Author: Matt Goldman
Category: Mystery
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/matt-goldman/page,20,556903-dead_west.html
39
We walked back downstairs and returned to the party. Brit saw the executive from CBS and proceeded to pitch her the series about the down-and-out actress turned private investigator. I went back outside, found a quiet spot with a multimillion-dollar view, checked my phone to confirm it had recorded Brit’s confession, and emailed it from [email protected] to [email protected] so it was backed up on two servers. I called Ellegaard to relay what I’d learned then texted him the audio recording of Brit’s confession. It wouldn’t be admissible in court, but I doubted that, when sober, Brit would change her story.
I left Brit in Sebastiano’s care and, half an hour later, parked a couple hundred yards from Thom Burke’s house. He’d kept his garbage and recycling on the side of his house. I walked past that and, toward the back corner, saw a wooden box with a hinged lid. I pulled my latex gloves from my front jeans pocket and snapped them on. I lifted the lid on the box. It was still full. The police had gone through Thom’s garbage and recycling, but didn’t check a wooden box that looked like where you’d keep hoses. If they had, they would have seen a white, plastic container buried under a few layers of Perrier bottles. I removed the bottles one by one until I had a clean look at the plastic container. I stuck my flashlight into the box and turned it on. The white plastic container had a simple, almost generic-looking label: 100,000 milligrams of caffeine powder. That’s equal to 1,000 Red Bulls. A teaspoon of the stuff can kill a person.
Brit’s story appeared to be true.
I replaced the Perrier bottles, walked back to my car, called Detective Montanio to tell her I had some information she’d want and asked if I could buy her a cup of coffee. Half an hour later, we sat in House of Pies in Los Feliz. The place was old school. Brown vinyl-upholstered booths, a cheap suspended ceiling, a counter with simple stools, a refrigerated glass case of pies. The clientele was a mix of working class and hipster. Montanio looked tired.
I said, “Long day, I know.”
“This had better be good, Shapiro.”
“It is. I promise. But before I tell you, I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“What a surprise.”
A too-good-looking server wearing a maroon apron took our order, filled our cups with coffee, and disappeared.
I said, “I’d like you to share a simple piece of information with me in exchange for what I’m about to tell you.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I’m hoping you can because I’m going to tell you who killed Thom Burke.”
“I know who killed Thom Burke. He’s got Ebben Mayer and—”
“No.”
“No?”
“Vasily Zaytzev did not kill Thom Burke.”
Mariana Montanio emptied a tiny plastic cup of cream into her coffee, stirred it, and looked at me with eyes so dead you’d think I’d just told her my five-year goals. She said nothing, hoping I’d elaborate. It’s a good technique. I did the same. A full minute went by, then the server dropped a slice of banana cream pie in front of me and one of those fresh strawberry globs in front of Detective Montanio. It looked more like fruit than pie, and I felt sorry for her.
My slice was halfway gone when she gave up and said, “If your story holds up, I’ll share what I can.”
“That’s all I’m asking. You’re going to get a murder cleared off your board either way.”
* * *
Detective Montanio and two crime scene unit investigators met me at Thom Burke’s house. The crime scene unit investigators emptied the wooden box one bottle at a time, bagging and tagging each for analysis at the lab. After processing twenty or so green glass bottles, they removed a white, plastic container with a simple, almost generic-looking label.
Detective Montanio nodded, looked at me, and said, “Come talk to me, Shapiro.” We walked to the far end of the driveway where it met Nichols Canyon. She said, “What do you want to know?”
“How did you and Hall learn about Veins of Gold?”
She looked down, sighed, and looked back up. “We found a budget and script on Thom’s computer.”
“I bet he had a lot of budgets and scripts on his computer. That was his job, breaking down scripts into budgets and shooting schedules.”
She nodded. “You ever see a movie budget?”
I couldn’t tell her about the Veins of Gold budget I’d found in Thom’s home office. “Yeah, at Ebben’s. They’re thick. I don’t understand anything except the final number.”
“Well, if you weren’t afraid to read the thick part of the budget, you’d see all sorts of interesting things like who’s starring in the movie and who’s the executive producer.”
“Thom Burke was the executive producer?”
“And guess who was supposed to star?”
“Kate Lennon.”
“You’re a crack detective, Shapiro.”
“About time you noticed.”
She smiled. “Except for one thing. You said back at the police station that the budget was $15 million. You misread it. Total budget was 20 million.”
“For Veins of Gold?”
She nodded.
Then I understood everything. Well, almost everything.
* * *
I returned to Sebastiano’s house a little after 12:30 A.M. The party had not thinned, and Sebastiano and Debra still sat at their round table on the patio.
Sebastiano saw me and put on his best smile. “Nils, you’re back. Any word on Ebben?”
“No. Not yet. But I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“Ask away.”
“I want to talk to Kate Lennon.”
40
I woke to an Ellegaard text informing me that Vasily sent Ebben’s parents a video of Ebben with C-SPAN on the TV in the background, proving Ebben was alive and well other than he had to watch C-SPAN. Vasily added that if he didn’t receive the money by sunrise tomorrow, he’d shoot Ebben in the head.
I hopped in the rental Land Rover, plugged the address into my nav app, and left Hancock Park at 8:00 A.M. It took one hour to drive five miles. After a quick pass through a full parking lot, I circled through an alley to Riverside Drive and parked a block away from the restaurant. In my short time in Los Angeles, I’d learned you could wait for a parking spot for fifteen minutes, or you could park a block away and walk two minutes. It seemed I was the only one who preferred the latter.
Hugo’s in Valley Village sits near Riverside and Coldwater on a corner shared by two gas stations and a Whole Foods. It was 9:00 A.M. and crowded. Twenty or so people clumped in twos, threes, and fours waiting for tables. I spotted her in the back corner under a logo-free white baseball cap, her ponytail sticking out the back. She wore a jean jacket over a black T-shirt, khaki pants, and Adidas that looked like they had built-in socks. She already had a hot beverage in an oversized mug. She sipped from it, two handed, while studying the menu.
I walked up to the table and said, “Ms. Lennon?”
She looked up with big brown eyes and spoke in a smoky voice. “Nils Shapiro. Nice to meet you.”
We shook hands and I sat across from her. She looked like the person I’d seen in the movies except her head looked too big for her tiny body. Maybe that’s what made her photogenic. She said, “Have you been here before? Their breakfast salad is perfect.”
“I haven’t been anywhere before and I’ve never heard of a breakfast salad.”
“Never been anywhere before? Welcome to the big beautiful world.”
“Thank you.”
The server came and took our orders then Kate Lennon and I chatted about where we came from and what happened after high school and a few topics in the news then our breakfast salads came and looked delicious and they were. If I had to guess, she was trying to assess whether or not she could trust me. I’d experienced that kind of seemingly idle chitchat with other, if not famous, highly accomplished and well-off people. Every day someone wanted something from them. An acquaintance starting a business or a charity o
r a down-on-their-luck relative or a private investigator.
Her agent had told her I only wanted answers to a few questions, none personal. That coupled with a thorough deployment of her bullshit detector and she was ready to talk.
“So,” she said, “you have a few questions for me?”
“Just a few. I promise.”
The server swung by, refilled my coffee, asked Kate if she wanted another bath-sized latte. She declined.
“Did you have any involvement in a movie project called Veins of Gold?”
She smiled. “Oh boy.”
“You’ve heard of it.”
“Oh yes. I met Thom Burke. He was an associate producer or something on a movie I shot last year. It’s not out yet and they keep changing the title so I don’t even know what it’s called. He seemed like a nice enough guy and told me he was making a movie about the gold rush and asked if he could send me a script. I said sure because what else am I going to say? I figured the script would suck and I’d bow out gracefully. It happens all the time. Have you read the script?”
I said, “No. I haven’t seen it.”
“Well, shocker—it’s pretty good. And the part was great. The story is about a super interesting time in U.S. history and the foundation of today’s struggles for equality. Two huge things happened within one year. California was a part of Mexico until 1848 then it became a territory of the United States. So the Mexican nationals, called Californios, who had lived on the land for generations peacefully alongside Native Americans, were all of a sudden shit out of luck because they weren’t Mexicans anymore and they weren’t Americans. They had no country. Then gold was discovered and white people poured in from all over the world, and within a few years, San Francisco saw its population boom from like 300 to 300,000. The settlers viewed the Californios and Native Americans as obstacles to getting rich. And neither the Californios nor Native Americans had any government representation or power, so the settlers pushed them out and took their land.”
“Guns, germs, and steel.”
“Exactly. And San Francisco attracted women seeking freedoms that weren’t available anywhere else. Like in the eastern United States and Europe, women were second-class citizens. They couldn’t own a business or property. But because of San Francisco’s huge influx of male fortune hunters, the city of San Francisco enticed women to move West by abolishing the shit that held ’em back. Women were suddenly free to start businesses and own property. It’s pretty interesting.”
“So you agreed to do the part?”
“Eh, kind of sort of. I gave Thom a window where I was free and said I was inclined to do it. But there were a ton of moving pieces in my schedule, then this fucking fantastic script came my way called For the People. Really powerful. And it’s the first project of something called The Creative Collective, which I want to be a part of, so I told Thom I couldn’t do Veins of Gold in that original window and I have like four projects lined up right after For the People so it would be at least a few years until I’m free again.”
“How did Thom take the news?”
“I had my agent tell him, but the report I got back was Thom begged me to reconsider. Guess he sounded pretty desperate. But I was super clear with him that I wasn’t attached to the movie. We never had a contract. I said don’t raise money using my name. But I think he did.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me he’d escrowed the entire cost of production. The money was ready to go. He even offered to pay me before principal photography. My whole fee. That never happens. Seemed pretty strange. Have you met Thom?”
“Yes.”
“The police told me he died, but they didn’t tell me how.”
“Hit by a car.”
“Oh my God. Where?”
“His driveway.”
41
I left Kate Lennon in Hugo’s and got in the Land Rover and headed west to Subaru of Sherman Oaks on Van Nuys Boulevard, a street so wide you took a risk crossing it without trail mix and a bottle of water. The dealership was a converted industrial space of red brick with an arched wooden ceiling. It was open and friendly and seemed more appropriate for an ad agency or artists’ loft.
A young woman approached and asked if I needed help. I asked if I could speak to a manager.
She said, “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Just have a general question about accepted methods of payment.”
“I can help you with that.”
She seemed like a knowledgeable, responsible sort, so I said, “Can I buy a car with cash?”
“Of course. You don’t have to finance. Just write a personal check and—”
“I’m sorry. I meant, can I buy a car with actual cash money? No check.”
“Oh. Well, anything more than $10,000 and we have to report it to the IRS, which is kind of a pain. And I’m not implying anything by this, we love to sell cars—that’s why we’re here—but we’d rather not sell to someone who may have acquired their money illegitimately. That’s not a big problem for us. Most drug dealers or what-have-you don’t aspire to drive Subarus.”
“So you don’t take cash?”
“Our finance department suggests instead of cash that the buyer uses a debit card or even prepaid credit cards. One guy bought his Outback on prepaid credit cards. Something like seventy $500 cards. It took the cashier over an hour to process the sale.”
“$35,000 in gift cards?”
“Yes. I saw them. Prepaid Visa cards and Mastercards and American Express. You can buy them at CVS. It was crazy.”
* * *
LAPD detectives Hall and Montanio offered me a deal—I had to buy them lunch in exchange for their time. They suggested some place with a French name near Highland and Melrose, as if I knew where that was. But my phone found it, and I parked at a meter three blocks away and had the sidewalk to myself the entire walk. The restaurant was tiny. It didn’t even have tables. Just one counter against the left wall and the bar and kitchen against the right wall.
It was decorated early 1900s with dark wood and wallpaper and light from glass globes. We arrived early enough that we didn’t have to wait for a spot. The hostess led us to our seats, and the detectives made a tactical error. They thought they were suckering me into paying for an expensive lunch, but in doing so they chose a restaurant where I could sit between them. There were only three stools available. I stepped forward and took the middle one. Hall sat to my left. Montanio to my right.
The hostess asked if we wanted bread and butter. Hall said, “That’s the only reason we’re here.”
The hostess smiled and left.
Montanio said, “So we’re guessing you want to know what happened this morning with Brit.”
“Not why I wanted to talk to you but I’m happy to listen.”
“She spilled,” said Hall. “The whole story just as you relayed it. So thanks for lunch and thanks for that.”
“Is the D.A. going to charge it as a homicide?”
“Don’t know yet. Don’t much care either. A murder was on our board. Now it’s not. So why are we gracing you with our presence?”
“Ebben Mayer has eighteen hours to live.”
“All the law enforcement in this town is combing the city. We can’t find him and that Vasily guy anywhere.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. That’s why I want you to use the 15 million from Thom Burke’s safe-deposit box to pay Ebben Mayer’s ransom.”
Montanio said, “Are you fucking crazy? Why the hell would we give Vasily $15 million?”
“Because it’s his money.”
Montanio and Hall tried to communicate but my seat between them got in the way.
Montanio said, “That asshole never had no 15 million. That’s why he kidnapped a rich dude.”
I said nothing. The server brought the bread and butter. I thought Hall was kidding about it being the only reason we were there, but after one bite I said, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
; Hall said, “They fly the butter in from Normandy. Fucking France. It don’t get better than this.”
I ordered a croque monsieur and my detective friends ordered a couple of entrées each and wine and a side of frites for me because Hall said, “You don’t go to this joint and not get the motherfucking frites. You just don’t.”
Montanio said, “How in the hell could the 15 mil be Vasily’s? Plus, he’s asking for 20 mil. According to my North Hollywood High math, that leaves 5 mil missing.”
I swallowed a bite of bread and butter and said, “Here’s what I think happened: Vasily invested $20 million with Thom Burke to make Veins of Gold. I agree with you that there’s no way the 20 million was Vasily’s. He was the go-between, investing it for someone else. Could be someone local trying to cover their tracks. Could be a Russian oligarch who’s been sanctioned by the U.S. government and can’t legally do business in this country. Kind of doesn’t matter who it is at this point.
“What does matter is that Vasily probably convinced the person to make the investment. So Vasily’s on the hook. The whole deal was predicated on Kate Lennon being cast in the lead role, but Thom never had a contract with her. Kate Lennon was inclinded to start in Veins of Gold but dropped out because she fell in love with Brit Dawsey’s For the People script and she wanted to work with Ebben Mayer and The Creative Collective.”
Hall said, “That kind of thing happens every day.”
Montanio said, “So no Kate Lennon, no Veins of Gold.”
“Exactly. Now the investor wants his money back. Vasily goes to Thom and says no Veins of Gold, give me the money back. But it’s not so simple.”
Montanio sipped her wine and said, “And why is that?”
“Thom made two budgets for Veins of Gold. One for $20 million, and one for $15 million. He showed Vasily the $20 million budget, but the actual shooting budget was for 15 million.”
Montanio said, “The son of a bitch skimmed 5 million.”
“That’s how it looks to me. And maybe Thom already spent it or part of it or maybe not. Maybe he just didn’t want to give it back. Either way, he tells Vasily to hold tight. He’s going to get Kate Lennon back for Veins of Gold. And how do you think he tries to do that?”