Web of Evil

CHAPTER 13

Upstairs, the first call Ali made was to Missing Persons at LAPDwith predictable results. Carolyn Little, the Missing Persons cop Ali had spoken to on Friday, wasn't available on weekends, and no other officer came on the line, either. Instead, an indifferent clerk with minimal typing skills and an even smaller sense of urgency took the information on the disappearance of Edie Larson.

"You be sure to let us know if Ms. Larson turns up, now," the clerk said cheerily when she finished. "If we don't hear from you by this time tomorrow, an officer should be in touch. If not tomorrow, then the day after." Click.

Ali flung down the phone. "So much for getting any help from LAPD," she muttered.

"What did you expect?" Dave asked.

Shaking her head in disgust, Ali dialed the number she had for the Riverside Sheriff's Department. If she had reached the younger detective, she might have achieved better results, but at seven o'clock on a Sunday evening, talking with Detective Sims was the best she could do. He was a long way from sympathetic.

"I'm a homicide detective," he said. "If you've got a missing person on your end, you need to call LAPD."

"We already did that," Ali told him. "They're not exactly interested."

"Why should I be?"

"Because we think my mother's disappearance may have something to do with my husband's homicide and with one of my husband's acquaintancesa guy named Tracy McLaughlin."

"What about him?" Sims asked.

The way Sims asked the question made it clear McLaughlin was already a known entity, but Ali wasn't eager to give up any additional information without first having some assurances from the detective that he would intercede with the LAPD on Edie Larson's behalf.

"You know Tracy McLaughlin went to prison for car theft?" Ali asked.

"That's what I like about all you hotshot media types," Detective Sims grumbled. "You think that just because we're cops, we must be too dumb to wipe our own butts. Of course I know McLaughlin got sent up for grand theft auto. Served five and a half years. In a homicide involving a stolen vehicle, don't you think that's the kind of thing that would have come to our attention once we started investigating your husband's friends and associates? And what the hell does that have to do with the fact that your mother has apparently taken a powder?"

"My mother's a responsible person," Ali returned. "She wouldn't leave of her own volition without letting one of us know. I talked to her shortly before she disappeared. She said she thought Tracy McLaughlin was somehow involved with April Gaddis, my husband's fiancee."

"Talk about yesterday's news," Sims returned dismissively. "Of course they were involved. April and Tracy have been friends for years. According to what April told us earlier, she was the one who brought Sumo Sudoku to her husband's attention in the first place."

Being friends and having a romantic encounter in a hotel hallway were two entirely different things, but Ali suspected that if she hinted at a possible romantic connection between April and Tracy, Detective Sims would most likely discount that as well.

"Before my mother left she was involved in a verbal confrontation with Tracy McLaughlin. We saw that on a security tape. She also collected a cigarette butt and left it in a plastic bag," Ali continued. "Dave Holman and I believe that may have come from Tracy McLaughlin as well. If DNA from that could be linked to the duct tape found on my husband"

"Who says there was duct tape?" Detective Sims demanded. "How would you know about that?"

"I saw it, remember?" Ali reminded him. "When I identified the body. I'm no expert, but the marks I saw on his face certainly looked like they could have come from duct tape."

"Oh," Sims said. "I see."

"So are you checking the duct tape for DNA evidence?" Ali insisted.

"Of course we're checking it," Sims replied with an impatient snarl. "But this isn't exactly CSI Miami. In our neck of the woods it generally takes a while for our people to develop a DNA profile. We don't try to get the job done in sixty minutes minus commercials, so don't expect us to have lab results tomorrow or next week or even next month. We're also required to maintain chains of evidence. If and when we decide we need a DNA sample from Mr. McLaughlin, you can be sure we'll be able to obtain one on our own without help from either you or your mother. In the meantime, we have leads and we're working them. Now, if you don't mind, this is supposed to be my day off."

With that Sims hung up, leaving Ali holding the phone.

"What?" Dave asked.

"I don't think Detective Sims is going to help us find Mom or Tracy McLaughlin," Ali said.

"If we can't go through official channels, we'll have to try some unofficial ones," Dave said, reaching for his phone.

"Your pal at LAPD?"

Dave nodded. "If he's home. He said something about going camping on his days off."

While Dave worked his phone, Ali stood in the middle of the room, holding her cell phone and thinking. She remembered something Helga had said the day before as Victor had been driving them from the hotel to Robert Lane. Scrolling through her cell's phone book, Ali located Helga Myerhoff's number and dialed it.

"Yesterday, when you were talking to me about April Gaddis," Ali said, "I seem to remember that you mentioned something about her wanting to be a Pilates instructor."

"Yes," Helga answered. "That's right."

"And that some of her friends weren't exactly nice people?" Ali pressed.

"Bit of an understatement," Helga replied. "Have you ever heard of The Body Shop in Century City?"

"Car repairs?" Ali asked.

"Not exactly," Helga said with a snort. "Although it's located in a building that once held an auto dealership, it's got nothing at all to do with cars. It's a twenty-four-hour upscale fitness club where network bigwigs and wannabe bigwigs can mix and mingle, see and be seen. It's also one of the hot, in-crowd places at the moment. Supposedly the gym comes complete with one-on-one personal trainers, an organic juice bar, and with personal chefs available upon request. More than that, though, it also operates as a convenient pickup joint. That's where April first met Paul, by the way. She worked there as a receptionist."

Makes sense, Ali thought. For an undereducated and beautiful young woman like April Gaddis, who was also ambitious and determinedly upwardly mobile, The Body Shop sounded like the perfect manhunt launching pad.

"The Body Shop's biggest appeal is that it's both respectable and edgy," Helga continued. "As you already know, some of Hollywood's best-known heavy hitters are afflicted with complicated substance-abuse issues. For these relatively respectable guys, it's a lot more convenient if they can meet up with their drug supplier at some fashionable watering hole rather than having to buy their next hit from a street dealer at some dingy intersection in L.A."

"What about Tracy McLaughlin?" Ali asked.

"The Sumo Sudoku guy?" Helga asked. "The one in the kilt?"

"That's the one," Ali said. "Did he work there, too?"

"He may have," Helga said. "I don't know for sure, but I'll tell you this. I liked looking at the guy. He might be a bit young for me, but I wouldn't mind taking him home for a day or two to check out whatever it is he keeps under that kilt."

Ali was glad that Dave wasn't hearing Helga's part of the conversation.

"Why all this sudden interest in Tracy McLaughlin?" Helga asked. "What's going on?"

"My mother's missing," Ali said. "This morning she witnessed what looked to her like a bit of hanky-panky going on between April and Tracy. Early this afternoon one of the hotel security cameras recorded a confrontation between McLaughlin and my mom, but by the time I got back to the hotel to talk to her about it, she was gonenot just from our room, but from the hotel, too. The parking attendant told us he saw her peel out of the hotel garage sometime after one. I've tried calling her. No answer, and she hasn't called me back, either."

"Have you reported her missing?"

"Yes," Ali said. "Not that it did much good. No one at LAPD is particularly interested."

"So what can I do to help?" Helga asked.

"When you were doing your investigation of Paul, did Tracy McLaughlin's name come up?"

"I remember looking into the Sumo Sudoku thing because S and S Enterprises was one of your husband's newer business ventures. That name could have been mentioned, but I don't remember it in particular. I'd have to check with one of my investigatorsand I probably won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. Is there anything I can do in the meantimeanything I can do tonight?"

"I don't know," Ali said. "I can't really think straight right now."

"If you come up with something you need," Helga said, "don't hesitate to call. Have you told Victor?"

"Not yet," Ali said.

"I'll call him," Helga said. "He'll want to know what's going on."

Ali put down the phone. Dave had finished a series of calls and was once again hunkered over her computer.

"Google S and S Enterprises here in L.A.," Ali told him. "See what you get."

"S and S Enterprises holds all rights to Worldwide Sumo Sudoku," Dave said a few minutes later. "S and S was incorporated back in April with Paul Grayson named as executive director and CEO."

That announcement hit Ali hard. She had left Robert Lane early in March. No doubt negotiations for S and S Enterprises had been well under way long before Ali's departure, but she had known nothing about it. Sumo Sudoku had never been mentioned. In the scheme of Paul's betrayals, this one seemed relatively small, but it was a betrayal nonetheless.

"Who else is on the board of directors?" Ali asked.

"Guy by the name of Jake Maxwell," Dave replied.

"He worked with Paul at the network," Ali explained. "I always thought of him more as a rival than a friend, but there are lots of shifting loyalties in television, and things change. Jake showed up at court last week when the divorce was supposed to be final. He came there to back Paul up. He was also the official host of Paul's bachelor party from the night before."

Dave was still studying the computer screen. "This is interesting," he said. "S and S leases all the RVs that the various teams use. In other words, all the Sumo Sudoku guys are ultimately employees of S and S, but they're hoping to create team rivalries that will attract media attention."

"Sort of like professional wrestling?" Ali suggested.

Dave nodded. "Just about that real. According to this, the company was incorporated with the stated intention of obtaining coverage for the sport on one or the other of the sports-oriented cable channels. No doubt that's why they scheduled the filming around Paul's weddingto garner additional media attention."

"And that's why they went forward with the shoot anyway, even though Paul was dead," Ali added. "That's how the business works. The show must go on no matter what."

"I'll say," Dave agreed.

"So let's go see him," Ali said.

"Go see who?"

"Jake," Ali said. "Jake Maxwell. The person we really need to see is Tracy, but we don't have any idea where to find him, so Jake is our next best choice."

"I've got a call in for Tracy's vehicle records," Dave said. "I'm waiting for someone to get back to me."

"Fine," Ali replied. "But in the meantime, since Jake is clearly part of all this, maybe he can point us in the right direction."

"Where do we find him?"

Ali picked up her purse. "He and his wife, Roseanne, live out in Westlake Village."

"Where's that?" Dave asked.

"Not that far. Out on 101."

"Do we need to call first?" Dave asked.

"I think we'll just show up," Ali returned. "And we're probably better off if I drive."

"Amen to that," Dave said. "You drive. I'll handle the phones."

They left the hotel a few minutes later and headed for the 405 with Ali behind the wheel of her Cayenne.

"Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?" Dave asked as they went.

Thinking about her mother, Ali shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said.

"Too bad," Dave said. "Edie would want you to eat, and we're eating. Pull up at the next Burger King you see."

Ali did as she was told, and much as she didn't want to admit it, eating a Whopper did help. Back in the car, Sunday evening traffic turned what should have been a forty-minute drive into an hour and ten, most of which Ali drove in silence.

"What's going on?" Dave asked finally. "Worried about your mom?"

"That," Ali said, "and trying to get over being pissed off."

"What about?"

"This whole S and S Enterprises thing," she returned. "Obviously it was going on long before I left home last March. That kind of stuff doesn't happen in a day or even a month, but I didn't know a thing about it even though Jack and Roseanne Maxwell did."

"So?"

"Once I was in Sedona, Roseanne sent me a sugar-coated e-mail in which she pretended like she and I were the very best of friends and she thought Paul was a cad, while at the same time Jake and Paul were starting a business together. I'll never forget her cutesy little message. She kept harping on how awful it was that I was reduced to living in a trailer and having to wait tables for a living. She even offered me a place to stayin their newly remodeled casita."

"I take it you turned her down."

"Do you think?" Ali asked with a curt nod. "But now it grates on me that I have to go see this woman and make nice with her when what I'd really like to do is smack her upside the head."

"We're doing this for your mother," Dave reminded her. "Stay cool."

Ali had no difficulty driving them to Jake and Roseanne's sprawling, ranch-style house built on a grassy hillside outside Thousand Oaks. At the bottom end of the long, paved driveway, an ornamental iron gate blocked the way. Ali pressed a button and a disembodied voice spoke to them through an intercom attached to the gatepost. Half a minute later, the gate swung open.

Jake Maxwell himself stepped through the tall front door and came out into the circular parking area to meet them.

"Ali," he gushed, taking her hand in both of his. "What an unexpected pleasure. How good to see you, although I can't imagine what you're going through right now."

And you don't know the half of it, Ali thought.

When Dave emerged from the far side of the car, Jake frowned slightly. "And who's this?" he added.

"Dave Holman is a friend of mine," Ali replied without any further explanation. "We have some questions for you."

"What kind of questions?" Jake asked.

"About S and S Enterprises," Ali returned. "And about a guy named Tracy McLaughlin."

Jake glanced warily from Ali to Dave and back again. It was something that wouldn't have been apparent over a phone line. Clearly Jake had been caught off guard. Ali was glad they'd put good manners aside and hadn't called in advance to warn Jake of their impending arrival.

"What about Tracy McLaughlin?" Jake asked.

"We were wondering if you knew where we could find him," Ali said casually. "A few loose ends came up after the shoot ended yesterday. I wanted to ask him about them."

"What things?"

Before Ali could answer, the door behind Jake opened. A woman wearing a pair of tight pedal pushers tottered out onto the front porch on a pair of very high heels. She was carrying a tall goblet filled with red wine.

"Didn't know we had company," she said, coming to an uncertain stop and standing, weaving, with one hand poised on her hip. "I just told Kimball to open another bottle," she said. "Anybody want to join me for a little drinky-poo?"

Kimball (Ali had no idea if Kimball was the man's first or last name) was a professionally trained butler with a British accent and an imperious air who had been Jake Maxwell's aide-de-camp for as long as Ali could remember.

Ali stared. Whoever this smashed young woman was, she sure as hell wasn't Roseanne Maxwell. And why she felt free to order Kimball around was another issue entirely.

"Go back inside, Amber," Jake said brusquely. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Amber pouted. "I was just trying to be hosp amp;hosp amp;" she began before finally subsiding into tongue-tied silence.

"Hospitable," Jake finished for her impatiently. "Now do as I said. Go back inside and wait."

As in "Sit!" and "Stay!" Ali thought.

Without another word, the woman staggered back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Jake looked back at Ali.

"One of Roseanne's friends," he explained unconvincingly. "She's staying here while she's waiting for her new house to close. I'm afraid she had a bit too much wine with dinner. But I'm forgetting my manners. Won't you come in?"

Amber's appearance had fueled Ali's curiosity. Based on her own unfortunate marital experience, nothing short of a loaded weapon would have kept her from accepting Jake's rather halfhearted invitation.

"Thank you so much," Ali said, and headed for the door, leaving both Dave Holman and Jake to trail along behind her.

She saw signs of change the moment she stepped inside the entryway. For years a flattering oil portrait of Roseanne Maxwell had held sway just inside their front door. That painting was no longer there. Instead, a large rectangle of slightly lighter cream paint showed where the painting had once hung. Over the massive river-rock fireplace another paintingan unframed canvas Ali recalled as featuring a modern rendition of what appeared to be sunflowerswas also missing from its place of honor. Amber was nowhere to be seen, but from some distant corner of the house came the muffled sound of a television drama.

"Don't tell me Roseanne isn't home," Ali exclaimed. "She was really kind to me last spring when everything was so awful. I wanted to thank her."

"She's in New York right now," Jake said a little too quickly. "She went with one of her friends. They're busy buying next year's clothes and taking in a couple of shows."

"Do let her know I'm sorry we missed her," Ali said. "If she returns before I leave, we'll have to have lunch."

"Of course, of course," Jake murmured. "Now, can I get you something?"

Dave shook his head. "No, thanks," he replied.

"Some ice water would be nice," Ali said.

While Jake summoned his majordomo and issued the drink order, Ali examined her surroundings. Two pieces of Dale Chihuly blown glass were missing from the ebony sideboard in the dining room. Their absence along with the missing paintings led Ali to only one conclusion. Most people don't pack their precious artwork when they go off on a weeklong shopping excursion. Roseanne's departure had to be more serious than that.

Kimball appeared, bearing a silver drinks tray complete with an ice bucket, a collection of Baccarat crystal glasses, Voss bottled water, a decanter of wine, and a bottle of Oban single-malt scotch. With a slight bow, he deposited the tray on a side table. Then, without bothering to ask, he poured Jake a rocks glass with a tall, two-finger scotch. Meantime, Jake settled himself comfortably on a nearby love seat and crossed his legs, revealing a pair of very expensive Italian loafers.

"So what's all this about Tracy McLaughlin?" he asked.

He was trying so hard to be nonchalant and casual that an imp got into Ali Reynolds. She decided to go for the gold.

"I suppose you've heard about Paul's will?" she asked.

"Yes," Jake said with a thoughtful nod. "I heard that you got left holding the bag. It's got to be really tough, dealing with a complicated mess like that. And then, with everything else, to have April's mother fall down the stairs amp;"

"It's been tough, all right," Ali agreed. "And it's likely to get even tougher. Dave and I have reason to believe that the child April is carrying might not be Paul's after all. Since you and Paul were so close, I was wondering if you'd have any insight into that?"

Jake's face registered astonishment. "If it's not Paul's, whose baby is it?"

"She," Ali corrected. "The baby is a she. But that's what we're trying to determinethe identity of the baby's father. It's also why we're looking for Tracy McLaughlin."

Jake allowed himself a generous slug of neat Oban. "You're thinking Tracy might be the baby's father?" he asked.

"It's possible," Ali said. "So what can you tell us about him?"

Jake peered into his glass, studying the contents. "I suppose you know that he had a bit of a rough start."

"As in being sent to prison for grand theft auto," Ali returned. "Yes, we're aware of that."

"After he got out, he came out to California, where he eventually developed this Sumo Sudoku idea. And it was a great ideahe got a trademark on it and everything. Unfortunately, at the same time, Tracy was also developing a bit of a gambling problem. Finally, he was in so deep that Paul and I bought him out. We gave him enough of an advance to pay off his debts. After he's earned that back, he'll get royalties."

"Which is how the guy who invented the whole thing ends up doing grunt labor," Ali said. "That's why he wears a kilt, lugs rocks around, and drives a leased RV."

"Something like that," Jake said.

"So is Tracy mad about thatabout losing control of his brainchild to someone else?" Dave asked.

"I don't think so," Jake answered. "He wanted his debts paid off a lot more than he wanted to run things."

"What if Sumo Sudoku happens to get picked up by one of the sports networks?" Ali asked. "What happens then? Would Tracy make money?"

"We'd all make money."

"Which is why," Ali said, "even with Paul dead, April was determined to go forward with the shoot."

Jake sipped his scotch. "I suppose," he said. "But I still don't see what makes you think the baby might be Tracy's. I mean, I've never seen any evidence of them hanging out together."

"How did Tracy get hooked up with you and Paul to begin with?" Ali asked.

"Touche," Jake said after a pause. "Now that you mention it, I guess April was the one who introduced us."

Somehow Ali didn't find that the least bit surprising.

"Do you have any idea where Tracy McLaughlin lives?" Dave asked. "We'd like to talk to him if at all possible, the sooner the better."

"No idea," Jake answered. "None at all. He lives a pretty marginal lifestyle, if you know what I mean."

"So he's still gambling?" Dave asked.

"I suppose."

"And he's still broke?"

"Most likely."

"But he would need a place to park that huge rig of his. And since your name is on the lease of that very valuable piece of equipment, I would imagine you'd know where that secret parking place might be."

"Sorry," Jake said. "I have no idea."

It was a simple answer, but as soon as Ali heard it, she knew it was a lie.

"Does he have another vehicle?" Ali asked. "Something a little smaller and easier to park?"

"Probably," Jake answered, "but I'm not sure what."

"So you just turn these guys loose with your leased RVs and don't pay any attention to where they go or what they do with them?"

"Their contracts dictate that they have to be out in public doing events for a set number of hours per week, mostly up and down the West Coast. Some of the contests we set uplike the shoot at the house yesterday. Some of the others are just pickup gameson the beach, in parks, wherever. But with the advertising on the RVs, our guys are doing their job wherever they are, even when they're just driving up and down the Five. After all, name familiarity is the name of the game."

"So you're still moving forward with this Sumo Sudoku thing?" Ali asked.

"Of course," Jake replied with absolute confidence. "There's no reason not to."

There might be, Ali thought. I'm your new partner and I may not be quite as interested in it as Paul was.

Amber, her empty wineglass in hand, meandered into the living room from somewhere else in the house. "Oh," she blurted vaguely, looking at Ali and Dave. "Are you still here?"

Ali took the hint and stood up. Dave followed suit while Amber staggered toward the drinks tray. Clearly the woman had had more than enough, but that didn't keep her from refilling her glass.

"Amber," Jake said warningly.

"What?" Amber seemed defiant. She dropped onto a sofa, slopping a splotch of vivid red wine onto the white silk. "What?" she said again.

Jake shook his head wearily and said nothing. Obviously Amber was a bit of a handful.

"We'll be going then," Ali said. She walked as far as the door before pausing and turning back toward their host. "When did you say Roseanne will be back?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Jake said uneasily. "This week sometime. It was pretty open-ended. You'll let us know when the funeral is, won't you?" he asked. "She'll want to be home for that."

"I'm sure she will," Ali agreed. "Tell Roseanne I'll give her a call as soon as the services are scheduled."

Outside, the sun was down. The warm September evening had cooled under a blanket of damp marine air that had rolled in off the Pacific.

"What now?" Dave asked as they climbed into the Cayenne and buckled up.

"I'm not sure," Ali said.

She put the car in gear and drove to the bottom of the driveway. The gate opened and closed, letting them back onto the roadway. Ali drove a hundred yards or so up the road and pulled off into the approach to yet another driveway.

"What on earth are you doing?" Dave asked.

"Wait," Ali said. "Let's see what happens."

Less than a minute later, the gate to the Maxwells' place swung open and a silver Jaguar XJ convertible with the top down nosed out of the driveway and onto the road.

"Bingo," Ali said. "There he is."

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to follow him," Ali said, putting the Cayenne in gear and pulling out well behind the Jag. "I'm guessing he'll lead us straight to Tracy McLaughlin."

"God help me," Dave groaned. "Do you know anything at all about pursuit driving?"

"Not a thing," she answered. "But I know a lot more about California drivers than you do, so you watch him and I'll drive."

Both of which were easier said then done.

Ali raced through two lights that were in the process of turning red in an effort to keep Maxwell's Jaguar in sight as he turned onto the 101 and headed back toward the city. By the time Ali merged onto the freeway, he was in the far left lane and passing everything in sight. Ali headed for the left lane as well.

"We'll never catch him," Dave protested. "Or else we'll be killed."

"We'll catch him, all right," Ali said determinedly. "And with all this traffic, he'll never know it's us."

She managed to stick with the speeding Jag for the next hair-raising ten minutes or so until Maxwell finally swerved back into the far right-hand lane and onto the Fallbrook Avenue exit. Dodging through traffic, Ali followed suit, making it onto the ramp with bare inches to spare. Once there, she slowed and dropped back far enough to allow another car to merge in ahead of them at the light.

Back on surface streets it was easier to keep the Jag in sight while maintaining a safe distance. A mile and a half later, Jake Maxwell turned into a well-lit commercial parking lot.

"Geez!" Dave grumbled. "This guy has spent the last half hour driving like a bat out of hell and endangering life and limb. And for what? To go to Wal-Mart? What's he going to do, buy a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk?"

But instead of turning up the aisle of parked vehicles that would have led toward the store's main entrance, the Jag turned left and headed off across the outermost boundary of the parking lot, stopping at last in a far corner of the property where several hulking motor homes and campers had pulled up and parked for the night. The fluorescent glow of the parking lot lights revealed that one of the assembled RVs sported a more-than-life-sized portrait of a smiling Tracy McLaughlin wearing his distinctive Sumo Sudoku kilt. Hooked onto a tow bar behind it was a spanking-new Honda Element with the paper temporary plate still in its back window.

Dave stifled his series of complaints and sat bolt upright. "I'll be damned!" he exclaimed with undisguised admiration. "I don't believe it. You were right all along. Maxwell led us straight to Tracy."

"Yes, he did," Ali agreed. "Now what?"

"Pull over, park, and kill your lights and engine," Dave directed. "We're going to hide and watch."