Killer Ambition - [43]

Uma shook her head. “I don’t remember Dani saying anything to us. She just kept telling Russell to call, and I could tell she was upset with him but, like, trying not to show it. Because he was already such a mess.”

“Who’d she want him to call?” Bailey asked.

“I guess the police. Because the next thing I remember is you guys showing up.”

It seemed a fair guess. And a pretty complete rendition from Uma’s point of view. We thanked her and let her go. After she’d left, I suggested we go fetch our next victim.

25

Russell’s assistant Jeff was really just a lowly runner-a gofer’s gofer, who occasionally got to do the work of an assistant-but I could see that he had much bigger aspirations. He was a xeroxed copy of Russell. Same faded jeans, same baggy T-shirt, and the same worn-out baseball cap, emblazoned with the name of the same team: the Oakland A’s. Jeff even walked with the same bouncing stride. And more important, he was almost an inch shorter than Russell. Clearly he was destined for greatness.

He even flopped down on the couch just like Russell.

“What time did you get here on Monday?” I asked.

“Let’s see…I left the studio at six forty-five, so I had to have gotten here by seven thirty.”

He enunciated with gusto, every word uttered as though he were savoring a new, delicious piece of chocolate, and he had one of those loud, booming voices that so often seem to come from small men. A six forty-five departure would put him out of the running, since Russell read the first kidnap message around six o’clock, and the ransom message came in not too long after that. But it was an easy enough thing to check studio records. I tossed out a question that would give me an idea right now whether he was telling the truth.

“You have security at the studio, some kind of log that says when you come in and when you leave, right?”

Jeff’s eyebrows took wing. “You don’t believe me? Why would I lie?”

You tell me, Jeff. But I restrained my Dragnet impulses. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. We’re talking to a lot of people, and when you mentioned the studio, I wondered about security, that’s all. Take a pill, Jeff. It’s just a question.”

He looked rattled, but he didn’t dare refuse to answer. “We have security that logs us in and out. I know when I left because I had to pick up a package from Mila to bring to Russell.”

“Mila?”

“A producer. It was a script.”

Better and better. Now we could confirm Jeff’s alibi with Mila. He didn’t have any more information to add to what Uma had told us about the events later that evening, so we let him go. I was tempted to tell him to surrender his passport and stay close just as a joke, but I thought he might stroke out.

“A little high-strung, no?” I said after he’d left.

“He was practically playing a tune he was vibrating so fast. But I’d say he’s off the list.”

“Agreed. Time to move up the food chain.”

Ian Powers affected an exaggeratedly imperious bearing that made me think of “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” He walked in slowly, with a studied casualness, then calmly settled into the love seat. The way he leaned back and spread his arms across the top of the sofa said “lord of the manor.” I wondered whether the posturing was partly an unconscious effort to counteract the shadow of the “little Mattie” persona. Powers confirmed that he had indeed been Russell’s manager since Russell was a co-producer on Brittany’s show, Circle of Friends.

“Then you were representing Russell when Tommy Maher accused him of stealing his screenplay,” I said.

Ian leaned forward, and for just a brief second, his features darkened. But just as quickly, they rearranged themselves into an expression of mild irritation. “It was tragic, really. I would’ve been glad to listen if Tommy had any proof to back up his claim-hell, I would’ve taken him on as a client.” Ian gave a short bark of a laugh at his own semi-joke. “But he didn’t. Just a lot of wind and noise. If you ask me, he saw his career tanking and got desperate, so he tried to horn in on Russell’s screenplay. Maybe he thought Russell would pay him off with nuisance money. I don’t know. But obviously, he was unhinged. You know he committed suicide-”

“Doesn’t that work both ways?” I asked. “Some might say his suicide proved that he was telling the truth and no one would listen.”

Ian nodded. “I suppose, but…I guess you had to be there. This wasn’t the first time he’d claimed someone had stolen credit for one of his ideas. And he was a basket case. He even attacked Russell at one point. Did you know that?”

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“And now his sick, twisted son has killed Hayley.” At this, Ian looked aggrieved. “I guess it’s true that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Do you have any leads?”

“A few,” I said. “Were you with Russell on Monday?”

“Not till after you two got here.”

But it was within minutes of our arrival, as I recalled.

Ian saw my expression and nodded. “Russell called me. I can’t remember exactly what time, but I do remember telling him to call the police.” Ian shook his head. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Why he didn’t call immediately when he first got the message that Hayley’d been kidnapped…”