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“WELL, THAT’S A KICK in the teeth,” Ida Belle said after I ran down the entire conversation to her and Gertie. “Did our entire investigation just get flushed down the toilet?”
“Maybe she was lying,” Gertie said. “Maybe she introduced Billy to Glory and is hiding it,” Gertie said.
“Natalie’s story is credible,” I argued. “She knew Glory was seventeen, and she knew the man Billy Caesar was. I can well imagine she would have worked to keep them separated.”
“So, you think she’s telling the truth?” Gertie asked.
“I believe so,” I said. “Steven said she was always cleaning up after his messes. It would only be natural for her to work to avoid them happening when possible.”
“It’s easy to see why this case was never solved,” Ida Belle said. “Every time we make a little progress we run into a roadblock.”
“What do we do now?” Gertie said.
It flustered me. I thought of Carter back in Sinful, worried and stressed. I should be there to support him. Instead, I was in Santa Monica chasing a ghost down roads that led nowhere. I sighed. “We go home.”
“Go home?” Ida Belle scowled.
“Natalie’s interview destroyed our case,” I said.
“But still...” Ida Belle objected.
“Every lead we’ve had has led us to a dead end. We don’t have nearly enough to get this case reopened. We are at an impasse?” I asked. “We can place Billy Caesar in New Orleans at the time of Glory’s murder, but we can’t connect him to Glory. We can’t place him in Sinful nor can we place Glory in New Orleans. We can’t find a record of him renting a white Honda and the agent said she never even told Billy about Glory. He’s never been convicted of assault. And he is now somewhere in Mexico. We have nothing.”
And I really miss Carter, I thought, but didn’t say out loud.
Gertie and Ida Belle both fell silent, deep in thought.
Finally, Gertie said, “Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound very promising does it?”
“Shouldn’t we at least take what we know to the FBI?” Ida Belle asked.
“No,” I said. “They would laugh at us. It will never gain traction.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Gertie said.
We had trouble booking flights back home. There was a computer convention going on in New Orleans and all the flights were packed. Gertie and Ida Belle ended up on a 3:20 p.m. direct flight to New Orleans. I got myself on standby for a 8:15 p.m. flight. The agent said I would likely get a seat, albeit a middle seat in the plane.
I hugged Ida Belle and Gertie before they boarded.
“Don’t look so glum, dear,” Ida Belle said. “We knew solving a thirty-year-old case would be a long shot.”
“Ida Belle is right,” Gertie said. “Try to get some sleep on the plane. We’ll see you back in Sinful tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” I said, trying to smile. “California is nice but I’m ready to get home.”
“You miss Carter, don’t you?” Gertie asked.
I held my breath; my eyes moistened; I nodded, “How did you know?”
“It’s written all over your face, dear,” she said, smiling.
“You both get some rest,” I replied.
“We will,” Ida Belle said.
I left the two of them and headed to my gate, replaying the day’s events in my head. I patiently waited for the ticket agent to call my row. When they called my row, I reached into my pocket to pull my boarding pass. I felt a card and pulled it with my pass. It was the card where I had written Billy Caesar’s last known address. I looked for a trash can to toss it before having a thought.
I pulled out my phone and pulled up Google Maps searching for Ladera Heights, seeing where the town was located. I also made a note of the towns surrounding it. I then thought about something Donna had mentioned when describing Billy Caesar. A bell went off in my head.
“Huh, that’s interesting,” I said to myself out loud.
“I’m sorry,” the ticket agent said. “Were you talking to me?”
“No,” I replied. “I was just thinking out loud.”
“Oh, well, it’s time to board,” she said.
There were only two people ahead of me in line before I finally stepped out. I told the agent I changed my mind; I wasn’t boarding. Thirty minutes later I had rented a car and was making my way onto I-405 south, or ‘the four-oh-five’ as locals called it.
Twenty minutes later I was pulling into the parking lot of Vista View Apartments. A fifty-ish year old woman was just locking up at the leasing office when I arrived. I caught her as she was walking away.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I called out. I looked at her name badge. “Linda, is it?”
“It’s Lydia,” she said. “Common mistake. We’re closed. Anyway, I have no vacancies.”
“I’m not here for that,” I said. “My name is Fortune Redding. I’m an agent with the CIA. Can I have two minutes of your time?”
She glanced at me over her wire-rimmed glasses, “You don’t look like a CIA Agent.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I replied. “Lydia, how long have you worked here?”
“Almost ten years,” she said.
“Then you knew Billy Caesar,” I said.
She gave me a half-smile of recognition and curled her lip.
She nodded, “He was an asshole. A charming, good looking asshole, but still...”
“An asshole,” I finished for her.
“Right,” she said. “He no longer lives here. He moved out four or five years ago.”
“I heard,” I said. “Did he leave a forwarding address?”
“No, he didn’t,” she said. “He told his neighbors he was moving to Mexico. He was sixty-days behind on his rent. We had already served him with an eviction notice. He left about three days before we would have entered and removed him.”
“How long did he live here?” I asked.
“He was a resident here for many years,” she said. “For the first few years I didn’t see him a lot. He was still working on location. He was an actor in those cheap B-movies—awful movies, all blood, sex and heads lopped off.”
“Yes, I know. What about after he retired?” I asked. “Was he here a lot?”
“Pretty much all the time, yes.”
“Out of curiosity, were there ever any disturbances coming from his apartment?”
“Oh my god, yes,” she said. “He and that girlfriend of his fought like cats and dogs.”
“Girlfriend?” I repeated. “There was a woman living here with him?”
“No, I don’t think she ever lived here,” she said. “She’s married; at least she wore a ring. In this town that means little.”
“It sounds like you saw her a lot,” I noted.
“I always knew when she was here because the neighbors would call and complain about the noise. They fought like cats and dogs.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Oh... gosh...” she began, “I can’t remember.”
“Hold on one second,” I said, pulling out my smartphone. I keyed a name into the search engine. A picture of a beautiful middle-aged brunette came up. I showed Lydia the picture.
She nodded. “Yep, that’s her.”
“Her name was Natalie, right?” I asked.
Her eyes widened, and she smiled. “Yes, that was it. Natalie.”
“Natalie Poole?” I said.
“I think that’s it,” she said.
I knew it. At the airport, I noticed Natalie’s work address and its proximity to Billy Caesar’s last known residence in Ladera Heights. It was just a few minutes away. I looked at Natalie’s picture. She was a beautiful woman, and I remembered what Donna said about Billy never meeting a beautiful woman he didn’t sleep with.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been a big help.”
Once back in the car, I pulled out my cell and called Harrison. He answered on the second ring.
“Are you still in the office?” I asked.
“I am,” he said.
“I want you to run a search on a woman named Natalie Poole,” I said. “She is an agent for...” I looked at the card Mr. Teller gave me, “Mann’s Talent Agency.”
“I can’t do anymore clandestine investigation for you, Fortune,” he said. “I have people asking questions about the searches I’ve been running. You will get me in trouble. They track everything I do these days.”
“I need this,” I said. “C’mon partner.”
“Damn, Fortune,” he replied. “You’re a piece of work.”
I heard him punching his keyboard.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want?”
“Her home address to start.”
“What else?”
I started my rental car. “Is she divorced?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “She divorced her husband almost five years ago. Her ex lives in San Diego.”
“Any arrests?”
“One, in Ohio back in 2008,” he said. “It was a domestic case, public disturbance and resisting arrest. It looks like she and an unnamed male friend were at a movie convention and things got out of hand in the hotel room. Someone called the police. The woman tried to hit a cop with a vase. She spent one night in jail and paid a fine.”
“Anything else.” I asked.
“There is one thing of interest,” he said. “According to her passport records, she’s been back and forth to Mexico four times in the last five years. Each stay has been for several weeks at a time.”
My theory came together. She had been having an ongoing affair with Billy Caesar. It probably dated back to 1986 if not before. Their romantic breakup probably led to him firing her as an agent. Years later, she gets married and moves on and Billy moves to Mexico.
Somewhere down the line the affair rekindles. She gets divorced and makes extended trips to visit him. Perhaps the affair was even the reason for the divorce. Her entire interview with me was a lie. If she lied about that, she could have been lying about introducing Glory to Billy Caesar.
“Do you have a home address yet?” I asked.
“I sent it to you in a text,” he said.
“Thanks, partner.”
“One last thing,” I said. “When you checked into Billy Caesar’s passport earlier you showed him entering Mexico but never returning to the States, right?”
“That’s right,” he said.
He was in Mexico now. Dammit. That hurt.
“Take care of yourself, Harrison,” I said.
“I will. You too.”
I looked at my texts and Harrison’s had just come through. Natalie’s home was in Marina Del Ray, within minutes of Billy Caesar’s Ladera Heights’s address and Natalie’s office. A second text came through from Harrison, too. It read, I can’t help you anymore. Too many people watching. You’re on your own. I’m very sorry.
I wrote back, Thank you for the help. I’ll be back in Sinful within a few days. I’ll call you next week and check in.
I pulled onto the long driveway leading to Natalie Poole’s house. I saw a BMW M3 parked by the door with the top down. Outside the home was very nice, but a long way from extravagant, particularly for Marina Del Ray.
Natalie was lying to cover for him when I spoke to her on the phone earlier. I let out a sigh and considered my approach. I wondered if I should remain cautious or take a more aggressive action. If Billy Caesar was still in Mexico, she would have already called and warned him. It would give him an opportunity to dig in and hide. Every moment I wasted allowed Billy Caesar more time to get further away. I knocked on the door.
A woman answered. She did not fully open it; just cracked it open wide enough to show her face.
“Natalie Poole?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And you are?”
“I’m Fortune Redding,” I said. “I spoke to you earlier in the day.”
Her face formed an odd expression, combining surprise and fear. It was telling.
“I’m sorry. I’m just heading out and I’ve told you everything I know.”
Not everything, I thought.
“I won’t be long,” I promised. “May I come inside?”
She paused. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.
“No,” she said. “I don’t have time. You should go.”
“I’ll just be two minutes, I promise,” I said, pushing the door open and moving inside, all but forcing my way.
“Just for a minute,” she said. “Like I said, I’m heading out.”
The inside of Natalie’s house matched the outside—neat, but understated.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“You lied,” I said.
Her eyes widened, her expression transformed from fear to anger, “Who do you think you are?” she replied. “I didn’t...”
“You said you hadn’t seen him in many years,” I interrupted, “but you’ve been to La Paz, Mexico, four times in five years. Billy’s passport shows he’s also spent a lot of time in La Paz.”
“I wasn’t there to...”
“And why didn’t you tell me the two of you were romantically?” I said, interrupting again. “All this talk about him being a horrible person was a coverup, wasn’t it? Have you been in love with him since the mid-80s? Did your affair with him cause your divorce?”
“You have big balls,” she said, becoming visibly distraught.
“And you lied about introducing Billy Caesar to Glory, didn’t you?”
Her hands shook. I saw her lips quivering, “I... I...”
“Billy Caesar killed that innocent young girl, didn’t he?” I yelled. “He killed her and you knew about it, and you helped cover it up! Admit it!”
“I need you to leave,” she gasped. “I... you...”
“I’ll leave,” I began, “but first thing in the morning I’m calling the FBI and I’m telling them the whole story. Natalie, you need not protect a murderer. I’m sure he abused you too, didn’t he? A jury will understand that. You need to come clean.”
She sat at a table chair and put both hands over her face, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“I’ll get you some water,” I said. “Then you will tell me everything.”
I opened a cabinet over the sink and retrieved a glass. As I poured a glass of water, I noticed it for the first time. On the coat tree, by the door, hanging on the top hook, hung a gray Fedora. It was the last thing I remember before being struck hard on the back of my head.