Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

Forgetting to switch his headlights on until he was halfway up the block.

Aaron waited until Stoltz reached the corner, kept his own beams off and trailed from a distance. When Stoltz turned south on Lanker-shim, Aaron illuminated and joined the traffic flow. Keeping three car lengths back in a neighboring lane, he managed a clear view of the Hyundai.

Rory Stoltz turned right on Ventura, then left on Laurel Canyon, continued south toward the city. Aaron let a Mercedes and a Range Rover get in front of him before joining the convoy.

Stoltz drove slowly and cautiously. Braked too early around curves and held up progress until the Mercedes grew impatient and started tailgating.

The Hyundai pulled aside and let the Benz and the Rover pass.

Aaron got in front, too, hoping Rory wouldn't turn off on some side lane.

He didn't, staying on the canyon all the way to Sunset.

Switching on his left turn signal well before the intersection.

Both cars headed east on the boulevard. Three blocks later, Rory slowed just west of ColdSnake's black stucco and red lava-rock façade. The usual fools were lined up behind a black velvet rope. A Samoan doorman in a white leather jumpsuit and a too-small bowler scowled just to keep in practice. His bulk obscured the entrance.

Stoltz's Hyundai had the nerve to pull behind a ruby stretch Hummer and a lime-green Lamborghini Gallardo. The little car looked like a wart on the Hummer's ass. Aaron waited for Mr. Derby to wave the kid out of there.

Instead, the Samoan allowed the Hyundai to stay. Seconds later, Rory got waved in, fools craning to see who'd earned the privilege.

Mr. All-American Kid had VIP status at one of the hottest clubs in town.

Virgin, indeed.

Moe Reed drove to the Peninsula Hotel.

Noon was approaching, and he figured he had a decent chance at catching Martha Stoltz on her lunch break.

The hotel parking valet regarded his unmarked as if it carried disease.

Moe handed him the keys. “Keep it safe, it's scheduled for the lead position at Daytona.”

The valet pretended deafness.

Inside, the lobby was full of high-end tourists and Industry types. It took Moe twenty minutes of wangling his way up the managerial command to locate Martha in an empty banquet room conferring with half a dozen room-service waiters. She spotted Moe and her lips folded inward, as if she'd just downed a laundry-soap martini.

She was a tall leathery woman with efficient copper hair, a strong chin, and downslanted eyes. She resumed talking. Some of the waiters watched Moe.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Liz saying hi. He texted back. tied up, 1 hr ok big m

As he clicked off, Martha Stoltz adjourned the meeting and the waiters dispersed.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Stoltz.”

“Has something come up since we talked this morning?”

“If only,” said Moe.

Tension around the downslanted eyes pulled them level. Deep green with amber flecks. “Then I don't understand.”

“Like I told you, ma'am, I'm updating, ma'am. How's Rory, what he's doing, where can I reach him.”

“We already covered that.”

“We really didn't, ma'am. You told me I shouldn't be talking to him.”

“You're making it sound like I'm being… like I'm hindering you. I'm not, Detective Reed. I just don't want Rory subjected to any more stress.”

“Being questioned was that stressful for him?”

“Honest people aren't used to dealing with the police, Detective. Being asked the same questions, over and over? Wouldn't that bother you? And now you show up, unannounced, in the middle of a workday, simply because I'm his mother? That stresses me. ”

“I'm truly sorry, ma'am. I figured I might catch you on break.”

Martha Stoltz's laughter was brittle. “Break? What's that?”

“Busy day, huh?”

“Busy life , Detective Reed. This place is a small city, I can't afford to be distracted. Please don't take this the wrong way but I find it extremely off-putting having my son harassed.”

“I'm not aware of any harassment, ma'am.”

The clipboard shifted from one hand to the other. “I've watched enough of those police shows to know the attention always falls on someone the victim knew. But you've already covered everything with Rory.”

Moe rocked on his heels. “If it was my kid, I'd feel the same way, ma'am. Unfortunately, the case is being reopened comprehensively.” Waiting for her reaction.

None.

“If Rory doesn't want to talk to me, that's his prerogative.”

“But that would make you more suspicious,” she said. “It's a Catch- 22.”

“Is he still at Pepperdine?”

“Junior year-oh, no, don't humiliate him by coming onto campus.”

“Humiliate him?”

“The police showing up in front of his peers? How would you like that?”

Moe thought she was overreacting, and heck if that didn't make him wonder.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Where else can I reach him?”

“He still lives at home, but I can't give you an exact schedule. He's an adult, Detective. Comes and goes as he pleases.”

Moe said, “Does he still work at the Riptide?”

“Riptide,” said Martha Stoltz. “There's no the.” Her knowing look said he'd just failed a vital exam. “And no, he doesn't work there. Shortly after Caitlin went missing, he had to leave.”

“Had to?”

“Anything that reminded Rory of Caitlin was difficult. He grieved, Detective.”

“Where does he work now?”

The clipboard pressed against her chest. “He registered with a temp agency. Wanted to concentrate on his studies and not be tied down to a rigid schedule.”

“Is he temping for anyone currently?”

Hesitation.

“Mrs. Stoltz?”

“I don't want to put Rory's job in jeopardy.”

“By telling me who he works for?”

“If you come looking for him while he's on the job, he'll be finished. He loves this job, Detective. The pay's excellent and we have two more years of tuition, then law school if he chooses to go that way.”

“Ma'am, I can call every agency in town until I find out what I need. Why don't we just keep it simple and-”

“Mason Book. Okay? He works for Mason Book as a personal assistant.” Delivering the news with resentment, but also some pride.

“The actor,” said Moe, instantly aware of how stupid that sounded. No, the podiatrist.

Martha Stoltz said, “Now you see why discretion is so important. Part of Rory's job is shielding Mason from unwanted publicity.”

Calling the star by his first name. Meaning Rory probably did. Good old L.A. informality. Or Martha Stoltz had been reading too many stupid tabloids, thought celebs were her buddies.

They're just like us.

No, they're not.

He said, “Is Mason doing okay?”

“With what?”

“From what I understand, he's had personal problems.” Kind of an understatement, given the actor's drug issues and well-publicized suicide attempt last year.

“They all have personal problems.” Martha's eyes circled the banquet hall. “From the A list on down to the D's, they're-working here for fifteen years, I could tell you stories.” She stiffened. “But I won't. And neither will Rory.”

“Ma'am,” said Moe, “I couldn't care less if Mason Book grows two additional heads or turns purple when he drinks. Same for any lister from A through Z. I'm here to find out what happened to a nice young woman named Caitlin Frostig.”

Tough-guy bravado in his voice. Now who's acting?

“I know that man is suffering. Caitlin's father. I phoned him shortly after Caitlin vanished. To offer support, one parent to the other. He thanked me and hung up and I realized I'd been stupid. Presuming I had something to offer him. Empathy's damn weak tea, Detective.”