Page 17

When they pulled up in front of Forrester’s Hollywood office tower, it was just after 8 a.m.

Jessie, who was still quietly seething, hadn’t spoken the whole drive over.

“Are we even sure he’ll be here this early?” Ryan asked, clearly pretending not to notice.

“If he’s not here yet, I don’t mind waiting,” Jessie said, getting out of the car. “Or we can just put some pressure on his assistant to tell us where he is.”

“Or we could just ask politely,” Ryan countered.

“That’s an option too,” she conceded reluctantly. “Let’s go up.”

They walked up the steps toward the giant tower near the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Vine St., stepping over multiple Hollywood Walk of Fame stars. Jessie's nostrils were hit by the scent of waffles emanating from the breakfast place adjacent to the tower. Something about it soothed her ever so slightly, and she found that her body, which had been squeezed into one big clench, relaxed a little.

When they reached the security desk, Ryan showed his badge. The guard behind the desk squinted at it. After several seconds, she seemed satisfied.

“Would you like me to call up first to let them know you’re coming?” she asked.

“Actually, I’d rather you not,” Ryan said.

“All right,” the woman said, clearly not interested in pursuing the issue. “Hold on, I have to swipe my card to give you access to the elevator.”

She walked over with them, peeking at Jessie intermittently.

“I’m sorry, but you look really familiar,” she said. “ Are you an actress or something?”

“I’m flattered, but no,” Jessie said, not indicating where else the guard might recognize her from, “but I do get that from time to time. I guess I look like someone.”

The guard seemed unconvinced by her answer but let it go. She swiped her card and pushed the button for the 26 th floor.

“Have fun,” she said as the doors closed.

The comment sounded ominous to Jessie. After all, they were headed to meet with a potential double murderer.

“You’re not going to punch the guy the moment that we see him, are you?” Ryan half-teased as the elevator shot up with the speed of an amusement park ride.

“I’ll do my best not to,” she said, before sticking her tongue out at him.

He smiled. She reluctantly did, too. They were okay for now.

The doors opened, and they headed down to the end of the hall. Jessie noted that not only was there a security camera above the door to Forester Holdings, but the door itself was made of reinforced metal, with a card swipe sensor and an intercom to the right of it. She wondered why the company required such involved security measures. Ryan buzzed the intercom.

“How may I help you?” asked a disinterested female voice.

“LAPD,” Ryan said, holding up his badge and ID to the overhead camera. “We need to speak with Mr. Forrester.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the voice asked.

“We don’t,” Ryan said calmly. “Did I mention that we’re with the police?”

“One moment please,” the voice said. After more like twenty seconds, there was a buzz, accompanied by the words, “come in.”

Ryan opened the door for Jessie. When they stepped inside, she was surprised by how small the space was. They were in a tiny waiting room with just two chairs and no table. The receptionist, a young, brown-haired woman with haggard eyes, sat at a glassed-in window that looked to be bulletproof. They approached it.

“Thank you,” Ryan said. “Where is Mr. Forrester?”

“He’s just finishing up a call with the East Coast,” the young woman said. “But I have the office manager coming up front to take you back. He’ll be here in a moment.”

They didn’t even bother sitting down. After less than a minute, the door to the right of the reception window opened to reveal a young man, likely no older than twenty-five. He was wearing an expensive suit, and his black hair was slicked back. His brown eyes were red-rimmed, and his rough shave suggested he’d hurried through the job.

“I’m Paul Slause,” he said expending his hand and shaking both of theirs vigorously. “I’m the junior vice-president here at Forrester.”

“I thought you were the office manager,” Ryan said.

"That too," Slause said. "We're a small shop, so everyone wears multiple hats. Clea at the desk there is the receptionist and the human resources manager. Can I take you back?"

They nodded, and he held the door open for them. Going back appeared to be a quick process as the hallway was only about fifteen feet long with just three doors. There was an office to the right, one to the left, and one at the back, with the words Daniel Forrester, President and CEO , emblazoned on a gold nameplate attached to the door.

“May I inquire as to what this is in reference to?” Slause asked as they approached the door. “We don’t typically get visits from law enforcement.”

“I suspect that Mr. Forrester would appreciate it if we kept this just between him and us for now,” Jessie said sweetly.

“Understood,” Slause replied obsequiously, before glancing at a panel of lights above Forrester’s door. Two were green and one was red.

“What’s that about?” Ryan asked.

“They identify Mr. Forrester’s phone lines,” Slause explained. “That way, we can check whether he’s available without having to buzz him and potentially interrupt a call. He hates that.”

“Red means he’s on a call?” Jessie confirmed.

“That’s right,” Slause said.

“Hey Paul,” Ryan said, “how come your ‘small shop’ has security cameras outside a reinforced metal door?”

“Oh, you know,” Paul said sheepishly, “the world of finance can get messy. Sometimes people’s feelings get hurt and they want to express that, not always in the most professional manner. So we take precautions.”

“Do a lot of folks he deals with end up with hurt feelings?” Jessie asked.

“Who’s to say?” Slause half-answered with a shrug.

“ You could say,” she reminded him.

"Oh, look," he replied, pointing above the door. "The red light just turned green. Let's get you in there."

He knocked on the door.

“Come,” Forrester shouted.

Slause opened the door and poked his head in.

“Sorry for just butting in with this,” he said meekly, “but there are a couple of folks from the Los Angeles Police Department here who would like to speak with you.”

“What?” Forrester demanded, clearly not enthused by the prospect.

Ryan stepped through the open door, and Jessie followed.

“Thanks for making the time, Mr. Forrester,” he said, as if the man had already agreed to an interview. “I’m Detective Hernandez. This is Jessie Hunt. This hopefully shouldn’t take too long.”

Daniel Forrester was a sight to behold. The man, who had stood up at their entrance, was physically imposing, easily six-foot-three and about 215 pounds. He was a little paunchy, but not horribly so. Like his vice-president/office manager, he was wearing an expensive suit and had reddish eyes.

What set him apart was his hair, both on top of his head and on his face. He had a wildly unkempt, grayish-black beard, which gave off late-era Charles Manson vibes, something Jessie could imagine being intentional. His curly, bushy hair shot a good three inches above the top of his head and looked like it hadn’t been cut in a year.

The office wasn’t large, but the man had done the most he could with it, covering the walls with diplomas and photos of himself with people she didn’t recognize, He did have a nice view. His window looked south and offered an unobstructed panorama of the downtown skyline.

“Did we have an appointment?” he asked Slause, either truly bewildered or effectively feigning it.

“No sir,” Slause said, “this is a walk-in.”

Jessie found the description amusing but didn’t comment on it. She could see Forrester’s agitation and decided to short-circuit it before the man engaged in any time-wasting bluster.

“We’ve got some questions about a business acquaintance of yours, Mr. Forrester,” she said, moving toward one of the two chairs across from his desk. “What can you tell us about Marcus Vega?”

Forrester’s expression changed almost immediately from a confused frown to an outright scowl.

“You don’t want my opinion on that guy,” he growled, before looking up at Slause. “You can go, Paul.”

Slause shut the door as Ryan took a seat next to Jessie and added, “we do want your opinion. That’s part of why we’re here.”

Forrester sat back down behind his desk.

“Okay, Marcus Vega is a two-faced liar,” he said, his voice rising and his face starting to turn red. “He’ll spend months wining and dining you to make a deal, then drop you like a bad habit the second that things get complicated. But I don’t want to speak ill of the guy.”

“No, definitely not,” Jessie said sarcastically, egging him on. “Sounds like you’re not his biggest fan though.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “So what did he do—cheat someone else?”

“Did he cheat you ?” Jessie challenged.

Forrester took a moment to ponder the question before answering.

“Maybe not technically cheat, but he’s not a stand-up guy.”

“Why do you say that?” Ryan asked.

“Because we had a handshake deal and then he backed out of it like a weak-kneed little bitc—like a baby—because his overlords in San Franscisco got cold feet.”

“Why did they get cold feet?” Jessie asked innocently.

Forrester looked briefly like he might not answer, but then did.

“They claimed I was too volatile to work with.”

“What would possibly make them say that?” Jessie wondered, sounding offended on his behalf.

“Just some stuff in my past,” he said with a dismissive wave, “from years ago.”

Jessie decided that now, when he seemed to think she was on his side, was the ideal time to pounce and see how he reacted.

“Were they concerned about the DUI?” she asked, “or was it the drunk and disorderly charge? Or maybe the assault on a co-worker?”

She smiled sweetly as his already red face turned a deeper shade of scarlet. He suddenly stood up again and pressed his palms flat on his desk, pushing down so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“Oh, I see,” he said acidly, “so this whole curious Pollyanna routine has been a front. You’re actually just as two-faced as Vega.”

He took his hands off the desk and squeezed them into tight fists. Jessie wasn’t sure if he was doing that in anticipation of getting physical or if it was just an involuntary response to being pushed so hard. Either way, she didn’t back off.

“I guess I am,” she said sharply, standing up herself. “You care to share what you do when confronted by two-faced cheats?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge. She waited to see if he’d accept it.