Chapter 24: Kevin Spacey Calling - Lucidity

A MONTH AFTER BENDER POSTED THE ARTICLE MADDEN WAS BACK IN the hardware store, doing his usual Tuesday shift. He was in the middle of helping a customer find a drill bit that penetrated stainless steel when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Text message alert. It could wait.

“I’d go with titanium,” Madden told the customer. “The cobalt is good, but you might as well go with the titanium.”

After the man walked away with the titanium bit, Madden took his phone out and looked at the text. It was from Pastorini. Madden couldn’t quite believe what he saw.

“Kevin Spacey called,” the message read. “Call him back. He’s been trying to reach you.”

A phone number followed the message. Kevin Spacey was trying to reach him? The area code wasn’t from the Bay Area but it seemed familiar. And then he realized why. It was the same 347 number he’d seen a few days earlier. Someone had left two messages with Billings at the Menlo Park police department. In both cases, whoever had called had left a number but no name. Madden hadn’t called back.

“The actor Kevin Spacey?” he texted Pastorini.

He had to wait a little while for a response. “Yes,” the reply came back.

Something felt off. He decided to call him. He owed him a call anyway.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Kevin Spacey? Are you sure about that? You spoke to Kevin Spacey?”

“I spoke to his assistant. A guy named Drew Masters.” Pastorini’s speech was getting better but wasn’t perfect. He still sounded a touch drunk, with some slurring of his words—he had a hard time with the letter “s”—and he spoke more slowly than he used to.

Was is it possible? Kevin Spacey?

“Why did the assistant call you?”

“The MPPD wouldn’t give out your number,” Pastorini said. “I’m listed.”

“Did he say why he was calling?”

“No. I’m watching a movie. I’m not your secretary. Call me later.”

Madden took the phone away from his ear and looked at the time. It was 11:12 AM, 2:12 PM in New York. Spacey might be at lunch, but Madden could always leave a message with the assistant.

Fremmer had just stepped out of the Pacific Aquarium and Pet shop on Delancey Street, where he’d been inquiring about Rochelle, when he saw the 650 area come up on his phone. He’d used an app called Burner to create a temporary number that couldn’t be traced to him. He could delete the number at any time and create a new one. It’s gotta be Madden, he thought, this is it.

“This is Hank Madden,” the caller said. “Who’s this?”

“This is Drew Masters,” Fremmer said. “I called you about setting up a meeting with Mr. Spacey.”

“Yes, I got the message.”

“Well, hear me out for a minute. My name isn’t really Drew Masters and I’m not Kevin Spacey’s assistant.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I apologize for deceiving you. I only said that because I knew you wouldn’t return my calls. You’re not so easy to reach. But here’s the deal, Mr. Madden. I found Stacey Walker.”

Silence.

“To be clear, this is not a crank call,” Fremmer went on. “No one’s trying to punk you. I assure you I’m totally on the level here.”

“If you’re not Drew Masters then who are you?” Madden asked.

“I can’t tell you that right now. But call me Drew for now. I need to know if you have some sort of contract with Hal Shelby? I read one story that said you had a six-month window to find Stacey Walker. Was there some sort of legal document involved?”

“Yes. But I haven’t been actively working for him for the last month.”

Fremmer pumped his fist victoriously. Houston, we have a contract.

“Yes, from some of your later quotes you didn’t seem so happy with how things had played out,” he replied calmly. “But the contract stipulates six months, right? There’s a date on the contract that says if you find her within such and such a time frame you get the bonus?”

“There is,” Madden said. “I have a signed legal document. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want half that bonus, Mr. Madden. And I want half the bonus if we find her husband Ross. Basically, I want half of everything. And I need you to get on a plane and come to New York tomorrow so we can get to work on this.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, by my count we only have a few weeks to get this done.”

“Are you for real?”

“One hundred percent,” Fremmer said. “I’ll give you specific instructions on where to go later today. You pay the airfare and I’ll reimburse you for your hotel after we sit down and sign our own contract. Don’t bother trying to trace this number because I’ve taken steps to remain anonymous. After we get something down on paper I will tell you exactly who am I. But for now I need to remain anonymous to protect my interests. I haven’t said a word about this to anyone. Do we have an understanding?”

“We do. But I still don’t believe you. You know where she’s buried?”

“Yes. I can tell you exactly where when you get here. Have you ever been to New York?”

“Only the airport.”

“Well, May’s a good time to come,” Fremmer said. “Not too hot, not too cold, not too many tourists. I look forward to meeting you. I’ve read a lot about you.”

“I can reach you at this number?”

“For now.”

“Well, let me think about it and I’ll call you back later.”

“There is no thinking about it, Mr. Madden. You’re getting on a plane. Otherwise, I’m going to have to try to make my own deal with Hal Shelby and I don’t want to do that. I’m going for the whole kit and caboodle. And that means you are, too.”