Racing the Light, page 20
The odds were slight, but I hoped to find Allie Rice at home. If she wasn’t, I planned to break in and search for more clues. Maybe a note saying “Meet Josh Schumacher at 2” or “Josh is at the Islander Palms rm 312.” I never thought Josh would be with Allie Rice when I arrived, but his black-on-black MINI sat two doors away. I parked in a red zone at the corner, walked back, and confirmed the plate. Josh. Takeout food debris, crumpled soda cans, and a sleeping bag littered the interior. Josh had been living in his car.
I stood in the brilliant sunlight and placed a hand on the MINI’s roof. I squinted up at the clear blue sky. The meatball might scream around the corner with blazing guns or a formation of drones might appear, but I wanted to enjoy the moment. I enjoyed it too long.
Allie Rice’s front door opened and Ryan Seborg stepped out with a gear bag over his shoulder. He saw me and literally jumped. He looked like Sylvester the Cat.
“Josh! Run! It’s him!”
He slammed the door and something crashed in the house.
I ran onto the porch, but the door was locked. Another crash came from the back of her house. I hopped off the porch, ran down the side of the house, and jumped a wooden gate into her backyard. Josh and Ryan were struggling to climb a fence in the rear, but a huge mound of bougainvillea blocked their way.
I said, “Josh, stop. I just want to talk.”
Josh shouted, “Help! Help!”
I raised my hands.
“Ryan, c’mon. Tell him.”
Josh shouted, “I’m not going back!”
Ryan shouted louder, “Stay away, asshole!”
A trim, attractive woman in black tights and a red T-shirt appeared at the back door. She put her fists on her hips and didn’t look happy to see me.
“Get out of my yard. I’ll call the police.”
Josh made a break for the far side of the house. I beat him across and he veered to the other side. I beat him again and he cut back again.
“Josh, you’re found. This is silly. Stop.”
Josh was large and he wasn’t in shape. He stopped and leaned over with his hands on his knees, sucking breaths like a bellows. Ryan came up beside him and glared like a guard dog.
I said, “Don’t have a heart attack, okay? Breathe.”
Josh nodded and sucked air.
“Did my mother actually hire you?”
Ryan said, “This is him. He’s a detective.”
“What did you expect? You vanished.”
“I couldn’t stay.”
“There were three or four hundred better ways to handle this.”
He looked at Ryan.
“I knew they’d come. I didn’t want anyone hurt.”
“Rachel Bohlen is dead.”
Allie Rice called from the door.
“Who’s Rachel Bohlen?”
Josh looked up.
“She was a brilliant artist and a good person. She discovered Richter’s scam and here we are.”
He slumped and shook his head. His eyes were bubblegum pink and swelling.
“Look what they did to her. Look what they did.”
Ryan put his hand on his friend’s back.
“You’ll kill’m, dude. You’re gonna crush’m.”
Allie Rice was still at the door, listening. I edged closer to Josh and lowered my voice.
“She doesn’t know Rachel was murdered?”
“She personally witnessed Grady Locke receive a cash bribe. She was willing to go on record for the podcast. That’s why we’re here. We recorded her statement.”
Allie Rice had crossed her arms as if she was having second thoughts. She looked cold. Even in the bright California light.
I lowered my voice still more.
“Who killed her?”
“Them. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Maybe Locke. I don’t know. She went to see Locke at his loft. Stupid. Stupid. I tried to stop her.”
The argument the blonde and the auburn heard. When Josh got loud.
“She went to see Grady Locke and she never came back.”
He nodded.
“Why would she go to his loft?”
“Evidence. She thought she could get more evidence. Stupid. Maybe she threatened him. I don’t know.”
He wasn’t breathing so deeply now. He finally stood.
I glanced at Allie Rice and moved even closer.
“More. Meaning she had evidence Richter was taking payoffs?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. He’s a crook. Allie’s seen it firsthand. So did Rachel.”
“This was something she took from Locke?”
“Not like you mean. She took pictures. Of cash. Of his phone. It’s what she does. Did. Turning pictures of text conversations into art. She photographed texts between Locke and Richter saying how Chow Wan Li was sending over cash. Locke’s brother-in-law was delivering it. It’s all in their texts. The whole scam. She gave it to me. She wanted to do something with it.”
“Pictures of texts.”
“Yes. Maybe he caught her this time. I don’t know.”
“They searched her apartment. They were looking for something.”
“Rachel gave me the pictures. She gave statements on audio and video. We recorded everything.”
“Statements.”
“For the podcast. About them and what they were doing. She wanted everything on record. She wanted to stop them.”
I saw Rachel’s battered and beaten face.
“Whatever you have, these people think you can hurt them.”
“No shit?”
Ryan laughed.
Josh said, “They’re right. I’m going to hurt them. I’m going to ruin them. I’m going to make them pay for killing Rachel and all the other people they’ve hurt.”
He looked set, determined, and unafraid. He had no idea what he was doing.
“Can I see your evidence?”
“I’ll let you listen. Rachel can speak for herself.”
Allie said, “Can I listen, too?”
“Of course. You’re one of the heroes of the story.”
Josh started for the house, then looked at me.
“One thing, though. Don’t try to stop me or talk me out of it. I’m going to expose these people and destroy them. That’s it. So don’t try to stop me.”
“I’m not here to stop you. I’m going to help.”
Ryan smirked.
“The Men in Black say the same damned thing.”
We went inside and listened to Rachel’s story.
46
Allie Rice was a warm and personable host. She told me her story as Josh set up two small speakers and attached them to his phone.
Allie had been a flight attendant for a charter jet company in Burbank when a real estate developer named A. O. Castillo chartered a ten-passenger jet to fly himself, his wife, Sanford Richter, and Grady Locke to Phoenix for a Lakers-Suns game. As Richter and Locke boarded, Ms. Rice saw Castillo hand two thick envelopes to Richter, who passed them to Grady Locke, who then placed them in a small handbag. He held the bag for the entire flight and twice refused her offer to store it in an overhead bin. She found his attachment to the bag odd and was suspicious of the envelopes. As they began their descent, Locke insisted on securing the bag in the plane’s luggage compartment. She did so, but after the party departed for the game, she opened the hatch and examined the envelopes. Ms. Rice expected to find drugs, but each envelope contained a tightly wrapped block of one-hundred-dollar bills two inches thick. She had signed a nondisclosure agreement and never expected to tell anyone until she overheard Sanford Richter tell Castillo about a developer named Lou Warren. Warren had refused to play along, so Richter was fucking him over. Richter was fucking him so good, he bragged, Warren would end up building dog kennels and then Richter would fuck him over even more just to show him.
Allie Rice shook her head at the memory.
“He was so ugly. I didn’t know Lou Warren. I’d never heard of Lou Warren. But the hateful arrogance of this man, the ugly meanness in his voice made my skin crawl.”
Josh and Ryan were watching her. I was watching her, too.
“So you contacted Mr. Warren.”
She shrugged.
“After I changed jobs. I thought he should know, but I don’t think he did anything.”
Josh glanced at me.
“You see? These people are the scum of the earth. Evil, horrible people.”
He looked back at Allie.
“Thank you for sharing your story.”
“I hope it helps.”
“It will help. I promise you this will help.”
I said, “Did you photograph the cash?”
She looked surprised.
“It never occurred to me. I guess I should’ve.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. I wanted to ask if the pilots or other crew had seen any of this, but I knew what she’d say and I didn’t want to make her feel bad.
I said, “Nah, it’s okay. I was just curious.”
Allie Rice was trying to help, but without corroboration her claims carried little weight.
I turned to Josh.
“What are we going to hear?”
“How Rachel discovered the truth.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Josh tapped his phone, and Rachel Belle Bohlen told us what happened.
47
Her Finest Performance
She’d been with Grady Locke so many times during the past five years she couldn’t remember them all. Rachel usually met him at party locations like hotels or yachts where Grady wined and dined big shots. But every so often, maybe half a dozen times a year, she went to his two-bedroom loft on the seventh floor of a former factory building in downtown Los Angeles. The concrete walls and ceilings were painted various shades of gray, the polished concrete floor gleamed, and the cabinetry in the kitchen and living room was a rich mahogany, which lent warmth to the austere gray walls. Each time she arrived, Grady made a big deal of pointing out the eastern view of the Arts District and the L.A. River bridges, and the northern view across Chinatown to the glow of Dodger Stadium, as if she’d never seen them. Skylar oohed and aahed as always, but Skylar wasn’t impressed and didn’t care. Acting impressed was part of the gig, and, truth was, she wanted to finish him fast and get the hell out.
The tour ended in his bedroom, him framed in the window, pointing out the golden glow from Chavez Ravine as if the view were a trophy. Skylar decided to nudge him along.
She said, “Hey. Look at this instead.”
He turned from the window.
“What?”
Skylar let her black leather jacket fall. She peeled the tiny black dress up from her body like a snake shedding skin, and flipped it away. She turned left, letting him see. She turned right.
“Me or Dodger Stadium? Which view do you like best?”
They did the same stupid dance every time. Yawn.
Grady grinned and moved closer.
“You win. Want a drink?”
“If you’re drinking, sure. A drink would be nice.”
“I have some pot. We could four-twenty?”
He seemed hopeful, so she gave him the answer he wanted.
“Spark up, dude. Let’s party.”
Skylar followed him back into the living room, which, like every loft space she’d ever seen, was an enormous industrial cavern—exposed ducts along the ceiling, exposed electrical conduits running down the walls—divided into areas: here’s the kitchen area, here’s the dining and bar area, here’s the living room area with the monster big-screen. He kept his joints in a small inlaid box behind the bar. She went to the dining table for her briefcase, which was slim and professional. The briefcase gave her an air of legitimate purpose when she entered buildings for work, as if the people who saw her might think she was a woman entering their building for some appropriate, legal reason.
He saw her opening the briefcase and smiled again.
“Bring your movies?”
She lifted out her iPad, teasing him.
“I know you dig watching, but I don’t know if I should show you these. They’re nasty. You might be disgusted. You might want to spank me.”
He was grinning like a doof. He had paid eight hundred dollars for three hours of her time. Drool was already dripping down his shirt.
He said, “Damn, you’re hot. Let’s do this.”
Grady, like many of her johns, dug her past as a pornstar. Watching the girl in the video with the girl in the video turned them on. They watched the girl in the video even when the girl who had been in the video was under them. Skylar preferred this. When they focused on the video girl, they were not with Skylar, and Skylar was not with them. Skylar could be absent.
He scooped up the joint box, tucked a bottle of gin under his arm, and followed her back into the bedroom. She was booting up the iPad when his cell phone rang.
“Shit. I gotta take this.”
He scrambled for his cell, and went to the window.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay.”
He glanced back at Skylar, and held up a finger. Won’t be long. Only a minute.
“How much?”
He turned toward the view and listened some more.
“I’m in the middle of something. A friend.”
More listening. He glanced at her again and shrugged.
“Couple of hours, maybe. Less.”
Skylar gave him a thumbs-up. Grady returned it, but suddenly frowned.
“Here? Can I bring it over later?”
His frown deepened.
“Boss, I’m running out of room. It’s piling up, and I don’t like keeping it here. It’s yours. What if my building burns down?”
His frown became a scowl, and Skylar knew Grady Locke was not happy.
“I guess I could, but— I know, okay. Yes, sir. Yes. You’re the boss.”
Grady held his phone at arm’s length and gave it the finger.
Skylar laughed.
Grady said, “Yes, sir. Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He ended the call and flipped off his phone again.
“Asshole.”
Grady came back to bed, put his phone on the nightstand, and pulled off his pants.
“Fucking dick.”
“The Sandman?”
“You wouldn’t believe the guy. The shit I put up with.”
He pulled off his underwear, swung onto the bed, and patted a spot beside him.
“C’mon. A double feature might help.”
Skylar took a spot next to him and played one of her scenes. The scene had taken three hours to shoot and was cut to fourteen minutes. They were six minutes into it when Grady’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. He scooped his phone and immediately scowled.
“Oh, for crap’s sake, my fucking brother-in-law. Pause it.”
Skylar paused it.
She watched him thumb a fast reply, and a furious text exchange ensued. Grady mumbled as he tapped.
“Aw, c’mon, you dipshit! No way!”
Skylar said, “Is everything okay?”
Grady’s landline rang.
“Idiot!”
He tossed his cell on the bed, grabbed the landline phone from the nightstand, and entered a code. Skylar knew this unlocked the lobby entrance so a guest could enter.
Grady said, “Sorry. He wasn’t supposed to get here until later.”
“Pretend you’re not here.”
“Can’t. He knows I’m here. Stay out of sight, okay?”
Grady got out of bed and pulled on his pants.
Skylar said, “Don’t sweat it. We can reschedule.”
“No, no, no. It’s cool. He’s just dropping something off.”
Grady pulled on a T-shirt as the doorbell rang, and hurried into the living room. Skylar slid from the bed, and watched him. It was a very long room, and the doorbell rang twice more before Grady reached the door.
His brother-in-law was a pudgy guy in a navy suit with a bucket of fried chicken in his hands. He presented the bucket to Grady with a big smile on his face.
Skylar thought, “What the fuck?”
The brother-in-law pried the lid from the bucket to show Grady the contents. Grady reached inside and lifted out a banded pack of cash. He dug around in the bucket, and Skylar realized he was counting more packs. He kept digging and counting, and Skylar realized the bucket contained many, many packs. Then she understood why Grady was running out of room and what was piling up. Cash.
Grady’s brother-in-law left a few seconds later, and Grady turned toward the bedroom.
Skylar ran to the bed, grabbed her iPad, and called out.
“Is he gone?”
“Yeah. Want something from the kitchen? A bottle of water or something?”
Grady had stopped in the kitchen to stash the bucket.
She noticed his phone on the bed, and wanted to see their texts.
She called back.
“Yes, please. Oh, wait, could I have a diet soda?”
Buying more seconds.
Grady called back.
“Sure.”
“With ice, please!”
Skylar reached for his phone, and quickly read their texts. Her eyes widened, and she felt a blood-burning excitement she never felt during sex.
Skylar grabbed her iPad and snapped a pic of their texts. She scrolled to reveal more of the exchange, snapped a second pic, and a third.
She placed his phone where he’d left it, pulled the sheet over her legs, and queued up the video.
Grady returned with a glass of soda and ice. He didn’t mention the bucket, and neither did she.
He said, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
