Twisted Hunger (21 page)

Nate kept repeating how things in Hollywood had changed from the old days, and Brandon knew he was right. While he was getting the most out of his popularity, a lot of the hot shots were using their fame to support politically correct causes. If he jumped on one of those bandwagons, he might be able to network with some of the new decision makers in the industry.

The idea sounded boring as hell to Brandon, but he was falling fast and needed to grab onto something before he hit bottom.

Since several celebrities he knew had gotten a lot of publicity by supporting AIDS research, he figured that could be his cause also. Nate thought it might work in spite of his history of well-publicized promiscuity. He warned him that he might have to tone down his fun a little, but it would only be short-term.

To his dismay, however, Brandon immediately discovered that it was nearly impossible to support AIDS research and simultaneously avoid all contact with homosexuals. Ten minutes in the same room with Gregory Yates and his troop of butt-buddies had his skin itching.

Again, Nate had given him the answer he needed. He could support a popular cause, yet remain separated from it, by supporting a popular politician who supported the cause. He hadn’t been able to figure that one out until he saw good ol’ Elle on television and confirmed that she was now working for the senator.

He figured if he could latch on to her for a while, not only would it clean up his personal image, he could become part of the shining circle around the next vice president. Nate had told him to go for it.

Apparently Nate had known what he was talking about. One night of being seen with “the right people” had generated an audition call for a role in a feature film with the hottest new female star in Hollywood.

He supposed he shouldn’t have jeopardized his relationship with Elle by making a pass at Diane, or whatever its name really was, but that was Elle’s fault. He hadn’t been laid in a week and she was acting like she was some kind of virgin.

Hell, he remembered the time they did it in a carnival house of mirrors while it was filled with people. Or was that the other redhead he was dating when he met Elle? He shrugged it off. He had quit trying to remember their names and faces years ago.

Hopefully,
Diane
wouldn’t tell on him, but even if the he-she did, Brandon had no doubt he could fix things with Elle if he had to.

What he was really hoping for though, was to get the part in that movie, then Ellery and the he-she could both go fuck themselves.

Chapter 12

Luke awoke Wednesday morning with the same questions in his head that he’d gone to sleep pondering. He had no idea what he was supposed to do next, and yet he felt compelled to do
something
. Until he figured out what, however, he decided to stay in Sacramento.

If nothing else came to him, he supposed he could have another go at Ellery. The worst that could happen was that she might get a restraining order against him for bothering her.

Fear of rejection wasn’t the main reason for staying away from her office, however. His primary motivation for avoidance was the fear of running into her boss again. If Theodore Jones was The Eye Doctor, Luke had already attracted more attention from his brother than he should have.

Terrell had made it very clear that the keys to investigating a prominent person were discretion and subtlety, and Luke had intended to abide by that if at all possible. He had never intended to walk up to Jones, reintroduce himself and remind him that he was a friend of the detective investigating a murder that his brother may have committed. But since it happened, he couldn’t go back and change it. He could only be more careful in the future.

As was his habit, he spent the first hour of his day jogging around the neighborhood. Then, after getting cleaned up, he had breakfast at a nearby coffee shop that advertised itself as a Wi-Fi hot spot. There he bought a Danish for a pretty lady in exchange for five minutes of using her laptop. It took no time at all to confirm that the exact dates of the California State Young Republicans Convention twenty-one years ago coincided with the murder he’d witnessed. He was feeling more certain about his theory by the minute.

Beside the coffee shop was a full-service beauty salon with a sign in the window that caught his attention. They offered people the opportunity to see what they would look like in different hair colors and styles with the help of a computer program.

He hurried back to the motel room, picked up the serious photo of Jones and returned to the salon.

“I know this sounds crazy,” he said, turning on his charm for the manager. “But I have a friend who played a really rotten practical joke on me, and I’m trying to get him back. Could you use your computer to put a woman’s hairdo on this man?”

The manager laughed aloud when she recognized the senator. “Tell me what you plan to do with it and I’ll think about it.”

Luke’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m going to set my friend up on a blind date.”

She shook her finger at him. “Your friend may never forgive you.”

Luke grinned. “He deserves it, believe me.”

“Well then, maybe I can help.” In a conspiratorial voice, she added, “But if anyone asks, I’ll deny that we had anything to do with it.”

Winking, he used the same tone. “Mum’s the word, ma’am.”

Her eyes said she thought he was adorable, and his smile broadened for her.

“We’re not too busy this morning,” she said. “If you’re not in a big rush, and you’re willing to spend ten dollars more, our nail tech could do a little fine art on his face to make it look like he’s wearing makeup.”

Luke had been hoping she wouldn’t throw him out of her shop. Having her assistance was definitely worth the extra ten dollars plus a nice tip.

An hour later, every woman in the salon was in on the “joke” and looking at Luke with personal interest. But with Ellery’s face still fresh in his mind, and most of that mind preoccupied with The Eye Doctor, dating wasn’t anywhere on this week’s program.

The end result of the project was phenomenal. No one would ever guess the attractive woman in the photograph was a man, let alone the well-known senator, sporting a hairstyle similar to the one the police artist had put on the aged image of the psycho whore. If it wasn’t totally illogical, he might even think the killer was the senator himself. No one in such a public position could hide a secret like that for over two decades. Whereas his stuttering, shy, pushed-aside, nearly identical yet older brother would have few problems leading a double life. He existed in his brother’s shadow, not a bad place for a psychopath to hide.

Luke paid for an extra print to send to Terrell, profusely thanked the ladies for their help then headed back to his room with one more piece of evidence for his case against Theodore Roosevelt Jones, alias The Eye Doctor.

He had previously come to the conclusion that Terrell would need a mountain of proof before giving credence to Luke’s theory. However, after running into Jones and having him recall his connection to Terrell, it occurred to him that as he continued to pursue hard evidence against the senator’s brother, his life could be put in jeopardy. If something fatal happened to him, he wanted Terrell to know why—and who was the likeliest suspect.

After trimming off the motel stationery’s masthead, he wrote Terrell a note, telling him about the dates and locations that he’d been able to compare so far, then took it and the photo to the main branch of the Sacramento post office to mail in one of their generic priority mail envelopes, with no return address. Under no circumstances did he want Terrell to know exactly where he was staying for fear the big guy would be tempted to personally escort him back to Charlotte.

* * *

“Ms. Oliver is here, sir,” Ellery announced over the intercom while smiling at Diane.

“Very good. Have her come in.”

As she led the way, Ellery told Diane, “It looks like I might be able to leave at a reasonable hour today. Before he got the call to return to L.A., Brandon and I were planning to see the new Schwarzenegger movie. How do you feel about men who can leap tall buildings and yet have bigger breasts than you?”

“You just described my fantasy date. Count me in.”

“Miss Winters?” the senator called before she could close the door behind Diane. “Could you please have someone run downstairs to my car? I filled the gas tank last night and I think I left my wallet on the front seat.”

“Certainly.” She took the keys he held out to her then went back to her desk. She was about to buzz for a runner when she remembered the promise she’d made to Brevowski in their last conversation. With all the things that had been going on, she nearly forgot about his “suggestion” that she check on the senator in more personal ways.

Rather than delegate the errand, she went down to the parking garage herself. After letting the security guard know what she was doing, she headed for the senator’s white Chrysler sedan with the tinted windows. As she unlocked the door on the driver’s side, she tried to think the way a spy might.

First, she agreed with Brevowski that it was definitely unusual for a man in the senator’s position to insist on driving himself around so often, regardless of what she’d said at the time.

Second, she considered his choice of automobile terribly ordinary for someone of his stature. She would have thought he’d at least drive a big, black Cadillac or something equally prestigious and official-looking. His car looked like thousands of others on the road. On the other hand, if she were someone famous who liked to drive herself around to unwind, she might also pick a very inconspicuous car.

The wallet wasn’t on the seat, so she slid inside to check the floor. It was there, on the passenger’s side, but now that she was in the car, she knew she had to take the opportunity to check it out thoroughly.

The mileage odometer attested to the fact that the senator loved to drive. Although the car was barely a year old, it had over thirty thousand miles on it already. Of course, frequent trips between Sacramento and his residence in Sausalito and Vivian’s parents’ home in Santa Monica could account for that.

In the door pockets were maps of Sacramento, San Francisco, Los Angeles and the states of California and Nevada. They had all been used often enough to be frayed along the folds. The glove compartment contained the usual ownership papers and manuals, and there was nothing else anywhere inside the car, not even loose change under the seats.

She was about to get out when she realized she was holding something very personal of the senator’s—his wallet. Her conscience fled into hiding as she opened the leather billfold. A piece of folded note paper fell onto her lap. Everything else in the wallet was ordinary items that belonged there. She made herself unfold the paper and saw that it was a phone number with a Los Angeles area code.

It probably belonged to a colleague who had run out of business cards or something else just as easily explained, but she knew a good spy wouldn’t ignore it. She committed the number to memory, then put it back in the wallet the way she’d found it.

The only thing left to check was the trunk, and again she had to hush her conscience before going ahead with what she had promised to do. As soon as she opened the trunk lid a foul smell entered her nostrils. It took her a moment to realize that it reminded her of biology class and dissecting frogs. It was the unmistakable odor of formaldehyde.

Upon closer inspection, she could tell that the flat floor of the trunk had a slightly different shade of gray carpet than what was on the raised portions. There was no way of knowing for sure, but she deduced that the original piece of carpet must have been damaged and replaced very recently. She congratulated herself on being observant, but her discovery was hardly grounds to suspect Jones of treasonous activities.

Because she was so observant, she noticed that whoever had done the job on the carpet hadn’t been very meticulous. One corner was loose and slightly buckled. She pressed her fingers to the edge to try to straighten it and felt something underneath that was preventing it from lying flat.

Careful not to pull up more of the carpet than was already detached, she lifted the edge to see what was beneath. What she saw made no sense. It was a California license plate. She compared the numbers to those on the tag on the rear of the car to see if it was a duplicate, but they didn’t match.