“I’m not lying. The drugs help. That’s the truth.”
Serena knew she wasn’t going to get Aimee to change her story. Dean Casperson had built a wall around himself, and no one wanted to challenge him. If you were a victim, you kept your mouth shut to protect yourself. If you talked, you risked a Hollywood shunning that ruined your career. There was no upside in coming forward. Only risk.
She leaned closer to the bed. “Jungle Jack says he drove you back to the rental house. You don’t remember that?”
Aimee’s lip curled with distaste. “Jack? No. If I’d been conscious, I’d have gone home with anyone but Jack.”
“He claims he dropped you off, you headed up the walkway, and he left. As far as we can tell, you never made it inside. For some reason, you ran off and collapsed in the snow. The tracks indicate you were alone.”
“It must have been the drugs,” Aimee said. “I hallucinated something.”
“Is there anything else that you remember? Anything else that comes to mind about what happened?”
Aimee closed her eyes. She exhaled, long and slow, until there was no air left in her lungs. She breathed in again, her chest swelling. Her whole body relaxed. She was silent for nearly a minute, not moving, not saying anything. Then Serena watched a spasm ripple through her torso like a seizure, and Aimee’s eyes shot open.
“Are you okay?” Serena asked.
“I opened the door to the house,” Aimee said, “but I didn’t go in.”
“Why not?”
“Someone was inside. I didn’t see anyone, but I knew someone was there. I could feel it. I sensed it. That’s why I ran.”
“We searched the house,” Serena told her. “It was empty.”
“Then whoever it was left before you got there.”
“It could have been the drugs.”
Aimee shook her head. “No. I remember now. Someone was waiting for me. They were going to take me. Kidnap me. Put me in the box.”
“In the box?” Serena asked. “Like in the movie?”
“Like in real life. They’ve been watching me for weeks, getting to know my life, waiting for the right opportunity.”
“For weeks?” Serena said. “Aimee, you haven’t been in town that long.”
Aimee blinked in confusion. She looked as if she wanted to protest, but she knew Serena was right. “Okay, maybe what I was seeing was someone else. Maybe it wasn’t me.”
“Not you? What are you talking about?”
“Sometimes I channel other people and I don’t even know it.”
“Channel other people?” Serena asked.
“I see through their eyes. Look, I know you don’t understand, I’m just telling you what happens to me sometimes. Was there any kind of crime committed in that house? Even if it was years ago?”
“Not that I know of,” Serena replied.
“It wasn’t where one of Art Leipold’s victims lived?” Aimee asked.
“No. Definitely not.”
“Well, I can’t explain it, but I felt someone in the house. I knew what they were going to do to me.”
“But you didn’t actually see anyone? Or hear anything?”
“No, but I knew I was going to end up in the box. And I ran. It’s okay if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that,” Serena said. “You said yourself that this role has taken a toll on you. And you were drugged.”
Aimee gave Serena a sad smile. “You’re not the first person to think I’m nuts. Premonitions. Mental connections. Half the time I don’t really understand what any of it means myself.”
“I believe that you’re upset,” Serena said. “I’ll check your house again and see if I can find any evidence that someone was inside. In the meantime, get some rest. When the hospital releases you, I’ll take you home myself.”
“Thank you, Serena.”
Serena squeezed Aimee’s shoulder and got out of the hospital chair. She headed for the door, but before she could open it, Aimee called after her. “Could you thank Cat for me, too?”
Serena turned around slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Cat. Tell her I said thanks.”
“For what?”
“For saving me.”
“I never said Cat did anything at all,” Serena replied.
“You didn’t have to. I know she was there. Somewhere in my head, I can see her out on the roof. Cat on the roof; that’s pretty funny when you think about it.”
“Aimee, if you remember something—if you know what really happened—”
“I don’t,” Aimee insisted. “I already told you, I don’t remember a thing. I just know she was there.”
30
“Jonathan Stride, meet Cab Bolton,” Maggie told him.
Stride shook hands with the tall blue-eyed detective, whose linen suit and loud purple tie looked in perfect shape despite a three-hour plane ride and the long drive from the Minneapolis airport. It was hard to imagine this man as a former homicide investigator. Cab’s gelled blond hair and diamond earring looked better suited to a Miami nightclub than to a grubby police conference room filled with paper coffee cups and pizza boxes. Stride felt as if the entire city had been invaded by aliens, first from Hollywood, now from Florida. Their knowledge of Minnesota probably began and ended with Fargo.
“Welcome to Duluth, Cab,” Stride told him. “Cold enough for you up here?”
As if Cab could read his mind about Fargo, the man replied with a nonchalant smile, “You betcha.”
“I appreciate your making the trip. Maggie says you know Dean Casperson a lot better than we do, and right now we could use all the help we can get. Casperson thinks we can’t touch him.”
“He’s probably right,” Cab replied. The man didn’t hide his directness, and Stride liked that. “Casperson has been at this a long time without a whiff of suspicion. He’s not afraid of us.”
“Well, maybe you can help us even the odds,” Stride said.
“I will if I can, Lieutenant, but the detective you really needed on this case was Peach Piper.”
“I know this is personal for you. I’m sorry about Ms. Piper.”
Cab tilted his head in thanks without saying anything more. Stride could see that he was open about some things but not about grief.
They all took their seats around the conference table. Stride. Serena. Guppo. Maggie. And Cab Bolton. Maggie and Cab sat next to each other, and Stride sensed an unusual dynamic between them. It was as if Maggie had one foot in Duluth and one foot in Cab’s more glamorous Florida world. Serena obviously sensed it, too. She studied them across the table and made an under-her-breath comment that Stride missed.
He grabbed a square of Sammy’s pizza from the box on the table and popped the tab on a can of Coke. “So where do we stand?” Stride asked them.
“This won’t come as a surprise,” Serena began, “but Aimee Bowe has nothing to say about an attempted assault by Dean Casperson. She claims not to remember a thing about what happened at his house. Plus, she says she took the drugs herself. So she put Casperson completely in the clear.”
“Do you believe her?” Stride asked. “Could our—witness—have misinterpreted what was going on between them?”
Serena shook her head. “I don’t think so. Aimee’s lying. Whatever she does or doesn’t remember, she simply won’t implicate Casperson. She thinks it’s career suicide.”
Cab interjected from across the table: “This has been part of Casperson’s playbook for years. He exploits young actresses. He figures they owe him something for helping their careers. According to my mother, it’s an open secret in Hollywood but no one wants to say anything on the record.”
“And his wife is living in denial about all of it,” Maggie added. “Mo wouldn’t hear a thing against Dean. To her, he walks on water despite his infidelity. She puts all the blame on the actresses, not on him. They’re all just manipulative bitches trying to get ahead.”