All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1)

by Linsey Lanier

  O’Toole stopped chewing and stared at them. “You found something?” he asked, his mouth still full.

  Parker gave Miranda a glance that said he wanted her to do the honors.

  She grinned at him then turned triumphantly to the sergeant. “We found the eyeball.”

  She thought the man was about to choke. “You did? Where?”

  “Suzie Chan’s place.”

  He reached for a mug of what must have been hours old coffee and took a big gulp. “Who the hell is Suzie Chan?”

  Miranda have him a smile of disgust. “The victim’s personal chef.”

  O’Toole glared at her. “You searched her house? We don’t have a warrant—”

  “Detective Kim Ralston got one for us after we spoke to Ambrosia Dawn’s husband and sister and got enough evidence to justify one.”

  “Ralston?” O’Toole’s face turned as red as the freckles on his husky arms as the implication of who would get credit on this case sank in.

  Miranda put an innocent finger to her chin. “She’s one of your detectives, isn’t she? Very efficient lady.” She couldn’t help emphasizing the word “lady” just a tad.

  Parker slid a thigh onto O’Toole’s desk. “You could have kept up with our progress if you had answered your cell phone, Sid. But I’m sure you can read the details in the report Ralston will be filing.”

  O’Toole set his jaw and gave Parker a surly look. “Fill me in now, Parker.”

  Parker did, briefly. But even that had O’Toole’s head spinning.

  “Wait a minute.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and put one to his forehead, trying to take it all in. “You’re saying Ambrosia Dawn’s personal chef colluded with one of her bodyguards to kill her employer?”

  Parker nodded. “It looks like it, though we’re not certain about the bodyguard. He seems to be out of town.”

  Miranda continued. “Ambrosia, pardon my French, was a downright bitch to the woman. Forced her to make dozens of melon balls for the staff at her rehearsals just to fuel her ego. And she was picky and demanding about how they were made. Suzie Chan is a top chef. Used to own a five-star restaurant in Santa Monica with her sister. Her ego couldn’t take it. So she snapped.” Or at least that was what it looked liked at the moment.

  “And you found the eye in this chef’s refrigerator? In a pickle jar?”

  “Yep. The lab is analyzing it now for prints.”

  O’Toole sat back, his face white with amazement. “We’ll have to bring this chef in for questioning. Where is she?”

  “She went to see her sister in Santa Monica. Ralston has been trying to contact her with no luck.”

  Parker got to his feet and put his hands in his pockets. “That’s what we need you for now, Sid. Can you put out a BOLO?”

  O’Toole stared blankly at the watermelon on his desk. “Yeah, but if she’s in California, we might need to bring in the federal marshals.”

  For a long moment they all sat in silence, each of them pondering what it might mean to this case to bring in the Feds, until there was a sharp rap on the door.

  Miranda jolted upright and turned to see Ralston stride into the room.

  O’Toole gave her a scowl. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be conducting an investigation at a suspect’s house?”

  She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir. We’re finished there.”

  “What did you find? Beside the…eyeball?”

  “Nothing much.” Ralston shot Miranda and Parker a smile, marched over to O’Toole’s desk and popped one of the mutilated melon balls in her mouth. “Except that I just brought in Suzie Chan for questioning.”

  O’Toole jumped to his feet, his voice squeaking away. “You did? She’s here? In the station?”

  How’d she manage that, Miranda wondered as she caught the look of surprise on Parker’s face. Ralston was some detective.

  “That’s what I said. We impounded her car. The CSIs are checking it for trace.” She pretended to leave, then turned back. “Oh, and Chan’s waiting for you in interview room C.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  O’Toole’s mood went from sullen to celebratory. By the time the four of them were making their way down the long hall to the interview room, he was downright giddy.

  And jabbering so much, Miranda wanted to kick him in the teeth.

  “Hot damn, Parker,” he chuckled as he scurried along at his side. “You and Steele are good. I’ve had the Lieutenant on my ass since I got in today. All the casino owners are giving him grief. Their star performers are getting antsy. Everyone’s afraid this investigation will impact the entire entertainment industry in Las Vegas. The publicists, the newshounds, even the mayor wants this resolved fast. And now we can do it.” He made a gleeful, hee-hee sound. “Maybe I can even get out of that press conference Wells wants me to do. Hey, maybe you can do it, Parker.”

  Say what?

  Parker looked really excited about that. “We haven’t even spoken to the suspect yet, Sid.”

  “Sounds like an open and shut case from what you told me. So how about doing that press conference after we wrap up tonight?”

  Parker shot him a glance of disgust. “I’d have to add it to our fee.”

  Sid just chuckled and gave him a good-buddy pat on the shoulder. “Sure, sure.”

  They reached the interview room and Miranda caught a glimpse of Suzie Chan sitting in there through the two-way mirror and her own mood turned solemn and determined.

  Somehow it was decided she and O’Toole would start the questioning while Parker and Ralston watched through the two-way. Miranda didn’t like the arrangement, but she guessed it would give her needed experience.

  Sure, she was game. But there were butterflies in her stomach as she followed the cop inside and heard the door click shut behind them.

  Chan eyed them with tense irritation.

  Avoiding her glare, Miranda took in the cramped space. One table. Three metal chairs. Concrete block walls painted a “friendly” blue. Security cameras. Big mirror on one wall that was pretty obviously the two-way. Her throat went dry.

  In the past, she had always been the one being questioned in tight little rooms like these and she suddenly felt claustrophobic. Could she pull off being on the other side? She had to. This case depended on nailing Chan.

  She took a deep breath and settled herself in the chair opposite the woman.

  Chan eyed her cautiously with narrow black eyes. She had a petite, small-boned frame, over which she wore jeans and a pink pullover with a Sissie Chan logo. Miranda took that to be her sister’s restaurant. Her dark hair was cropped short and styled into spikes on top of her head. Long fingernails painted black. No jewelry except a pair of big, silver teardrop earrings. Her lips were a deep red. Her chin and nose and cheekbones chiseled and sharp. Despite the pink pullover, she gave off the air of a biker chick.

  And she looked mad as hell.

  O’Toole slipped into the seat beside Miranda. “Thank you for coming down here, Ms. Chan. I’m Sergeant O’Toole of Homicide and this is Ms. Steele, who is consulting on the case.”

  Chan gave them both a perfunctory nod, but seemed like she’d just as soon flip them off.

  “Did the detective read you your rights, Ms. Chan?”

  Chan bristled. “The woman who brought me in here?” she asked with a slight Asian accent. “Sure she did. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Why don’t you tell us?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Her hands started waving in the air, her fingernails like falcon’s talons. “I get home tonight and there’s a bunch of cops crawling all over my house. And then one of them says she wants to bring me into the station. She says I’m a person of interest. What the fuck?”

  Miranda could see the words “police brutality” on the tip of the woman’s tongue. Words she herself had used a time or two when she’d been guilty as sin.

  “You work for the singer, Ambrosia Dawn?” O’T
oole asked in classic cop form.

  “Of course, I do.” She dropped her hands on the table and stared down at them. “Or I guess not any more. I was visiting my sister in Santa Monica when I heard what happened.” She swiped at her face, her expression blank with disbelief.

  Miranda watched her in silence.

  “We were discussing going back into business together,” Chan continued. “Then just after lunch today I hear on the news my boss is dead. Somebody killed her and left her body in the desert. So I tell Suzie I gotta go. I turn right around and head back.” She made a circle in the air with her finger. “I couldn’t believe it. I was going over to the estate to find out what happened. But when I get home, I find the pigs—I mean, the police—all over my place. And nobody wants to tell me why. Am I going to have to sue or something?” She put a fist down on the table.

  Miranda shot O’Toole a warning look and turned to the suspect. “Calm down, Ms. Chan. We just want to ask a few questions to clarify things.”

  “Clarify what things?” Her black eyes flashed with emotion. “How can I calm down with police in my house? How can I calm down when I’m in the police station? You people are acting like I had something to do with it.”

  Again Miranda was silent and so was O’Toole.

  Her eyes went wide. “Is that why I’m here? You think I had something to do with Abbey’s death?”

  “Nobody thinks anything,” Miranda assured her. “Did Detective Ralston offer you anything to drink?” She could barely believe the words coming out of her own mouth. How did she wind up being the good cop here?

  Chan bared her teeth like a caged animal. “No, I don’t want any fucking thing to fucking drink. I want to know why I’m here.”

  Miranda took a deep breath. O’Toole wasn’t saying anything so she guessed it was still her turn. “What sort of relationship did you have with your employer, Ms. Chan?”

  She squinted her face cautiously. “It was okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  Chan glared at Miranda. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  O’Toole scooted his chair a little closer to the suspect and finally spoke. “Why don’t you tell us how you feel about melon balls, Ms. Chan?” He was playing the bad cop, all right.

  Her mouth opened, then shut. Then she leaned back, arms folded. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here or am I gonna have to call a lawyer?”

  Miranda knew better than to reply to that. Technically Chan hadn’t asked for counsel. Before she did, Miranda took a purposely noisy breath and then gave the woman what she hoped was a motherly smile. “Like I said, Ms. Chan. You’re only here because we want to clarify a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “For example, we understand you prepared a special tea for your employer every night.”

  She sat back and folded her arms. Her face went a little pale as she realized the cops had been digging into the details of her life with Ambrosia Dawn. Her brows twisted with confusion. “Yeah. Special blend. I make it myself. So what?”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Raspberry leaf. Mint. A little ginger. Why?”

  “Sounds good.” Miranda put her elbow on the table and leaned closer. “Now, when did you leave for your sister’s?”

  The woman tensed. Her gaze darted from Miranda to O’Toole and back again. “Tuesday night. Around nine, nine-thirty.”

  “So you didn’t make the tea that night?”

  Chan glanced at O’Toole then looked Miranda straight in the eye. “Yeah, I made it. She was at rehearsal so I left her the pot on a warmer. Why?”

  Suzie Chan didn’t look like a liar. No unnatural movements, no picking at her clothes or shifting of her eyes the way people do when they’re making stuff up on the fly. Maybe she had her story all planned. Maybe she was better at this than most. Miranda remembered Ralston had found no priors when she did a background check on her. Something didn’t feel right.

  “Are you sure you left by nine-thirty?” she asked.

  Chan’s jaw went tight, her look even more cautious. “It might have been a little later. I was running behind.”

  “And what route did you take out of town?”

  Her eyes flashed with temper. “The only route,” she snapped. “I-15.”

  O’Toole pushed his chair back with a squeak and stood up. Time for the bad cop to go into action. “Ms. Chan, what made you decide to dump the body on the side of the road just south of the Last Chance casino?”

  Miranda kept her face still, surprised the sergeant had suddenly come to life. It was a bold move. Bold enough that he just might get a confession.

  But Suzie Chan glared at O’Toole, looking more shocked than if he had pulled out his service weapon and shot her. “Was that where Abbey was found? I hadn’t heard that.” She put her head in her hands. “Oh, my God.”

  “You were with your boyfriend Tuesday night, weren’t you, Ms. Chan?”

  Open-mouthed, Chan stared at O’Toole. “What boyfriend?”

  “Did he leave town with you or did he just help you load the body into your car?”

  “What?” Her face went wild. Her eyes began to fill. They were real tears.

  Miranda cleared her throat. “You had a relationship with one of your employer’s bodyguards, didn’t you? Sean Scott?”

  “Scottie? He was just a fuck buddy.”

  O’Toole glanced over at Miranda, as if to tell her he was going in for the kill. “Was he the one who carved out her eye with a melon baller? Did you show him how to do it?”

  “What? What the fuck are you talking about?” Her hands balled into fists.

  “A melon baller was found beside the body. Ambrosia Dawn’s left eye was scooped out with it. The melon baller was just like the ones you used for your employer. But the eye wasn’t at the crime scene. Guess where it was?”

  Chan blinked at him in what looked like utter shock. “I have no idea.” Her voice was a low croak.

  “In your refrigerator.”

  Chan grabbed the sides of the table. She was reeling as hard as if the San Andreas Fault had just split a few states off the map. Her chest heaved once, twice. Then she steadied her shoulders and said. “I think I’ll take that drink now. Got any vodka?”

  Miranda got up. “Will coffee do?”

  She gave her a quick nod without looking at her. “Black.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Back in the side room with the two-way, Miranda stood beside Parker and watched Suzie Chan pace back and forth, fingernails digging into her head. “She’s upset.”

  “Trying to come up with a story,” Ralston commented.

  O’Toole shook a finger at the window. “She won’t be able to explain why the eye was in her fridge. Did the prints come back on that jar, yet?”

  The corner of Ralston’s lip turned up in a smirk. “You know they aren’t that fast. Probably won’t be until tomorrow.”

  O’Toole put his hands on his hips and sniffed. “What’s the deal with the boyfriend?”

  Ralston shrugged. “The victim forced him and Chan to break up a few weeks ago. That might be motive. Chan couldn’t have gotten the body in the car without muscle. Would have brought him in, too. But right now, he’s AWOL.”

  O’Toole nodded.

  Miranda folded her arms and caught Parker’s eye. His expression told her she was thinking the same thing she was. She’d prefer to discuss it with him alone but she didn’t have a choice right now. “Are you wondering—?”

  He nodded. “If things aren’t a little too pat?”

  O’Toole turned around and glared at both of them. “What do you mean? This is an open and shut case.”

  “Are you sure?” Miranda said.

  “We’ve got ninety-nine percent of the evidence we need for a solid conviction. The DA is going to do the Happy Dance on the top of the Stratosphere once he sees this.”

  Parker’s chest expanded as he took in a breath and fought back frustration. “We do want the right killer,
don’t we, Sid?”

  Or did we just want to wrap up this case? Miranda thought, watching O’Toole’s eyes flash hotter than Suzie Chan’s.

  “We’ve got the right killer, Parker. And I’m going to prove it.” He stomped out of the room and down the hall to the men’s room.

  “I’ll go get that coffee,” Ralston said, following him out the door.

  Miranda watched Suzie Chan sink back into her chair. The woman looked bewildered, lost. She knew that feeling. She thought about the melon baller, the building plastic, the tea, the eye in the refrigerator. “You know what, Parker?”

  “What?”

  “I smell a setup.”

  His jaw tight, that hard gunmetal look in his gray eyes, he nodded. “I do, too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Five minutes later Miranda was sitting across from Suzie Chan again while O’Toole paced back and forth in the small space.

  Finally he stopped. “Tell me again about Sean Scott?”

  Chan looked up at him as if coming out of a stupor. “Scottie? What about him?”

  “Ambrosia Dawn forced you to break up with him, didn’t she?” He put his hand to his chest and made a face like he was appalled.

  Chan lifted a shoulder like she didn’t care. “Yeah. So what?”

  “That must have really made you mad. Him too. Was it his idea to kill her?”

  Those black eyes simmered like coal. “I didn’t kill her.”

  O’Toole’s chair squeaked across the linoleum as he pulled it out and sat. He put both arms on the table and leaned in. “How do you explain that eyeball, Ms. Chan? The one in the pickle jar in your refrigerator?”

  “Pickle jar?” The poor woman looked like she was going to puke. “I can’t explain it. It wasn’t there when I left. I have no idea how it got there.”

  “That jar is in the lab right now. It’s going to come back with your fingerprints on it. What are you going to say then?”