“Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate it.”
“But I need to ask you something, Hoagy.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Am I going to regret this?”
Now it was my turn to stare straight ahead out the window. “Lieutenant, I can assure you that we’re both going to regret this.”
Chapter Ten
As I walked in the front door of Aintree Manor my ears were assaulted by Beethoven’s thundering piano sonata Pathetique. This was no recording. Danielle was playing the intensely dramatic piece on the Steinway in the conservatory. I stood there in the front hallway, watching her and listening. Pathetique is no breeze to master. It demands both tremendous strength and delicacy, not to mention a deep wellspring of emotion. Technically, Danielle played it quite skillfully for a girl of fifteen who was not a stone-cold prodigy. It was obvious that she took the piano very seriously. But it was also obvious that she was not gifted. Her approach to the music was workmanlike and passionless. There was nothing transcendent or moving about it. No elation. No heartbreak. Just dogged determination. As I watched her pound the keys, seated there in her gray Brentwood School hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants, her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, face a mask of focused concentration, I realized that for Danielle playing the piano was no different than running laps around the track or studying for a chemistry exam. Simply another accomplishment to be crossed off her daily checklist of accomplishments that stretched day after day, week after week, all of the way off into the year 2006, when she intended to independently produce her first utterly joyless feature film.
I found Monette and Elliot in the library wallowing in the live cable news coverage of the fiery death of the late Patrick Van Pelt’s personal assistant, Lou Riggio, on Sunset Boulevard’s fabled Dead Man’s Curve. The crash, according to a breathless correspondent on the scene, had occurred during a high-speed chase with members of the LAPD less than an hour after an investigator had discovered Kyle Cook, Kat Zachry’s half-brother, strangled to death in his Sweetzer Avenue apartment. Speculation was rampant about a link between Kyle’s murder and Patrick’s shooting death yesterday on Rockingham Avenue. The words possible retribution killing were even tossed out by a second breathless correspondent who was on the scene outside of Kyle’s apartment building—which qualified as one hell of a leap for a reporter to make without so much as a shred of evidence. A year ago such wild speculation would have shocked me. It didn’t anymore. Outright conjecture, also known as the “some say” source, now qualified as legitimate cable news reporting.
“Jesus Christ, Hoag,” Elliot cried out, flicking the TV’s volume to mute. In the conservatory, Danielle continued to pummel Beethoven into submission. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Not much. Just a typical Sunday morning in paradise.”
“Don’t crack wise with me.” Today, he resembled two marshmallows stuffed inside a Nike warm-up suit of Kelly green. “I’ve got one very upset lady here.”
Monette didn’t seem particularly upset to me. She appeared calm and composed, seated there in a short-sleeved knit top and linen pants. The railroad tracks of fingernail gouges on her forearms looked red but as clean and healthy as could be expected.
“A small bit of panic on Lou’s part, it appears,” I said.
“Panic?” Her swollen nose still made her voice sound a bit nasal.
“It seems that Kyle owned a black Trans Am.”
She blinked at me. “Do you mean like . . . ?”
“Like the one that tried to shove you off Coldwater and go bumpety-bump over me in that parking lot in Pacoima.”
“What’s he talking about?” Elliot demanded. “What happened on Coldwater?”
“I’ll explain it to you later, Elliot. Please go on, Hoagy.”
“When Lieutenant Lamp and I arrived at Kyle’s apartment to talk to him about it, we found Kyle dead on the floor. He’d been strangled by someone with big hands.” I looked at Elliot’s, which were pudgy, freckled and small. “My short-legged friend here found some physical evidence that Lou may have been involved. When we went to Patrick’s house to talk to Lou about it, he freaked and took off in his GTO like a crazy person. You just saw for yourself in living color what happened after that.”
Monette studied me intently with her steely blue eyes. “Why would Lou kill Kyle?”
“To shut him up before the police got to him. I’m guessing it was Lou who hired Kyle to throw that little scare into us.”
“Do you think Lou came up with such an idea on his own?” she wondered. “Or did Patrick put him up to it?”
“I’m afraid we’ll never know the answer to that. But I’d say Lou was more of a follower than a leader.”
“I agree. The big ape did exactly what Patrick told him to do, no more, no less.” She shook her head in disgust. “It was Patrick’s idea. Had to be.”
“What’s Lieutenant Lamp planning to do about this mess?” Elliot interjected. “That’s what I want to know.”
“For starters, you’ll want to stick around this afternoon. He intends to take care of some follow-up.”
“What kind of follow-up?”
“Blood and hair samples from everyone who was here yesterday. Minus the three men who are no longer alive, of course.”
“Why would he want that?” he asked.
“Routine procedure, he told me. He’s rounding up Kat and Boyd and bringing them here so the technicians can take care of all of us in one fell swoop.”
Monette stiffened. “He’s bringing her here?”
“Also Trish Brainard.”
“I can’t say it thrills me to have either of those young women in my house again.”
“I can’t say that I blame you.”
“He can’t make us do it,” Elliot said.
She frowned at him. “Do what, Elliot?”
“Give them our blood and hair samples.”
“They already have a sample of my blood,” Monette pointed out. “But I don’t believe they took any of my hairs.”
“We can say no,” he insisted. “Refuse to do it.”
“You can,” I said. “But he can get a court order forcing you to comply.”
“Let him try.” Elliot grabbed his mobile phone. “Monette, I’m calling your lawyer.”
“Please don’t, Elliot.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”
“Because Hoagy’s right. The lieutenant will ask a judge to force everyone to comply, the media will hear about it and that’s exactly the sort of publicity I don’t need right now. This isn’t just about legal proceedings. I’m being tried in the court of public opinion, and it’s vital that the public sees me as being totally candid and cooperative. If I come across as even the least bit slippery, then my career in television will be history. So will my brand. I’ve got to think about how I’m going to support my children in the future. That is, assuming I have a future.” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Besides, what the lieutenant is requesting sounds fairly harmless. It’s not as if they’re planning to strip all of us naked, are they?”
“I don’t believe so, no,” I said.
“Then I think we should do as he wishes.”
Reluctantly, Elliot put his phone back down and ran a hand over his round, freckled face. “How well do you know this guy Lamp?” he asked me.
“What do you want to know about him?”
“What’s his deal is what I want to know about him.”
“He’s honest and he’s smart. If he’s asking for blood and hair samples then he has his reasons.”
“What reasons? He already knows what happened here yesterday. We all know.”
“Do we?”
“Yes, you do,” Monette said. “I made a full and complete confession while I was in custody. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. Not one single thing.”
I stood there gazing at her. “If that’s the case then there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
She gazed back at me, her eyes narrowing. “Nothing at all.”
Lulu chose this moment to thud her head into my shin.
“I’ve just been reminded of something I promised to do, if you’ll excuse me.”
“You’re excused,” Elliot said, flicking the TV’s volume back on.
Lulu led me into the kitchen and sat directly in front of the refrigerator until I’d opened it and given her both of the anchovies that she’d earned.
Joey was slumped at the big trestle table reading a dog-eared paperback book. Reggie was helping Maritza prepare lunch, which appeared to be sandwiches of leftover grilled pork tenderloin with coleslaw and potato salad. Reggie grinned at me devilishly, but Maritza seemed even more upset than she had last evening. So shaky that she dropped a glass jar of homemade mayonnaise when she pulled it out of the refrigerator. The jar exploded all over the kitchen floor, sending Lulu scurrying under the table.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” she cried out, aghast.
“Not to worry.” Reggie grabbed a sponge from the sink. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No, no. You will cut yourself.” Maritza fetched a sponge mop from the closet. “Let me.”
“We’ll make it a team effort, okay?” Reggie offered.
“And I’ll handle the sharp knife.” I got busy cutting the fragrant, spicy tenderloin into thin slices. “Are you okay, Maritza?”
“I am not okay, Senor Hoagy,” she confessed. “I am scared. Today is my day off and I do not wish to go anywhere. There are all of those TV cameras out there. I feel safer here.”
“I know how you feel. You’re better off staying here. We all are.”
“We are?” Reggie stuck out her lower lip. “Lulu and I were hoping you’d take us for a ride to the beach on your awesome bike. We could have a picnic.”
“I’d love to, but the paparazzi will tail us the whole way down there. The contents of our sandwiches will be front-page news tomorrow.” I switched to a serrated knife and started in on a big, round loaf of sourdough. “Besides, we’ve been asked to stick around. Lieutenant Lamp has some technicians coming by to take samples.”
Joey looked up from his book, scowling. “Samples of what?”
“Our blood and hair.”
He considered this for a moment before he shrugged and went back to his reading. In the conservatory, Danielle segued from her dogged rendition of Pathetique to a dogged rendition of Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag.”
“What’s that you’re reading, Joey?”
“It’s, um, Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne.” He colored slightly. “It was my favorite book when I was a little kid. When I woke up this morning I felt like rereading it. Don’t know why.”
“It’s comfort food for the soul, that’s why. I’ve read that book ten times.”
“You have not. You’re jerking my chain.”
“Am I? Okay, butthead, you asked for it: ‘Descend into the crater of Sneffells Yokul, over which the shadow of Scartaris falls before the calends of July, bold traveller, and you will reach the center of the earth. I have done this. Arne Saknussemm.’ I guess you’re feeling just a tiny bit ashamed of yourself right now, aren’t you?”
“I’m impressed semi-large,” he admitted grudgingly.
“These sandwich fixings are good to go,” I said to him. “Help yourself.”
Joey got up and made a sandwich piled high with sliced pork and coleslaw. Set it on a plate, poured a glass of milk and headed back upstairs to his room with his favorite childhood book tucked under his arm.
I made a sandwich for myself, cut it in half and found a cold bottle of Corona in the refrigerator before I headed out onto the patio. Lulu joined me out there as I sat down at the table. So did Reggie, who had that same devilish grin on her face.
I took a bite of my sandwich. “You’re not eating?”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, grabbing the other half sandwich from my plate and taking a bite of it.
I glared at her. “I cannot believe you still do that.”
She took another bite. “Do what?”
“Say that you’re not hungry and then proceed to steal half of my lunch. Haven’t you figured out by now that men hate that? We don’t share our food and we don’t try on each other’s shoes—or any other article of clothing, for that matter.”
“Forgive me for saying this, Stewie, but you are acting really peculiar right now.” Her huge eyes searched my face. “Are you feeling weird about last night?”
“No, not at all.”
“Good, because I had an amazing time.”
“So did I. That was far and away the best sex I’ve had in the nineties. It was also the only sex I’ve had in the nineties.”
Reggie tilted her head at me curiously. “So you and Merilee don’t . . . ?”
“No, we don’t.”
“That seems like a real shame.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”
“You know, you could finish your sandwich in the pool house just as well as here,” she said, looking at me through her eyelashes.
“True.”
“And I could join you out there.”
“Also true.”
She drew back, squinting at me. “And yet that’s not going to happen, is it?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I’m getting a very weird vibe off you right now.”
“Weird as in . . . ?”
“Guarded. You seem very guarded. What’s going on, Stewie?”
Maritza came charging out the French doors from the kitchen. “The lieutenant is back,” she announced with a tremble in her voice.
I heard the riotous shouting from the media mob at the front gate. Vehicles pulling in, the gate clanking shut. Then I saw Lamp pull up behind my Roadmaster in his Caprice and get out. Kat and Boyd were with him. Then a black-and-white pulled up and out stepped a tall, tanned cop in uniform accompanied by Trish Brainard. An L.A. County coroner’s van arrived, too, and a pair of technicians in dark blue windbreakers got out.
Reggie tensed up as she watched all of them approach the front door. “It looks like they mean business. I guess we’d better join them.”
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
She looked at me, puzzled. “Why, where are you going?”
“I left something in the pool house. Just have to grab it.”
It being the suitcase that was in the bedroom closet. Or, more precisely, the contents that I’d stuffed inside of the suitcase.
When I made my way inside the house with it, I encountered the tall, tanned cop leading a peevish Joey downstairs from his room. The cop escorted him into the library, which was where everyone seemed to have congregated—including the medical examiner’s lab rats, who looked as if they weren’t allowed out in public very often. They were extremely pale. Stood with their backs to the wall and their eyes fastened on the floor. At their feet were two large briefcases that appeared to have been constructed out of recycled aluminum beer cans.
Joey slouched his way over to one of the two matching leather sofas and flopped down next to Monette. Danielle sat on the other side of Monette in her hooded gray sweats, eyeing Lamp warily. Everyone in the room was eyeing Lamp warily. Reggie and Elliot, who were seated in the leather armchairs. Kat, Trish and Boyd, who sat on the other sofa. Maritza, who stood stiffly next to the desk with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
I moseyed over by the fireplace, where I set the suitcase down on the floor and leaned against the mantel. Lulu stretched out next to the suitcase. Monette looked at it, frowning, before she studied me with that steely gaze of hers.
“I don’t see why you’re making me do this,” Kat fumed, seated there in her Magic Johnson jersey and gym shorts.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Zachry. But it’s a routine forensics procedure,” Lamp responded.
“If it’s so routine then why couldn’t we do it at my house?”
&nbs
p; “I thought you’d appreciate getting out of there for a little while.”
“Not to come here! Patrick was murdered here yesterday, remember?” She glared at Monette. “By her.”
Monette’s face tightened but she remained silent.
“What am I doing here?” asked Trish, who wore a flimsy yellow camisole, tight blue jeans and pink ballet slippers. Her long blond hair was gathered in a ponytail. “I mean, this feels like a harassment thing, you know?”
“It’s routine procedure,” Lamp said patiently.
“This must be a tremendously weird day for you, Trish,” I said.
“Really?” She stared at me blankly. “Why?”
“The two guys who you boinked in the billiard room yesterday both suffered violent deaths this morning. That isn’t the sort of thing that happens every day.” I tugged at my ear. “Or is it?”
She shook her head at me in confusion. “Who’s dead?”
“Kyle and Lou.”
“Was Kyle the little one?”
“Yes.”
“He was kind of dopey but okay. I wasn’t into the big guy at all. He was rough. I don’t like rough.” Trish frowned at me. “Did you just say they’re both dead now?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Whoa, how sick is that?”
“Very, if dead is your idea of sick.”
“I just mean it’s, like, strange.”
“I agree. It, like, is.”
“You know, you’re being really nasty to me right now.”
“Sorry, Trish. I don’t mean to be. After all, none of this is your fault. Well, it is, but it isn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t either,” Boyd spoke up. “And I sure don’t appreciate the way I was dragged here against my will. Lieutenant, I’ve placed a call to Mr. Harmon Wright about this. And when your superiors hear about this little farce, you’ll be lucky to get a job guarding the cash register at a Pep Boys in Newhall.”
“I understand that everyone’s feeling a bit put out,” Lamp said placatingly. “But I assure you there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.”
“You’re wrong, Lieutenant. There’s a great deal to be worried about.”
The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes Page 23