Page 56 of Wild Sentinel

I thanked her for the information and handed her a card just in case. JD and I ambled across the VIP lounge to talk with Xavier.

32

"Yeah, I remember seeing her," Xavier said.

I was surprised. "You're sure you saw her with Nick?”

"I remember everybody. I got one of them photographic memories. I don’t want to throw anybody under the bus, but yeah, she was with him. Left in his car with his driver. Pulled into the alley right back here,” he said, motioning to the door.

“Do you remember what time that was?”

“A little before closing.”

I gave him a card and thanked him for the information. We left the club and stepped onto the sidewalk. There was still a long line to get in.

Isabella had told me the burner phone Vivian called on the night in question was located at a residence in Culver City. The home belonged to Lenny Russo.

It was almost 1:00 AM, but we decided to do a knock-and-talk. After all, these were prime hours for a fixer. Nothing good happens after midnight.

We caught a rideshare to Scarlett’s place, grabbed the Ferrari, then headed down to Culver City.

The burner Vivian had called the night in question was located at 704 Percy Street.

JD pulled to the curb and killed the engine.

The English cottage was a popular architectural style in the 1920s and 30s in Southern California. Circular turrets flanked either side of the main entrance. Capped with conical roofs, they were an eye-catching feature. With light cream stucco walls, it looked like something out of a fairytale. There were prominent arched windows, and a wrought iron gate secured the property. It had a playful, asymmetric design. At first glance, a totally unserious house. Not a place you would expect to find a fixer who dealt with the unsavory side of Hollywood.

A large ficus tree provided shade for the yard.

We hopped out and strolled the walkway to the front porch. The gate was unlocked. I put a heavy fist against the door and shouted, “County sheriff!”

It was a good way to get shot at this time of night.

There was no reply at first.

I kept banging.

A few minutes later, footsteps shuffled down the foyer, and the peephole flickered as someone peered through. A gruff voice shouted through the door, "What do you want?”

"Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it's urgent. We're investigating the death of Vivian Steele. She was a friend of yours, yes?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I don't know anybody named Vivian Steele.”

"That's interesting. Six weeks ago, she called a prepaid cellular that was at this location."

After another moment of silence, he said, “I don't know what to tell you. Your information is incorrect.”

"Vivian was obviously a client of yours. Maybe a friend. You want to see justice done, don't you?"

"It's late, and I'm tired. I'm going back to bed.”

I figured I’d just go for it. “The girl you helped Vivian dispose of was named Molly Dean.” I let that hang there before saying, “That makes you an accessory after the fact. I'm guessing it's not the first time you've done something like that.”

I didn't hear any more footsteps.

"I take it I’ve got your attention.”

"What you have is an active imagination."