“I’ve got more information for you. I tracked down a contact on one of those other people on Alix’s photo shoot, Karla McDonald. I gave her a call, and as soon as she heard who I worked for, she demanded to talk to you. I couldn’t get a peep out of her, but she sounded pretty frantic about it.”
“All right, I’ll give her a call. Give me a minute to get off the Interstate though, there’s an exit coming up in half a mile. Text me the number?”
“Sure thing,” Vince said. “Just be careful that you don’t get off in the wrong part of town.”
“Not an issue,” I said, hanging up. I took the exit and ended up parking next to a Catholic cemetery of all things, while in the meantime Vince sent my phone the number it needed. I quickly dialed the number, hoping that this Karla would be able to shed some light on the situation.
“Hello?” a voice with a definite Australian accent said.
“Miss McDonald? Hi, I’m Kade Prescott, my paralegal said he spoke with you earlier. I was hoping you had a minute to talk,” I said, while outside my window I watched a groundskeeper rake the grass on the other side of the fence. “I’m Alix Nova’s stepbrother.”
“I know your name, mate,” Karla replied, and it took me a second to get her accent through my phone. “Good onya to call me so quick. So from what your assistant was telling me, you want to know about the photo shoot last week.”
“Yes, if you don’t mind. When Alix came to our parents’ house, she was sporting what turned into a very large black eye. Now, she had a story about walking into some equipment. Is that true?”
“Hell no,” Karla replied, outraged and surprised. “I canna believe that bastard actually hit her though.”
“Who?” I asked, my emotions rising as I thought of Alix being the victim of violence. I had my suspicions, and for them to be confirmed . . . I kicked myself. I should have done more earlier. “Miss McDonald, please. Who are you talking about?”
“Sydney Hale,” Karla answered immediately. “He and Alix were dating up until a few weeks ago. He was the photographer for the shoot. I thought he’d been a bloody cunt during the shoot, but I never thought he’d . . . that fucker.”
“Miss McDonald, this is important to me. Alix borrowed a large sum of money from me, and I suspect she’s being forced to give it to this Sydney Hale. Can you tell me where I can find him?” I was squeezing the steering wheel hard enough to leave divots, and there was an ominous creaking coming from the metal inside. I peeled my hands away by pure force of will. “Please, Karla, Alix is my family.”
“I’ve done shoots with him at his private studio, it doubles as his apartment,” Karla said. “He lives in North Hollywood, near Burbank.”
Karla gave me the address, which I punched into my car’s internal navigation. The drive wasn’t far, and I turned around to get back on the road. “Thank you, Karla. If there’s anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
“No worries,” Karla said. “Just a warning to you, Syd’s a regular dunny rat. Keep your eyes out if you run into him.”
I had no idea what a dunny rat was, but I got the idea. “I will. Thank you again, Karla.”
As soon as I was back on the 5 heading toward North Hollywood and Burbank, I tried calling Alix. Her phone immediately went to voice mail, which for some reason scared me. I tried again, hitting redial as I pushed faster. I moved over to the passing lane, willing the evening traffic to go faster, but finding myself increasingly frustrated. The miles crawled by as I broke every rule I’d ever given myself about driving, weaving in and out of gaps in traffic until my car told me to get off the Interstate. I followed the directions to a dumpy looking apartment building. It looked like something out of the nineteen eighties, and had probably last been shoddily repainted ten years ago. What a professional photographer would be doing living in such a dump was beyond me.
My heart leapt into my throat when I saw Alix’s car parked in one of the visitor spots in the parking lot, and I threw my car into park, blocking her in but not really giving a damn. If someone wanted to call the cops and give me a ticket, I’d be happy about it. Shutting off the engine, I sprinted up to the main gate, frustrated when it turned out to be locked by a number code. Looking around, I saw a gap in the stucco wall that surrounded the building, so I hopped it quickly, landing in what I thought was the middle of someone’s tiny little front yard, probably the building superintendent or handyman. A startled woman stared at me through the window before pointing and beginning to yell.
“Sorry!” I replied before she could come outside. Instead, I ran through onto the main walkway through the building, keeping the number for Hale’s apartment in my mind. It was on the second floor, I quickly figured out, taking the stairs three at a time to the next level, only to find I was on the wrong side of the huge horseshoe that was the building.