Far from being angry with her, he had simply nodded, made notes, asked more questions. Once he had broken through the dam of her silence, he didn’t criticize her for what she had failed to do; he seemed to understand her denial.
When she went back downstairs, fully dressed this time in jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirt, she found Arvo sitting on a stool at the kitchen island sipping coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat opposite him. He still looked embarrassed. She felt irritated by his presence.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry about walking in just now.”
She stared at him and shrugged. Was this the way it was going to be until they caught the stalker? A man in her house. It wouldn’t be Arvo, she knew that. But the police, or the network, would surely arrange to have someone watch over her. Scared as she was, the idea still upset her. She hadn’t shared her space with anyone in a long time, and she didn’t think she could stand it, whatever the circumstances.
“This is good,” he said, holding up the coffee.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I don’t remember asking you to stay.”
“You weren’t in any shape to ask me anything.”
“You put me to bed?”
He smiled. “Yes. But I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you mean. I just dropped you on the bed, that’s all. Scout’s honour.”
“So why are you still here? Couldn’t you find the door or something?”
“Maybe I just got tired. Maybe I’d had too much to drink, too.”
“Policemen aren’t supposed to drink on duty.”
“There’s a lot of things policemen aren’t supposed to do.”
“Had you?”
“What?”
“Had too much to drink.”
“No.”
“Then why did you stay? You already made it perfectly clear it’s not your job to act as a bodyguard.”
Arvo sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It isn’t. I just used my judgement. I didn’t think it was safe for you to be here alone. It was late, too late to arrange for any other security, and you were tired and emotional. Last night, it just seemed easier for me to stay in the armchair, that’s all. Besides, I’d nowhere better to go. If it’s any consolation, I had a lousy night’s sleep.”
Sarah couldn’t stop the corners of her lips twitching in a brief smile. “I slept like a log,” she said, then added softly, “Thank you.”
“See, that didn’t hurt did it?” Arvo said, then stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Anything to eat?” He walked over to the fridge.
“You’re staying for breakfast?”
“It’s the least I can do. Ah-ha. Bacon, eggs. Perfect.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious Stuart did the shopping. That man’s diet . . .” She found some oranges in the basket on the bottom shelf and peeled one. “At least he bought some fresh fruit.”
Arvo poured more coffee and fried up the bacon and eggs. Sarah turned her nose up when he offered her some, so he ate it all himself.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” she asked.
“Trying to get rid of me already?”
“Just wondering.”
“I could ask the same.”
“I’m still on vacation. If . . . if Jack hadn’t died I would still be in England.”
“You showbiz people get so many days off. Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”
“Try it,” she said.
Arvo finished his bacon and eggs and pushed the plate aside. Sarah picked it up and carried it to the sink. She was beginning to feel a little more comfortable around him, but she still hoped he would go soon. She hadn’t even unpacked from her trip yet. Besides, a strange male presence infringing on her place of solitude and privacy disconcerted her. Apart from Stuart, Jack and Jaimie, she hadn’t even had another man in the house.
“If you’re ready,” Arvo said, “I’ll drive you over to the studio.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here. I told you, I’m still on holiday.”
“Sarah—”
She slammed her coffee cup down. “Don’t you Sarah me! This is my home. You’re the only one who’s leaving. Right now.”
He didn’t move.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard.”
“If you don’t go now I’ll call the police.”
“I am the police.”
“Then I’ll call your superior officer. You can’t do this. It’s my home.”
“My, you are grumpy in the morning, aren’t you?” he said.
She tried to gauge his expression as he looked at her, but she couldn’t fathom it. He was obviously giving her the same kind of stone-faced look he gave to the criminals he interrogated. After a brief staring match, though, he stood up, picked up his sport jacket and the plastic bag in which he had put the letter and card. Then he said, “Whatever you say. An Englishman’s home is his castle, right?”
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . what? . . . I mean . . . what do I . . . ?” She felt flustered by his sudden capitulation.
“What are you supposed to do?” He took a card out of his breast pocket, shrugged and dropped it on the island. “Call me if you have any problems.”
“And that’s it?”
He shrugged. “The name of the game is cooperation, not coercion. The law helps those who help themselves. That means you have to be willing to help yourself if I’m going to help you at all. Obviously you’re not. Good luck.”
“But aren’t you going to send me a bodyguard or something? You can’t just abandon me. There’s someone out there been killing my friends.”
“Really? Give Stu a call. I’m sure the network will send somebody around, the lucky guy.”
Sarah glared at him for a moment, then ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Sit down. Please,” she said. “I’m sorry. This is coming out all wrong. I’m just not used to having anyone around the place. Can’t we work something out?”
Arvo held her eyes for a moment, then put his sport jacket on the back of a chair and sat down again. “I thought we’d worked things out last night.”
She ruffled her hair and pulled a face. “I know. I’m just confused. Scared. I don’t know what to do.” She looked around. “This is all I’ve got. I’ve always felt safe here, secure.”
“Not any more.”
“It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I don’t want to feel like a fugitive.”
“Can I have some more coffee?”
“Sure.” She poured him another cup.
“There are several options,” Arvo said. “None of them perfect. If you stay here, you’ve got a choice of either one live-in bodyguard or two outside: one to guard the front and another to guard the back. Expensive, and the least safe. I talked to Stu briefly last night before he left and he thinks he can get the studio to increase the security around the lot, so you won’t have to worry when you’re at work, and maybe spring for a personal bodyguard for you—”
“But I—”
Arvo held up his hand. “Hold on a minute. Let me finish. What Stu suggested is that you stay with him. Believe me, you’re a lot safer with people around you. There’ll still be a bodyguard around to keep an eye out for you, but he won’t need to be under your feet all the time. Stu owns a gun, and I know he’s qualified to use it. Maybe you don’t know it, but he fought in Vietnam. He even won medals.”
“How long is this going to go on?” Sarah asked.
Arvo shook his head. “I wish I knew. Naturally, if it goes on a long time we’ll have to reconsider our tactics. There’s always protective custody.”
“Jail?”
Arvo shrugged. “Worst-case scenario. For the moment, will you just listen to me and let me take you to the studio? They’ll give you some office space there. You can work on your scripts or something. Then you can go back with Stu tonight.”
“It’s dangerous for everyone around you right now. Stu cares about you. He’s willing to take the chance, and I think he’s right. He’s sending Karen and the kids off to her mother’s in Santa Barbara for a few days. I told you, Stu knows how to handle himself. He’s no fool. And there’ll be someone else—a professional bodyguard—keeping an eye on the both of you.”
Sarah chewed on her lip and thought for a moment, looking around the kitchen. “You worked all this out between you while I was away, did you?”
Arvo nodded. “After Jack’s murder, yes.”
“All right,” she said finally. “It doesn’t seem like I’ve got much option. It’s just as well I didn’t unpack, isn’t it? Can you give me a few minutes to throw some clean clothes together?”
“Sure.”
Outside, the first thing Arvo did was check the mailbox.
“It’s been redir—” Sarah started to say. But she stopped when she saw him hold up a white envelope between his thumb and middle finger.
Sarah felt her chest tighten. “He’s been here,” she said. “During the night, while we were here.”
“Looks like it.” Arvo put the letter in the plastic bag with the others. “The last one was hand-delivered, too, remember. We’d better lock up and go,” he said.
Sarah was aware of herself nodding, even though all she still wanted in the world was a day alone at the beach house relaxing, unpacking, phoning her family to thank them for having her and to remind them she wanted them to visit her soon.
She watched as Arvo locked the sliding glass doors and pulled the drapes, then she picked up her windbreaker with the show’s logo emblazoned on the back and followed him out to where the overnight bag sat by the door. She set the alarm and they locked the door behind them.
Arvo’s car was parked where he had left it on the dirt shoulder outside her back door. Something looked odd about it, Sarah thought, then she saw how it rested flat on the ground.
“He’s slashed the tires,” Arvo said. “Jesus H. Christ! The bastard. He’s slashed the fucking tires!” He kicked the front wheel then leaned forward and slapped his hands against the hood, leaning forward like a guy being frisked by a cop.
Sarah touched his shoulder. “Tell me the number,” she said. “I’ll phone and get help.”
27
ARVO STABBED AT THE ELEVATOR BUTTON AGAIN and swore under his breath. Parker Center elevators, he remembered, were always out of order. Finally, it stopped, discharged a couple of passengers and took him, groaning and shuddering as it went, up to the third floor.
Every time he went back to RHD, he became more and more thankful for the TMU’s move to the relatively clean and spacious Spring Street headquarters. He hadn’t noticed it so much when he worked at Parker Center, but Detective Headquarters was definitely run-down. If it wasn’t quite as grungy as the make-believe precinct where Sarah Broughton filmed Good Cop, Bad Cop, it was pretty close.
The third floor was overcrowded, for a start; the air conditioning never worked, so you had to work with fans blowing your papers around all over the place; and there were so many earthquake cracks in the walls that nobody could remember which quakes had caused them.
As he walked into the corridor, he heard a radio playing from the secretaries’ office: The Beach Boys, “Help Me Rhonda.” For some reason, it made him think of Nyreen. California girl.
He opened the door to Robbery-Homicide and popped his head in. All the desks were pushed together in the center of the room to make one long, rectangular island, around which the detectives sat facing one another. The room was hot and sweaty. Telephones rang constantly; papers littered the desks and filing cabinets flanked the walls and corners. Over them all, like some sort of guardian angel, a boar’s head was mounted on the wall.
Fran Jenson was staring at her reflection in her compact mirror as she applied thick red lipstick. She looked up and winked at Arvo. Joe Westinghouse, two chairs down, saw him next and came over.
“Let’s go grab something to eat,” said Joe. “It’s been a long day. I could do with a break. Besides, I need a smoke.”
“After all the trouble I had getting the elevator to come up here, you want to go out.”
Joe grinned. A gold filling twinkled. “I’m buying.”
“You’re on.”
It was easier getting down, and they soon walked out onto Los Angeles Street, office towers glistening in the sun. Downtown was the only really high-rise part of LA apart from Century City, with its bank towers vying with one another for tallest structure, so there were plenty of city workers out for cigarette breaks or late lunches. They didn’t wander far, though; over on Main or down toward Sixth, the streets got grungy real quick.
Joe bought chili dogs and Cokes from a street vendor and he and Arvo sat on a low wall to eat. Arvo realized it was mid-afternoon and he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. First, he showed Joe a photocopy of that morning’s letter:
My Darling Little Star,
I hope you had a good Christmas at Home with your Folks. I think that Family must be important to you in a way it never has been to me. Or maybe it has been TOO important to me. Strange things have happened in my Family and one day you will know all about it. But we must make a new start with our own Kids and all. I hope that your Family will be my Family too one day soon.
Though you were far away in Body, I felt that we were together in Spirit. I surround myself with your Image. I stand against my wall and I project your Image onto my Skin. I feel the warmth of the Light brush over me and I think it is you gently caressing me. But you were so far from my Arms and I saw you kiss him. I watched him put his Arms around you. I couldn’t bear it. You know what I can do, you have seen the Fruits of my Labors. All for you. For Love of you. Now you’re just a little bit freer than you were before Christmas. One of the Ties that binds you to Them has been cut. Accept my offering in the spirit of love and devotion with which it was intended. I will come for you soon then we will both be free to breathe beyond the Mirrors of the Sea forever.
Love, M.
Joe frowned and handed the letter back. “Weird,” he said. “Know what he means?”
“At first I didn’t,” said Arvo, folding the letter and putting it back in his pocket, “but this morning I checked the Good Cop, Bad Cop tapes for the time Sarah Broughton was away in England. There was a show on Christmas Eve where the Jack Marillo character kissed Sarah. It was just a friendly kiss, really—you know, a peck on the cheek. She was upset about a kid she was trying to help who got shot in a drive-by, so he gave her a hug and a kiss. I think that might have been what set him off.”
“What else did you find out from the actress?”
Arvo took a bite of his chili dog and told Joe about the heart drawn in the sand by John Heimar’s body. He also handed him a copy of the Christmas card and letter Sarah had found the morning she left for England.
“Shit,” said Joe after he’d read the other letter. “Two letters, two hearts, two confessions. Wouldn’t stand up in court, but it’s good enough for me. Why didn’t she tell us this before?”
Arvo shrugged. “Scared. Thought it would all just go away.”
“She’s been withholding evidence.”
“True. But she’s also been playing denial. She didn’t want to believe it was happening. Couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t admit it to herself. Not until Marillo’s murder.”
“And now?”
“Oh, now she knows. Now she feels guilty. Thinks she might have been able to save him if she’d acted sooner.”
“Some hope.” Joe paused to take a mouthful of chili dog, then said, “Why are you defending her all of a sudden?”
“I’m not. I talked to her, that’s all. I think she’s scared enough to tell the truth.”
“Sure she’s not working that old Hollywood charm on you?”
An image of Sarah Broughton’s nakedness flashed through Arvo’s memory
again: particularly the butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder, a beautiful, professional job done in red, blue and green, about three inches across. Somehow, seeing that tattoo had changed her again in his eyes; it added yet another dimension to what was already an enigma. But charm?
“Fuck you,” he said.
Joe laughed. “Yeah. Methinks this gentleman doth protest too much. But I’d rather be me than you when the Chief finds out.” He took another bite of his hot dog. Chili sauce dribbled from the corner of his mouth and onto his jacket. He swore and dabbed at it with a napkin.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve got the links we were after now,” Joe said. “The heart. Both scenes. The letters. There’ll be no sitting on this. Just wait till the media get hold of it.”
“Christ, you’re right,” said Arvo. “Any rookie reporter should be able to put two and two together.”
“True,” said Joe. “But it’s my bet they’ll be busting their asses on the gay angle, if you’ll forgive the pun. And look on the bright side, man. This is a major case now.”
“That doesn’t seem a particularly bright side to me,” Arvo said. “What it means is we’ve got a major political case. We’ve got the Chief and the DA’s office falling all over one another to get an arrest on this. We won’t even be able to take a crap without somebody looking over our shoulders to make sure we’re doing it right.”
“What I’m saying is we’ve got unlimited resources now. Manpower. We’ve got people looking into every nook and cranny of Marillo’s and Heimar’s lives, see if they intersected anywhere, plus we get a rush on all forensic evidence. It ain’t all bad.”
Arvo was silent for a moment. Maybe Joe was right. Anything they wanted, they’d just have to ask. But Arvo was right, too; whatever they did, they’d have to do it under scrutiny. “This guy’s smart, Joe,” he said. “He might be crazy, but he’s smart. He’s not going to be easy to stop unless he starts getting careless. He’s very patient and very careful. Whoever planted Heimar’s body must have watched Sarah Broughton for days or weeks to get the timing just right. He had to know how far the tide would be in or out, what time she would pass the spot where he left the body. If he drew that heart for her to see, he didn’t want it washed away before she got there.”
No Cure for Love Page 19