Chapter 6

As I drove back to Jasmine Heights, I found myself thinking as much about Detetctive Tina Callahan as I did about Claire Ingleford. I had promised to report back to her on my visit, but now I had to think things through. Claire really was my official client now, which meant I wasn't supposed to discuss her case. On the other hand, Tina could potentially help me out, especially if the San Diego police had already collected the tapes in question. On the third hand, Tina had a really great set of legs, and didn't seem to think I was pond scum.

When I got back to my place, I looked up Tina's number in the phone book and dialed it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Frank Stern. Did you still want to talk about my visit with Claire?"

"Sure, why not. Did you get your money?"

"Yep."

"Good for you. How did she seem? Nervous, excited?"

"She hired me, Tina. I'm working for her now."

"What! Really? To do what? Track down her ex-husbands killer?" She let out a high-pitched laugh...

"You don't think I'm qualified?"

"Well, come on Stern, no offense, but..."

"Never mind. She hired me on different matter. That's where it gets awkward, my discussing it with you."

"You know, I looked up your address - you live pretty close to me. Can we get together and talk about this?"

"Sure. I can give you the pictures I promised you."

She named a bar I knew of but had never been in: Harry's Lounge, on Recondido. She was waiting in a booth when I got there. It really wasn't my kind of place - quiet and chilly, with lots of leather and walnut, and not a lap dancer in sight - but it was nice enough. Tina had a drink in front of her, and when she saw me coming she signaled the bartender. Since I was flush for once, I splurged and ordered a Bombay gin and tonic.

"So ... detective to the stars, eh?"

I slid in across from her. "Right. I see a whole new niche opening up." I handed her an envelope with the pictures. She opened it and sifted through the prints, chewing on her lower lip. I took the opportunity to look at her closely. Her fine white-blond hair was cut short, a practical style made feminine by soft bangs. Cool blue eyes, a strong nose that probably had been in her family for generations. Her skin was fine-grained and smooth. I knew she had to be at least thirty, but she looked young enough to get carded. She was wearing a thin white sweater that hugged her small breasts.

My drink came, and I tossed back half. It was strong and delicious.

"Nice tits," commented Tina. "Oh, hey, cute tattoo. This guy with her, he's the one who chased you away?"

"Yep. She referred to him later as Enrico. I get the feeling he comes running when Claire snaps her fingers."

She closed up the envelope. "You know, you're not in any of these."

"I left out the one where I dropped the camera on my foot and it went off in my face."

"Really?"

"No, not really. I took the pictures, why would I be in any of them?"

"It's just that anyone could have taken these shots, right? I mean, we've tracked down several people who recognized Claire, but all we have for the photographer is a vague description. You can't really prove it was you, can you?"

"But why would I need to..." She was laughing silently, her shoulders shaking.

I asked "How many drinks have you had?"

"A few, but that's not the problem. The previous line of questioning is courtesy of the tortured mind of Barry Rank. He's got a theory. He doesn't come up with many original ideas, so he's pretty proud of it. According to my brilliant partner, Claire hired you to kill her ex-husband. To set up an alibi for both of you, you had someone with a passing resemblance to you take pictures of her on Sparkle Beach while you were in San Diego committing the murder. When she showed up at your office earlier today, it was to pay you for whacking Cahn, and to make sure you had your stories straight."

I finished my drink in one long swallow and signaled for another. "The old voyeur detective lookalike trick, eh?"

"Just for the record, I don't believe it's possible. Could you blow a hole in it for me?"

The bartender brought another round. Tina was drinking whiskey sours, and she started by eating the cherry, sliding it delicately off the toothpick with her small white teeth and then chewing it thoughtfully as she waited for me to respond.

"I was working here in LA both before and after. Moving furniture, with a partner." But I was working out the timing in my head, and I wasn't really sure if it was impossible for me to have pulled off a quick hit in San Diego.

"I don't think it's going to come to anything unless Rank turns up some solid evidence. The thing is, your continued association with Claire Ingleford is going to look suspicious to him. If he finds out."

"You mean, it will give him an excuse to keep hassling me. He can't really think I did it."

"Probably not. Anyway, consider yourself warned. Just remember you didn't hear it from me."

"Thanks, Tina."

"Now, let's talk about your meeting with Claire."

"I see. My back has been scratched, and now I have to scratch yours."

She smiled, taking no offense. "If you want to put it that way."

I gave her an abbreviated description of what had taken place, leaving out Claire's pep talk at the end and reducing the bonus to ten thousand in case I ended up having to split it with Tina.

She stirred her drink thoughtfully. "I'm sure the San Diego police would be interested to hear this."

"They haven't solved the case yet, I take it?"

She shook her head. "Here's what they have, or at least what they've told me. Cahn was discovered with a single gunshot wound to the chest, not self-inflicted. He was lying on his bed, partially nude. He had had sexual intercourse recently. Apparently Cahn had a long-standing habit of taking recreational lunch breaks back at his house with porn actresses. As a director, he could pretty much take his pick. So one of them killed him after sex, or maybe he was killed later by an intruder. No one has come forward and admitted to sleeping with him that day."

"Interesting. Any motive?"

"Not yet. Seems like Cahn was pretty well-liked within the industry. These tapes you're talking about might be the motive."

"Was the place searched?"

"Yep. Score one for you. It was messed up pretty good, like someone had gone through in a big hurry looking for valuables. You thinking maybe whoever killed him was looking for the tapes?"

"I'm not working on any assumptions," I said. "Except the assumption that ten grand will keep me solvent for months." In fact, fifty grand in tax-free income would keep me afloat a lot longer than that.

"Well, all I can say is that Claire Ingleford would be a tempting suspect if she didn't have an airtight alibi. Lots of motive, with this porno tape thing."

I nodded. "True. Maybe she hired some thug to kill Cahn and get the tape back, but the guy couldn't find it."

"Possible. That would be pretty stupid of her, though. A hired hit man would roll over on her for sure if he was caught. The risk would far outweigh any potential benefit."

"Claire doesn't strike me as stupid. But this is beside the point as far as I'm concerned. I'm not trying to crack the case, I'm just trying to recover the tapes."

She gave me a playful smile. "And how are you planning to do that? Put in an official request to search Cahn's house?"

"Yeah, right. You wouldn't rat me out, would you?"

This was an obvious opening for her to ask for a cut of the "ten grand" bonus. I was pleased in more ways than one when she shook her head and said "You better be careful, Stern. You get caught in Cahn's house, you'll lose your license and maybe even do a little time. Not to mention, Rank could fit it nicely into his pet theory."

"A UFO could be sighted over the Hollywood sign, and Rank would work it into his theory."

She snorted a quick laugh, then held up her hand. "Let's drop it. I gotta work with the guy, so I better not get too carried away with this."

"Speaking of which, how'd you manage to get bumped up to detective?"

"Several factors, I guess. Being a woman doesn't hurt, to be perfectly honest. I got lucky on a drug bust, got some good pub for the department and my picture ended up in the paper. Funny the way things go sometimes. My marriage was imploding just when my career was looking up."

"I thought you used to wear a ring."

"For three lovely, magical years. Getting married was a really stupid idea."

"In general, or to your ex-husband?"

"Both."

"But at least you're not bitter."

"Right, that's the important thing."

She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, causing her nipples to poke at the fabric of her sweater. At the same time, she turned her head to the side to examine something behind the bar. It was a pretty obvious invitation to stare, so I did. When I go into one of the strip joints where I'm a regular, I get this sort of thing lot. In that case, there's no mystery at the motivation - I'm known as a guy with a wad of small bills burning a hole in his pocket. Claire Ingleford's motivation for rubbing up against me like a cat in heat was also pretty clear - extra incentive to find the tapes and stick to our deal. But what Tina wanted from me was harder to figure.

She turned her head back to me with a little smile that seemed to be asking me if I liked what I saw.

"You ever been married, Stern?"

"Not even close."

"That's right, you're a little different, aren't you?" She gestured at the envelope with the pictures of Claire. "What's with the hobby?"

Normally the question would give me hives, especially coming from a woman I was trying to flirt with. But three high-octane gin and tonics had dulled my sense of shame. I said "It combines my love of photography, my sincere admiration for the female form, and the thrill of the chase."

She laughed longer and harder than the comment deserved. Two little spots of color had appeared high on her cheeks.

"You're pretty funny, Frank. You know, you make women laugh like that, you'll get yourself a ball and chain before you know it."

I smiled modestly.

She looked me in the eye and asked "You wanna get out of here?"

I swallowed hard. When you get used to paying for sex, you forget that women occasionally enjoy doing it for free. It had been a long time since I had done it this way.

I said "Sure - I saw an all-night bowling alley nearby. You bowl?"

She giggled. "No, do you?

"God no."

Her foot rubbed my calf, then moved up toward my thigh. My leg twitched spastically, and I pushed down on my knee to hold it in place.

"Do I make you nervous, Frank?"

"Don't be silly." I drained my drink. There was more left than I had realized, and it went down the wrong tube, almost giving me a coughing fit. I stood up, and with watering eyes I dug my new thick roll out of my pocket, peeled off a hundred dollar bill, and gave it to the bartender. He nodded appreciatively, but made no move to get change. I made a mental note to stay away from money pits like Harry's in the future.

As we walked out together, we both noticed our height differential and laughed. I was easily a foot taller.

"I should have worn my platform heels."

"I think I prefer looking down at you. Does loads for my self confidence."

"Uh huh. Listen, I'm kinda tipsy. Can you drive me home?" She was leaning against me, her hip pressed against my thigh.