“And,” Chuck said, “Remember Death Becomes Her? You can never judge anything by a title.”
“Okay, okay—I stand chastised,” Lee said. He grinned at Sophie, Bruce and Jackson. “I was planning to come even before your announcement at the meeting, Sophie,” he said, then lowered his voice. “I know you were watching the audience as much as the players, but...aren’t they great?”
“Very good,” Sophie said.
Lee lowered his voice still further, sounding anxious. “And?”
“And it was a great performance piece—different from anything I’ve ever seen, certainly,” Sophie said. “What about you three? Anyone you noticed who was behaving strangely?”
“Tons of people come to multiple performances,” Henry said.
“Because you get a different experience every time—depending on who you follow,” Chuck said.
Sophie was shaking her head.
“What?” Lee demanded.
“You guys...you saw all these shows—you had to have seen Lili Montana.”
“We were talking about that when we got here,” Chuck said. “That we’d been to so many, and we were all there with Lili Montana—and we never knew her name.”
“And didn’t recognize her,” Lee said.
“How would we recognize her?” Henry asked, shaking his head. “Her mother wouldn’t have recognized her.”
“But when we found out who she was—” Sophie said.
Lee shrugged. “We see a lot of corpses. And you have to remember—the one show—we couldn’t see their faces.”
“With the masks,” Henry said.
“None of us knew who anyone was,” Chuck finished.
Jackson excused himself; he went over to the couple who were actually FBI, or so Bruce had said.
“You three came here together?” Bruce asked.
“Sure,” Lee said. “I would have come anyway, but after Sophie talked about the performance tonight at the meeting, I asked Henry if he was coming.”
“And Chuck Thompson had called me already,” Henry said.
“We figured we’d see the show as we planned—and follow Sophie’s instructions from the meeting.”
“I didn’t really give instructions,” Sophie murmured.
Jackson returned to their group. “I should get back,” he said.
“You guys don’t want to have a drink or anything?” Lee asked.
“Not tonight,” Bruce told them. “But thanks.”
“That’s right. Our Sophie works around the clock,” Lee said.
“Our Sophie is going to go home and go to sleep,” she assured them all. “But I did enjoy the show.”
“Did you learn anything?” Chuck Thompson asked her.
Was he looking at her strangely? Or was she really suspicious of him, too? What if it was all crazy, and people were just being normal—getting out and having a good time when they weren’t at work?
“All about Lady Jane Grey!” she said lightly.
She bid them good-night.
The room had already thinned, but the ushers were there to get them down the elevators and out to the lobby.
Kenneth Trent was thanking everyone who had come as they exited.
He looked anxiously at Sophie, then Bruce, and Jackson.
“Well?” he whispered.
Each of them told him that his show had been exceptional.
Bruce reminded him that they needed a list of all the people who had been involved in the interactive show with the masks.
“Everything I have!” he vowed.
They were out in the car before Sophie told them, “I had one hell of an interesting one-on-one interaction!”
“Oh?” Bruce asked, frowning.
“Our sweet little friend and fledgling star—Grace Leon. She can really turn it on and off. She fell on her knees in character, praying—then an instant later leaped up and attacked me. Oh, not physically! Just verbally. She was going to sue me and the entire force for harassing Kenneth Trent.”
“Really? Well, she is his star now, I guess,” Bruce noted. “What did you tell her?”
“I did say that there could always be the suspicion that a woman was guilty—and that we could talk at the station. Since she took over what would have been Lili Montana’s part, well, at the least, she had motive.”
“And?” Jackson asked.
Sophie grimaced. “She was horrified at the suggestion—and I don’t think she was acting.”
“Well, it’s true. She did take over for Lili Montana,” Bruce said.
Even on Saturday night, traffic was heavy returning from Malibu. Bruce drove; Sophie had asked for the back seat, determined to go through her phone—and the plans she had received from Angela Hawkins regarding the old church and burial ground again.
Staring at the plans, and remembering the graveyard as they had last been in it, she gasped suddenly.
“I think I’ve found something...and, Bruce, between my dream, and the circumstances, and just the fact we suspected and know...”
“What?” Bruce asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “You know which tomb he might be using?”
“Maybe,” she said. Jackson had turned, and was studying her. She wanted to be careful. Her instinct was there; she didn’t want to make a rash determination and be wrong.
“Are you going to share?” Jackson asked.
Bruce gazed back at her again quickly, and then returned his attention to the road. “The dream...and our theory. I think I can picture the place. That one family set of tombs...the ones that stack up on each side and create a pyramid effect.”
“Yes!” Sophie said. “The plans show that it’s dug out deep, there are more family members beneath the ground. It’s not just tombs—it’s catacombs.”
Bruce kept his eyes on the road and spoke softly.
“Johnstone,” he said. “The family name on those tombs is Johnstone. And, Sophie, I think you could easily be right. You might have found the murder site.”
15
Saturday night, late
Sophie wanted to head straight to the old church and burial ground. Jackson was the one to remind her that they needed to have legal entry.
“And we can have it by tomorrow,” Bruce said.
“But if we went out now—”
“We have no tools. We can’t just dig around blindly,” Bruce said.
“Sophie, don’t forget, I did ask that my LA office have agents do sweeps around that area tonight, watching that it stays quiet,” Jackson said.
“If we went prowling around and accomplished nothing—and Sabrina Hayes found out—she’d be furious. She’s been cooperative,” Bruce said, “but that can change. We can do it right in the morning. If you just go in and by some legal flaw get evidence thrown out when it comes to court, the DA’s office would have your head. And if we’re wrong, we’ll have to access other tombs—and that missing part of the foundation that seems to have disappeared after the quake,” Bruce reminded her.
“Sophie, I’ve never seen anyone with more pull than Adam Harrison—the man who is the real head of the Krewe,” Jackson said. “We’ll get access, bright and early.”
“You don’t think that the killer will have figured out that we’re onto him?” Sophie asked. “Oh, stupid question. Cops flooded the place. But if there is anything there, he might get in and try to get rid of it by tomorrow.”
“The cops searched—and found nothing,” Bruce reminded her. “He won’t think that we’re going back. And the first search was LAPD. The second search will be FBI.”
“Besides,” Jackson said softly, “once we find his killing field...well, there will be no way for him to get rid of that much blood. He must have instruments down there. He might have been able to keep the studio and the dump sites clean, but I d
on’t believe he could have murdered the girls with such savagery—and left nothing.”
They were right, Sophie knew.
They reached her house; Jackson was heading immediately back to the hospital.
When Jackson had gone, Bruce pulled out the plans to the old burial ground and studied them, as well.
“Johnstone—they must have been an influential family. They have a huge family plot, except that the plot goes way underground. Look!”
He was sitting on the sofa, and she’d curled up comfortably next to him.
“I saw that,” Sophie said. “I think that there is some kind of entry at either the foot or the head—I mean, the way the coffins are stacked... I don’t think there could be an entry through one of the coffins. No room. But the way they’re stacked, it looks as if there could be a doorway at either end of the pyramid stacks.”
“And it could go deep.” He was quiet a minute. “It could even connect.”
“Connect to?”
“The missing chunk of foundation—or, what’s missing when you see plans of the cemetery that were drawn up after that quake.”
They heard a car, and then a knock at the door. Brodie was back from his turn on guard duty at the hospital.
He sat and listened as they told him about the Hollywood Hooligans, the performance, the fact that a slew of people might have masks, and that Jackson was arranging to get them back into the church and graveyard. He reminded them that Jackson had just come to the hospital to relieve him, so Vining was caught up as well, and still chafing to get out of the hospital.
“That’s a print of the plans Angela sent? Can I see?”
“Of course,” Sophie said, handing them over.
He studied the plans, and agreed with Sophie’s theory. “Johnstone. I think you have something there. Of course, with anything that old, it’s still a long shot,” he said.
Then Brodie yawned mightily.
Sophie realized that they were sitting where he slept, and she jumped up. “We’ll take this up in the morning!”
“Bright and early,” Brodie said. He stretched out the minute they vacated the sofa.
“Brodie, there are sheets and pillows!” Sophie said. “They’re just folded—”
“Good night. I could sleep sitting up right now,” he said.
Bruce shrugged and urged Sophie down the hall.
As they went into her bedroom, it occurred to Sophie that they had already acquired a weird little ritual. First thing—guns. They went on each bedside table, snug in their little holsters.
Then...
They looked at one another. There could have been a discussion about whether they needed sleep most, or if anyone was in the mood, if...
No discussion.
Sophie practically flew across the bed into his arms. He kissed and touched her, and they were back to their other ritual, busy discarding one another’s clothing, and their own clothing, and creating wild piles of fabric wherever.
Then they were tight to each other’s bodies. And lips, fingertips, were everywhere on flesh, and some caresses were tender, and some were passionate, until they were fit together, locked together, rolling, whispering, laughing...and then just moving, writhing, arching...and feeling.
But that night, when she lay in his arms, she couldn’t help but wonder. What was she going to do when it was over? She hadn’t felt this alive in so long she couldn’t remember when.
All she knew for certain was that no matter what the future brought, they had to find this killer. Tomorrow, they’d revisit the graveyard. And this time, they would find out what was going on.
She lay next to him, trying to cherish the time when they just rested, so close.
Finally she slept, and didn’t dream, until her phone rang. She woke up, startled. She knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t a waking-up-time of morning.
She glanced at the bedside alarm clock. Four a.m.
She fumbled for her phone.
She saw that the call was coming from Kenneth Trent and answered it immediately.
“Kenneth. What’s wrong?”
“She’s missing!” he said.
“Who’s missing?”
“Grace—Grace Leon.”
Her heart thudded, but she remained calm and logical. “Kenneth, we just saw Grace. She was in your show.”
“But she didn’t turn up after the performance...she wasn’t where she said she’d be. What if she...what if she fell for something, auditioned after the show, more than auditioned for another show—for a golden opportunity.”
That puzzled Sophie. It wouldn’t be an unheard of thing that Grace had more than “auditioned” or that there had been more to her audition than just some line reading. It wouldn’t have been with Kenneth, of course.
Kenneth Trent was gay, and he had a partner; from everything they had seen and heard, he had a sound relationship.
There really shouldn’t be any kind of audition she would have gone to after the show—that late at night. True, there were so many different kinds of projects that went on in LA, and perhaps even late at night, but, at this point in time—would Grace have fallen for anything happening at odd hours?
Bruce was up, leaned on an elbow, watching as she spoke.
“Kenneth, where was she supposed to be?”
Kenneth hesitated on the other end. Then he began to talk. “She...okay, so, when I did the casting for my show, I was torn—it might have gone to Grace, but it could also have been another girl who auditioned. Except Perry—Perry Sykes, he played Dudley tonight—had a thing going with her. Grace, I mean. He talked me into taking Grace. I mean, she was good, but it was between her and the other girl, and Perry said that it should be Grace. They were meeting after the show—Grace and Perry—and with the cleanup and the wind-down...and we finished at eleven, and they were both still chatting with different people after. We had some agents there tonight, and a few directors and producers. But Perry had taken a room at a hotel back here in LA...that new boutique place on Sunset, kind of between the Mondrian and the Best Western. Something really special, something to celebrate opening night, her first role...and the two of them. But she didn’t show. Perry went to her house, but she wasn’t there. Oh, and she had texted him at midnight. ‘I’ll be right there. Can’t wait.’ Detective Manning, you don’t write a text like that and then...don’t show. Or don’t be anywhere. She’s missing. I know she’s an adult. I know the rules are that you’re not missing until twenty-four or forty-eight hours or whatever, but please! Help me...help us!”
“Okay, I’m getting up. We’ll get right on it. What kind of a car does she drive? I’ll get an APB out on her right away. We’ll find her, Kenneth.”
“After what happened to Lili, I’m so worried about Grace. Please, I’m so scared.”
“I’m on it, Kenneth. Her car?”
“An old Ford...wait... I’m with Perry.”
The phone was handed over.
“This is Perry. I have her license plate number.”
“You do?”
He cleared his throat. “I paid a ticket for her.” He rattled off the number. Sophie scrambled to the bedside table for a notepad.
Bruce saw what she was doing.
He was dialing Jackson before she finished writing.
“I’m back at the hotel. It’s called Sunrise, Sunset. We’ll be here, I guess. Unless we can do something else.”
“Just stay where you are. We’ll call the Malibu police,” Sophie said. “We’ll get in touch with you as soon as possible. Stay where you are. If something did happen—maybe Grace lost her phone—she might still come to you. Don’t move.”
Perry agreed.
Sophie didn’t really think that Grace Leon was going to show up at the hotel.
She didn’t want Perry Sykes—who sounded so frantic—out on the
road.
Bruce was already up, reaching for his clothing, cell phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder as he dressed and spoke to Jackson at the same time.
Sophie called Captain, waking him, to report Kenneth’s call. “I’ll get cops in Malibu searching right away, since that’s where the show was,” he said. “But, Sophie...maybe this girl just decided to do something else tonight.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of official channels.”
“I’m going back to the graveyard.”
“Sophie, we searched.”
“Yes, yes, we did. But, Captain, you won’t believe it. I can already hear someone screaming from that graveyard—I can hear them all the way over here.”
She quickly hung up; she wasn’t going to give him a chance to argue.
She turned and looked at Bruce. He didn’t try to argue with her, either.
“Let’s go,” he said.
She was ready.
They ran out to the living room. Brodie was already up, too. “Good thing I didn’t put on my pajamas. Where are we going?”
“You—back to the hospital,” Bruce told his brother and added, “Please. Jackson is the official one here, so if you don’t mind.”
“I live to serve!” Brodie promised.
He was out the door before them.
Both cars revved at the same time. Sophie was grateful they were all on the same page, moving at top speed.
She didn’t need a ghost at the moment to tell her that they were going in the right direction. Cop’s gut instinct.
Something was going to happen.
Something that would take them in the right direction, closing in on the killer.
Sunday, the wee hours
The traffic was light—still existent, of course—it was, after all, LA.
But it was an easy drive, comparatively, to leave Sophie’s place in Los Feliz and head to the old church.
Bruce reckoned that he’d also gotten good at maneuvering around LA. Then again, he’d spent most of his adult life in DC and the surrounding communities; the Beltway could be a nightmare.
It was barely Sunday morning.
And, yet, like Sophie, he believed that their killer had struck again.