CHAPTER 93
BARSTOW SPUTTERED, “Whoa-whoa-whoa. Where did you get this? ”
A shiver danced up Justine’s spine. She watched Alan Barstow’s face as he stared at his mug shots and the rap sheet listing his arrest for sex crimes against minors. His arrogance was gone, replaced by more primitive stuff: fear, anger, and confusion, emotions that made people turn violent.
Justine said, “There’s software now, Alan. It can match faces to sex offenders in any police database, even if the crime happened ten years ago in New Jersey. Even though you changed your name.”
“So what? ” he said, pushing the file off the table. “You’re saying this means that I killed Piper? Are you fucking kidding me? Look, you. The only interest I had in Piper Winnick was financial. That’s all.”
He grabbed a copy of Variety off the coffee table and showed Justine the headline, “Shades of Red.”
Barstow shouted, “The film is dead. A great slamming summer movie is dead. You know what I got for a year of busting my nuts? Absolutely nothing.”
The angrier he got, the more relaxed Justine became. As long as he only yelled.
“Calm down, Alan. I’m not saying you planned to hurt Piper. I’m saying you were insulted. You tried to tell her who you were and who she was. Things got out of hand. She pulled away from you—”
Barstow cut her off. “Dr. Smith, you are totally, I cannot say this strongly enough, totally out of your tiny little mind. This meeting is over. If you repeat a word of this crap, I’ll sue you for slander, for defamation, for anything our legal department can throw at you.”
He got up from his chair, went to the door, and said to his assistant, “Jay. Show these people out. No. Call security.”
Barstow turned to Justine and Nora. “You have one minute to leave the premises.”
Nora said, “LAPD trumps corporate security anytime.”
She unbuttoned her jacket, showed Barstow the gold badge hanging from a chain around her neck.
“We’re testing Piper Winnick’s clothing. If we find your DNA on that girl, you’re cooked. Meanwhile, we have a witness who claims that you drugged Danny Whitman as well as the girls who accused Danny of sexual misconduct. Our witness says you had sex parties, Alan. Your guests were young girls, drunken girls, you sick son of a bitch.”
Men in khaki uniforms trotted up the hallway. Barstow strode to the doorway, pulled open the door, and said to the head security guy, “Sorry, Roger. My mistake. Everything is under control.”
He closed his door, pulled down the blinds, and returned to the sitting area, but he didn’t sit down.
Barstow said, “You’re a cop? You’re supposed to say you’re a cop. This is entrapment. You haven’t read me my rights. I’m not saying another word without my lawyer.”
Nora got up and stood toe-to-toe with the raging Barstow.
“You’re all wrong, Mr. Barstow. I don’t have to identify myself, and you only get your rights read if you’re in custody.”
Barstow’s eyes darted from Nora to the door, to Justine, back to the door, looking for a way to save himself.
“Don’t wreck my life for this,” he said. “I didn’t kill Piper. I may have invited girls to my house for Danny. I may have served liquor. Some girls maybe woke up in bed with Danny and thought they’d had sex with him.”
“That’s not a confession. That’s a ‘maybe.’ ”
“But I did not push Piper off a cliff. Not accidentally, not on purpose. I had nothing to do with her death.”
Nora said, “Mr. Barstow, you’re under arrest on suspicion of murder and a few dozen lesser charges that will keep you in custody while we check out your story. You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. It’s time to call that lawyer. I think you’ll find that you have a morals clause in your contract, in which case CTM is going to cut you loose. But play it out. See what happens.”
Barstow turned desperate eyes on Nora.
He said, “Wait. If I can help you get Piper’s killer, can we make a deal?”
Deals were what Alan Barstow did. He was finding hope in his comfort zone.
Nora said, “If you have information that leads to the arrest and conviction of Piper Winnick’s killer, I’ll do my best to help you.”
“Okay,” Barstow said. “I’m cooperating with you. I’ll put it in writing. If we can all relax, start over again. I think I know who killed Piper. It wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Danny.”