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“Are you leaning his way?” Kat asked.
“Too early to say,” Jessie admitted. “But I really hope it’s not him.”
“Why?”
“Because Michaela was raped before she was murdered.”
Kat was quiet for a moment. Even she couldn’t be snarky about this.
“You know, we really must both be messed up people to do this kind of thing for a living. Have you ever thought of that?”
“Kat,” Jessie replied. “Messed up is pretty much my defining characteristic.”
*
Filthy Films really was filthy.
Or at least it was in a filthy location.
The company’s production offices and studios were located in a rundown industrial part of Van Nuys. They shared the street with two bail bondsmen, a strip club, a liquor store, a payday lender, a smoke shop, and a security alarm store.
Jessie was reticent to park on the street and pulled up to the secured parking, where she flashed her LAPD badge to the security guard. It looked like a cop’s ID save for the sticker at the bottom that said “profiler.” Like almost everyone who glanced at it, he asked no questions and waved her through.
She parked and walked into the reception area where a woman in her sixties with thick bifocals sat behind a linoleum-topped counter. The woman looked up and peered at Jessie over her glasses. She had the craggy skin of someone who never bought into that whole sunscreen thing and was now paying the price.
“If you’re here for the MILF auditions,” she said in a cigarette-stained voice, “you’re too late. They ended before lunch.”
“I’m not here for the MILF auditions,” Jessie said, unsure whether to be insulted or flattered.
“Good,” the woman said. “You look too young anyway. Don’t sell yourself short, dearie. You should come back next week. We’re doing an open casting call for sexy teachers. We’re starting a whole series. You’re a better match for that.”
“Thanks?” Jessie replied. “I’m actually not looking for work. I already have a gig with the LAPD. I’m looking for Leonard Lander.”
The woman’s eyes grew squinty and suspicious behind her glasses.
“What do you want with Lenny?”
“I need to ask him some questions regarding a case I’m investigating. I can’t say more than that.”
“Ugh,” the woman said. “The first half-classy woman who wants to talk to my son in months and she’s here to question him. Hold on.”
As the woman picked up the phone, Jessie tried to decide which was more disturbing: that this woman worked at her son’s porn company or that she considered Jessie to be “half-classy.”
As they waited for him to answer, Jessie glanced at the posters on the walls of the office. Most appeared to be for titles from the Filthy Films catalogue—The She-Wolf Chronicles, The Mile Higher Club, Mandy the Erotic Mermaid. But mixed in were posters for The Deer Hunter and Gandhi. Jessie was flummoxed.
“Lenny,” she heard the woman rasp, “it’s Fiona. There’s a police lady here to see you. She has some questions.”
After a moment’s silence, she spoke again.
“She won’t give me any details. Just talk to her. You’ve got a scheduling meeting in ten minutes so this is a good window.”
More listening.
“Yes, she’s very nice-looking. But I don’t think you’ll have much luck, my sweet one. She looks like just being in here makes her want to bathe in Purell. Don’t get your hopes up.”
Still more silence, after which Fiona hung up.
“He’ll be right up, dearie. Can I offer you something? Coffee? Seltzer? Hand sanitizer?”
