CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

First thing the next morning I was hard at work at my desk with my best friend, Google, running down every bit of information the internet held on Sal Bukowski. Thanks to three more shampoos that morning and a healthy dose of English Garden body mist, I'd left the stench of the past evening behind me. Even if I did smell just a tad like a Glade PlugIn now.

Luckily, Felix had come nowhere near close enough to smell me this morning. A curt nod of his head through the glass wall of his office was all I'd received as I'd come in fifteen minutes early and plunked myself down at my desk. Apparently I was getting the silent treatment. I tried to pretend it didn't bother me and focused instead on the case at hand.

Sal Bukowski hadn't turned up in my research on company officers the day before because he wasn't technically an officer of Sunshine Sanitation. He was listed in their directory simply as a "consultant." As hard as I tried to find out what he consulted with them on, that info seemed to be nonexistent. As was any social media presence or personal info. Sal had a surprisingly small digital footprint. Which, in itself, was a tiny red flag.

Had Sal been consulting on something underhanded at Sunshine? Maybe illegally dumping chemicals? Had Bobby found out, and Sal bumped him off? It was a fun theory, but I had nothing to back it up. I also had no idea how Ritchie Mullins fit into all of this. Or even if he did. I guessed it could be just coincidence that he happened to work for Sunshine Sanitation. I mean, a facility that large had to employ hundreds of people.

"What is that smell?" I looked up to find Tina hovering over my shoulder, a bundle of papers in her hand and a look of disgust on her face.

I felt my cheeks heat. "Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about."

"It smells like someone spilled perfume or something." She looked down at the rug, checking for stains.

"I don't smell anything," I lied.

Tina shot me a yeah, right look.

"Did you want something?" I asked, quickly minimizing my search window before she could get a look at what I was doing. No way was I going to let her sneak a peek at the name I'd worked so hard to get last night. Even if it wasn't turning up any smoking guns.

Tina crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah. Felix told me I had to share the autopsy reports with you." She looked like she wasn't happy about it either.

I, on the other hand, felt a little glow of warmth in my belly. Felix might be giving me the silent treatment, but at least he wasn't totally leaving me out in the cold. "What did they say?"

"Read 'em yourself." She handed the papers to me.

"Thanks," I said, meaning it.

She shrugged. "Nothing new in there." She paused. "At least nothing I didn't already know."

With that subtle dig, she walked back to her desk.

I quickly scanned the first couple of pages, trying to read between the medical jargon. Pretty standard as far as I could tell. As had been obvious at the scene, Bobby had died of a single gunshot wound to the head. Postmortem indicated that he'd had a slightly enlarged liver, had broken his wrist sometime in the last ten years, had eaten pasta and red wine as his last meal, and was otherwise a fairly healthy thirty-six-year-old male. Tina was right. Nothing particularly interesting in the pages.

Feeling another dead end brewing, I quickly scanned the rest of the papers. The only interesting fact I found was that Bobby Baxter's name on the official documents was listed as Robert Baxter Smedfield. Apparently he'd dropped the "Smedfield" for Hollywood purposes. I didn't blame him. Robert Smedfield didn't have half the appeal as Bobby Baxter.

I tapped my pen on the top of my desk, taking in that info. If Bobby was really Robert Smedfield, did that mean that his wife was really legally Marilyn Smedfield?

I typed her name into my search engine. Amazingly, several hits came up. Including one in the Internet Movie Database. I blinked at the screen, clicking the link and seeing an image of a slightly younger version of Marilyn dressed in a bikini, wielding an ax, on a movie poster for Bad Babes in Boston II. Apparently Marilyn Smedfield had enjoyed a short-lived career as a B-movie actress when she'd first married Bobby.

I thought back to our conversation by her hotel pool the other day. I'd thought her grief had seemed genuine enough then, but knowing now that she was an actress… I glanced at her list of credits again. In addition to two Bad Babes films, she'd also had walk-on roles in a couple of TV cop dramas and had shot a sitcom pilot. Not exactly Shakespeare, but that didn't mean she couldn't easily fake a few tears.

I pulled out my phone and texted Shane. Has Mrs. Baxter come home yet?

I aimlessly browsed IMDb as I waited for his response. Five minutes later it buzzed in.

Don't know. Sorry. In trig class now.

I glanced at the time. Just past noon. I did a quick search for the number of the Grand Hotel and Spa, and a few seconds later was connected with the front desk.

"Grand Hotel, how many I direct your call?"

"Could you please connect me with Marilyn…Smedfield's room?" I asked, mentally crossing my fingers. If she was avoiding the paparazzi, maybe she'd checked in with her real name.

"I'm so sorry, but it looks like Ms. Smedfield checked out this morning."

"Thanks," I said then quickly hung up, grabbed my purse, and headed for the elevator.

I stopped only long enough to hit a drive-thru taco place before winding my way up the hill to Marilyn's.

The iron gates to her drive were closed, but I noticed that her BMW was parked out front. The grieving widow was home. I drove to the end of the block then flipped a U-turn and parked on the other side of the street in front of Shane's house. I popped open my glove box and took out a pair of binoculars, training them on the windows of the Baxter house. I wasn't sure what I expected to see, but I had a feeling that Marilyn wasn't going to just let me in for a chat.

Through an upstairs window, I spied the housekeeper, Marta, making a bed, fluffing pillows and shaking out sheets. Downstairs it appeared the front rooms were a living room and some sort of office with bookshelves lining the back walls. Both were empty. Finally I spotted Marilyn through an upstairs window. She looked like she was in a bathroom, putting on makeup. Maybe going out? Maybe to celebrate her newly single and filthy rich status?

Yes, I was totally reaching. But the more I thought about it, the more I wasn't totally buying her grieving widow routine.

I watched Marilyn apply copious different makeup layers for a few more minutes before my arms got tired, and I dropped the binoculars. I finished the last of my tacos, wadded up the papers, and popped a breath mint before picking up my binoculars again. Marilyn had left the bathroom. Crap. I quickly scanned the other house windows, hoping to get a glimpse of her. The car was still in the driveway. It wasn't like she could have left.

I was still trying to track the elusive Mrs. Baxter when another car rolled down the street next to me. I felt my heart rate pick up when it stopped at Mrs. Baxter's gates. I whipped my binoculars toward it, trying to make out the occupant.

It was a plain beige SUV—nothing terribly notable about it. I caught a peek at the driver as he leaned out the window to talk into the security microphone mounted at the gate. Male, maybe late twenties. Dark hair in a stylish, close-cropped look, nice sturdy jawline dusted with just enough stubble to be sexy. He was wearing sunglasses, so it was impossible to see his eyes, but when he leaned one tanned arm out the window, I got a glimpse of his impressive triceps. I felt my hopes pick up. Was this the hottie all that makeup had been for?

After a couple of seconds the gates opened, and Hottie drove through, pulling his car in behind Marilyn's in the drive. I zoomed in on him as he got out of the car and walked around to the back and opened the tailgate…

And pulled out a pool net and a toolbox full of chemicals.

Right. Not a hot liaison—just the pool boy.

I let out a breath of frustration as I watched him walk around the side of the house, tools of his trade in hand, and got a clear view of his T-shirt, which read: Davies Pool Maintenance. I scanned the binoculars back up at the house and spotted Mrs. Baxter in the study window now, chatting on the phone with someone as she sat behind a desk. Clearly she had about as much interest in her pool boy as Felix did in me lately.

I was beginning to think I'd just wasted an entire afternoon for nothing, when my phone rang, making me jump in the silence of my car. I dropped the binoculars and glanced at the readout. Shane.

Even though I knew he was at school, I guiltily glanced up at his house as if he could somehow sense I was there. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hey, it's me."

I cringed that he thought we were on an "it's me" phone basis already. "Hi, Shane."

"I've got some info for you on that name we found last night."

I sat up straighter in my seat. "You did? How?" I'd spent all morning trying to find something on Sal Bukowski, and all I knew was that he didn't tweet, friend, or snapchat.

"DA's office records."

"How did you—" I stopped midsentence, feeling guilt wash over me. "You hacked into the district attorney's office!?" Instinctively I lowered my voice and looked over both shoulders, as if the DA could somehow have my car bugged.

"No! Geez," Shane huffed into the phone.

I let out a sigh of relief.

"One of my buddies did it for me."

Ugh. "I don't think we should be talking about this on the phone."

Shane chuckled. "Seriously? You are, like, paranoid."

"I am, like, not into going to jail."

"Relax. I told you I didn't do anything illegal. Hackensack09 did."

"That's your buddy's name?"

"Online handle."

"Clever. Hackensack because he's a hacker."

There was silence on the other end then: "Uh, he lives in New Jersey."

I shook my head. "Whatever. What did this Hackensack guy find out?"

"How about this? Pick me up from school, and I'll tell you all about it."

As reluctant as I was to spend more time with Shane and encourage any sort of crush he had brewing, I really did want to know what his hacker friend had found. "Text me the address," I told him, shoving my binoculars into the glove box and starting my engine.

Half an hour later we were at a coffee shop across the street from Washington High School. I was thoroughly enjoying a blueberry scone and an afternoon latte pick-me-up, and Shane was slurping a strawberry smoothie as he let me scroll through a list of documents his buddy had "borrowed" from the DA's office records on Sal Bukowski.

"Wow," I couldn't help letting out. I was beginning to see why Sal had almost no internet presence. At least half of the documents I was reading had black sharpie over the words, redacted information. Though, enough of the gist came through in the list of charges that had been brought against the guy and subsequently dropped. Bribery, extortion, money laundering. "This guy has his fingers in everything." I shook my head and looked at Shane.

"That's what Hackensack09 said," he told me with a noisy slurp. "Read the next one. Bukowski was accused of trying to bribe a court clerk about five years ago, right before his charges of bribery were suddenly dropped."

"The result of another bribe?"

"Ironic, right?" Shane grinned at me, showing off a couple of strawberry seeds stuck in his front teeth.

"Very," I mumbled, pointing to his incisors.

He grabbed a napkin and wiped.

"I'm guessing that's how he kept this all out of the press too. More bribes?"

Shane shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe it just didn't register on anyone's radar. I mean, most of what he's accused of is pretty low-level stuff. Five, ten years max sentences. And nothing ever stuck."

"Convenient, that, right?"

Shane nodded. "That's what Hackensak09 thought, too." He scrolled to the next document. "Check this out. He owned a recycling plant in New York around the same time he was accused of bribery. After the charges were dropped, he sold it and moved to L.A., where he started consulting for Sunshine Sanitation."

"Interesting timing, but maybe he just wanted a fresh start," I said, playing devil's advocate.

Shane shook his head. "Okay, but a year ago, right after Sal came on board at Sunshine, a union rep mysteriously disappeared after paying a visit to the plant." He flipped to another page, shoving the phone in my direction.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Disappeared? How?"

"I don't know. No one does. He was last seen leaving the plant. He never made it home, and no one's seen him since. His wife filed a missing person's report, but there's been no sign of him since before he left the sanitation plant."

"That's quite a coincidence," I said quietly.

"If you believe in that sort of thing," Shane added, slurping again.

Thanks to Felix, I didn't.

"Okay, it seems pretty clear that this Bukowski character is as shady as it gets."

"Total shade," Shane agreed, nodding. "Do you think Bukowski killed Baxter?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "He's obviously a rotten guy, but the only connection we have between the two is some emails we haven't read."

Shane looked sheepish. "Sorry. I wish I could have gotten into them for you."

I waved it off. "You've done more than enough," I told him, gesturing to the "borrowed" documents on his phone. "Speaking of which—no more hacking, okay?"

Shane's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I thought all this was helpful."

I nodded. "It is. And I honestly appreciate it. But it's also dangerous and illegal, and I don't want you to get into trouble."

His frown slowly smoothed out into a smile. A really big one. "Awe, babe, you do care about me."

Oh brother. "I care about not contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

"A minor for only three more months." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at me.

"Okay, time to get you home, kiddo," I said, maybe a little too loudly.

If he noticed the dig at his age, he didn't comment. Instead he just stuck with the goofy grin the entire way back up to the Hollywood Hills.

By the time I got back to the office, the sun was setting, and the sky was a dusky purple, the smog layer creating a brilliant display of colors along the freeway-dotted horizon.

The office was empty with the exception of Max typing away in his cubicle, the sole sound kind of lonely in the big room. Everyone else seemed to have gone for the day, including Felix, whose office was dark and empty, sitting in the middle of the room like a glass-walled reminder that he hadn't said a single word to me all day. I shoved that thought down. I'd worry about that later. Right now, I was on a deadline.

I sat at my computer, eager to type up my notes on Shane's findings while they were fresh in my mind. At the very least, the fact that Bobby had been communicating with a guy like Sal right before his death was enough to wet the tabloid reading audience's appetites and fuel their gossip loving imaginations. Of course, I had no real conclusions or proof of anything, so I had no idea if the story would even make it through the legal department. After we'd been sued last year over a story one of the junior reporters had done with a less-than-reliable source, Felix now insisted we send everything through legal to scan for anything that could lose us money in a slander lawsuit. Since my source was an anonymous hacker in New Jersey, I wasn't 100 percent sure this would stand up.

I bit my lip, dying to know what story Tina was planning to hand in on Friday. Did she have solid sources? I glanced over at her empty desk.

Maybe if I just took one little peek…

I couldn't help myself. I quickly snuck over to her cubicle and powered up her computer. A few seconds later a screen requiring a password popped up. Dang it. I bit my lip, glancing around her desk for any clues. Pen holder covered in pink skulls, pad of neon colored Post-its, mouse pad with a retro Lucky Charms ad emblazed on it, her swear pig. My eyes lingered on the swear pig. If I knew Tina's rebellious streak…

I typed in Tina's favorite swear word, one that I'd heard her utter out of frustration more than once to the tune of twenty-five cents a pop. The screen changed, immediately granting me access to all of Tina's files.

This was almost too easy.

I glanced over my shoulder again, but all I saw was the empty office—Max's slow hunt-and-peck typing the only sound.

I quickly grabbed her mouse and began scanning for any files that looked like they related to the Baxter case. I had to admit, Tina's filing system was nothing like mine, and it took me a bit to get her naming system. She used a lot of initials and weird nicknames that had no meaning to me. I took a different approach and scanned for the most recently viewed files. I quickly opened the top one, labeled assgreenlightvariety—praying it wasn't anything like the name sounded.

Ready to look away lest I see pale green derrieres, I did a quick scan of the screen. It was not, in fact, some weird alien porno, but that day's copy of Variety magazine. Wondering what it had to do with Bobby, I scanned over the first few articles. Something about the Oscar nominations, some top grossing films, a prominent agent who passed away from a stroke. Nothing seemed relevant.

Until I got to the third page.

My eyes honed in on the name Henry Klein. I suddenly understood the first part of her labeling…"ass" as in assistant. A small blurb indicated that his new show History Untold had just gotten the green light from the network and would begin filming the first eight episodes next month.

I raised an eyebrow at the screen. Henry had told me he was worse off with Bobby dead—not only unemployed but also out the money he'd stand to make suing him. He'd failed to mention that with Bobby gone, the network was once again interested in his show. Had that been the meeting he'd been rushing off to the other day? Henry had moved up in the world at an astronomical pace since Bobby had died. Which made me wonder once again—had Henry had anything to do with his employer's death? If anyone knew where and how to find Bobby—and where he might keep his gun—and was trusted enough not to arouse the star's suspicions, it was his meek personal assistant. Maybe the whole Sunshine Sanitation thing was just a coincidence.

"Well, I'm going to call it a day."

I jumped about a mile at the sound of Max's voice behind me. I quickly spun around, covering the screen of Tina's computer with my body.

"I'm right behind you!" I said, with maybe a little more faux-innocent perk than the situation called for.

Max shot me a funny look. "You lose something at Tina's desk?"

"What? Oh, uh, right." I racked my brain, trying to think fast. "Yeah, Tina asked me to, uh, print something out for her."

"She did." Only it didn't sound like a question. It sounded like he didn't believe me. Smart man.

"Yep! That's right!" Wow, I needed to dial down the perk about a hundred notches. I took a deep breath, hoping he couldn't read my guilt.

"Huh." He gave me a hard look but then finally shrugged. "Okay, well, have a good night."

"You too!" I gave him a big toothy grin and a wave.

I didn't stop holding my breath until he was in the elevators, rattling as they made their way back down to the ground level.

I quickly powered down Tina's computer and did the same to my own.

The office was eerily quiet. It was actually the first time I'd ever been completely alone at the Informer, and it was a bit creepy. Nothing but silence surrounded me in the one place that was usually chaotic.

The wheels on my desk chair squeaked as I spun around and grabbed my purse and fished out my keys. I flicked off the lights on the panel beside the door to Felix's office and then rode the elevator down to the lobby. Once outside I locked the building's main doors.

My keys jangled as I pulled out my car fob and beeped my door unlocked. I was just about to open the door when I heard a muffled sound behind me.

I whipped my head around to see what it was…

Too late. Something hard slammed into me from behind.