“For later. Enjoy.”
He grinned. “Thanks, Mrs. DuBois. I certainly will.”
Twenty minutes later, Connor was at a table inside a nearby family-run deli, eating the best meatball sandwich he’d had in his entire life. He wiped his hands and mouth with a paper napkin and scrolled through the numbers stored in his cell phone. He found the one for his contact at the DMV and waited for the call to connect. Asked his contact to run the two number plates provided by Mrs. DuBois and was told he’d have both drivers’ names by the end of the day.
Connor killed the call.
He already had a pretty good idea who one of them would be.
Connor had always thought of Hank’s, a dive bar right next door to the Stillwell Hotel, as a little piece of heaven in the heart of the city. Dark and narrow with dim lighting casting everything in a red glow, the booze was cheap and the music was good. The kind of place you visited to drink your drinks, rather than take photographs of them, unlike some of DTLA’s other, shinier, establishments.
He ordered a Scotch and soda for Vanessa and neat bourbon for himself and found a table in the back corner. Hank Williams played on the jukebox. After speaking to Mrs. DuBois, and his late lunch in Victor Heights, Connor had driven back to Venice, showered and changed into fresh jeans and a black shirt, before hopping back on the 10 for the 6 p.m. meet. He checked the time on his cell and noticed he had a text from his contact at the DMV.
As predicted, the Mediterranean-blue BMW 4 Series convertible—belonging to the man Mrs. DuBois had referred to as Amanda Meyers’ “gentleman friend”—was registered to Zachary Dunne, her boss.
The mystery truck—a gray Dodge Dakota—remained a mystery. The DMV search had drawn a blank. Connor guessed the pick-up must have had fake, unregistered plates.
He fired off a text thanking his contact and looked up to see Vanessa approaching the table. She was taller than he’d first thought, having only seen her from behind a desk before. Long legs made longer by skyscraper heels. The playful, flirty smile from earlier was gone. She dropped into the seat facing him.
“You changed your clothes,” she said.
“I did.”
“And you ordered already. Thanks for the drink.”
“No problem.”
“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” ended. There was silence for a beat, then “Only the Lonely” by Roy Orbison started up. Connor thought whoever was feeding the jukebox must be going through a tough break-up.
Vanessa took a big gulp of Scotch. She appeared troubled.
“Look, I think I made a mistake coming here,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it since you left. I’ve worked for the firm for more than a decade and I can’t afford to lose my job. That’s why I didn’t say anything to the cops at the time. I don’t want my name anywhere near this mess.” She took another drink and shook her head. “Damn. It’s just that . . .”
“Amanda and Zachary Dunne were having an affair,” Connor supplied. “They’d been screwing around for at least a year.”
Vanessa stared at him in surprise. “You already knew. How?”
“I suspected as much after speaking to Dunne. Didn’t know for sure until about a minute ago.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. I guess you wasted a journey and the price of a drink.”
“Not at all. You can still help me fill in a few blanks.”
The troubled expression returned. “I don’t know . . .”
“Completely off the record,” Connor added quickly. “Your name won’t appear in any of my reports for the Simmondses.”
“The Simmondses?”
“The family of another missing woman. The ones who hired me.”
Connor opened his messenger bag and pulled out a photo. Laurie Simmonds was sitting on the beach with a sketchbook, squinting slightly against the sun. He showed it to Vanessa.
She shook her head, handed it back to him. “Nope. I don’t recognize her. Sorry.”
Connor returned the photo to the bag and swapped it for his notepad and pen. “Tell me about Amanda and Zachary Dunne.”
Vanessa emptied her glass and Connor finished his bourbon. He caught the bartender’s eye and signaled for two more drinks.
“Okay, but I should start off by saying none of this is fact,” she said, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “Just my own impressions of what I think was going on. I never walked in on them or caught them in the act or anything like that. Another reason I never spoke to the cops.”
“I understand. But anything you can tell me will be a big help.”
“At first, it was just a shift in the air, a change of atmosphere when they were together. Like something had changed between them. It’s hard to explain what I mean exactly. It just felt different when they were together.”
“Sure, I get what you mean.”
The bartender placed the fresh round of drinks in front of them.
Vanessa said, “There were knowing looks. They were more tactile with each other. Amanda started spending a lot more time in Mr. Dunne’s office. They began working more cases after hours too. Again, it was all just speculation on my part at this point. Then, I came across more solid evidence of an affair.”
“Uh-huh. What’d you find?”
“I take care of Mr. Dunne’s expenses, as well as those of the firm’s other two partners. I started noticing some, um, irregularities, I guess you’d call them. The occasional overnight stay in a hotel that didn’t tally with any client cases he was working on at the time. Receipts for gas stations out by Echo Park, close to where Amanda lived, but nowhere near Mr. Dunne’s home in Beverlywood. Then there was the apartment.”
“What apartment?”
“You know there are luxury condos in the same building as the office, right? Very nice. Rooftop pool, the works. Johnny Depp used to own the penthouse. Well, Mr. Dunne rents one of the apartments. He’d stay over when he was working late or had an early breakfast meeting. One time, I dropped off some papers at the apartment before finishing up for the evening and Amanda answered the door. Don’t get me wrong, she was dressed, wasn’t wearing just lingerie or a robe. But she had this smug expression on her face when she snatched the file off me, like she’d bagged the boss and that made her special somehow. Other mornings, she’d come out of the elevator right after it’d traveled down from the condo’s floor, rather than up from the ground floor. Back then, Mr. Dunne used the condo occasionally. Now he stays there full-time.”
“Marriage problems?” Connor asked. “I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
Vanessa took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I assume so. When Amanda disappeared, Mr. Dunne took it bad. He tried to hide it from the rest of the staff, of course, but I could tell his mind wasn’t on the job. He’d show up late. Oftentimes, he appeared hungover. Once or twice, I was sure he was drunk at work. About a month or so after, he took some time off for ‘complications with a burst appendix.’ He was signed off sick for months. I suspected a breakdown. Others did too.”
“Dunne said Amanda’s mother had suffered a breakdown.”
“I guess she wasn’t the only one. When Mr. Dunne finally did return to the office, the wedding ring was gone. That’s when he moved into the condo permanently.”