Gridlock: The Third Ryan Lock Novel Page 10

  Assuming, for the sake of argument, that the cases were linked, there was one thing that Levon Hill was quite clear about. This was a person with a lot of rage. It was probably well concealed, hidden deep within them, but it was there, it was potent and it was overwhelming. The killer was operating in a frenzy. They might have killed before. They might not. But one thing was a hundred per cent guaranteed.

  If this individual wasn’t caught, there would be more bodies.

  Twenty-two

  When Lock walked into the kitchen, Kevin was slumped over a bowl of cereal, still upset over the fallout from Wendy’s unscheduled appearance. Wendy’s mother had not appreciated her daughter sneaking out to see him – especially not when she had turned up to a house surrounded by cops. Lock had brokered a deal that meant Raven and Wendy’s mother agreed that Kevin and Wendy should take a break from each other for a few weeks. Neither Wendy nor Kevin had seemed thrilled at the prospect and Wendy had had to be practically dragged into her mother’s car. It had taken both Lock and Ty to restrain Kevin, who had eventually retreated to bed in a sulk. This was one situation that even Superman didn’t have an answer for.

  Lock grabbed some water from the fridge dispenser. Raven, dressed in sweats and with her hair pinned up, was wiping down the counters.

  ‘Do you have a moment?’ he asked her.

  ‘Sure.’ Raven followed him out of the kitchen and out of Kevin’s earshot.

  ‘I had a call earlier about the guy in Arizona, the one who hassled you inside the club.’

  ‘They caught him?’

  The early-morning sunlight was streaming in through the french windows at the rear of the house. The temperature had dropped by a couple of degrees – the Santa Anas had died down, at least for now. It was the kind of mid-seventies-perfect day that drew the huddled masses west to California.

  Lock took a deep breath. Delivering bad news was like ripping off a plaster: best done swiftly. ‘They found him dead this morning at a house in Tempe.’

  Raven’s shoulders slumped. ‘But the guy who was here last night?’

  ‘They think the person they found in Tempe had been dead for a while, possibly since the night he approached you in the club. The guy last night might have been the one from the parking lot. You said they looked different, right?’

  ‘I think so … The guy in the lot looked a lot taller. But it wasn’t well lit out there and it happened so fast.’ She sighed. ‘So we’re back at square one?’

  Lock took a moment to think her question over. ‘It ups the stakes for all of us, which means more manpower and more attention from the cops, so that’s positive. But we still have to keep our guard up. The more your stalker thinks that people are after him, the more dangerous he’ll be.’

  Raven checked her Cartier watch. ‘And what will that mean?’

  ‘If it brings him out into the open, we’ll be waiting for him. Until then you try and go about your business as best you can.’

  Raven shot him a tight smile. ‘I did have a meeting scheduled for later this morning with the old production company I used to work for. And something out of town this evening. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea with all this attention.’

  Lock waited.

  ‘Can we go outside?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  She stopped at the edge of the deck, resting her elbows on the edge and staring out over the cityscape. ‘When I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone, I wasn’t being entirely truthful.’

  She turned to face him, then went back to staring at the view. ‘There is someone I see from time to time, but it’s more of a business arrangement – if you know what I mean.’

  Lock squared his shoulders. Anyone who followed the news knew that women in Raven’s line of work often supplemented their income by partying with high rollers, whether they were Hollywood A-listers or sports stars or just guys with more money than sense. ‘You don’t have to draw me a picture.’

  ‘He called me this morning,’ Raven said. ‘He wants to see me in Vegas tonight. He said he was worried about me.’

  ‘You want to go to Vegas tonight?’ he asked her, momentarily taken aback.

  ‘It’s a lot of money.’

  Lock nodded reluctantly. ‘Whatever you want to do. Ty can keep an eye on Kevin here and I can come with you. You shouldn’t travel alone.’

  Raven turned to him with a sad smile. ‘I’ll have to clear it with my client first. He has his own security. He said there would be a private jet waiting for me at Van Nuys at four o’clock.’

  But an obvious question was troubling Lock. ‘You know, if this guy has his own security, and a private jet on standby, does it not occur to you that he might have something to do with’ – he gestured to the house and garage – ‘all this?’

  Raven shook her head. ‘Believe me, if he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.’

  ‘So why isn’t his security here now?’

  ‘He pays me well for my time, and I make sure he gets value for money, but that’s as far as it goes. He’s not someone I want to be indebted to.’

  ‘Well,’ Lock said, raising his hands, ‘it’s up to you. If you want me on that plane, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Raven said. ‘I’d better go get changed for my midday meeting.’

  He watched her leave. Through the glass he could see Ty mussing Kevin’s hair. With every new revelation about Raven’s tangled life, the gnawing sense of unease grew. But it was too late now to pack up and walk away. For better or worse, he was in for the ride all the way to the finish.

  Twenty-three

  But before any private flight to Vegas there was the matter of Raven’s first business meeting. Lock wasn’t sure what to expect from the head office of the world’s richest porn production company (dozens of toga-clad supermodels? scenes of debauchery to equal the last days of Rome?) but this sure wasn’t it.

  The company’s headquarters was a two-storey windowless concrete bunker two blocks east of Van Nuys Boulevard. It was flanked on one side by an industrial unit housing an aircraft-parts maintenance company and on the other by a low-rent Mexican restaurant. Like good bodyguards, wealthy adult-movie producers clearly recognized the wisdom of blending into the background.

  Lock parked the Range Rover in back, and took a quick scan of the nearby cars before walking round and opening Raven’s door. She stepped out into the blazing heat, black hair frizzing at the ends with the humidity. They walked to a door at the back of the building, and Raven hit a buzzer. A camera whirred round towards them. A second later there was a click.

  Lock pushed the door open and ushered Raven inside. They found themselves facing a reception area. An obese middle-aged woman, who looked as if walking upstairs would make her sweat gravy, came out from behind the reception desk and enveloped Raven in a hug.

  On the way over, Raven had explained to Lock that, after she had started out in the business, she had been one of the first ‘contract girls’ for Vixen Entertainment, meaning she had made movies exclusively for them. They operated at the higher end of the industry with a revenue stream from distributing their movies via the Internet, cell phones and hotel chains that would have pleased the head of any major Hollywood studio. One thing was for sure, though: they hadn’t spent their money on their head office. Looking around at the faded linoleum and bare walls, Lock wondered what the low-end places were like.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ the receptionist was saying to Raven, ‘we’re all so glad you’re okay. After what happened to you yesterday, we were so worried.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The receptionist seemed to notice Lock for the first time. ‘New boyfriend?’ she asked Raven.

  ‘Security,’ Lock said, then put out his hand. ‘Ryan Lock.’

  ‘Cherry Brandowski,’ the receptionist said, scanning him from top to toe. ‘You ever done any acting, Ryan?’

  Lock smiled. ‘The people in these things act?’ he asked her, waving at the movie posters that lined the
walls. They looked like real movie posters, except they all featured naked women and the titles ranged from the comedic, Sheepless in Seattle, to the more straightforwardly graphic, I Own Your Ass VI. Clearly I Own Your Ass I through V had been sufficiently successful to merit a further sequel.

  Raven frowned. ‘Believe me, it’s the women who have to do the acting most of the time.’

  ‘Just like real life,’ Lock observed, drawing a snort of a laugh from Cherry.

  ‘Is Dimitri around?’ Judging by Raven’s body language, and the way she was lifting up and down on her heels, she seemed eager to cut the conversation short. ‘He did say it was important.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cherry said. ‘He’s in his office.’

  Raven led the way down a long corridor off which there was an array of doors. Some were open and a variety of people sat behind desks, working on computers or on the phone, or filling in paperwork. If you took away the women on the posters, it appeared like any other business. The employees looked like those in any Hollywood production company: young, tired from the long hours, a little more casually dressed than in other parts of the corporate world, with more than the usual share of tattoos and piercings. Other than that they could have been making movies with Keanu Reeves.

  The final door was unmarked. In fact, Lock had noted a complete absence of signage on any of the offices as he’d walked by. Raven knocked and, without waiting for an answer, went straight in.

  From the name and the job title, Lock had been expecting a burly Greek-American with lots of chest hair and a gold medallion, puffing on a cigar. But Dimitri appeared to be in his mid-thirties, an LA fashion victim dressed in an understated combo of designer jeans and a white shirt. There were no medallions, or any other jewelry, in sight.

  Raven made the introductions. Dimitri was the CEO of the company.

  ‘You want me to wait outside?’ Lock asked.

  ‘No, we’re good,’ Raven said, aiming a smile at Dimitri, who shrugged that he didn’t mind either way.

  Of course he had to be with Raven right now. She couldn’t have gone to the meeting unescorted. He also sensed that not only did she and Dimitri have a history but that he was being used. As he saw it, Raven had hired help, and not the kind of dumb meathead who usually turned up as boyfriend or manager. She had brought the real deal: a man who had killed.

  After air-kissing Raven and nodding curtly to Lock, Dimitri motioned for them both to take a seat across from him. Beside his computer he had one of those executive stress-relief contraptions with balls that clacked back and forth. Lock wondered if it was some kind of post-modern attempt at humor but didn’t ask.

  ‘I’ll cut to the chase, Raven,’ Dimitri said. ‘I want you to come back and work for us.’

  Raven’s answer was swift but delivered with a smile. ‘For ten thousand bucks a month? Forget it. There are more pleasurable ways of getting screwed.’

  Dimitri opened a desk drawer and Lock tensed.

  ‘Relax. I’m pulling out a deal memorandum,’ Dimitri said, looking up at him.

  He conjured a single piece of paper from the drawer and slid it towards Raven. ‘Think about it. With this kind of money you can forget the club appearances and all the other bullshit. We handle everything for you. All you have to do is one movie a month, some promotional work, and stay in shape. Beyond that, your life’s your own. You’d be back in the fold. And we wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. I guarantee it.’

  Lock’s focus shifted to Raven. He studied her face, looking to see if it would betray a reaction. The fact that it didn’t confirmed, in his mind, that she was having thoughts similar to his own. That maybe there was no serial stalker beating a bloody path to her door. Maybe it was a classic piece of extortion.

  While Carrie had been looking into Mr Vice, she’d found something else she had passed on to Lock earlier that morning. Something that had taken on a new meaning in the past few seconds. The last company Cindy Canyon had worked for was Vixen Entertainment. They’d been building her as the successor to Raven Lane.

  As sure as night followed day, Dimitri was a front man, the acceptable face for much of the money that was coming into his industry. And the money behind porn was usually linked to crime. The distributors might be upstanding hotel chains and blue-chip tech companies, but the money behind the product would be something else. There was no way that organized crime wouldn’t be involved with a morally dubious business that generated more money than Hollywood at a fraction of the cost and therefore with a much higher profit margin. You didn’t need to be a forensic accountant to work out that much.

  If Vixen Entertainment and its backers wanted their cash cow to return to the fold, scaring her would be one way of doing it, although even Lock’s natural paranoia didn’t allow him to believe that they would start killing people to achieve that goal. More likely they were using a situation that was already in play as leverage. Cindy was going to be their new star until she’d been murdered. So Vixen needed to go back to its old star, using the protection it could offer as the carrot.

  Raven studied the piece of paper. Lock was hoping she’d say she would think about it, and they could leave. But Raven was not a woman to take the path of least resistance.

  ‘Never go back. Wasn’t that what you told me when you terminated my contract, Dimitri?’ she asked now, her violet eyes blazing with fury.

  Dimitri placed his hands palm down on the table. ‘Circumstances change. You have a lot of heat around you, with everything that’s going on. Why not cash in?’ He took a breath, then lowered his voice. ‘Raven, you’ve got maybe five years left. This stalker situation is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We can all make out if we play this right.’

  Raven stood up abruptly. ‘That’s what this whole deal is to you? A marketing opportunity? Or are you thinking of how much you’ll get for my movies if this guy kills me?’

  As she spoke, Lock kept his eyes on Dimitri. He was affecting a look of detached amusement. He stayed sitting but raised his hands, palms out. ‘Okay, okay, I was asked to put the offer to you. You don’t have to go postal on me. It’s a good deal, Raven. A great deal, in fact. But it won’t be on the table for ever. You and I both know that.’

  Lock got up, ready to end the exchange. ‘It was nice meeting you.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘You have to be somewhere,’ he reminded Raven.

  Lock fell into step behind her as she stalked out of the room and down the corridor. In the reception area, Raven gave Cherry a goodbye hug, which was when he noticed the poster behind her desk, separate from the ones lining the walls of the corridor. It showed Raven Lane. Next to her was Cindy Canyon. They had their arms wrapped around each other, and they were staring into each other’s eyes, lips not quite touching.

  Lock kept walking. This was the Cindy Canyon whose head had ended up in a newspaper vending machine and whose body had been pulled from the trunk of Raven’s BMW; the Cindy Canyon whom Raven didn’t know. For two people who didn’t know each other, they looked pretty close.

  Lock had a decision to make. Either he could ask Raven why she had lied or he could keep his mouth shut. In the parking lot, Raven’s cell phone beeped. She took it from her bag and read the text. ‘They confirmed. The plane will be ready for us at Van Nuys at four o’clock.’ She looked at him. ‘Are you okay? You seem kind of quiet.’

  ‘Just thinking about something.’

  ‘Want to share?’

  ‘Not right now,’ he said, holding open the door of the Range Rover. They had a long day together. There would be plenty of time to try to work out which parts of Raven’s story held up – and which didn’t.

  Twenty-four

  ‘Cool car,’ Kevin said, rocking back and forth in the passenger seat of Ty’s purple 1966 Lincoln Continental, his sulk about Wendy seemingly forgotten.

  ‘Thanks, brother. Now, you got everything you need?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘In my backpack.’

&nb
sp; ‘Okay, then, we’re good to go, I guess. You ready?’

  ‘Ready.’

  Ty flattened the accelerator and they took off with a roar, leaving behind a belch of exhaust fumes sufficient to give Al Gore an aneurysm. Halfway up the street, a soccer mom had to jostle her MPV almost on to the sidewalk as Ty laid waste to any sense of careful driving in a semi-suburban neighborhood.

  ‘You drive faster than my sister,’ Kevin observed, a grin plastered over his face as Ty continued to carve a swathe through the traffic.

  ‘She drive fast?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Not as fast as this, though.’

  Kevin stared out of the passenger window, eyes focused in the middle distance, his tongue pushing out from his mouth a little. ‘Raven’s not her real name. She made it up.’

  Ty moved back down the gears as they came to the stop light on Wilshire Boulevard, the engine reduced to a low series of grumbles. ‘You mind that?’

  ‘No, it’s kinda cool.’

  The stop light shifted to green and Ty took off again, tumbling down a hill towards the freeway on-ramp. ‘So what was her real name? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Well,’ Kevin said, straightening up in his seat. ‘Our name is Lane, but my sister’s real name is Sarah.’

  Ty mulled it over. It kind of made him wonder about the real deal of how Kevin and Raven were brought up. Crazy families usually went in for crazy names, and ‘Sarah’ was about as strait-laced as they came. ‘Sarah’s cute. Hey, you know Superman’s girlfriend was Lois Lane. Is that why you like him so much?’

  ‘No,’ Kevin said, resting his head against the cool of the glass. ‘I like Superman because he kicks ass.’

  Ten minutes later, Ty stopped the Continental up outside the day center. It was a Spanish bungalow-style white concrete building with red tiles, neatly trimmed grass out front, everything spick and span. A yellow school bus pulled up outside, disgorging its cargo of young adults.