The Next To Die Part 6

"What were you saying back there?" Ross barked into his cellular. He sat behind the wheel of his Miata, a mile ahead of Hank and Dayle on Highway 405, near Culver City. "Do you really believe that Leigh Simone was murdered? That both Tony Katz and she were victims of some sort of conspiracy?"

"Maybe. For lack of a better word, call it a conspiracy."

"Dayle, do you realize how nuts that sounds? One was gay-bashed. The other took an overdose. Except for the city and the hotel, there's no connection. Let's just drop this. The police are handling it. I don't want to sit through another session with Lieutenant Tokyo Rose, not on this. Besides, you hardly even knew Tony or Leigh. They both have a-a stigma attached to them. The wise thing to do right now is play down your brief a.s.sociation with Leigh-if you get my drift."

"No, Ross. What is your drift?"

"As it is, people are going to talk about you and Leigh. Why give them more ammunition? I'm not your PR man, but even I can see that it won't do your image any good to keep harping on this whole Leigh Simone situation. It's bad press, box office hari-kari. Am I getting through to you?"

She had to salute Ross for his tact. He'd managed to put his point across without calling anyone a lesbian. "You sure sound like a PR man, Ross," she remarked.

"No, I'm your lawyer. I'm the one who'll have to sue some tabloid to put an end to the talk. And you're not making it an easy case to win, Dayle."

She told herself that gossip about her didn't matter, but it did. "Listen, Ross," she said. "Leigh didn't do drugs, and she wasn't gay. Her a.s.sistant is lying on both counts."

"Well, why in the world would Estelle Collier lie?"

"I don't know," Dayle said. "But I'm going to find out."

Six.

Libby Stoddard didn't look like an heiress. The plump twenty-seven-year-old had frizzy brown hair and a face that might have been pretty if she didn't appear perpetually bored. Her idea of dressing up for this meeting was a ratty black pullover and acid-washed jeans that hugged her wide hips.

The law office conference room had a panoramic view of Los Angeles. Seated at the long mahogany desk were Avery and his attorney, Libby, her lawyer, and an arbitrator.

Avery and Joanne had decided not to tell the police about the stolen videotape. They'd hoped to avoid any public embarra.s.sment by meeting with Libby in private and persuading her to give it back. Avery's lawyer, Brent Cauffield, was very persuasive and charming. Always impeccably dressed, the tall, forty-year-old Brent had thinning brown hair and a confident smile. Avery wanted him to work his charisma on Libby: "We don't want to prosecute. If she returns the video, we won't press charges. I want to press her head in a vise, but we won't press charges."

Fueling Avery's anger were the calls to his house-more recorded snippets of conversation from their s.e.x tape. He'd put a trace on the phone, and beefed up their security system. The Homeguard Company positioned four cameras around the house, one at the front gate, and another by the pool. All the cameras had twenty-four-hour videotapes that would be kept on file for a month before recycling. Joanne said it was like living in the Chase-Manhattan Bank.

The police never did figure out how the culprit had broken in. They said it must have been a pro. Avery surmised that Libby had upgraded from her punk errand boys.

As exasperating as Libby had been, Brent suggested that they bury the hatchet. It was why Avery had come along today-so Libby could finally meet him, and perhaps satiate her love-hate fixation for him.

Libby and her attorney had arrived fifteen minutes late. Her lawyer was a savvy black woman named Fiona Williamson, dressed in a yellow tailored suit. Libby seemed quite dumpy and under-dressed as she waddled through the door after Fiona.

Avery stood up and nodded politely.

Libby reeled back and vehemently shook her head.

"Ms. Stoddard and I would appreciate it if Mr. Cooper remained seated throughout the proceedings," her lawyer explained. "My client objects to his aggressive manner here-and his efforts to intimidate her."

"What?" Avery murmured, incredulous.

Rolling his eyes, Brent motioned for him to sit down. Avery took his seat. So much for burying the hatchet.

Fiona immediately started in about how her client felt persecuted and hounded by police during her Maui vacation. She stuck to Libby's original tale of unloading the returned gifts on some teenagers outside a thrift shop.

Brent asked why these dest.i.tute boys would ruin six hundred dollars' worth of merchandise and deliver it to Avery's door, rather than return the clothes and collect the refund money. Wouldn't that have made more sense?

"Probably," Libby replied, shrugging. That tired, bored expression didn't change. "I mean, whatever...."

"Your client doesn't deny leaving an irate message on Mr. Cooper's home phone answering machine two weeks ago, does she?" Brent asked.

Libby snorted. Fiona shook her head. "Ms. Stoddard has already apologized for that unfortunate incident."

"We believe your client-still angry at Mr. Cooper-may have destroyed some gifts he'd returned to her. We also believe she paid those teenage boys to deliver the items to his door while she was in Maui."

"My client has already told you what she did with the merchandise in question," Fiona Williamson shot back.

"Does your client recall the name and location of the thrift shop?"

Frowning, Libby shook her head.

"It's important," Brent said. "Maybe we can track down these teenagers at the same place. We believe these boys may have broken into Mr. Cooper's home four days ago. They stole a very personal item."

Libby whispered something to her lawyer, then giggled.

Avery glared at her. She seemed to think this was all pretty amusing. He imagined her watching the video over and over. As much as she snickered at him and Joanne having s.e.x, Libby probably relished the voyeuristic thrill. He could see her gleefully supervising the phone calls her errand boys made.

There had been several more in the last few days. They always hung up before a trace could be completed. At first, the same menacing voice crept over the line, spewing obscenities and quoting them in their intimate moments. A second person started phoning; he sounded older than the first. He said the videotape had been duplicated, and "My, won't the tabloids be interested."

Trying to maintain a brave front, Joanne said over and over that she refused to let the calls upset her. Nevertheless, Joanne's doctor had suggested that she go back on her antidepressants. But she ended up not taking them for fear it might hurt her chances of conceiving.

Seeing Libby so smug-almost enjoying this confrontation-Avery despised her. Beneath the mahogany table, he tapped his foot impatiently while his lawyer tried to tie her punk errand boys to last Thursday's break-in. Brent seemed headed in the wrong direction. Avery had already told him the cops thought a professional burglar had pulled the job. Why was Brent going on about these teenagers?

"Can you describe these boys outside the thrift store?" he asked.

"I don't remember." Libby shrugged and let out a little laugh.

"Ms. Stoddard, we're trying to track down the person or persons who stole an item from the Coopers' home last week."

"Listen...Libby," Avery broke in. "I'm not interested in pressing charges or anything like that. I just want this personal item back. I'm asking for your cooperation."

"Well, too bad you didn't want to talk to me last month," she sneered. "Too bad you sent back all the presents I bought you. I'll bet you're sorry now. Suddenly, you want to be my friend."

Fiona gently took hold of Libby's arm and whispered in her ear. Libby glanced down at the tabletop for a moment. "I don't know about any stolen stuff," she said coolly. "I can't help you."

Avery slapped the tabletop with his palm. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it," he said.

"Mr. Cooper," the arbitrator said with a chastising look.

"Sorry," he muttered. Avery took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He glanced across at Libby, who had a tiny smirk on her face. Avery leaned close to Brent. "G.o.d help me," he growled. "I'd like to strangle her...."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Cooper?" Libby's attorney asked hotly. She glowered at him. "Would you care to repeat it for the record?"

"No, that was between my attorney and myself," Avery said.

He didn't say another word for the rest of the hearing.

An hour after the meeting adjourned, Avery was back on the set for a love scene with Traci Haydn. It wasn't his day.

During a break in the shooting, he retreated to his trailer and caught Joanne on her cellular. She was in the car, returning from a lunch date. Avery gave her the bad news: "The arbitration was a disaster. And we aren't any closer to recovering that stupid video." He sighed, and sank down on his sofa. "The only thing to come out of this is-well, now I'm pretty certain Libby's not responsible for stealing the tape."

"What do you mean?" Joanne asked.

"When Brent asked her about those punks and their night delivery to the house, I could tell every answer Libby gave was a lie or an evasion. But when he focused on the break-in last Thursday and a 'stolen personal item,' I think Libby genuinely didn't know what he was talking about."

"Well, if it's not Libby, who's behind all this?" Joanne asked.

He'd been wondering the same thing. How could Libby know about their little home movie? Who else knew about the tape? Joanne admitted that she'd told a couple of girlfriends in New York, but no one else. Avery didn't trust most of Joanne's Broadway buddies. It was a gossipy, narcissistic crowd. Still, he doubted Libby or one of her people could have gotten to someone in New York. But seven weeks ago, the dead mice people had worked both coasts at the same time. They'd been in Joanne's dressing room, and they'd broken into his Vancouver hotel suite undetected. They could have first seen the videotape in his suitcase there. All those weeks went by, and nothing. How stupid of him to think that they had decided to pick on someone else.

"Are you still there?" Joanne asked.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking."

"Listen, I talked to Saul again today," she said. "They still want me for that comedy. They've been holding off finding another actress, and the first read through is day after tomorrow in New York."

Avery sighed. "Well, I won't blame you if you need to go-"

"Honey, I told them no."

"Really?"

Joanne laughed. "You figured since things are getting rough, I'd start packing. Didn't you? Well, I'm sticking around, hon."

"Thanks," he said. "Listen, are you headed home?"

"Yes, home to all those cameras and security codes."

"I'll try to get out of here early. I love you."

As soon as Avery hang up, someone was knocking on his trailer door. "Avery? It's Bob!" the studio gofer said. "There's a call on your other line. It's Homeguard Security, something about the house...."

"Um, thanks, Bob," Avery replied. He grabbed the receiver and pressed the blinking second-line b.u.t.ton. "Yes, h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, Avery Cooper? It's Homeguard calling. We don't mean to alarm you, sir. But we're a bit concerned by something we saw today and thought you might help clear it up for us."

"Yes?" Avery said.

"Well, we've been watching you on this video, licking your wife's s.n.a.t.c.h, and we're wondering how it tasted."

The line went dead.

With dinnertime just ahead, the Recipe Hotine was buzzing with helpful hints on Monday, October 27 at 4:43 P.M. P.M.: ARLENE: My husband used to say that one of the worst things you can do to ground beef is make it into meat loaf, but then I got this recipe from my friend, Rachel....Mix 1 1b. lean ground beef with cup of Pepperidge Farm Seasoned Stuffing (not cubed), 3 eggs, cup of barbecue sauce, pouch of Lipton's Onion Soup Mix (get plenty of the brown onion salt in there!), a dash of garlic salt, pepper, and just enough milk for consistency. Mold into Meat Loaf Ca.s.serole dish. If not on a diet, cover with a couple of slices of raw bacon. Slip into the oven at 350 degrees for one hour. It's delicious!PAT: What do you usually serve with that? Baked Potato?DOLORES: I have a garlic mashed potato that would complement it beautifully!RICK: Request private chat with Pat, regarding pie recipe.

The following private mailbox interchange occurred at 4:46 P.M. P.M. on that same Monday afternoon: on that same Monday afternoon: AMERICKAN: Re: your inquiry, video has earned approx. $375,000 from various parties...SAAMO officers have broker handling it so we don't get R hands dirty...Understand stills will run in various adult mags, and B reproduced for Internet...5000 copies of video being distributed...Copies can B easily duplicated to insure wider distribution...SAAMO high-ups congratulate U for profitable & productive mission...that said, are U aware of problems we've had with D.S.?PATRIOT: She's mouthed off 2 press about R last job...would like to muzzle her. We should have done job on her 2 yrs. ago after lesbo vs. hunters movie.AMERICKAN: Exactly...New orders to humiliate & terminate D.S. as soon as possible...Details follow...SAAMO Lieut, signing off.

Dayle had telephoned the Imperial Hotel several times, trying to get a hold of Brian, the waiter. It was against hotel policy to give out home phone numbers of their employees. Dayle kept leaving her number, along with the message: "Call Ms. Sutton as soon as possible." Brian never called.

Meanwhile, in the wake of Leigh's death, the tabloids churned out their sordid headlines. Several publishers announced forthcoming tell-all biographies, promising to expose the secret life of Leigh Simone. Her CD sales boomed, and Leigh Simone jokes made the rounds-with suicide or lesbianism a part of the punch line. The new issue of Time Time magazine presented Leigh on the cover, with the headline: magazine presented Leigh on the cover, with the headline: STARS AND DRUGS: THE SUICIDE OF LEIGH SIMONE STARS AND DRUGS: THE SUICIDE OF LEIGH SIMONE.

Dayle wanted to prove Time Time magazine's suicide verdict wrong. Ross warned her to stop "picking at the scab," and Dennis said she was nuts. Still, he kept trying to reach Estelle Collier for her, but to no avail. magazine's suicide verdict wrong. Ross warned her to stop "picking at the scab," and Dennis said she was nuts. Still, he kept trying to reach Estelle Collier for her, but to no avail.

Dennis did get a hold of Linda Zane, long distance at her friend's villa in Greece. But Tony's widow couldn't tell Dayle much. She'd spent little time with Tony in the final weeks of his life, and knew nothing about any threats.

Frustrated, Dayle kept trying to reach the ever-elusive Brian. He'd been dodging her for four days now.

She finally had the hotel operator put her through to the restaurant. Brian wasn't working, but one of his buddies was. He gave her Brian's phone number, and Dayle tried him at home. After two rings a young woman picked up. "Hi, this is Joy."

"h.e.l.lo, is Brian there, please?"

She heard the girl call out: "Hey, Bry? Telephone!"

Dayle heard her mutter something, then Brian got on the line. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Brian, this is Dayle Sutton."

Silence.

"Was that your girlfriend I was talking to just now?"

"No, that was my sister," he whispered. "This is my family's house. I wish you hadn't called me here."

"I'm sorry," Dayle said. "But you gave me no choice. I've left you several messages at the hotel. Is your sister still there with you?"

"She's in another part of the house now. But I can't talk long."

"Then I'll get right to the point. I think Tony Katz was killed by the people who had been threatening him. Your story makes it seem less and less like a random gay-bashing. The police don't know about the threats on Tony's life. I think the same people who killed Tony and his friend also murdered Leigh Simone."

"But she committed suicide."

"I have every reason to doubt that. So here's where you come in, Brian. You're the only one who knows about the threats on Tony's life. If you tell the police what you've told me, I'll do everything I can to keep your name out of the newspapers."

"But you can't guarantee anything like that, can you?"