Really, how hard would it have been to think,Yeah, hey, we don’t have the official report from the TS office, but how about we do the bare minimum with a quick google check on the client and his deceased father, see if one of them went to prison for manslaughter?
“We both suck,” Jules told Sam. “You finding anything about Milt the Junior threatening to kill his father after he got out of jail, because I’m not.”
“Not yet,” Sam said. “And FYI, I’m pretty sure the suckage is all mine. You’re used to being handed a file with all the government-compiled information that your little heart desires—and then some. I’ve been with Troubleshooters for years. I knew we didn’t have the background info available yet and I didn’t think it mattered. I just thought, Hollywood: Easy case. A dead producer who’s richer than God, a wig-wearing idiot, a sleezy lawyer, find the mystery woman. Piece o’ cake.”
“Maybe itdoesn’tmatter,” Jules said.
“You don’t really think that,” Sam countered. “BecauseIdon’t think that. Five bucks says Emily Johnson is somehow connected to this. And what thefuck, Wig-Milt? I asked him to his face if there was an incident warranting the break with his father, and he didn’t think to share this tantalizing little morsel with us? He gets out of prison—eleven years ago, yep, the dates line up perfectly—and he immediately cuts all ties. Or, more likely, he’s still a hot mess, maybe more so after doing time, so after Wig-Milt melts down—I’mma kill you, motherfucker—Daddy-Dearest cuts ties. Wig-Milt said he had enough, but maybehewas the too-much.”
Thatwasa strong possibility. “Let’s talk to Milt and Harper separately,” Jules said. “See if their stories match.”
“Yeah, well, they’re both liars, so who knows what we’ll get,” Sam said, leaving the garden path and heading across the desiccated lawn toward the back of the big house. “It should be interesting, though. We should check back in with the former housekeeper, what’s her name, Helen with the apron, see what she says. She worked there at the time.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was Helen in that video.” Jules followed him, glancing back at the garden—Rene had said there were freshly planted flowers when she arrived in August? But clearly no one had touched the weed-filled beds since then. There were three of them, all slightly raised, with stone borders, set in a square U-shape around the patio that was just off the house. “I want to touch base with all of them again. Paula and Cathy, too. Where are we going?”
“Driveway,” Sam said, turning the corner of the building where, yep, they were directly in front of the garage. Jules followed Sam’s gaze to the security camera on the left side of the structure, up by the roofline.
“You saw it, too,” Jules said. “On the video.”
“I have no clue,” Sam admitted, “but you said,Huh,so I figured you’d want this to be our next stop. Also it’s nice to have an extended breather from Rene, bless her judgmental heart.”
Jules nodded as he moved to get a closer look at the camera. “It is impressive though,” he pointed out, “how much she hates Harper, while pretending not to.”
“Is it Harper?” Sam wondered. “Or is it everyone? Or maybe Harper’s just plain hate-able. I kinda hate him myself. What did you see that made you goHuh?”
“I... don’t really know,” Jules admitted—except it was still bugging him. “The frame seemed strange—it cut off thisentire edge of the driveway, and there was a car parked over there and... I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing, but...Leakedvideo footage. It obviously came from that camera.” He pointed up at it.
There was another camera on the other side of the garage—together their frames would surely overlap in the center—right where the JX220 had been parked with teen Wig-Milt inside. Was there footage, too, from that other camera?
Jesus, whathadhe seen? Jules made a mental note to watch that particular video clip again.
“So who leaked it to channel five?” he continued. “Gotta be Milt Senior. I mean, who gained the most from therenotbeing a long, dragged-out paparazzi-field-day murder trial?”
“Milt Senior,” Sam agreed. “Although gotta give him props for not simply destroying the footage. His kid did what his kid did.”
“Nnnn,” Jules made an unhappy sound. “I dunno, Sam. We’ve heard nothing from anyone that makes me think he cared at all about his kid.”
“Yeah, you’re just on Team Wig-Milt,” Sam said. “There’s a soft spot in your heart for the lost and discarded.”
“Can you imagine ever discarding Ash?” Jules asked his friend, then answered for him. “Never, in a million years.”
Sam laughed a little as he obviously ceded the point to Jules. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I mean, who would do that to their kid?”
“More people than you’d think.” Jules gestured up at the cameras. “I wonder if these things still work.”
“Should be easy enough to find out.”
It was time to get back to it—Rene presumably didn’t have all day—but first... “Sorry I yelled.”
“Fucking hell, Cassidy, you’re allowed to be human. Andyou getting angry wasn’t half as scary as the you-not-getting-out-of-bed thing, if you want to know the hardcore truth.”
Jules sighed. “Yeah, that really scared Robin, too. He still hasn’t recovered.”
“He’s doing just fine. And we are, too. We’re allowed to thrash around in the deep end of the pool a bit before we figure out which way is up.”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing?”
“Yes, it is.”
