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“WELL THAT WAS ENLIGHTENING,” Ida Belle said, once we had left Mr. Teller.
“It was,” Gertie agreed. “One of the more puzzling aspects of this murder was the motivation behind the killing.”
“That’s right,” Ida Belle interceded. “It’s been bugging me.”
“And now we possibly know why,” Gertie said. “Billy Caesar was often impotent.”
“Impotent with severe anger issues,” I added.
“That’s an awful combination,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded in agreement.
“Let’s play it out. He gets in touch with Glory through his agent, Natalie Poole. It’s possible he used his looks and charm to seduce Glory, perhaps making wild promises to her about helping her start a movie career. She falls for his line and is seduced. When things get passionate, he suddenly becomes impotent. He gets embarrassed and angry. Maybe she makes fun of him. Things get out of hand and he kills her.”
Ida Belle nodded. “It seems like the most likely scenario, though from everything I’ve read about Glory, her being seduced by an older man, a stranger no less... it seems odd.”
“More unusual things have happened,” I said. “She tried to get into the Grindhouse film industry. Do you really think she didn’t know the score?”
“I don’t know,” Ida Belle said. “It doesn’t fit what we know about her.”
“We have to play it out,” I said.
“What’s next?” Gertie wanted to know.
“Food,” I said. “I’m starving and I need to process all of this.”
“3rd Street Promenade?” Gertie proposed.
I started the car. “Sounds like a plan.”
We got stuck in traffic. I remembered the horrible traffic in the area. My phone rang; it was Harrison. I had almost forgotten I had texted him regarding background information on Billy Caesar.
“Harrison, I’m in the car with Gertie and Ida Belle,” I answered. “I’ll put you on speaker. What do you have?”
“Billy Caesar,” he said. “He’s sixty-four years old. His real name is William Craft, from Queens, New York. He grew up the son of James and Edna Craft, a blue-collar family. He studied acting in LaGuardia Community College in New York and got his first bit part in a Broadway show at nineteen. The director liked him and cast him in other plays. He never got a starring role in New York but got lead roles on Broadway road tours. He got his break playing a major role in the movies in 1985, a flick called, Martian Zombie Apocalypse. He combined stage roles and films for two years before switching strictly to movies around 1987.”
“Did he have a record?” I asked.
“The Police arrested him three times for physical assault,” Harrison said. “The victim eventually dropped charges in all three cases.”
“It sounds like his agent was working overtime,” Gertie said.
“We will need to talk to her,” Ida Belle said.
“I agree,” Gertie said.
“What about the white Honda?” I asked. “I know the police checked rental car records at the time but we didn’t have a name then. Is there a record of a white Honda being rented by Billy Caesar in Louisiana during that time frame?”
“Sorry Fortune, no,” he responded. “I ran a search on all the rental car companies in Louisiana that rented Honda’s. There is no record of Billy Caesar renting a Honda.”
“Did you check out rentals under Caesar and under this real name, Craft?”
“Hey Fortune, I’m a CIA agent too,” he reminded me. “I did.”
“Damn,” I scoffed. “This damn white Honda will be the death of me. If I am going to place him in Sinful at the time of the murder, I have to solve this Honda riddle.”
“His last known address is in Ladera Heights, California,” Harrison said. “It’s a dead end though. He hasn’t lived there for over four years. His passport shows he flew into Mexico three years ago and has never returned.”
That was not good news.
“I think we need to speak to his agent, Natalie Poole,” I said. “We need to find out if Glory contacted her and if she set up a meeting between her and Billy.”
“According to Mr. Teller, there is no love lost between her and Billy Caesar. She will probably help us. It would be huge to get her to admit that she knew about Billy Caesar’s history of violence and convinced his victims not to press charges.”
“And if she does that?” Gertie asked.
“I think I’ll take what we’ve found to the FBI,” I replied. “We’ll see what happens.”
“We have a lot to look at,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie nodded. “Billy Caesar fits the description of the stranger seen with Glory. We can place him in Louisiana at the time of Glory’s murder. If we can get Natalie Poole to testify that she set up a meeting between Billy and Glory, it will go a long way. We have Mr. Teller’s testimony; we have Donna to testify to his physical abuse, his anger issues and his occasional impotence. We have a record of his prior arrests for assault and his interrogation as a person of interest in another murder.”
“We still cannot place him in Sinful,” I said.
“Maybe Natalie Poole can,” Gertie replied.
“What are we waiting for?” Ida Belle said.
“Like I said... lunch,” I said. “I’m hungry. I want to think through my line of questioning before I meet her.”
Twenty minutes later the three of us studied the menu at True Food Kitchen just a few short blocks from the Santa Monica Pier. I had a concoction called an apple carrot ginger tonic before we ordered. The three of us split a butternut squash pizza, which sounded awful but I was happy Gertie talked me into trying it.
As I took my last bite of pizza, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed.
“Who are you calling?” Ida Belle asked.
“Natalie Poole,” I replied.
“Yes,” Gertie said, pumping her fist. “If she can remember taking a call from Glory Peterson and helping to set up the meeting with Billy Caesar, I’d bet my bottom dollar we can get the case reopened.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Her office is only about twenty-five minutes from here.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Google Maps,” she replied. “I figured you’d want to go.”
I smiled as I finished dialing. The phone rang.
“This is Natalie Poole,” a female voice answered.
“Ms. Poole,” I began. “My name is Agent Fortune Redding. I am with the CIA. I’m investigating an old case, and I was wondering if I could stop by your office and ask you a few questions?”
“I know who you are,” she said. “Steven called me. This is about Billy Caesar. He said you’d be calling. I’m happy to answer your questions, but I’m late for an appointment. Can I help you over the phone?”
“I understand you no longer represent Billy Caesar?”
“Correct,” she said. “Not for many years. He fired me. He didn’t do so well after that. He retired.”
“If you are no longer his agent, how do you know he retired?”
“Are you serious?” she asked. “This is Hollywood.”
Touché, I thought.
“When was the last time you spoke with him?” I asked.
“I’m uncertain,” she replied. “It’s been a long time—years.”
“Do you know his present whereabouts?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you have a phone number or other contact information?”
“No, not anymore,” she said. “I tried calling him a few years back. There was a re-release of Blood Swath on Netflix. I thought he would like to know. When I called the number on file, it had been disconnected.”
“I see. Does he get residuals for those movies?”
“Hell no,” she replied. “He was an idiot. He always took straight cash. That’s why he is broke now.”
“How do you know he’s broke?”
“In this town, everyone knows everyone’s business.”
“Do you know anyone else I can call to find an address or a number to reach him?”
“I would have referred you to Steven,” she said.
“I understand. Steven tells me that while Billy Caesar appeared in Biloxi Blues, you may have helped him arrange a meeting with a young woman named Glory Peterson.”
“That’s not true,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Mr. Teller was specific.”
“Steven called me and told me that an aspiring actress would be calling. I don’t remember her name. Steven said he thought it would be nice for her to meet Billy.”
“And?”
“She called, but I never put her through to Billy,” she said.
That stopped me in my tracks.
“What?” I said in disbelief. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“She called but never spoke to Billy,” she repeated. “Billy had young hopefuls and fans trying to get through to him all the time. It was my job to protect him from them when I could.”
“Didn’t Mr. Teller ask you to make an introduction?” I asked.
“He did, but Steven always had a soft spot for young people starting out,” she said. “Besides, I had other reasons for not putting her through.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I was always getting Billy out of hot water. When Steven told me how young and beautiful this girl was, I knew if I connected them, he’d try to seduce her. She was only seventeen as I remember. The last thing I needed was Billy getting involved with an underage girl, and in the deep south no less. That whole thing smelled like trouble, so I blew her off.”
“Could she have reached him another way?” I asked. “Perhaps she called the hotel where you were staying.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “The hotel was under strict instructions to not put calls through to Billy or any of my clients. Lots of crazy fans out there.”
“I can imagine,” I said.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” she asked.
I couldn’t believe what I heard. My whole case was circling the drain.
“It’s a routine investigation. Do you remember his whereabouts that Friday night?” I said, ignoring her question. “According to the brochure I have, this would have been the final show of the run.”
“After the final show? Sure, I remember it well,” she said. “It was Valentine’s Day. That evening we had a blowout cast party with a Valentine’s Day theme at the Bourbon Orleans Hotel in the French Quarter. Billy was there that night.”
“You remember that night, specifically, from thirty years ago?” I asked.
“Yes I do,” she said. “It was the last performance in New Orleans. That’s when the cast parties occur. That party was hard to forget, and as you say, it was quite the blowout.”
“Is there any chance he could have left the party?” I asked. “Perhaps he slipped out.”
“No,” she said. “The Mayor was there as were a few local celebrities. A lot of the New Orleans elite were on hand, most of them lined up to meet Billy. I remember Billy doing what he was good at, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. He was at the party until well after 1:00 a.m. at least.”
This was getting worse and worse.
“Do you remember seeing him with a young girl you didn’t recognize?” I asked. “Is it possible that Glory Peterson came to the party to be with him there?”
“The only woman I saw him with that night was the Mayor’s wife,” she said. “He was so brazen. Billy was trying to seduce her pretty much right in front of the Mayor and she was eating it up. She was no teenager, I assure you.”
“Do you remember when he left New Orleans?” I asked.
“He was on the same plane as I and the rest of the cast,” she said. “We all left well before noon the following day. I sat right next to him.”
“You seem to remember a lot,” I said.
“I’m good with details,” she said. “I’m an agent. I’m all about details.”
“When did he stop being your client?” I asked.
“In 1990,” she replied. “Billy’s career stagnated. He blamed me for him not getting parts.”
“And was that true?” I asked.
“But of course. It’s always the agent’s fault,” she said in an over-the-top condescending tone. “It didn’t matter he screwed most of his leading ladies, beat them up, never showed up on time, was difficult to work with and stormed off the set once a week had nothing to do with it. It was my fault.”
She sounded bitter.
“I see your point. Do you know what happened to him?”
“His career faded, and he finally retired. I lost track of him after that though I heard he may have moved to Mexico.”
“Mexico?” I repeated.
“I think so,” she said. “Maybe La Paz. That was a rumor though. I need to go, Agent Redding. Is there anything else?”
“One last question,” I said. “Did Billy ever rent a car while he was on the tour?”
“Huh? No,” she said. “Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” I said. “Thank you.”