Insidious (15 page)

“Did you know any of the other murdered actresses, Missy?”

Missy swallowed convulsively, nodded. “I knew both Melodie Anders and Connie Morrissey. Melodie lived up in San Dimas. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she was killed, in early April. She was a good actress, really committed, always out there pounding the pavement when she wasn’t working, but she visited her older parents most weekends in San Diego.

“Connie Morrissey lived right here in Malibu, in the Colony, but I bet you already know that. I’d see both of them at auditions, we’d all go out for coffee after, or margaritas and nachos at El Pablo in Santa Monica some Friday nights. They were both nice, Cam, and talented.

“Melodie was twenty-six, and Connie was only twenty-five. So hopeful, so filled with dreams, just like me. And now they’re gone—just gone.”

Cam squeezed Missy’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry. You know I’ll do my best to catch him.”

“Yes, I know.” Missy cocked her head. “I remember a basketball game in high school against the Calabasas Bears. We were down eleven points, but we never folded because you kept whipping us up, and sure enough, we ended up winning by two points.”

Cam remembered that game as clearly as Missy did. She could still hear her parents yelling down at them. She also remembered she and her team, and her parents, had ridden the joy wave for a solid week.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now that you’re here?”

“I can’t tell you much, Missy. I’m sorry, but I would like you to tell me more about Melodie Anders and Connie Morrissey. Okay?”

“Sure, anything to help.”

“Missy, are you living alone right now?”

“Yes. My great-aunt Mary died last year and left me this cute little cottage on Malibu Road, not far from the Colony. Bless her, that’s why I don’t have to work an extra job to keep body and soul together.”

Cam lightly laid her hands on Missy’s shoulders. “I don’t want to scare you any more than you already are, but please, Missy, have someone move in with you until we catch this killer.”

Missy stared at Cam. “You really think the Starlet Slasher could come after me?”

“No, but it would be smart if you weren’t alone until we catch him.”

“Cam, are you staying with your folks?”

“Nope, the Pinkerton Inn.”

A big smile bloomed. “How about you move in with me? I’ve got two bathrooms.”

24

GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

TUESDAY, LATE AFTERNOON

Venus Rasmussen was looking elegant as usual in a dark blue Dior suit, a white silk blouse, and low black pumps, her hair a shiny salt-and-pepper bob. She looked, Sherlock thought, and not for the first time, like the older Barbara Stanwyck, an indomitable will, indisputably in charge. She’d been driven by an assistant directly from her office atop Rasmussen headquarters, a modern spear of smoked glass and steel outside of Alexandria, to the hospital. Even if she weren’t recognized, the hospital staff still straightened when she walked through. She had that effect on people.

Sherlock remembered once when she and Dillon had visited Venus in her top-floor corner office, guarded by three assistants. The incredible space with its two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows, wasn’t, however, sleekly modern like the rest of Rasmussen headquarters. No, Venus had created an oasis of elegance and grace, soft grays and pale blues to showcase very fine English eighteenth-century antiques. Sherlock also remembered two senators waiting to meet with Venus, discussions Venus had mentioned in passing, about new defense legislation they wanted her to consider. And now this mess. She knew
Mr. Maitland had a direct line to the vice president with instructions to keep him updated on the situation.

Venus grinned when Sherlock told her how beautiful she looked, patted her arm, and said, “A little face work does wonders, my dear, wonders. Give it some thought in fifty or so years.” She was flanked by Savich, Sherlock, and Veronica now. They paused outside Vincent Willig’s room while Savich showed Officer Lane Gregson his creds. “Anyone come around?”

“No, Agent Savich. All quiet. Well, a lot of complaining from Willig when he’s awake. Makes me feel good to hear it.”

Savich grinned. “Keep an eye out, Lane. He’s certainly not up to try an escape, but you know the guy who hired him might come by to silence him.”

Officer Gregson patted the Beretta on his hip. “I’ll be ready for him, Agent.”

They saw Willig was alone, no nurses, no techs, no doctors. He seemed to be asleep, an IV line tethered to his left wrist, his breathing slow and even.

Venus said, “Looks like he’s down and out. I thought you only shot him in the wrist and broke his arm.”

Savich said, “The surgery on his wrist was more complicated than they thought going in. The bullet nicked an artery. And now he’s developed an infection. He’ll be here for another couple of days.”

Venus said, “As old as I am, the truth is I haven’t had many dealings with anyone like this man, Dillon. I do hope he doesn’t try to throttle me.”

“You could take him, easy.”

Venus grinned, showing lovely white teeth, her own, Savich knew. She did look well south of eighty, fit and healthy. “I know you don’t approve of my coming here, but I appreciate your being here with me.”

They both knew the truth was he’d hardly had a choice, except
maybe to bar her physically, something he didn’t much want to do. It was one of the perks of being Venus.

Savich looked back at Veronica, who stood a couple of steps behind them, ready to leap forward to protect Venus, all her attention focused on Willig. She’d told Savich she wished Venus hadn’t insisted on seeing Willig, but like him, she hadn’t made any headway with Venus.

Savich said, “I’ll go in and get his attention, Venus, then ask you to come in. Veronica, stick close to her.”

Venus touched her hand to Veronica’s arm to keep her silent. “Dillon, I’m the one he tried to kill; I’m the one who should get him to pry his eyes open.” Without any hesitating, Venus strode into the sterile hospital room with its single bed and single nightstand, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

Savich watched Vincent Willig slowly open his eyes as Venus walked brisk and confident toward him. He saw Savich behind her and flinched. Good, Savich thought, he remembered, knew Savich could cause him a load of pain.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Willig’s voice was low and scratchy and filled with mean.

“And good day to you, too, Mr. Willig. I’m the person you tried to murder yesterday, but of course you know that.”

“Why would I want to kill an ancient old broad like you? You look nearly ready to topple over without any help from me. I didn’t try to murder anybody yesterday. You’re thinking of somebody else. What are you doing here?”

Venus stepped close and stared down at him. “I was hoping you’re not completely brainless.”

“I’m not brainless, you old bat.”

“Of course you are. You couldn’t even manage to kill someone who’s twice your age. From reading about you, I know you’ve never
done anything worthwhile in your miserable life. You’ve got no morals, no center. Offer you a buck and you’ll happily do whatever is asked.”

“You’re three times my age, at least. Hey, I see you’re not alone. You’re kind of pretty, you back there. You the old bag’s granddaughter? Maybe you can come back later and we can have some tapioca together? No, I guess not, given that frown on your face. And you’ve brought those FBI guys with you, too. He’s the one who tried to kill me, him and that broad with all the red hair. What, is he afraid I’ll wrap my IV lines around your scrawny neck?”

“My neck is in fine shape, Mr. Willig, so maybe that means your eyesight isn’t good, either, like the rest of you. As for your attacking me? What a joke—you can’t even pee on your own.”

Willig looked ready to spit. He looked from Venus to Savich. “I was thinking you brought the old broad in here to soften me up. Well, all she’s done is insult me.”

“I brought her because she insisted. She wants to make you an offer.”

“That’s right,” Venus said. “Listen, Mr. Willig, I’m not here to trade insults with you but to show you that you’re clearly on the wrong side. If indeed you are not brainless, you know the FBI will find out who paid you, with or without your help. You also know your telling us would speed things along. To that end I am willing to use my influence with the prosecutor, urge him to lessen the charges against you for what you tried to do to me, and I will pay you a great deal of money if you give us the name of the person who hired you. We want that name right now, Mr. Willig.”

Venus paused a moment, leaned down. “I will pay you ten thousand dollars if you give me the name of the person who hired you to kill me.”

“Ten big ones? You gotta be kidding me. That’s nothing to you, you’re
richer than Rockefeller and maybe even richer than that Russian guy who doesn’t wear a shirt. How about a mil?”

“Pay attention, Mr. Willig. You’re not worth a million dollars. I’ll give you a hundred thousand, not a penny more. It should be more than enough to pay off your lawyer.”

Willig wheezed out a laugh. “A hundred grand for a name? All right, I’ll give you the name—it was you, you crazy old bat, you hired me to make all those lazy relatives of yours sit up and take notice. Are you going to pay me now?”

“Very amusing, you idiot,” Venus leaned down and smacked his face. Willig moaned, tried to raise his hand to shove her away, but the IV line held him down.

“You hit me again I’ll have you arrested.”

Willig’s lawyer, Big Mort Kendrick, came roaring into the room—exactly on time. Savich smiled. It had taken only one well-timed phone call. He’d looked forward to Big Mort making a grand entrance, yelling, threatening, and bless his heart, here he was. Mort yelled, “Lady, I saw you hit him! You can’t do that. That’s physical torture. I’ll sue you from here to Sunday. You’ll be a bag lady before I’m through with you!”

Venus turned and stared at Kendrick like he’d just slithered from beneath a rock. “I beg your pardon?”

Kendrick stared at her, froze. He swallowed, looked ready to choke. “Ah, oh, it—it’s you, Mrs. Rasmussen—” He stopped dead, flushed red to his eyebrows, realizing he was standing not three feet from the biggest financial gun he’d ever speak to in his lifetime. “Ah, ma’am—Mrs. Rasmussen—you really shouldn’t hurt Mr. Willig. He’s already hurt.”

Venus waved a graceful hand toward Willig. “Of course he is. He should probably be dead for what he tried to do. Who are you?”

“I’m Mr. Willig’s lawyer, ma’am, Morton James Kendrick.” He didn’t
want to be intimidated by one of the most powerful women in America, but he was, and knew he sounded like a prisoner being sentenced by the hanging judge.

Savich wanted to laugh, it was everything he’d hoped for. He looked at Sherlock, knowing she was having trouble keeping her face straight. Veronica had her hand over her mouth to keep in a laugh as well. The three of them watched Venus eye Kendrick slowly up and down. “It seems to me, Mr. Kendrick, that you have a great deal to talk about with your client. You can represent him until he runs out of the small bit of money he has to pay you for defending him against a charge of attempted murder, or you can convince him to tell us who hired him and accept one hundred thousand dollars from me, as well as my promise to intercede with the prosecutor to keep his sentence as short as possible. What do you have to say to Mr. Willig?”

Savich saw Kendrick swallow, could practically see him counting zeroes in his head, saw the you’d-better-take-the-bucks look he gave to Willig.

As for Willig, he was staring up at Venus as if mesmerized. Finally, he nodded, and whispered, “All right. I’ll tell you everything I know. It was that good-looking broad over there who’s acting all righteous, like she’d fling herself in front of a bus for you.”

Veronica opened her mouth, hissed, but Savich said over her, “You don’t even know her name, do you?”

Venus fisted her hand, but she didn’t smack him again. She really wanted to, very much, for that rank bit of idiocy, but she didn’t. She sighed and shook her head in disappointment, her eyes never leaving his face. Then she turned to Kendrick. “I will leave it to you, Mr. Kendrick, to talk Mr. Willig into accepting one hundred thousand dollars in exchange for the truth. And you will tell him he will give us the proof we need to be certain it is the truth, since his word isn’t worth much, now is it? Don’t stand there like blubber fallen off a whale,
make your brain-dead client own up.”

Savich had to say that Big Mort looked ready to shoot Willig if he didn’t cooperate. His cut would be what? Thirty thousand dollars? Savich watched him clear his throat and boom out, “Yes, very well. Vincent, tell her the truth. I will get it in writing that Mrs. Rasmussen will pay you one hundred thousand dollars for the name of the person who allegedly hired you.”

Willig yelled, “I want more than the money. I want to walk, no jail time. I want that in writing, too.”

Savich said, “Mr. Willig, I’ve already spoken to the federal prosecutor. If you are ready to tell the truth, to cooperate fully, he’s willing to sit down and talk with you. But you will serve some time, no way around it.”

Willig gave him a cunning look. “How much time would I be looking at?”

“Your attorney can work that out with the prosecutor.”

“You think I’d trust a lawyer? Only fools trust lawyers.” Willig stared over at Big Mort. “How much would you take of my one hundred thousand?”

“Thirty percent,” Big Mort said.

“See that? Thirty percent for doing exactly nothing. Tell you what, I’ll think about it. Get me some pain meds.”

Savich said, “You have twenty-four hours. I suggest you consider the alternative, Mr. Willig, namely spending the rest of your life in Attica.”

25

RASMUSSEN MANSION

WASHINGTON, D.C.

TUESDAY EVENING