Intimate Relations, Rebecca Forster [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

"Influencer." He mumbled, shook his head, and held the door for Cori. "She was very good at her job."

"How would you know," Cori said as she breezed past him.

"She influenced someone into a murderous rage," Finn said. "I'd say that's a job well done."

"Or Walters is on to something? Maybe somebody wasn't satisfied getting their rocks off the traditional Asylum way."

"Or we don't have the foggiest, Cori," Finn said. "But when we figure it out I have a feeling it's going to be stranger than even Detective Walters could imagine."

One pit stop, a phone call to Amber, a heads up to the desk officer, and Finn and Cori walked out of East L.A. Division. They got into Finn's car. Cori took shotgun. Finn got behind the wheel. Another day, another dollar. The sun was shining, and the freeways were packed. It was business as usual in Los Angeles, except the city was minus one naughty little angel. Sadly, Finn and Cori were having a devil of a time figuring who took her out.

18

'Tis odd.

It's creepy.

Cori and Finn spoke out of the sides of their mouths, though there was no need to keep their conversation private.  The woman leading them through the parking lot would not have known what they were talking about if they screamed it to high heaven. In fact, Mr. Stotler's secretary was paying so little attention she probably didn't even know what they looked like.

It wasn't that she was ungracious.  Nor did she appear at odds and ends. She was simply more efficient than a human being had a right to be. Not a wasted gesture nor word; not an ounce of curiosity. The secretary turned them over to Mr. Stotler's assistant. He was a handsome young man who was equally efficient. Thankfully, he had a slight sparkle about him. One day he would be the man with an assistant, but today wasn't the day.

The young man took them through a building where long halls sprouted like well-placed limbs off a mighty tree. Office pods were full to bursting with agitated people. Desks were piled with paperwork. Phones rang off their proverbial hooks. Computer screens pulsed. The group met their mark in another reception area. A woman teetering on the edge of forty whisked them to a spot outside a hangar-like building. The fortyish woman was of no consequence since she had neither name nor moniker. She waited with them, asking after their health as she scanned the lot looking for the next hand-off.

It was there, in front of the barn doors, that Cori and Finn were given over to Mr. Stotler's most important associate.  She was a tall, willowy woman who looked like Beverly O'Brien's clone at first glance. Her hair was short and white blonde. She was slim of hip, broad of shoulder, and possessed of perfect posture. At second glance, this was no Bev. This woman knew the score. No hopes lurked behind her eyes, only raw ambition. She would take what she wanted even if it wasn't offered. She would learn what she could from whoever was on the rung of the ladder above her, and have no compunction about pushing them off if they slowed their climb. Finn appreciated that. He hated to play guessing games with women. That's when Gretchen crossed his mind and he smiled. He should call her and thank her for the fireworks and the rainbow.

"Gray Webster, Mr. Stotler's right hand." She introduced herself without outstretching her own hand.

"Detective Anderson and O'Brien. We have a two-thirty with Mr. Stotler," Finn said.

She checked a very large wrist watch. Her wrist was narrow and the watch hung from it, face down. She twirled it right side up.

"It's two twenty-two. I'm going to walk you through the sound stage. Don't touch anything. I'm sure you don't have to be told, but we often get visitors who want a souvenir of their visit. Please stay close to me. The set is closed today. Mr. Stotler is conferring with some of the craftsman. As you can imagine, a set like ours is incredibly sophisticated. Lots of moving parts. Any difficulties can set us back days, and that is unacceptable. Even hours can skew the production budget."

Cori and Finn walked on the heels of the Right Hand, keeping their feet on the white arrows, staying within the parallel yellow lines that defined the one path through the sound stage.

They checked out everything. They would have a fine discussion at Mick's about this place. The intricacy of the lighting, the camera's, the power cords, the touch screens that ran the production, were as intriguing as the set itself.  Jeremiah Stotler's front door made sense now. This was The Baby Jungle set. The vines, trees, mountains with outcroppings, lakes, streams and waterfalls looked real. This was where the jungle children played.

Cori pointed out the dolls peppered throughout.  Finn thought of Enver's 'companions', but these dolls were cherubic and childlike.  Instead of being created to quench a man's desire, these were constructed to delight children. They frolicked in their fancy world; far away from the ugly one where young women had their faces bashed in.

"And stop. Please stand here."

The Right Hand pulled up short and Cori almost ran into her. A look communicated her disappointment at Cori's clumsiness. A thin smile spoke to her magnanimity in overlooking it.  Gray Webster seemed miffed that the detectives weren't more impressed with their surroundings.

"Where will we be meeting Mr. Stotler?" Finn asked.

"He'll come here as soon as he's finished," Gray said.

"But where will we be having our talk," Finn said.

"I'm afraid with his schedule—"

"We will be as brief as possible —after we sit down," Finn said.

The Right Hand's surprise turned to annoyance. The annoyance instantly became something akin to uncertainty when Finn continued.

 "This is an official investigation into a murder, miss. If we cannot find a bit of privacy here, Mr. Stotler will have to reschedule his day so we can