City Of Mirrors: A Diana Poole Thriller Part 33

"I guess I am."

"You were right, Diana. I'm a fixer. I see a problem, I try to take care of it for the people involved. The people who pay me. Sometimes I take shortcuts, even skirt the law. It's what I do. It's who I am. Let's get you some air."

"What about Parson and Luis?"

He gave mirthless laugh. "They can't get out."

We walked down the stairs to the area behind the movie screen and out the service doors. It was dark now. Parson's limo was parked in the alley. Behind it was the blue van.

Not talking, not touching, we walked down the sidewalk past stores closing up for the night. Hard-working men and women pulling the gates across their properties, trying to protect what little they had inside. The cold night air felt clean on my face.

"Tell me how you found Ben?" I said.

"After I left you early this morning ..."

"G.o.d, it was only this morning?"

"I sat in the car outside your house. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

I looked at him. "Thank you."

"Later in the morning I decided to stretch my legs. I walked down to Celia's and let myself in. I thought maybe I'd find something connecting her to the murder or to Parson."

"But Ben tore the place apart."

"He did. My job is to search without anyone ever knowing I've been there. When I left, I walked back up PCH and saw Ben's Jeep drive past. I watched him park in front of Celia's, and I waited for about an hour. Keeping an eye on the house waiting for him to come out, so I could follow him."

"I was there talking with him part of that time. He ran away from me."

He nodded. "I saw the two of you on the walkway. I followed him north as he drove up the coast. After a couple of miles he made a fast U-turn and sped off south. I thought he might be going back to Celia's. Just then I got a frantic call from Gwyn that Robert had been drinking and was threatening to kill himself, and that Ben had discovered Celia was his birth mother. That was a big surprise. h.e.l.l, this has been a day of surprises." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So I pulled off the road and tried to calm Robert down over the phone. He said Parson had been there, threatening them and searching for a camera. Gwyn took the phone back, and I couldn't get her off, so I hung up on her." He stopped. "I need a drink. Would you like one?" He gestured across the street to a bar next to a vacant lot.

"I could use one."

Waiting for a few cars to pa.s.s, we hurried across the street and into the tavern. From a radio on the counter, a male voice sang forlornly in Spanish. Men, their jeans and s.h.i.+rts grimy from their labor, lined the pock-marked bar.

On the opposite wall were three stiff-backed booths made of dark wood. Maybe because of Heath's appearance, or maybe because we were gringos, the bartender gave him a stern look as we took one of the booths. A few of the men turned and a.s.sessed us, then went back to their conversations. The bartender wandered over. "No problems," he warned Heath.

"No." He tried to tuck in his s.h.i.+rt and gave up.

"Senora?"

"Martini."

"Beer, tequila."

"I'll have a shot of tequila then."

"Dos Equis," Heath said.

We stared out a small window at the emptying street. I could see the battered marquee of Parson's theater.

"Do you want me to go on?" Heath asked.

"Yes."

"I hung up on Gwyn and drove back to Celia's and saw Ben's car in her driveway. I parked, blocking it. I didn't want to lose him again." He shook his head. "Little did I know I already had. I couldn't find Ben anywhere in the house. I checked the deck and the beach. When I returned, I noticed there were only five chairs at the kitchen table. When I was there earlier there had been six. So what happened to the missing chair?" He leaned back and closed his eyes. And I remembered the chair lying on its side in the faded oil stain.

Now he looked at me. "That's when I opened the garage door and saw Ben hanging. I righted the chair, got on it, and felt his carotid artery. He had a faint pulse. Then the chair was kicked out from under me."

"He was alive," I said.

"Yes."

We stared out the window again. The bartender returned with our drinks. Heath took a long swallow of his beer. I sipped my tequila. It was warm and smooth. I fought back my tears, saving them for later when I would be alone. Then sirens filled the small bar as the black-and-whites, the emergency vehicles, converged on The Roxy. The night sky was lit up with their flas.h.i.+ng lights. A few of the men at the bar paid and ran out the back door. Illegals? Criminals? Scared of the cops? Or just scared.

"We should be going," I said.

Heath set his bottle down. "You put the memory card in your pocket. What are you going to with it?"

I looked at him. "Give it to Spangler."

"The LAPD is a giant bureaucracy with some good management and some bad. Some good cops and some not so good. There are people who would pay a lot of money to get that card. One of the highest bidders will be Parson."

"Are you saying I shouldn't give it to her? She's corrupt?"

"Not Spangler. But this all happened out of her jurisdiction. She'll have no control over the card once it's put in as evidence."

"What do you want, Heath?"

"I'm going to cut another corner. I need that card to protect my client, Diana."

I sucked in my breath and felt the distance between us widen. "Is he the governor of the state? The mayor? The police commissioner? Head of a studio?"

"He's P. J. Binder."

"What?" I sat back.

"Binder was afraid Pearl had made a copy of the Bella Casa key and had given it to Zackary Logan. He'd seen them together and knew he'd been her pimp in the past. He was worried about her safety, so he hired me to find out what was going on. Then Logan showed up at Bella Casa when he was cleaning the pool and said he had a meeting with Celia. P.J. got angry and told him he knew what was going on. Logan pulled a gun, they struggled, and it went off."

"Celia didn't kill Logan then."

"No."

"And that's why Pearl didn't want to give me the card." I explained what had happened at Bella Casa. "She wanted it to protect P.J. What will you do with it?"

"Make it unusable. Another moral dilemma for you, Diana."

I downed the last of my tequila, took the card from my pocket, and slid it across the table to him.

"And you're all right about covering up for P.J.?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"My mother helped him to reenter the world when he came back from 'Nam. I guess I'm helping him to stay in it."

"If Celia hadn't died, would you have let her go?" he asked.

"But she did die."

"And you still see my wanting to let Parson go differently."

"Yes."

Heath's eyes burrowed into mine. His voice was husky when he spoke. "What am I going to do with you, Diana?"

"What am I going to do with you?" I could feel the energy our bodies created dancing between us.

His cell rang. "Heath," he answered. "I'm across the street. Christ, Spangler, can't you guys ever arrive with just a few cars?" He disconnected. Then he threw some cash on the table and we walked back across the street to the theater.

A long hour later, inside the movie theater, I had told Spangler and two Central Division detectives what had happened. After many questions, they asked me to wait and left.

Spangler lingered, handing me a Snickers. "Something to remember me by."

"You're not the kind of woman one easily forgets," I said.

"So I've been told. Mostly by the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds I've arrested. I'll get you a car to take you home."

After she left, I found my purse on the floor next to my seat. I opened it, dropped the candy bar in, and discovered I still had Celia's gun. Christ, was I never going to be unarmed again?

A few minutes later, Heath walked me back outside past all the patrol cars, still flas.h.i.+ng, past the ambulances to the waiting black-and-white.

Heath opened the back door for me. "I'll see what I can do to keep you out of all this, Diana. The media doesn't bother much with this side of town. I've got to get back."

"Aren't you being driven home?"

"It seems I shot a man between the eyes. They want to take me downtown."

"I told them it was self-defense."

"Don't worry, I have an excellent lawyer. Almost as good as Parson's."

"Oh, I forgot." I reached into my purse and took out the gun. "It's Celia's."

"For a moment I thought you were going to shoot me." He took it.

"That reminds me. Who's Collette?"

"Who?"

"I accidently called your home phone number when I was trying to track you down today. Collette answered. She was there gathering some things that belonged to her. Bra, panties... ."

He c.o.c.ked his head. His index finger stroked the b.u.mp on the bridge of his nose. "Would you believe she was my sister?"

"Yes."

His eyes widened. "You would?"

"Yes. Because you're such a charmer, such a good liar."

Now serious, he cupped my cheek in his hand. "Would you ever want to see me again?"

Without waiting for an answer he turned and walked quickly away, his white s.h.i.+rt stark against the night. Was he afraid of my answer? I wondered, getting into the car. He knew I wasn't sure of him or his world. Did I have an answer? As the car pulled away from the curb, I wondered how Heath and I would feel about each other after there was no more violence. No more adrenalin rushes. No more dead.

Even though I knew Parson was under arrest and I was heading toward Malibu in the back seat of a black-and-white, I glanced several times out the rear window to see whether a Mercedes limo was following me. Or the ghost of Rubio on his bike. I'd be looking over my shoulder for a while.

When I finally arrived home, I found a large manila envelope leaning against the front door. There were no television sounds from the kitchen-I must've forgotten to turn it on. I stood, listening. Yes, the silence was bearable.

In the living room, I turned on the light and placed the envelope and my purse on the coffee table. I walked over to Colin's Oscars and my mother's urn on the mantel. Gathering them in my arms, I carried them into Colin's office and set them on his desk. When Ryan was healed, I thought, he and I would scatter her ashes in the ocean. I closed the door quietly behind me and went back to the living room.

I opened the manila envelope and took out a script. It was from Pedro Romero, the director. In a note, he asked me to read for the costarring role of Elena in his film, A Long and Happy Death. I sank onto the sofa, clasping the script to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and looked at the empty mantel and thought of Celia and Ben. The confusion and pain of Zaitlin. I thought of Heath. I let my tears flow freely.

Not now, but tomorrow, I would feel that powerful surge of hope, of possibility, that keeps all actors going.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

My deep grat.i.tude to the team at Pegasus, especially Claiborne Hanc.o.c.k for his belief in Diana Poole; Helen Zimmerman for her faith in the book; Gayle Lynds, not only for her friends.h.i.+p, but for taking the time to read and reread the ma.n.u.script and share her invaluable observations with me; Jane h.e.l.ler and Kathleen Sharp for their support and dark humor. Also, my thanks to Deputy Sheriff Mark A. Ward and Michael Williams for their knowledge of the real world of police, guns, and army. I hope I didn't go too "Hollywood" on them.

And always, Bones.

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