The Newsmakers Page 18

  “You own the building?”

  “Bought it fifty years ago. I’m a smart cookie, got into real estate. I like renting to gang members. They pay in cash. Or drugs, if I’m in the mood.” She cackles again, then narrows her eyes. “Are you looking for drugs?”

  “I’m looking for Miguel Fuentes. Can you help me out? Anything that sticks in your mind? Anyone who might help me find Miguel?”

  The woman makes an exaggerated I’m thinking expression. “The air conditioner in unit sixteen is on the fritz. I’d tell them they’re on their own but there’s a baby in there. Poor little tidbit in this heat.”

  Erica came prepared. She pulls a wad of cash out of her pocket, peels off a hundred.

  “I said air conditioner, not fan,” the woman says.

  Erica hands her another hundred.

  “He had a sister. She stayed about a week, was right over the border. Pretty girl, classy as hell. Smart. Always carrying books. I think she was a schoolteacher back in Mexico. They were fighting all the time—she was screaming at him to get back in school. She got outta here fast. Like I said, she was smart.”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  “Samantha.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “It’s been awhile, four months, maybe six. Time bleeds at my age.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “They didn’t ask.”

  When she gets back to Moira’s, Erica 411.coms Samantha Fuentes. There are seven listed in LA, but the site only lists landlines, and what kid has one of those nowadays? Then she does a Google search, and LinkedIn pulls a Samantha Fuentes who is a twenty-five-year-old tutor in West Los Angeles specializing in Spanish, English, reading, and writing. There’s a phone number and Erica calls.

  “This is Samantha Fuentes.”

  “Hi, Samantha, this is Erica Sparks, reporter from GNN.”

  There’s a chill on the line and then, “Yes?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your brother. I was hoping we could meet for coffee.”

  “I have nothing to say about my brother. If he had anything to do with that murder, I hope he’s sent away for many years.”

  “You can help make that happen.”

  “How?” she asks warily.

  “A public plea to him to surrender would be one way. How about that cup of coffee?”

  There’s a pause and then, “I would like to help. Okay.”

  “Would this afternoon work for you?”

  “Yes. I’m out in Pacific Palisades. Meet me at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in an hour.”

  “See you then.”

  Erica heads out to Pacific Palisades and finds that the California Dream is alive and well—the cushioned enclave is so sparkly, lush, and lovely that you could almost forget that things like deceit, murder, and evil exist.

  Erica has changed out of the sweatpants—one of the least flattering garments ever invented—and gone with a cap instead of the canvas hat, but otherwise is covered up enough not to draw many glances of recognition. Of course, in a celebrity-thick neighborhood like this, she’s small potatoes.

  She walks into the coffee shop, and a young woman with a lovely, open face waves her over to a table.

  “Samantha.”

  “Erica.”

  “I guess we’re both psychic.”

  Samantha has a beautiful smile and an easygoing, endearing manner that almost disguises her wariness.

  “Can I get you something?” Erica asks.

  “I’ve got my green tea.”

  Erica gets a double espresso and joins Samantha. “Thanks so much for agreeing to meet me.”

  “I’m an admirer.”

  “This all must be very hard on you.”

  “It is. But I’m not surprised. My brother has been in trouble before. Even as a kid. But nothing like this. I was a big fan of Kay Barrish. She did a lot for my people.”

  “Do you have any idea where your brother might be?”

  “I don’t. I would guess that he’s back in Mazatlan, but that’s only a guess.”

  “Have you spoken to any family members down there?”

  “I have and they haven’t seen any sign of him. The Los Angeles police sent down a detective to talk to my parents.”

  “He may not have been able to get out of the country.”

  “I’m sad for him, but I have no sympathy. He chose his path. When I first arrived here, I lived with him for several weeks. His life was filled with anger and ugliness. And he did not want to change.”

  “Would you be willing to speak on camera?”

  “I thought about that, and I would not. You know, Erica, I have ambition. I have come here to make a beautiful life. I have found a good job. I am the live-in tutor for the family of Mort Zimmer.”

  “The television producer?”

  “Yes. He and his wife are kind, generous people who want to help me. I am living in a nice apartment over their garage. I am enrolled in UCLA extension working towards my master’s degree in education. If I become identified with my brother, it could hurt me. Do you understand?”

  “I do, of course, and the admiration is mutual. But if it could help us find justice for Kay Barrish?”

  “My brother has never listened to me. He’s not going to start now. And I don’t think I should give you an interview. Kay Barrish is a popular woman, people love her. I don’t want to be connected to her murder.”

  Erica sips her espresso. “Fair enough.”

  “What I can do is call you if I hear anything. My family will tell me if he shows up down there.”

  “I would appreciate that. Do you think there’s any chance he’ll contact you?”

  Samantha laughs ruefully. “I doubt that. We haven’t spoken since I moved out of his apartment. And he doesn’t know where I live.”

  “Stay in touch.”

  On the drive back to Los Feliz, Erica replays her meeting with Samantha. Everything the young woman said made perfect sense. Even the lies.

  CHAPTER 52

  WHEN ERICA GETS BACK TO Moira’s, she calls Greg in New York and asks him to have a local LA crew on standby in the morning. Moira comes home and makes them dinner of tuna steak, green beans, and wild rice. As they eat, Erica brings Moira up to date on her investigation. Her friend offers her usual level-headed advice and reluctantly approves of Erica’s plan for the next day, urging extreme caution—the gangs of LA consider murder a participatory sport.

  Erica gets up at five, does her Tae Kwon Do, dresses down, and heads out to Pacific Palisades. She found the Zimmers’ address online and she drives past it—the house is large, Spanish style, with a circular parking area in front. Erica parks around the corner where she is almost hidden but has a clear sight line to the house.

  She sits and waits. After about ten minutes the front door opens and a boy and girl, around ten and twelve, come out, followed by Samantha. The kids have their backpacks and Samantha is carrying an insulated bag. They all get in a Lexus SUV and head out of the driveway. Erica pulls down her visor, turns the corner, and follows at a distance.

  The SUV makes its way down Temescal Canyon Road to Route 1 and then turns south. Worried Samantha will see her in the rearview mirror, Erica lets a car get between them. The Lexus gets on the Santa Monica Freeway and heads east for about a mile, getting off at Exit 18. Erica follows for several blocks and then stops as the Lexus pulls up in front of the Crossroads School. The kids pile out and wave good-bye.

  Eri
ca follows as Samantha drives back to Route 1 and heads north. But she doesn’t turn onto Temescal Canyon Road—she keeps going for about a half mile before turning right onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard.

  Driving up the canyon road is like entering another world, with tawny brown hills home to scrub oak, tall grasses, and bamboo—there are few houses, and the urban energy of Los Angeles seems to vaporize in the sweet-smelling air. Erica stays three cars behind Samantha as they drive the winding road deeper and deeper into the still canyon. The houses they pass are mostly older, fanciful, whimsical; many look benignly neglected. They pass a small village with a post office, some shops, a restaurant, a nursery. The people, young and old, mostly look like hippies, rich and otherwise; there is a lot of flowing hair and flowing clothes.

  Just on the other side of the village, Samantha turns left onto Greenleaf Canyon Road and heads up into the hills. Civilization falls away, it feels like wilderness up here, the houses are scattered far and wide. No one would hear you scream. The road branches and Samantha bears left. Up ahead—set back from the road in a small field—there’s a collapsing stable, its last horses long gone. Samantha slows. Erica quickly veers off the road, onto a dirt track where she’s able to drive the car behind a copse of trees. She gets out and runs to the edge of the road in time to see Samantha get out of the Lexus, look around, reach into the car and grab the insulated bag, put it down behind a tree, and get back in the SUV. Erica falls to the ground in high grass and watches as the Lexus drives past her back down the hill.

  She lies there, watching. After a minute, Miguel Fuentes pokes his head out of the stable and looks around. Confident that the coast is clear, he rushes across the field, grabs the insulated bag, and darts back to the stable.

  Erica stands up, takes out her phone, and calls Greg. “Send the crew up to Greenleaf Canyon Road in Topanga. As fast as possible. And be ready to go live as soon as they get here.”

  Erica wants to give her crew a head start, so she waits ten minutes before calling Betsy Takahashi and giving her the location of the fugitive.

  CHAPTER 53

  “THIS IS ERICA SPARKS REPORTING live from Topanga Canyon in Los Angeles, where there has been a big break in the Kay Barrish murder case. Twenty-seven-year-old Miguel Fuentes—whose fingerprints were found in the car in which Arturo Yanez was murdered—has just been arrested by the Los Angeles police. Yanez was the caterer’s assistant who allegedly poisoned Barrish. Fuentes was discovered hiding out in a crumbling stable in an isolated section of Topanga Canyon. They’re leading Fuentes into a police car now.”

  The camera pans to a scowling, handcuffed Fuentes being led from the stable, across the field, and then into a squad car.

  “Fuentes is a known member of the notorious East Los Angeles gang called Nortenos. He has six prior arrests, including one for attempted murder, for which he served three years at San Quentin. The unanswered question is, what was the gang’s motive for murdering Yanez? To help me answer it, I have Los Angeles police detective Betsy Takahashi.” The camera pans back, and Takahashi is in the frame. “Thank you for your time, Detective. Can you shed any light on why Fuentes would murder Yanez?”

  “This has all the hallmarks of a gang murder—the execution-style shooting in the back of the head, a stolen car used to commit the crime, dumping of the body out in the desert. The witnesses who saw Yanez get into the stolen car at the bus stop on Santa Monica Boulevard the night of Barrish’s death report seeing at least two men in the car. So Fuentes didn’t act alone. And Yanez got into the car voluntarily, which indicates he knew the men.”

  “Are you suggesting that the same people who murdered Yanez may have hired him to kill Barrish?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “But why would an LA street gang want to murder Kay Barrish? For one thing, she was beloved in the Hispanic community.”

  “These gangs are known to commit murder for hire.”

  “And hopefully Fuentes will be able to supply you with the name of whoever hired him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Will the district attorney be offering him a plea deal?”

  “You’d have to ask the district attorney that question.”

  “Are you confident today’s arrest will lead to the solving of this case?”

  “The only time I’m confident that a case is solved is when the perpetrator is behind bars.”

  “Thank you for your time. This is Erica Sparks reporting live from Topanga Canyon. Now back to GNN headquarters in New York.”

  The camera is turned off. Detective Takahashi asks, “So, are you going to tell me who led you to Fuentes?”

  Erica remembers her meeting with Samantha Fuentes, the young woman’s warm smile and honest ambition. “I’m not going to reveal my source,” she says simply.

  Takahashi’s eyes narrow. “Whoever it is could be material to the investigation.”

  “If at any point I think that might be the case, I’ll reconsider.”

  Almost simultaneously, news vans from the other networks race up the canyon road and arrive on the scene and crews pour out, hurrying to get shots of Fuentes in the police car before it leaves. They’ve all been badly scooped by GNN. Erica smiles to herself—Sorry, guys, but that’s the news biz.

  CHAPTER 54

  ERICA AND NYLAN ARE IN the back of the limousine on their way to the Correspondents’ Dinner. There’s a tense silence between them, has been since he picked her up at her hotel. Erica feels uncomfortable being this close to him; she crosses and uncrosses her legs.

  “I’m sure you understand, Nylan, that once I got the tip on Miguel Fuentes’s location, I had to put the special report on Barrish’s murder on the back burner.”

  “I didn’t like seeing you out there in the weeds of Topanga looking like some second-rate field reporter.”

  “Second-rate field reporters don’t get tips on the biggest murder case of the decade. And I understand our ratings spiked significantly.”

  Nylan turns away from her, looks out at the rainy night, casually brushes at his pants leg. “I’m not sure there ever was a special report in the works.”

  Should Erica compound her lie? “Do the ends justify the means?”

  “Are you asking rhetorically?” He turns to her. “If so, you and I agree on one of life’s great moral questions.” He crosses his leg so that his foot is inches from her dress, almost as if he wants to kick her or wipe his sole off on the exquisite red fabric.

  Erica wants to move away from him but wills herself to remain steady. “Sometimes a small sin in pursuit of a great goal is justified.”

  “Only a small sin?” He reaches out and touches her shoulder. Erica flinches. “A hair out of place.”

  “Yes. Only a small sin,” Erica says, turning and looking him in the eyes.

  Erica’s words hang in the air between them as the limousine pulls up in front of the sweeping curve of the Washington Hilton. Ropes hold back the gawkers and celebrity hounds. Nylan and Erica step out of the car and into the blinding light of a thousand flashbulbs. A production assistant leads them to a small staging area where they stand and pose for more pictures. Erica has to admit Nylan looks handsome, dapper and almost grown-up in a perfectly tailored black suit. He puts an arm around her waist—she takes a step away from him. Anger flashes across his face. Too bad.

  They make their way up the red carpet toward the hotel entrance when another production assistant steers them over to Giuliana Rancic and Kelly Osborne, who are covering the red carpet live on E!

  “Welcome to GNN’s superstar newscaster Erica Sparks and her date, Nylan Hastings, the founder of the network. OMG, Erica, that dress!” Giuliana gushes.

 
; “I’m obsessed,” Kelly says. “Who are you wearing?”

  “It’s by a New York designer named Nancy Huffman. She has a small atelier in the East Village.”

  When Nancy first showed Erica the simple red, strapless gown, she wasn’t sure about it. Then she tried it on, looked in the mirror, and was ecstatic—the drape, the color, the simplicity—it’s a dream. And tonight, with her hair and makeup exquisitely done and the simple ruby necklace by Bulgari and matching red-paste clip-ons from Etsy, she feels more beautiful than she ever has in her life. Was she really a complete unknown just six weeks ago?

  Erica and Nylan enter the hotel lobby and are walking toward the ballroom when Meryl Streep approaches. It’s a surreal moment for Erica to see the actress—whom she adores—just a few feet away. “I’m a fan,” Meryl says. “I think you’ve shown true grace under pressure.”

  “I’d say thank you but I’m speechless.”

  She shares a laugh with Meryl Streep—with Meryl Streep—and then she and Nylan enter the ballroom and make their way toward their table. Erica sees Katie Couric, who waves; and Bill O’Reilly, who calls, “Keep up the no spin, Sparks!”; and Megyn Kelly, who gives her a thumbs-up; and Kathie Lee Gifford, who blows her a kiss. There’s also Kerry Washington and Julia Roberts and Sofia Vergara and Denzel Washington and, yes, George Clooney. At their table! President Garner and First Lady Ginny Garner are at the dais, along with senators, cabinet members, and media executives.

  The energy in the room is crackling, dazzling, dizzying, everyone is groomed and glistening and golden, strangers are smiling at Erica as if she belongs. And she does belong. Doesn’t she? No matter where she came from. No matter how many mistakes she’s made in the past. This is now, the present racing into the future, a future filled with infinite promise.

  Erica is too keyed up to eat. Nylan works the table like he owns it, which he probably does. Jimmy Fallon is hilarious skewering Washington politics. There’s a lot of tablehopping, huddled conversations, drinking and laughing. Erica excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room.