Fixed in Blood Read online

  “Mr. Feldoni,” Mort began. “Calm down. I appreciate the disruption our presence causes—”

  “You have no fucking idea,” Feldoni interrupted. “Every dickwad with a cell has video of you walking Ben into his trailer. Now they got me joining the party.” He jabbed a finger at his director. “And who’s supposed to be in charge of security around here? I thought I made it clear no cellphones on the set. The whole world’s itching for a scrap of information about my latest film. I don’t need some grip thinking he can pay his rent this month by snapping a few shots of me mixing it up between scenes.”

  It had been a decade since Feldoni’s last movie. Schuster said Feldoni had to put up his own money to get this movie made. Mort doubted the tabloids would be clamoring for any inside scoop.

  They might, however, be interested in what a homicide detective was doing on set.

  “Let’s go downtown, Mr. Feldoni. You and Ben can ride with us or we can call a squad car. We can be off the set in less than three minutes. No more worries about unauthorized photos.”

  Feldoni used what little space the trailer offered to pace. “Downtown? I’m being arrested?”

  “No.” Mort hoped Robbie would never learn what an egotistical jerk his boyhood action hero was. “I have questions to ask. If our presence is the disruption you claim, we can continue this down at the station.”

  For a moment Feldoni stood stunned into silence. He turned to Verte. “You listening to this shit? Get the suits on the line. Tell ’em to get these two off my set.”

  Ben lifted his hands in supplication. “There’s nothing to be done, Tony. We have to answer their questions.”

  “What happened to my right to remain silent?” The onetime box office hero sounded confused.

  Ben shot a “Don’t read anything into that” look to Mort and Lydia.

  “You can remain silent, Tony.” Ben spoke like he was talking to a spoiled four-year-old who didn’t want to share his Oreos. “If you do that, they’ll take you downtown. And they’d be right because it makes it look like you have something to hide. Which you don’t. Wouldn’t it be better to just see what questions they have?”

  Feldoni slammed his right fist into his left palm. “I hate this shit. I need this movie, Ben.”

  “I know you do. And it’s going to be a smash.”

  “It’s gonna put me right back on top.” Feldoni seemed to be calming a bit.

  “Right where you belong. You and Vincent will be on the cover of every magazine in the country. You’ll need an entire staff to take the offers pouring in.” Verte paused to let the actor savor the image. “Now let’s answer these questions and get back to work. What do you say?”

  Ben was part babysitter, part lion tamer, but his strategy for handling Feldoni was working. The movie star shrugged, leaned against the kitchen counter, and turned to face Mort.

  “What d’ya want to know?”

  “What is your knowledge of how equipment on set is monitored, Mr. Feldoni?” Mort flipped to a fresh page in his notebook.

  Feldoni’s eyes narrowed. “Equipment? You mean like wardrobe? Makeup?”

  Of course this egomaniac would jump to the inventory most pertinent to him, Mort thought.

  “He means cameras, Tony,” Ben Verte clarified. “Some cameras are missing. Expensive ones.”

  Feldoni continued his bewilderment. “What the fuck do I care about that? We got plenty of cameras. Am I right?”

  “These were expensive, Tony.” Mort was content to stand back and let Verte and Feldoni talk. He might learn more if the two of them spoke without the defensiveness that came with talking to the police. “A couple of lenses are missing, too.”

  “So what?” Feldoni said. “Let the bean counters worry. That’s why God invented insurance, am I right? As long as we finish primary shots on time, I’m fine. Let the cops track whoever stole the shit. What do we care?”

  “The cameras were used to film two murders.” Mort needed to amp up the tension. “Two young women.”

  Feldoni snapped his neck back. “You talkin’ snuffs? No shit? Honest-to-God snuff films?”

  “You’re aware of them?” Mort asked. Lydia sat with her hands in her lap. Her look of boredom may have appeared nonthreatening, but Mort could see Feldoni held her interest.

  “I’m a man, right?” Feldoni nodded his head more than necessary, his eyes now focused on the floor. “Of course I heard of ’em. I always thought they were, what d’ya call it, city fairy stories.”

  “Urban myths,” Verte corrected. “Sadly, they do exist.”

  “Tell me about Eddie Yavornitzky, Mr. Feldoni,” Mort said.

  “Eddie who now?” Feldoni looked back to his director.

  “You may know him as Yaz,” Mort said. “Maybe Eddie Yaz.”

  Feldoni’s thick makeup couldn’t mask the color draining out of the actor’s face.

  “He’s a cameraman,” Mort continued. “Here on this set. You know him?”

  Feldoni’s hands dropped to his side. His fists flexed opened and closed again and again.

  “Never heard of the guy.” Feldoni’s voice held no bravado. He turned to Ben. “He the guy who stole the cameras?”

  “Are you playing a boxer in this film, Mr. Feldoni?” Lydia’s voice was soft curiosity.

  Feldoni blinked in confusion. He reminded Mort of a car stuck in idle with the engine running, waiting for someone to throw it into gear.

  “I’m wondering about your outfit.” Lydia rose and took a gentle step in his direction. “Maybe you just came from the gym, I don’t know. But you look like a prizefighter.”

  Feldoni nodded. “I’m glad you think so. Wardrobe can only do so much. Man’s gotta look the part.”

  “Well, you certainly do,” Lydia continued. “Is it for the movie?”

  “I play a guy runs a gym. Retired heavyweight champ. A buddy of his gets screwed over by this colonel in the Army. My character takes it personal. I guess you could say it’s all about getting even.” Feldoni’s eyes traced Lydia from her face to her legs and back up again. Mort pushed himself farther against his chair to keep from knocking the leer off the has-been’s face. Lydia knew what she was doing.

  “You like revenge, sexy lady?” Feldoni asked.

  Lydia held his gaze. “Can’t say I’m a fan.” She paused and lowered her voice into a suggestive register that made Mort uncomfortable. “Now, justice…justice I can get behind. Do you see the difference?”

  Feldoni’s smile said he liked the game they were playing. “Maybe we can have coffee sometime. You could school me on the topic.”

  Lydia lifted her right hand toward the actor’s shoulder. “May I?”

  Feldoni flexed and tilted closer to her hand. “You ask nice like that, you can touch anything you like.”

  Lydia trailed her index finger from Feldoni’s shoulder, down his arm, to his wrist. Mort fought the temptation to look away.

  She tapped the wrap encasing the actor’s hands. “You can tell a lot about a man by his hands. Did you know that?”

  Feldoni seemed oblivious to the fact there were two other people in the trailer. “This about the length of my fingers, you got nothing to worry about.” His voice was a low rumble of feral sexuality.

  “Let me see.” Lydia’s whisper matched his level of heat.

  Feldoni held her gaze. “What do you say we take this conversation to my place?”

  Lydia tilted her head over her shoulder. “I’m on the clock. But I’m free after five. Take off the wrap and give me something to make the clock run slow.”

  Feldoni chuckled. He reached for the clip holding the wrap in place.

  “Stop right there.” Ben Verte stood, crossed over to his star, and placed his hand over Feldoni’s. He turned to Mort. “Go. Right now. We’re done answering and we’ve got a movie to shoot. Should you have additional questions for me or Mr. Feldoni, we’ll be happy to meet you downtown. And we’ll be sure to have a team of attorneys with us. Now go.”


  Mort slipped his notebook into his pocket while Lydia gathered her things. He left his card on the table and held the door open for Lydia. They walked back to his Subaru in silence as dozens of cellphones snapped their photos.

  They buckled their seatbelts and Mort backed up. Two people ran up and snapped a picture of his license plate.

  “So this is what it’s like to be a celebrity? I wonder if Robbie gets this kind of treatment when he goes on his book tours.” Mort shifted and pulled away. He waited until they were down the twisting gravel road and back on solid asphalt to speak.

  “We got Verte’s attention, that’s for damned sure.” Mort slid into the lane leading to the freeway. “What caught your eye?”

  “Verte was very casual about Eddie Yaz’s possible involvement in a murder.”

  Mort nodded. “He said Eddie’s interest in film was a whim. Brushed him off as a flighty rich kid. That struck me as odd given what we were there investigating.”

  “If Eddie’s been discounted his entire life, could be he’d want to do something big to show people he needs to be taken seriously.”

  “Maybe. Let’s hold on to that. What else?”

  “Verte knew I was looking for something on Feldoni’s hand. He stopped us fast.”

  Mort turned north toward Seattle and inched into I-5 traffic that didn’t understand the concept of isolated rush hours. “And Verte never took his gloves off, either. I’ll get a warrant for photos of Feldoni’s and Verte’s hands.”

  “There’s something here, I’m certain. Maybe we could—” Her ringing cellphone interrupted. She saw the number and held up one finger to stop their conversation. Mort drove as she punched two numbers into her phone.

  “This is Dr. Corriger.” Mort watched her startle a moment later. “Certainly. Connect us, please.” Lydia punched another button on her cell’s screen. She looked up at Mort. “It’s my service. I’ve got it on speaker.”

  “But—”

  “It’s Delbe Jensen. If we’re right about this all being connected, you need to hear this.”

  “I have her.” A male voice came over Lydia’s speaker. “Go ahead, ma’am. I have Dr. Corriger on the line.”

  “Delbe? Are you all right? Tell me where you are.” Lydia’s voice was rock-steady calm.

  “Dr. C!” Delbe Jensen’s frenzied panic was evident. “I can’t call my parents. They’d kill them. Dr. C…Dr. C…” Her sobs were punctuated by frantic gulps for air.

  “Delbe, Tell me where you are.”

  “No…movie…can’t…won’t…have to…” Delbe’s garbled words were difficult to discern between her desperate sobs. “…girl…help…I…”

  “Delbe. Just tell me where you are. Nothing else.” Mort was fascinated with her calm in the face of such a whirlwind.

  “I don’t know.” Delbe was able to choke out one complete sentence before dissolving into another spasm of sobs. “I…movie…scared.” There was a sound of a door opening followed by the bellowing male roar and the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh.

  Then the phone went dead.

  Mort kept his eyes on the road. “What do you need, Liddy?”

  Lydia stared straight ahead. “Get me to my hotel. Fast.”

  Chapter 34

  She promised it would be easy to find Maria. Should he be so upset that she lied? His wife had been irritated when she called. Maria hadn’t come back from dance class when she was supposed to.

  “This is how it starts,” Olga yammered into the phone. “Those teen years. You’ve got to stop this in its tracks. No more Daddy Sweet Cakes. No way in hell I’m putting up with a teenager who disrespects the rules of this house. I want you to put the fear of God into her when you get home.”

  Boss Man had struggled to keep from choking and assured his wife he would. Then he hung up and cried. His office door was closed, but he wouldn’t have cared who heard. I’d sacrifice my own life if it meant Maria could torment Olga with teenaged rebellion.

  His wife wasn’t irritated when she called back two hours later. Maria still wasn’t home. Olga had called her cell again and again. She’d called Maria’s friends. No one had seen her after dance class. One friend had invited her over to watch television, but Maria had begged off. Said she had to get all her chores done before her special date with her dad.

  We were going to watch to see who got the roses. He tried to reassure his wife everything would be fine and promised to come straight home.

  Maria’s dead. The thought haunted him as he drove. Maria’s dead and it’s my fault. As he neared his house he steeled himself for the role he was forced to play. He got out of his car and trusted his weak legs would support him. Boss Man walked up to his front door as a new thought invaded. My wife will go insane and that will be my fault, too.

  It had been a long evening. Olga was the first to lose confidence in his reassurances. Then the boys. He urged them to go to bed at their regular time. “When you wake up, your sister will be here. You can yell at her all through breakfast for making us so worried.” He prayed to a God he was certain wasn’t listening that his sons would never learn his role in their sister’s death.

  They called the police just after midnight. Olga insisted. The officers were polite and stepped through their routine as kindly as they could. Olga gave them recent photos and lists of school, lessons, and friends. They answered the officers’ questions. Olga through tears, he through a choking throat. No, we have no idea. No, she’s never late. No, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. There’s no trouble at school. No trouble at home.

  The police questions were easy. The never-ending damnations pounding in his own skull were torture.

  He left Olga and the boys in the care of her mother and no fewer than five neighbor women. A pill materialized from someone’s medicine cabinet and Olga finally lay down around five that morning. He needed a break, he’d told the bevy hovering in hushed tones. Just a few hours of normal back at work. Everyone looked at his red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes and nodded in solemn respect. They promised to call the moment they heard anything. One particularly chirpy bird from down the street said, “The minute Maria walks in the door.”

  He needed to make arrangements. Tokarev had already been paid for one more film. The customer was waiting. If he didn’t deliver, Tokarev would come.

  If he followed through and delivered the girl to the film site, Tokarev’s whore would come. She promised if another girl died his sons would not have the death Maria had. His daughter had giggled with delight as Staz played with her in the pool. Boss Man closed his eyes and tried to focus on his daughter’s last moments. All he could see was the last few seconds of her struggle. When she knew the game was over and she would die. That was all his mind could conjure.

  That and her blue hair ribbon.

  He’d worked through his panic and grief and devised a plan. Tokarev’s whore had power over him, but she was still Tokarev’s whore. Boss Man would appeal to the power. He’d give Tokarev his film. Show his loyalty despite the overwhelming cost to his family. Surely the Russian would reward that. He’d find a place for Olga and the boys to go. A place not even the whore could find. When he got the all-clear from the Russian, he’d bring them back home. They’d be safe. Forever sad, but safe.

  But Maria’s body needed to be found. There was no way Olga would leave while her baby girl was still missing. His wife needed to know any thread of hope had disappeared. They’d come back for the giant funeral sure to follow. Tokarev could handle his whore by then. But for now, he could sell Olga on the idea of the five of them going away to solidify themselves as a wounded family.

  Why was it taking so long to find Maria’s body? He phoned the client. Sick son of a bitch. Told him the schedule had to be moved up. Shooting was to take place that night. The location was secure. He had the girl. Lights, camera, action. Let’s go. The asshole said it would be inconvenient. Something about already having plans for tonight. Boss Man wanted to come right through the phone and strangle him wi
th his bare hands. My daughter’s dead. What’s left of my family will be, too, if we don’t get this done.

  But the client didn’t give one rat’s ass about him or his family. Boss Man was a pimp. A provider of services. Any inconvenience he might experience was accounted for in his very substantial fee. There was no need for the client to feel any pressure to meet his timeline.

  The asshole agreed to a compromise. Filming was scheduled to start at ten o’clock tomorrow night. He looked at his dashboard clock as he pulled into the weed-filled lot behind the three-story building housing his private operation. Just a few minutes past eleven. The next snuff would start filming in thirty-five hours. Plenty of time to find a place to put Olga and the kids.

  Olga and the kids. He coughed the clench out of his throat. For years that’s what it was. Olga and the kids. Now it will be Olga and the boys.

  He’d get his part done. He’d save his family.

  Why was it taking so long for Maria’s body to show up?

  Boss Man got out of his Accord and scanned the street and empty lots surrounding him. No sign of Staz and his fucking black Escalade. Why didn’t the idiot just get vanity plates that read killer? He entered the building through the back door. Noise was coming from another room. He walked toward it, still unsteady on his feet. He didn’t want another encounter with Staz, but he’d do what he needed to. Thirty-five hours. That’s all he needed.

  He saw Jessica in his office. She had her back to him, a rag in her hand.

  “The fuck you doin’ here?” Boss Man boomed.

  The girl spun around, startled. “I thought you weren’t coming in today. I brought her some food. Thought I’d do some cleaning up. It’s a mess in here.”

  He didn’t have the energy to argue. “Go on home now. I’ll see to the girl. She scheduled to go out tonight?”

  Jennifer nodded. “You might want to send other girls on her dates. She’s pretty upset about having to do that movie. Says she never done anything like that before.”