It was obvious that Harper seriously hated that. “They may be unwilling to talk to you,” he said. “They’ll all have signed NDAs.”
“Of course they did,” Milt the Junior seemed genuinely amused.
“Mr. Devonshire became more and more concerned about keeping his private life private as he got older,” Harper said tightly.
“I bet,” Milt the Junior shot back. “But he’s dead. And as one of the heirs to the estate, in order to find the principal heir—which I desperately want to do—I’m willing to sign whatever I need to sign to give them permission to speak freely. Let it all hang out.”
“That would be great, thanks,” Jules said as Harper clenched his teeth so hard, shards of enamel damn near shot out of his ass.
Still the lawyer managed to smile. “I’ll have my team draw something up.”
“Thanks,” Jules said again, even though it was clear that Harper—for some reason—hated the idea of them talking to any of the housekeepers, and would no doubt drag his feet on getting any kind of document drawn up. “Oh, actually, there was a recurring name in the payroll files, starting about, I don’t know, around twelve, thirteen years ago. A Gavin LaCrosse?” He looked from Milt, who shrugged amassivedunno, to Harper who remained puckered and unhappy.
“I’ll have to check those records,” the lawyer said tightly.
“He was paid—and still is, it’s ongoing—what looks like a salary of... five thousand dollars a month,” Jules said as he flipped through his notes. “I thought he might’ve been head of security...?”
“No, that was Clayton Spencer,” Harper said. “I’ve already spoken to him—he never met anyone named Emily Johnson. He checked his records as well—no one by that name ever came onto the property. At least not while he was on site. Which is why talking to the housekeepers seems unnecessary.”
“We’ll still want to talk to them,” Jules said as Sam picked his phone back up and googled Gavin LaCrosse.
“Well, that’ll be a waste of time,” Harper said with another sniff, “but it’s not my money.”
“I’ll need Clayton Spencer’s number, too.” Jules just kept smiling.
“I’ll have Greg, my assistant, get that for you,” Harper said. “As for this Gavin...”
“LaCrosse.” Jules helpfully fed him the name. “With an e at the end.”
“There’s a Gavin LaCrosse who’s a film director,” Sam volunteered the info he’d found from his google search. The man had worked as an editorial assistant before finally making the leap into producing and directing rather late in his career. “He’s got a page on the IMDb—the Internet Movie Database.”
“Well, that explains it, then,” Harper said. “Early in his career, if Mr. Devonshire had a limited budget for a project, he would get creative with someone like a director or even the post-production team. Give everyone producing credit,and this type of relatively low long-term payout. I’ll dig through his contracts to confirm that, although God knows it might well’ve been a handshake deal.”
“But would those kind of payments really have come out of his personal account?” Jules asked. “I mean, I understand the concept, my husband is an actor who’s dabbled in producing, but we’re always careful to keep our business and personal banking separate.”
“Maybe LaCrosse was blackmailing him,” Milt suggested and Harper bristled. “Relax, Ernie, that was a joke.”
“I’ll have to check into it,” Harper said. “It may have been... charity disguised as employment—something he couldn’t have accounted for over on the production company side.”
“Charity?” Milt said. “Really? Have youmetmy father?”
“Looks like LaCrosse is... in his late-eighties,” Sam found the man’s date of birth and did the math, “but according to this he’s not dead, so I’m guessing he’s retired.”
“We’ll track him down, too,” Jules said. “Someone his age—a relative contemporary—could be a good source of info, especially if he knew Mr. Devonshire well. This is definitely a good place to start.” He smiled again. “I think that’s about all for now—unless you have any questions for us.”
“What do you think about posting a notice on social media or even running an ad in the newspaper?” Milt asked. “Get the word out that we’re looking for Emily Johnson.”
Jules was gentle with hisOh hell no.“That’s... probably not a great way to start,” he said. “It could bring all kinds of unwanted attention to the search. For sure, if we come up cold, we’ll absolutely consider that approach, but let’s start by talking to the people weknewwere in your father’s life.”
Milt nodded, seemingly content to let Jules run the show, which was nice.
And because he still didn’t sound like a man who hoped they wouldn’t find Emily Johnson, Sam leaned forward. He’d intentionally sat back and mostly listened and watched up to this point, but it was clearly time to throw some blunt-cop energy into the mix.
“I have a few questions before we go,” he said, glancing at Jules in deference. Jules was, after allit,as Sam had proclaimed in the elevator.
Jules met Sam’s eyes for the first time in a while. “Please,” he said.
Sam widened his eyes. The biggest one is,Is that a wig or what the fuck...?
