She shut her notepad. “Well. I have everything I need for now. But you’ll have to come into the station and sign a formal statement as soon as you’re able.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” said Nick, who’d been sitting back silently during the whole interview. Maybe he’d been sleeping. He looked like shit. As Detective Stone left, Nick moved and took the chair she’d vacated. He pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it onto Olly’s chest. “The nurses think you might want this back.” It was the coyote-fang charm. “They took it off when you were admitted.”
“Thanks!” Remembering Mme. Layla’s warning, Olly swiftly put the thing back around his neck, fumbling with the clasp. Nick watched but said nothing, so Olly had to. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on, or will I have to learn it from the six o’clock news?”
Nick didn’t hurry with the reply, but he opened his mouth at last. “I can tell you what will be on the news anyway. The shit will hit the fan soon, if it hasn’t already.”
“I’m all ears.”
Nick started with a bombshell. “Willard Keats killed Chester Kane.”
“No fucking way.”
“He made a full confession, and there’s corroborating evidence. He and Kane were in an extortion business together but had a falling-out. It happened right after you and your idiot friend paid a visit to Kane. Your idiot friend—”
“His name is Rich,” Olly interjected.
Nick showed no sign of having heard. “He returned that night, found the body, didn’t report it, swiped a few pieces of evidence and left. Sometime early in the morning, James Boyd arrived. He also didn’t report the crime, but instead saw it as an opportunity to take over the extortion racket.”
“He took the envelopes.”
“Correct. The rest the police pieced together from Boyd’s mother and physical evidence.”
“Wait a minute, who called in the murder, then?”
“Mrs. Boyd. She and Kane were romantically involved once—that’s how her son and Kane knew each other.”
“What about the gunshot the neighbor heard?” Olly asked, remembering what Nick had told him.
“There was no gunshot. The old lady must’ve imagined it. Or heard a neighbor’s television.”
“Oh, okay. So what happened next?”
“It seems Boyd didn’t have Kane’s subtlety and went directly to Kat Fontaine’s house for a shakedown. We’ll never know what transpired exactly, but after leaving, Boyd continued onto Mulholland Drive, where he lost control of his car and plunged two hundred feet off a cliff. There were no witnesses, but Boyd’s Camaro was spotted by a bicyclist. Boyd was dead by the time the rescue team got to him.”
“Kat Fontaine’s car had deep gashes on the passenger side.” Olly remember this part clearly.
“Indeed it does. The crime lab is working overtime to learn if there’s a connection.”
Olly would eat his hospital gown if there wasn’t. “So it means Kane had something on Kat Fontaine. But what?”
“Her car was involved in a hit-and-run years ago.” Nick measured out his words with great care. “It was reported stolen. There were no arrests made.”
The dots were easy to connect. “But Kane had something putting her in the car?”
“No comment.”
Olly knew not to push. “I must’ve arrived to Kat’s house right after she came back from taking care of Jimmy.”
“God knows what she had in that crazy head of hers, or what she planned for you, but probably nothing good.”
Olly instinctively reached for the charm around his neck. As he touched the fang, jumbled images of Kat Fontaine’s face full of hatred and loathing emerged from the darkness of his memory. He heard an echo of her voice too—something about taking a ride. A crash. “Yeah, probably not.”
“It’s a good thing your idiot friend had enough brains to call Detective Cooper before riding to your rescue.” Nick ignored Olly’s grumble. “Apparently, he got a strange text message from you just as he spotted your car down-street from Kat Fontaine’s house. It persuaded him to climb the gate.”
“He came to my rescue?”
“Uh-huh. Nearly got himself killed. Fucking civilians.”
Olly ignored the last comment. “How did Rich know I needed rescuing, and how did he find me?”
“According to him, a voice message on his phone, sixth sense and a star map. He was on his way to FTP when you called him.”
You could buy those maps to the homes of celebrities up and down on Hollywood Boulevard. The important part was Rich not only figured out what to do, but most of all he was worried enough to do it. Olly felt warm and melty inside. “Rich is resourceful, isn’t he?”