“Yeah, Trembley, maybe she did,” Jessie shot back, feeling her patience dwindling. “And maybe we could have asked her about that if you didn’t imply she was a frickin’ psycho to her face. But now we have to wait some indeterminate period before she’s calm enough to talk again. By then, all our leads could be cold.”
“I admit that I screwed up,” he said, not sounding all that apologetic. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she had motive and opportunity. She’s unaccounted for during the window of death.”
In his frustration, he was riding the accelerator as they zipped along the pothole-strewn mountain road that skirted along the outskirts of Elysian Park.
“First of all, slow down,” Jessie ordered. “I’d prefer not to crash before we solve this case. Second, if we’re talking motive and opportunity, I can think of four people that we know were on the studio lot at the same time Corinne was killed. Maybe we eliminate them before fixating on the girl curled up in the corkboard-lined safe room. Besides, she has no discernible connection to the producer whose name was scrawled on the victim’s makeup mirror.”
Trembley, who had slowed down considerably, took a long breath. When he spoke, he sounded more controlled.
“I can’t explain that. But one thing’s for sure. Beth or Petra, or whatever her name is, may be unstable. But she’s not stupid. She admitted to following industry news. Surely she knows who Boatwright is. It’s not totally out there to think she wrote his name on the mirror to throw us off the scent. Come on, Jessie, you’re already eliminating her when she’s as credible a suspect as anyone else.”
Jessie was about to argue but stopped and took a moment to step back. Trembley was right. Though she hadn’t officially dismissed Petra/Beth as a suspect, in her head, she’d moved her to the back of the line. That kind of assumption was exactly the sort of thing Ryan would have given her a hard time for.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been so skeptical. Let’s play out the thread on her. We’ll check her phone data, talk to local cab companies, review footage from outside the main entrance of the studio. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ll happily concede it could be her if you acknowledge that it could easily be any of the other folks we’ve been looking into. Fair?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Good,” Jessie said. “Then let’s get out of our own way and get back to interviewing people who can actually shed some light on this thing.”
“Great idea,” Trembley said. “Next on our list was Jake Morant, her new agent. We still want to visit him now?”
“Sure,” Jessie said. “The only thing I like more than talking to an old, fading agent is talking to a young, grasping one. Glad I had a light breakfast.”
*
Jake Morant didn’t seem to care that he was a cliché.
Even before they met him, Jessie was getting a major snake oil vibe from the guy. His office was in a towering West Hollywood office building at the corner of Sunset and Doheny, just blocks from legendary nightclubs like the Viper Room and Whiskey-A-Go-Go.
After they rode up twenty floors, the elevator opened directly into the offices of Creative Talent Associates, which took up the entire floor. After announcing themselves, Jessie and Trembley were quickly ushered into a small, secluded room. Jessie suspected it was because the presence of the LAPD in the reception area of a fancy agency wasn’t the look CTA was after.
It didn’t take long for them to be escorted to Morant’s office. The young assistant leading the way down the gleaming hall overlooking the Hollywood Hills moved shockingly fast, considering her four-inch heels. Jessie tried to keep up but found that the effort made her shoulder wince and her back cringe. She slowed down and let Trembley move ahead of her. The assistant knocked on the door, waited for the booming shout of “enter,” and opened the door.
Jake Morant, seated behind a massive mahogany desk and wearing a headset that he quickly ripped off, popped out of his chair like a jackrabbit and animatedly welcomed them in.
“Thanks so much for coming,” he exclaimed as if they were there to take an industry meeting, before turning to the assistant and saying in a mock whisper, “No interruptions, please, Jenna.”
Jake Morant was the antithesis of Phil Reinhold. Trim and sharply dressed in a navy suit, the guy was slightly built but looked