Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [56]
Dillard laughed, the sound grating on Maleah’s nerves. This guy really is a sleaze.
“Anyone else?” Maleah tried not to show her disgust.
“One of the cameramen, Jeff Misner, is a director now. He directed my last film, Down and Dirty, a few years back. He’s married to the former Puff Raven, aka Jean Goins. She was in Midnight, too. She’s doing some hot videos for the Internet and getting filthy rich. And I used to hear from Sonny Shag Deguzman, up until last year. He was over in Europe somewhere and I suppose he’s still there. As far as I know, the other cameraman on that movie, Kyle Richey, is in Mexico. The first few years he was down there, he sent me some eager young things dying to be in the movies.” Dillard lowered his voice to a whisper. “Young girls, if you know what I mean.”
Yes, Maleah knew exactly what he meant. Underage girls, some as young as eleven or twelve, who were sexually exploited and those depraved acts were filmed by ruthless, criminal scumbags like Dillard.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Derek jumped in quickly and said, “Can you think of anything that happened during the filming of Masquerade that could have created some really bad feelings? You know, jealousy, professional or personal? Any fights? Any problems that resulted in violence, even if only minor altercations?”
Maleah took a deep breath, her heart gradually slowing to a normal rate as the anger boiling inside her subsided. For once, she was thankful to Derek for butting in and stopping her from shooting off her mouth. If she’d said anything whatsoever, the loathing and revulsion she felt for Travis Dillard would have been more than obvious. And antagonizing the depraved old bastard would do nothing to help them solve this case.
“Hell, there was always catfights among the women. That was a given,” Dillard said, a smirking grin on his wrinkled face. “Nothing like a couple of naked broads rolling around on the floor, scratching and pulling hair.”
“Any fights out of the ordinary?” Derek asked.
“I know where this is going. And the answer is no, I don’t recall any incident that would make me suspect someone connected to Masquerade has gone on a killing spree ten years after the fact.” Dillard reached out and picked up his whiskey glass, took a swallow, and shuddered. “Sure neither of you want a drink? This is eighteen-year-old Macallan scotch, costs me a hundred and sixty dollars a bottle, but it’s worth every penny.”
“I’m tempted,” Derek said amiably. “But no thanks.”
“Who handled the fan mail for your actors?” Maleah kept her voice calm and even.
“My secretary handled everything that came in for the actors I represented. The others—I have no idea.”
“Were there any threatening letters after the release of Masquerade? Or any particular zealous fan who—?”
“There was that one guy.” Dillard grunted. “Damn. Can’t remember his name. Henry? Hewitt? Nah, doesn’t sound right.” He snapped his fingers. “Hines. His name was Hines.”
“What about this guy named Hines?” Derek asked.
“He’s a porno movie aficionado and a huge fan. He tried to get on the set a couple of times. Had to have him escorted off. He wrote to just about every actor in the movie more than once. I thought at the time the guy seemed obsessed with that one movie in particular.”
“Does Mr. Hines have a first name?” Maleah looked Dillard in the eye.
“Yeah, sure, I just can’t put my finger on it, but I can get Louie to call Etta and see if she remembers.”
“Etta?” Derek and Maleah asked simultaneously.
“My old secretary. She’d probably remember the guy’s name. Hell, she might even still have some of the letters he wrote. My actors never answered their own fan mail, you know. That was part of Etta’s job.”
“How can we get in touch with Etta?” Maleah asked.
“I