The Night Stalker

Fifty-One

The traffic was like a religious procession and it took Garcia almost two hours to cover the twenty-three miles between Parker Center and Long Beach.

Lucas Laurent, Kelly Jensen’s agent, had his office on the fifth floor of number 246 East Broadway Street.

Laurent was in his thirties, with olive skin, dark brown eyes and neatly cut hair that was starting to gray. The wrinkles that already surrounded his lips came from heavy smoking, Hunter guessed. His navy blue suit was well fitting, but his tie was a masterpiece of bad taste. A Picasso-style monstrosity of chunky color pieces that only someone with enormous amounts of confidence could wear. And confidence Laurent certainly had — the quiet kind that came with wealth and success.

He stood up from behind his twin pedestal desk and greeted Hunter and Garcia by the door. His handshake was as firm as a businessman’s ready to close a large deal.

‘Joan told me you’re detectives with the LAPD?’ he said as he eyed Hunter. ‘I hope you’re not actually artists and this was just a trick to get you into my office without an appointment.’ He smiled and deep crinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes. ‘But if it was, it certainly shows you’ve both got creativity and ambition.’

‘Unfortunately, we’re the real thing,’ Hunter said, showing Laurent his credentials. The agent’s smile faded fast. Only then did he remember he’d reported Kelly as missing a couple of weeks ago.

Hunter told him only what he needed to know and watched as the color vanished from his face. Laurent slumped back in his chair, his eyes catatonically looking through Hunter.

‘But that’s just ludicrous. . murdered? By whom? And why? Kelly was an artist, not a drug dealer.’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

‘But she had an exhibition scheduled in Paris in less than two months’ time. . it could have made us close to a million.’

Hunter and Garcia exchanged a quick, concerned glance. Strange time to be thinking about money.

Laurent ruffled inside his desk’s top drawer for a pack of cigarettes. ‘I don’t usually smoke in my office,’ he explained, ‘but I really need this. Do you mind?’

Both detectives shrugged.

Laurent brought a cigarette to his lips, lit it up with a shaking hand and took a drag as if his life depended on it.

Hunter and Garcia sat in the two salmon-colored armchairs in front of Laurent’s desk and began asking him about his relationship with Kelly and his knowledge of her personal life. From Laurent’s answers, just like from his comment about making millions a moment ago, they quickly gathered that Laurent’s relationship with Kelly had been 99 per cent business.

‘Did you have a set of keys to her apartment?’ Garcia asked.

‘God, no.’ Laurent had one last drag of his cigarette, walked over to the window and stubbed it out on the ledge before flicking the butt onto the street below. ‘Kelly didn’t like having people in her apartment or her studio. She wouldn’t even allow me to see any of her pieces until they were completely finished, and even then I almost had to beg her to show them to me. Artists are very self-centered and eccentric people.’

‘Her apartment is in Santa Monica and her art studio in Culver City, is that right?’ Garcia asked.

Laurent nodded nervously.

‘Am I right in thinking you and Miss Jensen attended some social engagements together? Dinners. . receptions. . exhibitions. . awards, things like that?’

‘Yes, quite a few over the three years I’ve been representing her.’

‘Have you ever met anyone she was seeing? Has she ever taken a date to any of these engagements?’

‘Kelly?’ He laughed tensely. ‘I couldn’t think of anything that’d be farther from her thoughts than a relationship. She was stunning. She had men throwing themselves at her, but she just didn’t wanna know.’

‘Really?’ Hunter said. ‘Is there a reason why?’

Laurent shrugged. ‘I never asked, but I know she was really hurt by someone she was in love with a few years ago. The kind of hurt that never goes away. The kind of hurt that makes you wary of every relationship you have from that day on. You know what I mean?’

‘Do you know if she had casual relationships?’ Garcia asked.

Another shrug. ‘Probably, as I said, she was stunning; but I never met anyone she was dating. She never mentioned anyone either.’

‘Did she ever mention anything about emails? Something that’d scared or upset her lately?’ Hunter took over.

Laurent frowned, taking a few seconds to remember. ‘Nothing in particular. I’m not sure about any of them being scary or upsetting, but I’m sure she got a few strange ones from infatuated fans. It happens more than you think. I just tell all my artists to disregard them.’

‘Disregard them?’

‘Fans come with fame, Detective; it’s a package deal that you can’t opt out of. And unfortunately some of them are just plain weird, but they usually mean no harm. All the artists I represent get them every now and then.’ His eyes moved back to the pack of cigarettes on his desk and he quickly debated if he should have another one. He started fidgeting with a black-and-gold Mont Blanc pen instead. ‘I’ve been Kelly’s agent for three years, and in that time I’ve never seen her unhappy, or worried. She always had a smile on her face, as if it were tattooed to her lips. I really can’t remember ever seeing Kelly unhappy.’

‘When did you last speak to Miss Jensen?’ Garcia asked.

‘We were supposed to meet up for lunch on the. .’ he flipped open a leather-bound diary on his desk and quickly leafed through it, ‘. . the 25th February, to discuss Kelly’s upcoming exhibition in Paris. Kelly had been very excited about that particular trip for months, but she never turned up for the meeting, and she never called to cancel either. When I tried getting hold of her, all I got was her answering service. Two days later I gave up trying and contacted the police.’

‘Was she involved with drugs, gambling, anything of the bad sort you know of?’ Garcia asked this time.

Laurent’s eyes widened for an instant. ‘God, no. At least not that I know of. She barely drank. Kelly was your typical good girl.’

‘Financial difficulties?’

‘Not with the kinda money she was making. Every one of her paintings sells for thousands. Probably more now.’

Hunter wondered if he threw a hundred bucks out the window, would Laurent jump after it?

Before leaving, Hunter paused by the door to the office and turned to face Laurent again. ‘Do you know if Miss Jensen was friends with another LA painter — Laura Mitchell?’

Laurent looked at him curiously before shaking his head. ‘Laura Mitchell? I’m not sure. Their styles are very different.’

Hunter turned to look back at him curiously.

‘Believe it or not,’ Laurent clarified, ‘many painters are funny in that way. Some won’t mix with different style artists.’ He pouted reflexively. ‘Some won’t mix with other artists at all. Why do you ask?’

‘Just wondering.’ Hunter handed Laurent a card. ‘If you think of anything else, please don’t—’

‘Wait!’ Laurent cut him short. ‘Laura Mitchell and Kelly did meet. It was a few years ago. I’d forgotten all about that. Right at the start of Kelly’s career. I had just started representing her. She was interviewed for a cable TV documentary. Something about the new wave of American artists from the West Coast, or something along those lines. Several artists took part in it. I think it was all filmed at the. .’ his eyes moved to a blank spot on the wall ‘. . Getty Museum or maybe at the Moca, I can’t be sure. But I’m in no doubt Laura Mitchell was one of the artists who was there that day.’