Dressed to Kill Page 5

  "Luke Combs?" I flashed my credentials again. "I'm Avery Rich. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Ava Lenore." I handed him the photos of him and Ava.

  "Well, I was hoping this was a social call." Luke looked me up and down, making me more uncomfortable. "Ava’s old news. We both moved on."

  "Obviously." I gestured to the hallway where Amber had gone. "Look: about Ava…can you think of anyone who'd want to hurt her?"

  Luke laughed. "She leaves quite a trail of broken hearts."

  "Like yours?" I watched to see if Luke had any emotional reaction, but there didn’t seem to be any.

  "Hardly. But really, Ava's all show. I doubt anyone knows the real Ava."

  "Why's that?"

  "Ava calculates everything. She lets people think she's this fluffy, beauty queen, but the reality is different. She has her own agenda, but I doubt anyone but her knows it."

  "What makes you say that, Mr. Combs."

  "Because when I wouldn't invest in her start-up company her interest in me vanished."

  "Start-up company?"

  "Yeah. It's top secret stuff. Ava wants her own brand. She wants it all: clothing, cosmetics, a show."

  "But you said no?"

  "I put in the time to build up my following. There's no reason Ava can't do the same. She already has star power. She didn't need mine." Luke picked the top photo up from the stack and examined it.

  "So, there's no one she used and abused on the way up? Nobody that would want her to pay for her favors?"

  "No. Ava has a way of making people want to help her. She endears herself to people." He flipped through a few more of the photos. "Who's the guy in these pictures?" He leaned over to point out a man in the photos, dressed in a dark-colored button-down top and sunglasses. He was standing off to the side in the first image. Luke flipped to the next picture. "Here he is again." He pointed to the man in a different location and a new outfit but still the same guy.

  "I assumed he was an employee." I reached out for the photos. "May I?" Luke handed me the small stack of pictures. I flipped through and realized he was correct. The man was somewhere in the background or part of the crowd in almost every photo.

  "Is that all you needed?" Luke looked down the hallway where Amber had disappeared.

  I felt even more uncomfortable. "I think so."

  "What about that Maddox guy that was killed? I'd think he was the target."

  I nodded. "Perhaps, but Ava was attacked first."

  "For what it's worth, Ava was a lot of fun to be around, if you know what I mean. I hold nothing against her."

  I stood up. "Thank you for your time."

  Luke reached out and took my hand in his. "It was my pleasure. Stop by again sometime." He caressed the top of my hand with his thumb.

  I ran out of the house and back to Dad's car. Luke had revealed Ava's fundraising efforts and the creepy guy in all the photos, but his blatant skirt-chasing made me uncomfortable. I scrunched my nose as I thought of how he was flirting with me while his half-naked guest was likely waiting for him in his bedroom.

  Before I drove off, I grabbed the stack of photos of Ava and Alex Dorman. As I flipped through the photos, I realized that the same man appeared in all but two of the photos. He wore sunglasses in some of them and a hat or regular glasses in others. His style changed, but his presence did not. There was something strange about that guy. Why was he following Ava?

  I put the car into drive and headed for Alex Dorman's place on the other side of town.

  ***

  I looked around the pristine neighborhood, scanning for any sign of danger. The area was still and quiet, which did nothing to make me feel more at ease. What were the residents hiding behind the perfect fences?

  Alex Dorman's home was more pretentious than Luke's was. The house was at the top of the hill in the pinnacle of isolation. There was no neighborhood feel to the property. The gated driveway led around a fountain and up to a grand, front entryway. I pulled up to the gate and pushed the intercom button, wishing I'd called ahead.

  After a moment, a male voice said, "Yes?"

  "My name is Avery Rich. I’m here as a consultant for the FBI's investigation into the death of Ralph Maddox. I'd like to ask Alex Dorman some questions about Ava Lenore."

  "Ava Lenore’s still alive," the man said.

  "Someone attacked her. This will only take a few minutes. I appreciate your cooperation."

  There was no answer, but the gate slid open along its motorized track, and I drove up the driveway and parked near the front door, grabbing the photos of Alex and Ava before heading for the entrance. It opened before I could ring the bell to reveal Alex Dorman standing on the front steps, eyeing me with suspicion.

  "Good morning, Mr. Dorman." I flashed my credentials "I'm sorry to intrude, but I need to ask you a few questions about Ava Lenore." I stepped toward the entrance. Alex showed no sign of inviting me in.

  "Ava's no concern of mine." He looked at me with no attempt to hide his disdain.

  "Sure, I get it. Things are in the past. I still need to ask you a few questions." I stepped toward the door, hoping he'd go along with it.

  "You’re probably another one of those reporters always wanting to know more. Nothing can ever just stay private."

  "You saw my ID. I'm not with the press. I don't want to know your business. If you know anything that will help me figure out who attacked Ava, I need to hear it."

  "Anyone could've attacked Ava, the way she parades around for all to see. She loves the world to hang on her every word, but I suppose it caught up with her. I tried to warn her she'd attract the wrong kind of attention."

  "So, you don't want people to be your super-fans?"

  Alex sighed, waved me into his immaculate home, and showed me to the classically decorated, grand front room. I took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

  Alex sat down. His serious expression softened. "What you asked me before, about my fans—"

  "Yes?" I tried to keep my tone calm so Alex would keep talking.

  "I want to have a successful career—believe me, I try—but I found that I had to make a choice between having a life outside of the spotlight or not. And I need the downtime to recharge. Ava was never like that. She thrived under the attention. How is she, anyway? I mean, is she okay?"

  "From what I hear, she’ll be just fine, but now we need to find out who might have had a reason to attack her. It's the only way to keep her safe."

  "I'm glad you’re trying. When we were together, I tried, too, but you can't keep someone safe from themselves."

  "I understand that." I handed the photos I'd printed off to Alex. "You look uncomfortable in some of these images.

  "It's the paparazzi. Ava loved the attention, but I felt like they were the hunters, and I was the prey. With Ava by my side, I couldn't get away from them without her dragging me back into the spotlight."

  I leaned forward and pointed out the mystery man that had appeared in the photos with Ava. "Do you know who this man is? He's in several of the pictures of you and Ava."

  Alex stiffened. "Yes, I see. I noticed him around, so I pointed him out to Ava. She hadn’t noticed him before then."

  "Did she know the guy?"

  "No, not personally. He’s the founder of a fan club devoted to Ava. I think he called it the 'Ava Lenore Universe' or something crazy like that. We checked it out online together. It was disturbing. There were photos of Ava at private events. There were even a few lingerie shots through her bedroom window." Alex shivered.

  My impression of the stalker was going downhill fast. "What did Ava do?"

  "At first, she laughed it off. She loved attention. But when we discovered the lingerie shots, she was finally freaked out enough to do something about it, and she took a restraining order out against the guy."

  "Do you remember his name?"

  "Beck Oliver, but I doubt that’s the name his mother gave him."

  I wrote the name down. "And is there anyone
else you can think of that would want to hurt Ava? What about Luke Combs?"

  Alex wrinkled his brow as he considered the question. "Luke—he was a toy. I think they were pleased with their arrangement. There was nothing negative between them."

  “And what about your break-up?”

  “We’re very different people. We agreed to part ways. There’s no bad blood between us.”

  "Thank you, Mr. Dorman. I’m sorry I had to invade your privacy like this."

  "It's all right. I want Ava to stay safe, and if I can put her attacker in jail, then I’m glad I can help.”

  I headed back to Dad's car. With all the media attention around Ava, I wondered who else had stalked her that night. I needed to see the photos captured by the press, certain I'd spot Beck Oliver in the pictures if I could only find paparazzi images from the night of the murder.

  Chapter 8

  Before I could head back to Dad’s house, I needed to take care of some Christmas preparation. The idea of going shopping in the crowds was enough to raise my heart rate to a runner's pace. I knew better, but the first place I spotted in the shopping center was a coffee shop, and I knew it had to be my first stop.

  I walked into the coffee shop, inhaling the heavenly scent of fresh ground coffee. It had been a while.

  I walked up to the counter, examining every patron in the place as I went. Most of the people were carrying armfuls of Christmas packages. I felt like a stranger in a country I'd never visited. I managed to shake it off and order a peppermint mocha latte. I laughed at myself, thinking Tori would've ordered something far more complicated. I told myself to get over it—it was Christmas, and I was treating myself!

  I found a seat in a corner facing the entrance in which to enjoy my coffee in peace, pulling out my phone as I sipped. If the press was stalking Ava, I'd bet that someone had been photographing she and Ralph the night he was killed. If I could find out who, then I could request all the photos they'd taken and not just the bits they'd chosen to publish.

  It took only a minute of searching before I found what I was looking for; a site called Star Struck had posted a steamy photo of Ava kissing Ralph, his arm encircling her protectively as they walked through the theater district. I checked the date—perfect. Now, who was taking the photos? I noticed a small watermark showing that the photographer had copyrighted the image and zoomed in as far as my phone would allow: R. Layne.

  I searched for "R. Layne photography." A LinkedIn account with contact information was the first result.

  Well, hello, Riley Layne.

  I put the address of her photo studio into my phone's GPS as I finished the last sip of my coffee. It was time to pay Riley Layne a visit. Shopping would have to wait.

  ***

  Riley Lane worked in a department store studio employing small-time photographers. I walked through the crowd of last-minute shoppers and into the studio area. Tired-looking parents populated the waiting area, trying to keep their children's Christmas outfits clean and unrumpled while they waited for their turn to capture those precious holiday memories. One baby cried inconsolably. A toddler boy ran from corner to corner, squealing as his mother chased him with a bow tie.

  I made my way to the desk. A woman, who looked like she might run through the door if she could, glanced up from the screen where she was frantically processing pictures.

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "No, I'm here to speak with Riley Layne."

  "Yeah," the woman laughed. "She’s busy right now. Without an appointment this close to Christmas, I’m sorry, but you’re out of luck. There’s another studio in the same chain across town. You might be able to get an appointment there."

  I pulled out the IDs Genevieve sent me. "I don't want any pictures. Where can I find Riley Layne?"

  "Oh, God, what did she do?" The clerk was suddenly reanimated.

  "She took pictures. Imagine that." I chewed my lip, trying not to take my frustration out on the flustered clerk.

  "Oh." The woman looked disappointed. "Go on back, but don't blame me if that family throws you right back out. They’ve been here most of the day waiting for their appointment."

  I made my way through the piles of fake chimneys and piles of cotton snow interspersed with glitter. I entered the studio where Riley Layne was manning the camera, and the mother looked at me as if I was an invading alien. I stood quietly, willing the session to be over. The mother held a squirming toddler as two school-aged twin girls alternated between posing and making faces at one another.

  "Ms. Layne?"

  Riley Layne jumped. Apparently, she hadn't noticed me wandering into the chaos. "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry to interrupt. I need to speak with you about some photos you took of Ava Lenore."

  “Honey, we have a celebrity photographer!" the mother said.

  "Well, how about that?" the father said.

  Riley blushed. "Err, sure, but let me finish this photo set. By law, I have to take a break at some point today. It might as well be soon."

  I watched as Riley tried to coax the girls into cooperating while waving a Christmas elf puppet to entertain the little person. Part of me was thankful I didn't have Riley Layne's job.

  A new sound drove me out of my daydream, the all too familiar sound of a gunshot followed by screams.

  "Not again," I grumbled, reaching for my sidearm. Gun in hand, I made my way back out to the waiting area out front. Using the wall as a barrier between myself and the open department store, I waved the waiting families back to the photo area and shoved them inside. "Lock the door and stay down," I whispered before heading back to the front of the studio.

  I saw the source of the commotion if the reflection on the glass wall at the back of the waiting area. Two masked gunmen, standing at the central check out kiosk. One of them was holding a woman against him while he pressed a gun to her head. The gunman was speaking to a lady clerk who was frozen and staring at something piled on the floor at her feet. I realized the something was actually a someone.

  Great—casualties, two perps and who knew if they’re working alone or if they had friends nearby.

  I slid down the wall, brought myself below the eye-level jungle of clothing racks, pulled out my phone, and called 911. It was time to bring in backup.

  "911, what is your emergency?"

  "There’s an armed robbery in progress at the Frills Department Store." I spoke as quietly as I could. “One person’s already been shot. This is Avery Rich. I’m an off-duty officer, and I’m responding. Please send backup." I left the phone on the floor beneath the clothing rack without hanging up and crept toward the two intruders, watching for feet on the floor under the clothing displays. It was possible these two had more people involved. An employee was lying on the floor under a round clothing rack, knees to her chest, eyes wide with terror. She reached out to me as I approached, crawling forward, little by little.

  I put my finger to my lips and took her hand.

  She nodded.

  There were tears in her eyes. I let her hand go and continued my approach.

  I could see the feet of the gunmen. One of them was pacing by the counter. The other was standing near the counter, still holding the woman against him. I hoped to use my advantage and get close enough to make a less risky move.

  He was holding the woman in front of him with his right arm around her neck, holding his gun in his left, the barrel pressed against her head. She was on her toes, trying to avoid strangulation. I could have taken a shot at the guy with the hostage from there, but I only had a clear shot at his leg. There was too much of a chance that being shot in the leg would have caused him to panic and shoot his hostage. I needed more options.

  I started a large circle in an effort to position myself with the counter between us. My knees protested the rough, industrial carpet as I made my way. I was glad for it—it helped to keep my approach muted.

  "Please," the hostage whimpered. "I have a son. It's Christmas."

  "Yeah, and all
of you shoppers are just throwing money away," the pacing gunman grumbled.

  "Hurry up and open the other register," the one holding the woman demanded.

  "I'm trying. That’s not my register. A manager has to do it.”

  "All this waste. How is it there's only two hundred dollars in your register?" the pacing gunman demanded.

  "People don't carry cash anymore," her voice came out as a sob. "People use check cards and credit."

  "Greedy people, we deserve our share."

  The clerk desperately tried to open the other register. I reached the other side of the counter as she struggled with the code needed to open the drawer.

  "Yo, why'd you go and shoot her?" the pacing crook asked his partner about the lady who lay bleeding on the floor. "If she's dead, we could get the needle." I heard the hesitation in his voice. He obviously never expected the plan to turn out the way it had.

  "Whatever. Don't even act like that. You know she deserved it, trying to be some kind of hero."

  "Yeah, but it’s freaking Christmas. What if she dies?"

  "Why are you worried? She's not your family. Besides, you can get your kid something nice if you'll just shut up and let me figure this out."

  The alarm system came online, interrupting their discussion.

  “Ah, man! Now the cops are coming," the pacing man said.

  "I said shut up!" The man yanked the woman completely off of her feet, reacting to the new sound.

  "We've gotta get out of here." The pacing man put his gun back on his belt.

  Bingo! I rolled out from under the clothing, aiming for the back of the man with the hostage and shot once, striking him in the shoulder opposite from the woman he was holding. His body recoiled as the bullet entered him. The woman fell to the floor as he turned on me, guns flailing as he tried to control his fall.

  I shot a second time, striking him in the knee.

  This time, he dropped his weapon and crumpled to the floor.

  Seeing his partner incapacitated, the other man put up his hands. He changed his mind a moment later and took off at a full run for the front door.