Hollywood Kids (36 page)

He couldn't believe that this insane guy was somewhere out there running riot, and nobody was doing a goddamn thing.

He reached Mac on the set. 'I've got news,' he said tersely.

'Just remember I'm speaking on a cellular phone,' Mac said warningly. 'I have people all around me.'

Is that all he cared about? That someone might hear him? 'The party we spoke about is on the loose. What do you want me to do about it?'

Now that he knew for sure, Mac panicked. He had to reach Luca and tell him. 'Nothing,' he said.

'Nothing,' Michael repeated.

'For now.'

'By the way,' Michael added. 'Does the name Gerda Hemsley mean anything to you?'

'Yes, why?'

'Add her to the list. She was strangled two weeks ago.'

Mac was bad-tempered with everyone. So much so that Bobby came to him at the end of a set-up and said, 'What's your problem?'

'It's personal,' Mac replied shortly. 'I'll work it out.'

'Something to do with Sharleen?'

Why did everybody always think it was Sharleen?

'Everything with Sharleen is fine,' he said irritably. 'This is nothing for you to concern yourself with.'

Bobby stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether he needed to push it further. 'OK, OK, I'm not concerned,' he said at last. 'But try and take it easy on the crew, they're about ready to mutiny if you don't lighten up.'

At the lunch break, Mac shut himself in his trailer, ready to make the call.

A million and one excuses not to came to mind. Luca might not be home. He could be busy. Maybe he was out of town. It was also unwise to conduct this particular conversation on a cellular phone, people listened in for sport, it could be dangerous.

The last reason convinced him. He left his trailer and went back to the hotel, making his way into the offices at the front where a pretty secretary asked if she could help him.

'I'm Mac Brooks - the director of
Thriller Eyes,'
he said, giving himself billing. 'Is there somewhere I can make a private call?'

'Certainly, Mr Brooks,' she said, impressed.

He followed her into an empty office where she assured him he would have complete privacy.

Waiting until she closed the door behind her, he punched out Luca's number.

A guarded male voice answered the phone.

'Let me speak to Luca Carlotti,' Mac said, keeping his voice low just in case the secretary had X-ray ears.

'Who wants him?'

'Tell him Mr Brooks from California. He'll know.'

'Hold on.'

He began picking at a hang-nail, tearing at his skin until it throbbed. Sweat beaded his forehead. Why was this phone call making him so agitated?

Because he was dangerously close to being exposed as Luca Carlotti's godson, and if the truth came out it could ruin his career. Even Sharleen didn't know.

He wondered what she'd say if he confessed.
Hey, Sharleen, sweetheart - there's something I haven't told you. My godfather is one of the most notorious mob guys in New York. What do you think of that
?

Sharleen would probably say, so what? She wouldn't understand the ramifications. Besides, she had this attitude that nothing mattered unless it directly concerned her.

Luca's unmistakable raspy growl. 'Mac?'

'Hey, how ya doin'?' Automatically he slipped into his old Brooklyn accent.

'Doin' good,' Luca replied. 'What's kickin' with you? Still out on the coast?'

He cleared his throat. 'There's a problem,' he said hoarsely.

Luca chuckled. 'So what else is new? Problems I'm here t'solve.'

'This is your problem, too.'

'Spit it on the table.'

'Your sister's kid - he's out.'

'Yeah,' Luca said calmly. 'That ain't news fine.'

He was amazed. 'You mean you
knew
?'

'The fucker's bin out three months.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I gotta report in to you?'

Mac felt the fury building inside him. Luca was treating him with no respect, and that was one thing his father had instilled in him.
Get people to respect you and you'll never be less than a man
.

Sure. It had done his father a lot of good. Luca had respected the shit out of him while screwing his mother. He'd never forgive Luca for that.

'You should've told me,' he said angrily. 'You should've fucking told me.'

Luca's voice hardened. 'I shoulda done what I think is right, an' I did. I gave instructions to that shit-faced cocksucker t'stay put on the West Coast. He ain't welcome back here. I sent him money. Gave him a place to live. What do I care, as long as he stays outta
my
life.'

Mac was incredulous. 'And you thought that was it? He'd take the money and leave everyone alone?'

'He'd better, unless he's a dumb fuckin' moron.'

Well, I've got news for you, Luca, he
is
a moron. A dangerous one. I think he's systematically murdering each of the women who testified against him at his trial. Four of them are already dead.'

There was a long ominous silence. He waited for Luca to say something. His hands were trembling. He didn't want to be involved in this, but he
was
, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Luca finally spoke. 'You sure about this?'

'Who else could it be?' he replied evenly. 'Four of them killed within the last couple of months. Strangled the same way Ingrid was strangled. And there's two other girls who gave evidence - they could be next.'

'Do the cops know?'

'They'll put it together eventually.'

'Shit!' Luca said furiously. 'That motherfucking dumb ass prick!'

'Where is he?' Mac didn't really want the information, but he was unable to stop himself from asking.

'L.A.'

'I realize that, but where in L.A.?'

Luca ignored his question. 'I'll tell you what I'm gonna do, son,' he said slowly. 'I'm gonna take care of this one myself. I'll be on a plane first thing tomorrow.'

Don't call me son, Mac wanted to scream. 'What do you mean you'll take care of it yourself?' he asked.

'Not on the phone. We'll talk when I get there.'

'How about the other girls? Shouldn't they be warned?'

'When was the last murder?'

'A few nights ago.'

'And before that? How long between attacks?'

'A couple of weeks. I'm not sure.'

'It looks like he's workin' to a pattern. They're safe.'

'How can you possibly know they're safe?' Mac exploded.

Luca did not take kindly to being yelled at. 'You want my help or not?' he said coldly. 'Because it'd be just as easy to call the cops and bust this whole deal wide open.'

'Yes, I want your help,' Mac said, calming down.

'I'll be there tomorrow.'

Mac left the office with a heavy heart.

'Can I do anything else for you, Mr Brooks?' the secretary asked with a bright I-could-be-a-star smile.

'No, no, uh... charge the call to the studio.'

'That's OK, Mr Brooks, compliments of me. And if you're ever looking for a girl to play a secretary - how about using the real thing?'

His mind was elsewhere. 'Yeah, yeah, sure.'

Luca Carlotti was always impeccably dressed. He favoured pinstriped Savile Row suits made by his personal tailor who flew to New York from London every two months to confer with him. His shoes were handmade, also in London, at an exclusive shop on Jermyn Street. His shirts were the finest silk, and his sweaters and overcoats pure cashmere.

Once every two weeks Luca had a facial to keep his sixty-four-year-old skin smooth, he favoured Erno Laszlo products. Every other day he had a full body massage and once a week he indulged in a mineral mud bath. One room in his home had been converted into a tanning parlour so that he always had a nice deep tan. Luca believed in pampering himself. With his slicked-back hair and hooded eyes, Luca Carlotti was quite the dandy.

Mac's phone call disturbed him. His sister's idiot son was the bane of his life. He should have ordered a hit on the kid while he was locked up, but out of the kindness of his heart he'd allowed the boy to live. Big mistake.

'There's no way he's comin' back to New York,' he'd warned his sister, Phyllis, when Zane was first released from jail.

'But he's my baby -' Phyllis had started to say.

'He ain't your baby, he's a murdering bastard who'll stay in California outta the family's way. I got a house I can put him in. Don't worry, I'll send him money.'

Phyllis didn't object too greatly. She'd recently divorced her first husband who was doing time in Attica, and she was now married to her second - a schmuck called Petey (the Wild Man) Borosin. Petey was twenty years younger than Phyllis and Luca couldn't stand the sight of the punk, but at least he kept his sister happy.

Now, according to Mac, his stupid sonofabitch nephew was running around killing people.

Luca decided not to tell Phyllis, better she didn't know. Women had big mouths. They couldn't help it, information leaked from them like sieves.

He called his personal travel agent and booked an early morning flight to L.A.

Michael picked up the tape equipment he needed to bug Marjory's phone and drove over to the Sanderson estate late in the afternoon.

Marjory greeted him like a worried wife. 'You promised you'd be here this morning,' she said, biting anxiously on her lower lip.

What was it with her? 'I never said what time I'd be back,' he said, working on her phone - attaching the equipment.

'I feel so... alone,' she said, wringing her hands.

This was one hysterical woman. 'You're not alone, Marjory. I'm here now.'

'Can you stay?'

He made sure everything was in place. 'No, I have too much work to do.'

'What if I get another call?'

'It's hardly likely. The guy's been sending you letters for months now. The first time he phoned was yesterday, he won't make a habit of it.'

'How do you know?' she asked accusingly.

'If he phones again, you'll contact me and I'll be here. This time we'll have him on tape. Here, let me show you how to work this.'

When he was satisfied she had it down he said, 'I gotta make a phone call. Where can I be alone?'

'Is it to do with my case?'

'No, it's something else I'm working on.'

Her mouth tightened. 'Very well,' she said. 'You can use this phone.'

'Thanks.'

She stood near him, staring.

He waited for her to shift, she didn't. 'Uh, Marjory, this is private.'

'I won't listen.'

'I'm sure you won't, but you wouldn't appreciate me discussing
your
case in front of other people, would you?'

'I'll be outside,' she said, marching stiffly from the room.

He reached Mac at the location. 'Did you decide what you want me to do?'

'I told you - nothing for now.'

The smartest thing would be to bring the cops in. They'll put a trace on Zane, probably pick him up within twenty-four hours.'

'Let me think about it.'

'While you're thinking about it, the other two women could be in danger.'

'I'll make a decision. In the meantime, is there any way you can place security around Jordanna Levitt and Cheryl Landers?'

'You mean bodyguards?'

That's too extreme. I wouldn't want to alarm them. Maybe they can be watched from a distance without them knowing.'

'Jordanna Levitt, isn't she Bobby Rush's PA?'

'Yes. How do you know?'

'She's staying with Marjory Sanderson, and I happen to be working on a case for Marjory's father, so I can easily watch her. Quincy's back tomorrow, he'll take care of Cheryl Landers. All we need is her address.'

He put the phone down on Mac, still feeling uneasy. If he had a choice he'd go straight to the cops, but he had to talk this out with Quincy before doing anything.

It was a bitch of a situation, and he didn't have an answer.

In the room next to the library Marjory listened on the extension until she heard Michael hang up. Then she hurriedly replaced the receiver.

What was going on? The man on the other end of the phone had sounded worried. And who was Zane?

She felt excited - part of something. If only Michael would confide in her.

The annoying thing was that Jordanna was involved in some way, and that Michael had to protect her. At least that meant he'd stay around more.

Growing up with Jordanna and Cheryl, Marjory had always felt like the outsider. She knew she was pale and insignificant compared to them - almost like their mascot - and even though they'd included her in everything, along with Grant and Shep, she'd always been the invisible one.

If only she could grab a good-looking man like Michael, wouldn't that show them all?

Of course, he was only a detective, and her father would object strongly, but so what? She was over twenty-one, she could do what she liked.

She exited the room, catching Michael on his way to the front door.

'I gotta go,' he said. 'I'm late for the studio.'

'What studio?'

'I'm on TV tonight.'

'Doing what?'

'My four-year-old daughter is missing. I'm making another appeal.'

He had a daughter! Did that mean he was married? She'd checked his wedding finger and there was no band.

'I... I didn't know, Michael. I'm so sorry. Will your wife be appearing with you?'

'My wife is dead.'

'Oh.' A brief pause. 'Would you like
me
to come with you?'

'That's OK,' he said, consulting his watch. He was running late and Rosa had particularly asked him to be on time. 'When will Jordanna be home?' he asked as he reached the front door.

'They might be working late again.'

'Well, uh... maybe I will spend the night. I'll be back when I finish at the studio.'

'I'd like that, Michael,' she said, lightly touching his arm. 'What's your favourite food?'

He backed off. 'Huh?'

'I want to cook for you.'

'No way, Marjory. Pizza'll be fine.'

'I'll send out to Spago.'

'Where?'