by Anna Burke
“Oh my God! I just knew something had to happen, Jessica. It was way too quiet when I left this afternoon,” Tommy began, the moment he spotted Jessica. Jessica gave him her best “not now” look as she and Detective Hernandez returned to the morning room.
“He’s agreed not to arrest anyone,” Jessica said. The others looked at her like she was making a joke. She gave a little shake of her head before any of them could say anything.
“I do have a couple questions, though.” Jessica said, looking anxiously over her shoulder at the detective.
Detective Hernandez remained quiet. A couple minutes later, without saying another word, he stomped out of the house.
“Harrumph! You’d think he would at least say goodbye.” Bernadette muttered something else, quietly in Spanish, that didn’t sound too saintly.
CHAPTER 32
In bed in her house in Cupertino, Jessica was lounging sleepily in Jim’s arms. They were taking a break after making love half the night. He lay next to her, breathing deeply, as she took in his warmth, along with the scent of his favorite shampoo mixed with the balm of their lust. As the sun streamed in through the window, she snuggled closer, wedging herself into the crook of his arm. Jim turned over and moved away, but she scooted closer. He moved again and the space between them grew.
Jessica reached for him but felt only the edge of the bed. She struggled to sit up and look around, trying to find out where he went. It took too short a time to realize she wasn’t in Cupertino at all, but in her bed in Mission Hills. It had been a dream. A very vivid, very sexy one, but a dream and nothing more.
The disappointment she felt was massive. It crushed her, forcing her back down into the folds of the bedclothes. Disappointment was quickly overtaken by dread. The fact that the day before two of Alan Bedrossian’s men had gotten past the guard gate brought the anvil down on her again. The thought of those men getting to her house and her friends, in a stolen cable installation truck, fought with memories of the confrontation with Margarit, as the trauma most warranting rumination. A close third was that latest round with Detective Hernandez.
Jessica revisited their encounter, closing her eyes as though that could soften the recap running through her mind. She had been terrified he was going to blow a gasket right there before her eyes. She had never seen anyone turn that particular shade before, deep red, almost purplish. His eyes were bulging and he was so angry that spit flew as he spoke. After the initial bellow heard from one end of the house to the other, he lowered his voice. That was still scary.
As soon as he regained control after Jessica spilled her guts about meeting Margarit at the spa, the detective sent a squad car to the resort to pick her up. It was to no avail. Margarit had spent the previous night in her usual bungalow, but had checked out that afternoon, before their meeting at the spa. If Jessica had been more forthcoming, Detective Hernandez assured her, he would have been able to pick her up at the spa even though she had checked out of her bungalow. They spent a few minutes arguing about whether or not that was true. He would have warned Jessica off the meeting with Margarit, but Jessica wasn’t convinced he would have been interested enough in the woman to send officers to pick her up for questioning.
He was now. Not just because of the information Margarit claimed to have taken from Alan Bedrossian, but because she admitted she had been with Roger at some point on the night he was killed. Jessica felt sure they would eventually have figured that out anyway since Margarit had been driving the little BMW roadster seen in front of the house that night. Of course it might have taken them a while to get to her since it was unlikely the car was registered in her name. Eventually, though, the car would have led them back to Margarit.
He also read Jessica the riot act for not turning over the pictures on her phone of the lummox in Bruno Maglis. He found it impossible to believe she had forgotten about the photos and threatened her again with obstructing justice or interfering with a police investigation or something like that. He also threatened to charge Bernadette with possession of a gun for which she had no permit, discharging a weapon and excessive force or reckless endangerment and sundry other crimes. By that time Jessica was no longer listening. The pounding in her chest and ears was so loud she could hardly hear him anyway. A mix of rage and fear had engulfed her.
This place was a sanctuary, a last refuge that had now been violated. Not only by two bad guys who got through the gate in a stolen truck, but by the detective raging like a bull as he stomped back and forth in front of her. For a moment she wondered who was going to stroke out first, her or the detective.
“I’ve had just about all the threats I can take for one day. I am at my limit. Go ahead and arrest me. Or better yet, put Bernadette in shackles since you can’t get your hands on these monsters, roaming the streets and creating murder and mayhem at will! I’m not sure how hauling off a terrified senior citizen for defending herself from home invaders will do anything for you but let’s go. I’m her attorney. I’ll follow along to post bail as soon as you get done fingerprinting her and taking her mug shot. You can also just leave. This is all I have left that’s a home. It’s been violated enough for one day, so no more, Detective.”
Moving behind her father’s desk when the bellowing started, Jessica now sank down into the lavish leather chair behind it, exhausted.
“I’m doing the best I can. We’re all doing the best we can, Detective Hernandez.” Angry tears began to stream down her face. That only made her angrier. She did not want to cry in front of Hernandez so now she was mad at herself too. Her tears seemed to pop the detective’s bubble of rage. Or maybe he was exhausted, too. He stopped pacing and plopped down in one of the plush club chairs, set in front of a glass enclosed fireplace on one side of the study. Jessica stood up and dragged herself over to a second club chair and sat facing Detective Hernandez.
“So what are we going to do now?” Jessica asked the detective who looked a lot older than he had when they first met. They talked for a while longer in a manner that she no longer regarded as “aerobically beneficial” as their earlier shouting match had been. That conversation resulted in yet another promise from Jessica not to go it alone. She emailed the photos on her phone to Hernandez so they could try to identify the well-heeled thug involved in the El Paseo incident. Hernandez agreed to leave a patrol car at the house overnight and gave her the name of a local security firm. They did a lot of work in the area, shepherding celebrities, moguls and politicians who flocked to the valley for special events or personal getaways. She called them immediately and someone agreed to meet with her at the house in Mission Hills the next morning, first thing.
Perhaps they could help deal with one of the ongoing dilemmas for those ensconced behind the walls of guard-gated communities everywhere. Guards or no guards, you still had to allow a host of service providers inside to do everything from landscaping to house cleaning; utility installation and repair services; pool cleaning, HVAC repair; plumbers, personal trainers and masseuses; caterers and private chefs. The list went on and on. It had never occurred to Jessica that it might be so easy to hijack legitimate service providers as these two had done.
Even before Detective Hernandez left, they learned the two thugs had gotten away. They abandoned the stolen truck shortly after leaving the Mission Hills community, torching it. The police collected what they could at Jessica’s house, which was now also a crime scene, and they would haul off the carcass of the burned out truck to examine it. There wasn’t much hope that they’d recover anything that could pin the kidnap attempt on anyone. If they were really lucky one of the drops of blood on the patio would belong to the blackguard Bernadette had shot in the behind. According to Hernandez, one of the frustrations he was experiencing was the paltry amount of useful evidence retrieved as the crime scenes proliferated.
There was one glimmer of hope, however. When they returned to the kitchen area, Brien and Laura had taken a look at the photos on Jessica’s phone. They both thought he was one
of the intruders, although they couldn’t be sure given the lousy quality of the photos taken on the fly. Bernadette stepped up and took a look too. She was emphatic.
“That’s him, Jessica. That’s the guy I shot in the trasero.” She seemed pleased with herself. Jessica could tell that irked Detective Hernandez. Jessica hid her own amusement at the first bit of lightness she had felt all day.
She would have a talk with Bernadette later about how risky her actions had been. The guys who went over the crime scene told Hernandez that Bernadette had been firing wildly, hitting a palm tree in the yard, and sinking a couple shots into a privacy wall on the left side of the house near where the would-be kidnappers had fled. They found it hard to believe she had actually shot one of them since all of the bullets were accounted for. She insisted, so they conceded that maybe she grazed one of them as they ran for it. They had taken the gun into evidence, too. As far as Jessica knew, Bernadette was no longer armed.
In the clear light of morning, Jessica felt stupid for thinking she could protect Laura by keeping her there without professional help. Jerry had suggested she contact the same firm Hernandez recommended the first day she met him. She had given the idea little serious consideration. Not even after getting mugged later, that same day, by the pantyhose-wearing thug at Laura’s house. Jessica almost had fond memories of that loser after her harrowing encounters with more practiced psychopaths.
Once Detective Hernandez and the other police personnel left Jessica, Laura and Bernadette cleared the house, sending the rest of their little “cat pack” home. Jerry and Tommy took Brien home with them. They would all stay at Jerry’s condo for the night so they could make sure Brien was really okay. Jessica wasn’t quite sure what “okay” was for Brien or how they would know but she felt sure it was the right thing to do. He left amid a smattering of statements sprinkled with “s’laters” and “dudes” and some comment about how glad he’d been hit on the head rather than getting donked somewhere that might ding his style on a board.
The three women weren’t ready to reclaim the patio and pool area for themselves, still cordoned off by police tape and needing to be cleaned up. They settled instead in the large great room that was a centerpiece of the Mission Hills house. Jessica had Laura and Bernadette sit down to dinner at the bar on one side of the room. Jessica stepped down into a little alcove area behind it where she could serve as bartender. She poured herself a stiff drink, two fingers of an exquisite añejo tequila, straight up. Laura asked for the same and even Bernadette tossed back a couple shots of tequila with them. She was more shaken by the ordeal than her bluster had revealed earlier.
Emboldened by food and drink, Laura and Jessica agreed to take another crack at trying to figure out where Roger might have stashed the elusive SD card after getting some sleep. With an officer posted outside sleep was a real possibility, especially given how exhausted they all were. The demands of the day had started early with the sad task of saying goodbye to Roger. All hell had broken loose after that!
The police were looking for Alan Bedrossian, not that they had any real evidence yet to arrest him. They could bring him in for questioning, given they now knew he was Roger’s employer at the time of his death. Of course he’d lawyer up and they’d have to let him go, but at least they could get some sort of story from him about where he was when Roger Stone was killed.
They were also looking for Margarit Tilik. If they could catch up with Margarit she might give them a better idea of what was on that SD card. Perhaps she could remember something about the files she had taken that would prove useful as a means to ensnare the elusive Mr. Bedrossian.
Jessica hoped they caught up with him soon. Maybe being questioned by the police and knowing they were closing in on him would slow down the relentless series of attacks. It was like ‘dawn of the dead’ with all the zombies coming after them. Perhaps the other zombies, yet to be apprehended, might be coaxed into giving up something that would stick to their boss. The police were still looking for Carlos, the guy Jessica had encountered in the closet at Laura’s house. They also had distributed pictures of the brute who assaulted Jessica in the parking garage on Tuesday and made a grab for Laura on Wednesday. They were taking the photos of the thug in Bruno Maglis to the apartment complex where Eric and his cousin were killed. If anyone recognized him they could connect him to that incident as well. Things were getting more complicated for Mr. Bedrossian and his bloodthirsty crew. Jessica knew in her heart that none of it would stop him from getting that SD card.
“Why do you suppose he’s trying so hard to get it back, Jessica?” Detective Hernandez had asked, speaking out loud more to himself than to Jessica.
“Good question. Margarit said I could make a copy, so what’s the big deal? I can’t believe Alan Bedrossian doesn’t have everything on that card backed up elsewhere, even if Margarit moved, rather than simply copied, some of the files.”
“Maybe it’s just the principle of the thing, a point of pride or some other nonsense. Instead of trying to get that card back he should be running for it. It’s sheer stupidity. Crime is stupid, Jessica. Criminals are stupid, even the smart ones. Let me know if you find this SD card. I expect you to hand it over to me, right?”
“Sure. I’m tired of wrestling with criminals, smart ones, dumb ones, I don’t care.”
Now that they knew what they were looking for she hoped they had a better chance of finding it. Still, it felt like they were searching for a the proverbial needle-in-a-haystack. The police were going to go through the things they had taken from Laura, as well Roger’s clothes and other items removed from the crime scene. Maybe they had somehow missed it when placing those items into evidence.
Jessica dragged herself out of bed, took a quick shower and dressed in a fresh set of leggings and a t-shirt. When she got to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, she tried not to look at the back yard where the crime scene tape was flapping in the morning breeze. As she was about to sit down and drink her coffee, the doorbell rang. She jumped out of her skin. From the back wing in which Bernadette resided she heard her holler something about “security company...guard gate called...be there in a minute.”
“I’ll get it, Bernadette. You stay put unless you want to meet our new babysitters.”
“Of course I do,” Bernadette said hustling down the hall toward Jessica.
Jessica went to the front door and looked through the peep hole. A tall man, with broad shoulders, stood at the door. He was wearing a polo shirt with the name of the company emblazoned on the shirt and a pair of khakis. Still being cautious, Jessica opened the door with the security chain in place.
“Can I see some I.D.?”
“Ms. Huntington-Harper, I presume?”
“I.D. please.”
He reached into a pocket of his khakis and pulled out an identification wallet. He passed it to Jessica who looked closely at it. The man standing before her matched the picture on the I.D. badge and the name was the same one she had been given when she called the firm the night before. She breathed a little easier, closed the door to release the security chain and invited him in.
Peter March did just that. He marched into the house. His bulky figure nearly filled the doorway as he crossed the threshold.
“You want some coffee?” Bernadette asked as she slid easily into hostess mode.
“That would be great. I understand there’s been some trouble.” As he said that he peered at Jessica’s still blemished face. “Anyone else injured?” he asked.
“Brien the pool guy, a friend of ours, who went home last night after the latest ruckus.” Jessica said in response to his question.
“Ruckus, huh? By that do you mean the surreptitious entry into the gated community, breach of your property, and the attempted kidnapping of your house guest?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Well, that’s part of the story.”
“Tell him about the guy I shot. He’s injured too, in the trasero.” She pointed to her own behind a
s she spoke.
“You can fill me in a little more, then I’d like to take a look around, if that’s okay with you two. After that I can make a recommendation about how we can best be of service.” As he spoke he slid the dark glasses he wore to the top of his head. His hair was clipped short, almost a buzz cut. When his hand was raised to move his glasses Jessica noticed he was wearing an insignia ring. He caught her looking at it.
“Annapolis grad, class of ’82. I served 25 years with the Navy before I took on this job, a member of their special forces. Most of our staff members are ex-military or have law enforcement backgrounds. We provide armed response but avoid the use of more force than necessary. We can talk about what else you can do to make the premises more secure after I do my walk through.”
“How do you take your coffee Mr. March?” Bernadette asked smiling sweetly at the massive man trailing after her into the kitchen. Even the hulking Mr. March could not resist St. Bernadette’s enticing smile. He responded with a broad smile that revealed a perfect set of dazzling white teeth. The smile softened the rugged features of his face, etched with years of the kind of wear and tear Jessica cared not to learn more about. He wasn’t an unpleasant man, just daunting. A couple small scars, one on his jaw and another on his right cheek made Jessica reach up and touch the remnants of the scrape on her face. The area around her eye was no longer tender but still discolored by a panoply of faded purple, red and yellow hues. She felt safer just walking behind the wall of a man. Things would settle down now. They just had to.
CHAPTER 33
After a couple hours of going through Roger’s things again, Jessica and Laura were despondent. Exhausted by the relentless combination of trauma and grief, their lives disrupted in ways neither had ever deemed possible, they didn’t have much in the way of reserves left. Jessica found herself wondering about how thin the layer of civility was that enshrouded her privileged life. The white collar thieves she rubbed shoulders with at business gatherings and charity galas were smooth operators compared to the thugs stalking Jessica and Laura. No less lethal, perhaps, but what they were dealing with now was so much more savagely personal and physically brutal. Even the polished and pampered Margarit was a new breed of cruel and lethal for Jessica.