chance. Having said all that, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked, noting how convenient it would be for him if they were.
“I hadn’t seen Corinne once since she started shooting on the lot. I even paid a guy in the commissary to let me know when she ate there so I wouldn’t accidentally bump into her. I know my name was on that mirror in her trailer and I can’t explain that. But I think you’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right question?” Trembley wanted to know.
“How did she get that job on the new Marauder in the first place? Her career was in the crapper. She had a poisonous reputation. How did she convince a major studio to invest millions into a reboot of a tired franchise? And who might that have pissed off?”
“We already know about the Bad Boys list, Mr. Boatwright,” Jessie said. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said though he barely attempted to sound convincing.
“Are you on it?” she followed up.
“No, I’m not,” he said.
Jessie almost smiled at the brazenness of him denying being on a list that he supposedly didn’t know existed. She pressed on.
“So you think she was murdered because she got the role in this latest movie and that it had nothing to do with what happened when she was cast in your film a decade ago?”
“I don’t know anything definitively. But Corinne was ambitious, willing to do what it took to get back in the limelight. I wasn’t in her world anymore so I wasn’t privy to the lengths she’d go to or the secrets she hid and kept. But I heard rumors that her appetites, for both renewed fame and for…personal gratification were ravenous.”
“You’re saying she slept around for jobs and for pleasure?” Trembley asked with admirable directness. “And that somewhere along the way, that came back to bite her?”
Boatwright was silent for several seconds, seemingly trying to find the exact right words with which to respond.
“I think that if you want the answers to those questions, there’s someone you could easily ask.”
“Who might that be?” Jessie asked.
“Willem Struce.”
“Her husband?” Trembley said, stunned. “How would he know about her secret trysts and blackmail attempts?”
Boatwright smiled patronizingly.
“This is Hollywood, Detective. You should know better.”
Jessie was starting to get that.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
This time, Jessie made Trembley pull over.
They were just starting up into Beachwood Canyon to see Willem Struce again when Jamil called. With the notoriously bad cell connection in the Hollywood Hills, Jessie didn’t want to risk missing anything. So they were parked outside a corner grocery at the base of the hill, listening on speaker as the young researcher bombarded them with updates.
“First things first,” he said, not waiting to hear what information they felt was highest priority. “Tech cracked the thumb drive.”
“That’s awesome,” Trembley exclaimed. “So you have access to the Bad Boys list?”
“I’m looking at it now,” Jamil said. “Should I send it to you?”
“Sure,” Jessie said. “But please send a copy to Parker in Vice and to Detective Bray at Hollywood Station. She’ll have a better sense of how to move forward with all the names. For now, can you tell us—is Miller Boatwright on it?”
“Hold on,” Jamil said, obviously scrolling as he spoke. “No, I don’t see him. Sorry.”
“Damn,” Trembley said. “I was hoping that if we caught him lying about that, we could disregard everything else he said as just covering his ass.”
“He might still be,” Jessie said. “But at least we know that if he was involved in her death, it likely wasn’t because she was blackmailing him.”
“I’ve got more news,” Jamil said. “I’m not sure if you’re going to like it.”
“As long as it’s accurate, we’ll like it,” Jessie assured him. “We’re looking to find the truth, not just reinforce our own suspicions.”
“In that case, it looks like you’ll have to cross that actor, Teddy DeWitt, off your suspect list. There’s video of the panel discussion he did and he was onstage until well past eleven that night.”
“Damn,” Trembley muttered.
“There’s more,” Jamil said reluctantly.
“Go for it,” Jessie said. “You may as well just rip off the Band-Aid.”
“Okay, then your suspicions about Petra Olivet may need to move to the back burner. Her phone GPS data shows that it never left the hospital on Sunday night.”
Trembley looked crestfallen at the injury to his pet theory.
“Maybe she left it there to cover her tracks,” he suggested. “Maybe she took a cab to the