Kiss & Tell

by Luke Murphy

  Larry grunted and nodded. “I hear ya. Let’s go talk with the roommates. They’ve checked into the Hilton on South Grand Avenue.”

  “The Hilton?” Charlene gave her partner a blank stare. “How the hell can college kids afford the Hilton?”

  “Good question. Maybe we should ask them.”

  Charlene was putting on her jacket when the captain called for them.

  “Baker, Taylor, come in here.”

  The captain was pacing the floor, as if something major had broken. Charlene saw Jim Flanders, the department PR guy, sitting quietly on the couch.

  “Sit down,” the Captain scowled.

  Charlene could see the captain’s TV turned to a news report. A handsome female Asian reporter was positioned for dramatic effect outside Philips’ house, but the volume was down and Charlene couldn’t read the caption.

  “I don’t have to tell you the impact this case will have on the city. You know Carl Minor. The media will have a field day with this. So far, word hasn’t gotten out on who the victim is, buying us some time. But it will. So we need to get ahead of it.” He sighed. “Because of the Celebrity Slayer case eating up time and manpower, I can only assign those three officers to your unit. They already know and are awaiting instructions.”

  “What three officers?” Charlene asked.

  Larry smiled. “You’re going to love this, Kid.”

  “Berry, Clayton, and Brady,” the captain responded.

  Charlene didn’t reply, instead she looked at Flanders. “How are we handling the press on this one?”

  It was the captain who answered. “Don’t worry about the media. I’ll take care of them.” He gave the PR guy a look and received a silent nod.

  “I’ll drive,” Larry said, leaving the office and heading to the reception desk to check out a unit vehicle.

  “What about Berry and Clayton?”

  “Have them look into Anderson and the toxicology report.”

  Charlene nodded and jogged across the room. She spoke faster than she should have. “Clayton, you and Berry find out everything you can on Ken Anderson. Talk to his attorney and find out about his will. Then head over to UCLA and speak with some of his colleagues. Find out where he was drinking last night and who he was with.”

  She slipped past Darren’s desk without being seen.

  Before reaching Larry, she swung by her desk and grabbed the preliminary background report.

  As they reached the door, they could hear Darren calling them. Charlene stopped to turn, but Larry pulled her sleeve.

  “Pretend you didn’t hear him.”

  Chapter 11

  They checked out a car and, as they pulled out of the underground parking lot, Larry merged onto 100 West First Street before taking a left onto South Grand Avenue.

  “Looks like they’re doing some renovations on the Museum of Contemporary Art,” Charlene noted as they passed the historic MOCA building.

  “They can do all the renovating they want, but they’ll never get me inside,” Larry said. “Tell me a little about Sandra Philips and Ashley Stanley so I know what I’m going into.”

  Charlene opened the file.

  “Not much on either of them. We ran their social security numbers. Stanley’s from San Diego. She’s a twenty-one-year-old freshman at UCLA. It says here that she’s an only child and her parents are both doctors who graduated from UCLA.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all that’s in the system.”

  Larry didn’t take his eyes off the road, but Charlene could see the confusion on his face. “Not much there to go on.”

  “Guess she hasn’t done anything to report about.”

  “Guess we know how they’re stayin’ at the Hilton—mommy and daddy. What about the Philips’ sister, other than the fact she’s from Chicago?”

  Charlene turned the page. “Oh boy!”

  “What?”

  “Sandra’s a rape victim.”

  “How recent?”

  “Very. And guess who she accused?”

  “Anderson?”

  “Bingo. According to this, on May twenty-fifth, two nights ago and one night before his murder, Sandra Philips filed sexual assault charges against Anderson. A unit was sent to Anderson’s home but they couldn’t find him. He wasn’t seen again until we found him…dead with two bullets buried in his chest.”

  “Interesting. What else?”

  Charlene flipped back from the rape report. “From Chicago, eighteen years old, currently employed at the Beechwood Country Club. Look here, it says that Sandra was a member of the Chicago Gun Club. Joined a few months before moving to LA.”

  “I’d say that’s interesting too.”

  “And pertinent. This report gives Sandra Philips means, the ability to handle a gun, and motive, the rape.”

  “I’m glad we have that information. Every gun club in America has to register their members in our database. Makes it accessible.”

  “I think I have a job for Darren.”

  “Do it,” Larry said.

  Charlene scanned the signed name at the bottom of the page and opened her iPhone. “Darren, it’s Charlene. I need you to contact Detective Adrienne Jackson with the Rape Special Section Unit. Ask her about the Sandra Philips’ case, get as much information as you can, and leave a full written report on my desk.”

  “Funny you should mention her,” Darren said. “I think Jackson was just up here looking for you. I saw her at your desk and writing something down, probably leaving you a note. Do you want me to check?”

  “No, she probably knows we’re working the Anderson case and we would want to know about the Philips’ incident. Give her a call and get the details.”

  Darren was saying something when Charlene hung up.

  “Ah, hell,” Larry said.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to have to talk about this. Maybe you should take Philips, and I’ll take Stanley. Then we can reconvene in the car and go over our notes.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, Larry.”

  He finally took his eyes off the road and looked at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, I can be just as sympathetic as the next guy. It just makes me uncomfortable.”

  “It’s okay, I got it, Larry.” Then she thought of something else. “Didn’t Beverly Anderson tell us that her husband was at home yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yes, she did.” Larry rubbed his eyes. “I need a smoke.”

  They pulled up to the downtown hotel located in the heart of the business and financial district. The historical downtown building from the 1920s was the area’s only European-style Boutique hotel.

  A mob of media, as well as the rubber-necked public, gathered outside the hotel. Larry didn’t bother swerving to avoid anyone. They squeezed through the cameras and questions, flashed their badges, and were led inside by a doorman in a green suit and hat.

  “It’s been like this for the last couple of hours,” the doorman said.

  “Goddamn vultures!” Larry spat the words from his mouth like a bad taste.

  “What happened?” Charlene asked Larry.

  “Has to be Minor,” he said. “This is about to get big, Kid.”

  “Like OJ in ’94?”

  “Maybe bigger.”

  The detectives crossed the gleaming marble lobby and approached the welcome desk hidden by an assortment of scented floral displays. They flashed their badges again.

  “We’re looking for Jessica Philips’ room,” Larry said.

  A pretty, dark blonde woman in a green blazer typed at a keyboard. “I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone by that name.”

  “How about Sandra Philips or Ashley Stanley?” Charlene said.

  Again the woman typed rapidly. “Nope.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Larry groaned.

  Charlene turned around and watched a young bellboy sorting luggage on a cart.

  “You,” sh
e said. She showed her badge. “We’re looking for three young college girls who checked in this morning.”

  The boy looked at the woman behind the counter, and then said, “Room 324.”

  Larry turned back to the woman behind the counter. “We’re gonna need an empty room.”

  “Let me get the manager.”

  She slipped into a back room and returned within minutes.

  “Detectives,” said a short man with slick hair and a waxed mustache. “What is the problem?”

  Larry nodded towards outside. “What do you think, genius? We need to use a room to question a witness,” Larry lied.

  “Oh, then in that case, you may use our meeting rooms. Each room is set up with a…”

  “Great,” Larry interrupted and grabbed Charlene.

  They were directed to the elevators.

  “Nice one,” Larry said when they were inside.

  “Never underestimate a boy and his penis,” Charlene replied.

  As they rode the elevator, Charlene said, “I saw Carter out there.”

  “Prick.”

  Paul Carter was the new LA Times cop-beat reporter. His hennaed, slightly disheveled hair and matching goatee stood out amongst the crowd. His pear-shaped build showed the diet of an on-the-call reporter, and his beady eyes were constantly on the lookout for the next big story.

  Since joining the Times, the thirty-eight year old man had quickly made a name for himself as an aggressive, tell-it-like-it-is reporter who had already made a few enemies on the police force because of his low-ball tactics. Carter was only motivated by fame and fortune, not the real story. He was looking for the “big story,” then the book and movie deals that might follow.

  “Third floor, this is us,” Charlene announced.

  They stepped off the elevator and approached the door.

  “Should we have called ahead first?” Charlene asked.

  Larry smiled. “You’re cute, Kid.”

  He banged on the door with his fist.

  The door was opened by a younger version of Jessica Philips, petite and striking. The family resemblance was evident, although this woman was more attractive, even with the noticeable shades of bruising on her face and a bloodshot eye. She had a ‘spider bite’ labret piercing the left side of her bottom lip.

  “Detective Baker, Detective Taylor,” Jessica Philips’ voice came from the back of the room.

  Philips, and the woman Charlene presumed to be Ashley Stanley, were standing behind Sandra Philips. The TV was on and showed the Channel 4 news team helicopter hovering over the crowd gathered outside the hotel, their eye-in-the-sky focused on the Hilton.

  The woman at the door stood aside and the detectives moved in. The room was a double, with matching queen-sized beds.

  Jessica made the introductions. “This is my sister, Sandra, and our roommate, Ashley. Have you found something new on the case?”

  “Afraid not. But we’d like to ask Sandra and Ashley some questions.”

  Sandra was quiet, but Ashley spoke up. “Of course, Detectives, whatever we can do to help.”

  ~ * ~

  Charlene stayed in room 324, while Larry and Ashley Stanley headed to the conference room on the first floor.

  Jessica changed into workout clothes and headed for the fitness room downstairs, to give Charlene and Sandra some privacy.

  Before starting the interrogation, Charlene sat back and studied her interviewee—nervous, apprehensive, and almost scared to a point of avoiding eye contact. Charlene could see the similarities with Jessica, but also the differences.

  Sandra had been blessed with elegant beauty—well-proportioned features, long flowing auburn hair, blue eyes, a petite frame and flawless skin.

  They were seated at a round wooden table at a custom-designed work area in the corner of the room.

  “I can’t believe this is happening!” Sandra shivered, looking as if she was about to break down, but composed herself. “I should never have come to LA.”

  “When did you move?” Charlene asked.

  “A few weeks ago. Mom and Dad are both gone, and Sandra is all I have left. Things were going so well. I was with Sandra again, I had a job, and was making friends, and then…”

  Sandra nodded, sniffed, and dabbed her eyes and nose.

  “Are you okay?” Charlene asked.

  Sandra nodded. “Ask me.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  Sandra looked away from Charlene. “I was at class.”

  Nothing in Sandra Philips’ bio indicated she was in school or taking classes.

  “Where?”

  “It’s a night class at West Los Angeles College.”

  “What are you taking?”

  Sandra stood up and walked over to a table with a mirror. There was a jug of ice water and a coffee machine on top. She grabbed a clean glass and poured some water.

  Before drinking she said, “It’s a class for rape victims. It started at nine and ended at eleven.”

  Charlene’s mouth went dry. West LA College was located in Culver City, so Charlene knew that if Sandra had been at that meeting, which could be easily verified, then there was no way she had time to commit the crime at her house.

  Charlene could have found out the details of the rape from the lead investigator, and she would, but she also wanted the direct story from the victim so she could examine Sandra’s body language.

  “Sandra, I know this is difficult. But I need to hear what happened on May twenty-fifth.”

  Sandra returned to her chair, curled up, and hugged her knees to her chest. Charlene could see the fear in her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Sandra. Take your time.”

  “But I already told Detective Jackson everything, twice.”

  “I know, Sandra. But I need to hear it myself. Sometimes people forget things immediately after a traumatic event and then, as time goes by, little details come back.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated.

  “Just start from the beginning.”

  “I was watching TV when I heard a knock on the door.”

  “What time was this?”

  “It was late. Probably close to midnight. Jessica and Ashley were at the library. I opened the door and Professor Anderson was there.” Sandra spoke as if she’d memorized the story and had told it a thousand times before.

  “Did you know him?”

  “Well, of course.”

  Charlene didn’t say anything, and Sandra must have seen something register in the detective’s eyes, because she recoiled, closing her mouth. “I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “About Jessica and Professor Anderson.”

  Charlene had suspected. “Please go on, Sandra.”

  “Is this going to get Jessica in trouble?”

  “Not if you tell the truth, Sandra.”

  She took a deep breath and continued. “Jessica had never brought him around, and I knew their affair was supposed to be a secret. But I recognized him from the Country Club where I work so I didn’t think much about it. When I opened the door I could smell alcohol and cigarette smoke.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked if Jessica was there, but his speech was slurred. When I said no, he smiled and pushed his way inside. The way he looked at me gave me chills.”

  “Other times you associated with Ken Anderson, how did he seem? How did he act?”

  Sandra shrugged her slender shoulders. “The only other times I saw him were at the Country Club. I never led him on, if that’s what you mean, Detective.”

  She was getting defensive and angry.

  “Not at all, Sandra. I just want to get a feel for your relationship.”

  “I never saw him outside of the Club. There was no relationship.”

  Charlene nodded.

  “I was dressed for bed, in a striped pajama bottom and a mini half-shirt, and I could tell he was looking at my pierced naval. I didn’t like it, and I tried to cover myself, but he pinned
me against the desk. I started to freak out. I told him I didn’t know when Jessica would be home and he should leave. But he just stood there.”

  “I tried to slip by him, but he lunged at me. I tried dodging him, pushing him away, but he was strong. I begged him to stop. I pulled his hair and scratched his face. And then he called me a tease, and said that nobody turned him down.”

  “Then he hit me. I fell to the floor and before I could get up, he was on me. He tore off my clothes…” She started to shake.

  Sandra was sweating now, her face paling. She was gulping in chunks of breath, and tiny sobs slipped through her closed lips.

  “That’s okay, Sandra. You don’t have to say any more.”

  “But I want to.” She looked at Charlene. “When he was done, he pulled up his pants and stared down at me. I couldn’t look at him. I closed my eyes, but I could feel him kneeling next to me. I wish I had been unconscious, because I wouldn’t have heard him.”

  “It’s okay, Sandra. Don’t.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “I want you to hear. I want you to know. He whispered into my ear, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He said, ‘Keep your mouth shut’.”

  Sandra full-body shivered. “I still hear those words in my head.”

  Charlene’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t imagine a woman, a child like Sandra, let alone anyone, having to go through that. Bile rose in her throat.

  Sandra continued.

  “Telling Jessica was the hardest part. I hated keeping it from her. I wanted her to know. She had a right to know.”

  As Charlene stood, Sandra said, “I don’t know if I could have done it without Detective Jackson. She was so sympathetic, so comforting. I could tell she really wanted to help. She told me I was brave. And I liked that. No one had ever called me brave before. She promised me Ken would never hurt me again, hurt anyone again…and I believed her.”

  “Thank you, Sandra.”

  Charlene was starting to write something down when Sandra’s words brought her head up from her notepad. They met eyes.

  “Detective Taylor, do you really believe that time heals all wounds?”

  “Yes I do, Sandra,” Charlene answered, thinking it ironic that she could tell another woman that but not herself.