The door to the office opened and Jeff came back in. He had gone into the hall to call his wife and assure her that he was all right. The news of the studio massacre had begun to leak out. He checked when he spotted the T-shirt.
“Yeah, that’s certainly appropriate,” he said.
“Huh?” was my snappy response.
“You did definite Road Runner-fu on Jondin”
“I didn’t do anything. I ran around and then I fell down. You’re the one who disarmed her,” I said.
Diggins hung up the phone and looked at Jeff. “Not to sound like a total Hollywood asshole, but what the hell are we going to do? We’ve got twenty-three days of film in the can, our director is dead, and our leading man is in the hospital, shot by our leading lady, who is now in jail. And I don’t see how we get her out.”
I goggled at him. “Are you nuts? Why would you want her out? She killed eleven people and wounded fifteen others. Sixteen if you count me, though I guess it was technically the light…” I firmly shut my mouth so I would stop babbling. “Anyway, you can’t.”
Jeff looked at Diggins. “Then we’ve got to recast and reshoot.”
“I’m not sure the studio will support that,” Diggins said.
Jeff looked sick. “I’ve sunk a lot of my own money into this film. We can’t just fold it.”
“We’ve got to consider how it looks. The young lady’s right. People are dead.”
“So, we go to Romania or Latvia and shoot there. Away from the press. Do it quiet.” Jeff was pleading, but Diggins just shook his head. “So, what you’re saying is, ‘Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown,’” Jeff said bitterly. He correctly read my expression as one of complete confusion. “Not a movie buff, huh?” Then he gave a sharp laugh that turned into a choking sob. He turned away and drew his sleeve across his eyes.
I looked away, wanting to excuse myself. “Pardon me, where’s the restroom?”
Diggins pointed at a door on the left side of his office. “There’s one in here you can use.”
It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to go into the bathroom and bawl like a little kid for a minute, but I was stuck. I stood up and the office door opened. Diggins’s assistant escorted in David, who was looking thunderous.
He crossed to my side in three long strides and took hold of my shoulders. I winced, and he released me like I was hot. “Are you all right?” he asked.
It was one of those reflexive, stupid statements that make you want to scream at the person, No, I’m not all right. I just saw eleven people killed right in front of me. But I didn’t say that, since he did seem honestly concerned. I settled for a nod.
“What?” Diggins said. I looked around, confused by the question, but it had been directed to the assistant.
“Sorry, Chip, but the lead detective is really insistent about talking with Mr. Montolbano and Ms. Ellery.”
David stepped in. “Tell him we’ll have both of them available tomorrow morning.” He quirked an eyebrow at Jeff. “I assume you won’t object if we involve Ishmael, McGillary and Gold?”
“Why would I need a lawyer?” Jeff asked.
“It’s a good idea to always have representation when you’re dealing with the police,” I said.
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t have a lawyer when my house got robbed last year. I just told the cops what happened, they took a statement, and then nothing happened. Never got back a single item.” He seemed to realize he was babbling because he abruptly shut up.
“Burglary is one thing. You witnessed murder today,” I said.
“And you were the victim when your house was robbed,” David added.
“Well, I can tell you I found today’s events pretty damn victimizing,” Jeff said.
David twitched a shoulder impatiently. “Not the same.”
I stepped in. “Look, Jeff, I’m going to be taking someone—”
“That would be me,” David interrupted.
“Thanks.” I hoped I’d successfully hid my surprise. I then added, “Point is, I’m a lawyer and I’m going to take a lawyer.” I was also remembering the long hours in a police station in Bayonne, New Jersey, after werewolves had attacked and killed an old man and damned near killed me. Hours in which I’d had no help, and for a time it looked like I was going to be charged with murder. That time John had come and taken me home. I blinked hard at the fresh rush of tears.
David pushed his argument. “If you go now, Jeff, you won’t get home until three or four in the morning. You’ve all been through a shocking experience. You’ll be fresher in the morning.”
“And they’ll argue that memories will fade,” Montolbano said. He gave a sick little smile. “I played a cop in four Knight Shield movies, did some ride-alongs. Makes me an expert, right?” He paused and shivered. “Truthfully, I don’t think the memory will ever fade. Never seen anything like that.”
“Who’s going to tell the cops?” Diggins asked. “I’m sure as hell not making Cindi.” The assistant looked grateful. “And I’m not real keen on doing it myself.”
“I’ll handle it,” David said. He turned to Jeff. “Go home. We’ll call you in the morning with the details.”
“That’s another issue,” Cindi said. “The press is seven deep at every gate. How do we get him out?”
Diggins considered, then said, “Call one of the limo companies. Have them send a big white stretch to the main gate. Have somebody leak that it’s for Montolbano. That should pull most of them off the other gates.”
“My car’s pretty recognizable,” Jeff said.
“Would you be willing to let Cindi take you home?” Diggins asked. Cindi tried to look blasé, but I saw the excitement beneath the weary industry sophisticate.
Jeff gave her that patented smile, though it seemed a little rough around the edges. “Sure. That would be fine.”
“It’s just a Prius,” she said apologetically.
Diggins looked at David. David took my hand. The icy touch removed any warmth supplied by the tea. “I’ll handle getting us out. Just tell me which of these other gates to use.”
8
“We need to go get my car. It’s still at the office,” I said, as David led me across a parking lot.
Overhead the sky was lit by city glow and not a star was visible. Bushes with heavy palmlike branches rattled in a sharp breeze that carried the smell of exhaust and, maybe very faintly, the smell of the ocean.
“It can wait. Right now I’m going to get you back to your apartment.” He pulled out keys, and hit the unlock button. The headlights flashed on a blue Sebring, and the interior lights came on.
“You drove yourself,” I said rather stupidly. It wasn’t all that common with vampires. Servants were part of a vampire’s life. Even the awful Ryan had a driver. It was also another clue to the mystery that was David. Either he’d learned to drive before he was turned, which meant he wasn’t that old by vampire standards, or he’d learned afterward, which indicated that he wanted very badly to integrate into human society.
“I can drive. Also, it’s the middle of the night. I didn’t want to roust Kobe this late.”
“That was nice of you,” I said as David opened the passenger door for me.
“Meaning surprising and unexpected?” he asked.
“Well, yes. You’re polite, but you’re not considerate.” I immediately cursed my too ready and blunt tongue.
He leaned into the car. “Meaning me in particular or vampires in general?”
Well, may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “Both,” I said.
He gave a short laugh and shook his head. He came around the car, got in, and started the engine. “Well, it wasn’t total altruism. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”