After arriving at LAX, I rented a sedan and headed to my hotel in Culver City. I checked in and picked up a box marked TRAINING MATERIALS. Since 9/11, to avoid the scrutiny of traveling commercial air with a weapon, I had express-shipped my pistol from Denver.
Returning to my car, I opened the box and dug through the bubble wrap to retrieve a Ziploc bag. In it were my Colt automatic, holster, twenty-one silver bullets divided evenly among three magazines, and the remaining twenty-nine bullets that came in a box of fifty. Plenty of ammo for every conceivable scenario. If I needed more firepower, I'd steal a machine gun.
My cell phone remained quiet. Why hadn't I heard from Katz Meow? I'd called last night and left a message that I'd be here soon. She'd replied with voice mail that she expected me. My last call had been when I arrived at the airport, and still nothing from her.
Katz didn't seem the type to ignore me, especially since the trip was on her dime. Perhaps she had misplaced her phone. Or maybe there were other reasons, more sinister reasons, which were the real purpose for my investigation.
I kept an Internet hacker on retainer. I didn't know if this person was female or male, only that once a month I sent five hundred bucks to a private mailbox in Kalamazoo, Michigan. In return I had a keyhole into almost every database wired to the information grid. Some months I needed squat, so the money was a colossal drag on my overhead. Other times, what I got was worth every dollar.
Courtesy of my hacker, I carried a sheaf of background info on the principals in this case, including phone numbers, home and work addresses, photographs, and other documents.
Roxy Bronze emerged from the past as if she were a corpse washing up on a beach. She was born Freya Krieger in nearby Burbank. Her father was a marketing executive and her mother a Realtor, which provided Freya with a comfortable middle-class upbringing. A high school honor student and track star, she turned down an athletic scholarship and Olympic tryouts to pursue premed studies at the University of Southern California. She graduated magna cum laude. After that, Freya attended the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. She returned to L.A. to intern as a cardiac specialist with La Brea Mercy Hospital. She became the victim of an operating room scandal, which destroyed her medical career. Freya Krieger had climbed to impressive heights, only to tumble off and become Roxy Bronze.
Roxy's obituary mentioned she had been cremated. That meant no more clues from her remains.
I had two mailing addresses to Katz Meow, one c/o Gomorrah Video, the other a private mailbox. Wilma Pettigrew rented a place in Encino, close to the private mailbox address. I'd start there.
One more thing. I knew from experience to keep plenty of money handy in case it wasn't wise to use plastic or visit an ATM. Cash withdrawals left a trail. I took eight thousand dollars in hundreds and tucked it into the lining of my overnight bag. I also carried a backup credit card under an alias. These precautions should keep my whereabouts hidden for a while.
Seen from the freeway, the sprawl of the San Fernando Valley stretched in relentless monotony. A line of homes clung to the surrounding hills like the ring around a bathtub.
The place in Encino was a two-story townhome on a narrow, winding street. I parked in the fire lane and got out. Enameled planters with pink and white impatiens flanked the entrance to her home. A sticky note was on the aluminum screen door. The note was written in loopy cursive letters.
Katz
Where you been??? Call!!!
Cindi
The i's in Cindi were dotted with tiny hearts.
Who was Cindi? A friend, no doubt. Obviously she couldn't find Katz either.
I rang the doorbell. No one answered. The front door was locked. No evidence that anyone had forced it open. I looked under the doormat for a key. Nothing. I checked in the planters and along the trim above the door. Again, nothing.
I went to the alley and counted houses until I found Katz's.
Her back door faced a row of detached garages. I tugged on the handle of the garage I presumed would've been hers. Locked.
As I put on a pair of thin leather gloves, I looked about to see that no one watched. I twisted the garage door handle until metal snapped. I gave the handle another pull, and the garage door slid up.
I half expected to find Katz's corpse rotting inside. Instead, the garage yawned empty. Oil stained the concrete floor. A bicycle with a broken chain and flat tires leaned against one wall. Cardboard boxes sat in lopsided stacks on the far side. I checked the boxes and found only women's clothing.
I shut the garage door and climbed the back stoop of Katz's house. The door and windows were locked. Curtains prevented me from peeking inside. But the windows on the second floor were open.
The backs of the other townhouses faced the alley. I examined the rows of windows, concerned that I might be watched, and saw nothing to trouble me.
I scaled the wall by climbing along the gutters. I pulled back on the screen of the closest window and slipped into Katz's bedroom.
For a woman whose occupation would've earned her a dishonorable mention in both the Old and New Testaments, the bedroom was decorated in pedestrian tastes: simple pine furniture, striped linen, pictures of birds and flowers on the walls. No leather harnesses, whips, or boxes of dildos.
I checked the rest of the house. Nothing remarkable in the kitchen or bathrooms.
I found a filing cabinet in the spare bedroom closet. Katz kept receipts, bills, bank statements, contracts, even personal letters in meticulous order. Must have been the lingering mid-westerner inside of her. None of the documents provided anything useful.
What I didn't find were the usual carry-it-with-you possessions. A ring with car and house keys. Purse or wallet. Cell phone.
Nada.
It seemed Katz had walked out expecting to come back, except that she hadn't.
I went out the window the same way I'd come in. Until Katz called me, if she ever did, I'd work on the list of murder suspects, starting with her boss and the leader of the Los Angeles nidus, Cragnow Vissoom.