands, alternately staring at the gas fireplace and the ceiling. “I’ve arranged for her body to be sent back to Los Angeles after the coroner’s done with her. She wanted to be cremated. We talked about it once.”

“Will you have a memorial for her?” asked Bella. “I could help you, if you need it.”

“No, I don’t think so. We have no family.” Sabrina pulled on her
unwashed hair. “She did good work, you know, when she was
clean.”

“Sabrina, she was talented and respected by many in the
industry. No one can take that away from her. Or you,” added Bella.

“But all anyone will remember is her drug use and that she was
murdered. This is the legacy she’ll leave. Not her body of work.”
Sabrina picked at a bandage around her thumb.

“What happened to your thumb?” asked Bella.

“I cut it yesterday. In the afternoon. Opening a box for Tiffany.
New shoes she had sent up from her favorite boutique in Beverly Hills.” She fiddled further with the bandage. “Seems like a million years ago now.” Sabrina turned her gaze to Peter. “I’d give anything
to know the truth. Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind. I need to know what happened. Do you find this to be true for all victims’ loved ones?” She asked it almost clinically, as if she were conducting a survey for scientific study.

“I do.”

“No matter how horrific the end?” asked Sabrina.

“Right,” said Peter.

And then, there it was. The memory of Drake sitting with Peter in his Seattle home after Esther and Chloe were murdered. Drake
had asked for every detail. “Tell me exactly.” After Peter told him every detail, he’d asked for it again. This had surprised Bella. Might it be too painful for him to know? But she understood later he wanted to measure the suffering in their final moments. They hadn’t known what was happening, Peter Ball had told him over and over.
It was too quick. This had given them both a small amount of peace.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” asked Peter.

“Of course,” said Sabrina. “Anything. Not that I’ll be much
help.”

“Tiffany told Ben Fleck you two had a fight. Bella tells me you said that wasn’t the case. But do you have any idea what might have triggered her binge drinking?”

Sabrina’s eyes went cold; she waved her hands around
dismissively.
“Anything could trigger her binges. She didn’t take her sobriety seriously. Thought it was something the rest of us were manufacturing, this idea she actually had a problem. She saw it as
partying.” She made quotes in the air. “‘I’m young,’ she always said to me. ‘I have every right to be out having fun whenever I want.’ Which might have been the case if she could have kept it from spiraling out of control. But she couldn’t. She was an addict.”

Peter hesitated; he tugged on his ear. Bella could see his mind working behind his green eyes, debating about whether or not to tell Sabrina what they’d learned from Spike. “Did Tiffany tell you much about her last stint in rehab?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“Did she tell you who her neighbor was?”

Sabrina smiled, reaching for her glass of wine but not drinking
from it, merely holding it in her hands and studying its contents. “Yes. Jocelyn Zinn. Of course, Tiffany would befriend her. She had radar for other self-destructive people. Attracted and attached to them time and time again. The two of them were best friends for a
month or so,
spending every minute together shopping or lunching. But then they had a falling out, which is the inevitable path for all Tiffany’s friendships.”