Beyond a Doubt

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “Five thousand dollars?” King held his hand out. “Certified?”

  Tyler nodded again and handed King the check. Five thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money. I was relieved and breathed a sigh of relief.

  A date for a preliminary hearing was set for Monday morning, three days from now, and I was unceremoniously allowed to stand and be un-cuffed. My wrists ached.

  “In the meantime, Ms. Childs,” the booking officer looked at me like he was about to stamp my deportation papers, “you need to go home. Go directly there, and do not pass go.” He paused. Was that a joke? I looked at King. He stared stoically at me, his eyes steady. Do not respond. “And most importantly, do not attempt to make any contact with Dr. Diamond. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.” I rubbed my wrists. If felt as though my hands had been in a vise.

  “And you’re not to do anything that would bring you anywhere within five hundred feet of Dr. Diamond or his residence. You got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because, in addition to filing charges against you for breaking and entering, Dr. Diamond has also filed a restraining order.”

  What?

  King grabbed me by the arm. “Not a word, Carol. Tyler will drive you home. We’ll work out the details of your arraignment later. ”

  Tyler had the top down on his small MG as he drove me home. The wind in my hair made the silence between us almost bearable. Several times I tried to explain what it was I was doing, but each time he shifted the gears, causing the roar of the engine to drown out any attempt I made to speak. Finally, when we got to my building he jammed the car in park and turned to me.

  “Just what the hell were you thinking, Carol? You could have gotten yourself killed. Maybe you really do need to be on leave.”

  I got out of the car and slammed the door. I didn’t need to be lectured. “You know exactly what I was doing. You know what’s at stake.”

  “You’re crazy, Carol. You’ve got a kid...two kids. You need to be careful. We need to talk about this more—later.” He gunned the engine and drove off, and I watched the red taillights as far as the corner, then went into the house.

  I was too keyed up to sleep. I had no idea how I was going to explain to my son why I’d missed his game. Hopefully Sheri, my sister in crime, had covered for me, but it’d only be a temporary fix at best. How long could she keep this up, and at what cost? I made myself a large pot of coffee and checked my voicemail. I had a message from Sheri. Just as I had expected, she’d called Tyler, then driven my Jeep home and picked up the boys. Don’t worry. They’re fine. I didn’t tell Charlie about the arrest. He thinks you’re working late. Talk to you in the morning.

  Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe I was crazy. But I couldn’t, both as a reporter and a mother, let go of this case. I took my notebook from my bag and reviewed my notes. Monica Channing was dead and there were six missing girls whose disappearances may or may not be related at all. Captain Walker, at Judge Channing’s press conference, had said LAPD believed there may be as many as a dozen young women who had been kidnapped, perhaps by the same person or persons who’d taken Monica. But beyond their initial report LAPD had issued nothing new concerning their disappearance. Due to the fact this was an open investigation, any information released prematurely could interfere with the success of the operation. They needed to play it safe, but I didn’t. There wasn’t time. I couldn’t wait on LAPD, or until I could talk to the FBI and tell them what I knew about Diamond. The story sounded preposterous, parts of it even ghoulish. By the time they checked it out, Gabi might be dead. Her life, and those of the other girls—Jessie Martin, Marilyn Ann Billings, April Hansen, Leticia Johnson and Brandy White—hung in the balance. I spent the night weighing my options, analyzing the facts. I was in the kitchen, making another pot of coffee, when the newspaper arrived at five a.m.

  I stared at the headline: “Radio Reporter Arrested for Breaking and Entering.” I was furious. Diamond hadn’t just outsmarted me; he was using the media to discredit me, to humiliate me. It was right there on the front page of the LA Times. The article read: “Los Angeles real estate developer Dr. Malcolm Diamond believes KCHC radio reporter Carol Childs to be stalking him.” It went on to question my mental and physical stability, reporting that the radio station had sent me home to recover from extreme exhaustion brought on by work-related stress.

  The phone rang before I finished the story.

  “You’re home.” It was Sheri.

  “I am.” I sighed heavily, thankful to hear her voice. “It was awful, but King thinks we’ll be able to kick the breaking and entering charge. Says it’s totally preposterous. Particularly since Diamond pulled me into his apartment after I knocked on the door.”

  “Knocked on the door?” Sheri laughed. “So that’s what we’re going with?”

  “Why not? King seems to like it. Plus he says Diamond knew somebody was trying to get into his apartment before I got there. He told the cops someone from the hotel had called him saying his decorator wanted to come by to retrieve her phone, that she’d left it there while taking some measurements, and that he we suspicious it was a prank.”

  “Oh, boy. So we were busted before we even got there.” Sheri sighed.

  “Yeah, but that’s not the worst of it,” I said.

  “There’s more?”

  “Diamond filed a restraining order against me. I’m not to come within five hundred feet of him.” I poured myself another cup of coffee.

  “So how are you doing?”

  “Frustrated. You see this morning’s paper?”

  “I threw it in the trash. I didn’t want to the boys to see it. But we can get to that later. Were you able to get anything when you were inside the apartment?”

  I explained that I was more convinced than ever that Diamond was involved. “He’s nothing like the man we see, from time to time, on the news—who looks a little like Clark Gable—and who we hear talking about all the new developments he’s involved with in Hollywood. He’s like an optical illusion. The man in public is nice looking, smooth talking, but the man in Diamond’s apartment, he was odd, scary odd. It was like I was seeing someone totally different. The expression on his face was gaunt and tough. And his eyes, they were dark and distant. Like there’s evil behind them. He’s creepy. Like a Jekyll and Hyde.”

  “Did he try to hurt you?”

  “No, but he stood right in front of me, so close I couldn’t move, and he’s too big for me to have tried to escape. I was trapped with the wall behind me.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “It was gross. He put his hand on my cheek and told me I was much prettier than I sounded on the air. And then he took a step back and looked at me and said I must have been a young mother. That I probably wasn’t much older than Cate is now when she was born. I wanted to spit at him. I told him he had no right to talk about my daughter—that I knew he had something to do with her being drugged that night on the pub crawl—and he smiled this really weird, awful smile with those big teeth of his and said he could do anything he wanted. He could find Cate Childs anytime, anywhere.”

  “Cate Childs? He said her name just like that?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sheri paused. “Then he doesn’t know.”

  “And he’s not going to.” I said. Few people knew Childs was my maiden name, and that both Cate and Charlie went by their father’s last name. And for right now, I planned to keep it way. I wasn’t about to share it with anyone.

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I was trapped, and by then he’d called the cops and they were on their way. But before they got there, I had a chance to observe the front rooms. They were neat. I don’t think he’s living there. I don’t think anyone is. But it looked like someone was at the bar in the living room having a drink, maybe the night before. There was a lipstick-stained wineglass,
along with two other empty glasses on the bar, and an ashtray with a couple of cigarette butts in it. Diamond smokes. I think he’s funneling girls through there for meetings. You can define that anyway you like.”

  “Okay, let’s say you’re right and he is using his apartment to set up rendezvous, introducing his clientele to his girls. Just how’s he getting them in and out without anyone noticing? Particularly now that the police know the names and identities of some of the girls missing?”

  “I think he’s using the helipad on top of the building, and he’s probably got the girls so disguised nobody would know who they were if they did see them. But the fact that he has an apartment inside the W in Hollywood, and that it’s close to the nightclubs, is really no big deal. It’s leased to the business, and Diamond Developments, for all practical purposes, is legit. He probably owns the building. He has every right to be using the helipad and coming and going as he pleases. And I can’t get him arrested just because I suspect he’s bringing women to his apartment. Unless I can prove Diamond has a connection to the missing girls, I’m out of luck. Until then, I don’t have any proof.”

  “Not yet, you don’t.”

  I stood up and was about to get myself a fresh cup of coffee when I paused and looked back down at the paper. I hadn’t even glanced at the sports section. The results of the boys’ game would be inside. “How was the game?”

  “We lost. Twenty-eight to seven.”

  I groaned. This wasn’t going to be a good day. Charlie had been certain the Vikings would crush the visiting team, and I couldn’t even remember who it was. My mind wouldn’t let go of Diamond. I couldn’t get the vision of him out my head, standing in front of me with the large, floor-to-ceiling plate glass window and a view of the Hollywood sign in the background. The man was a real life Jekyll and Hyde, and I felt certain I was the only one who really knew it.

  “Don’t worry. It’s going to be a marathon college football viewing day anyway; USC’s playing Arizona at ten and UCLA’s playing Oregon at four. I’ve got the fridge stocked with colas and we’ve got plenty of snacks and burgers for the grill. Why don’t you plan on coming for dinner?”

  I agreed and told Sheri I’d be by around four. I wanted to take a nap and read through my notes again.

  “Just promise me you’re not planning on pursuing Diamond.”

  “Not today, but I am planning on going to the station’s promotion tonight. Cupid’s going to need me.” I didn’t have time to explain. My cellphone was ringing. I told her I’d be by around four and hung up.

  Caller ID indicated it was Eric. Back already?

  I took a deep, cleansing breath and answered. Eric spoke before I could say hello.

  “Hey, I understand congratulations are in order. You’re officially on LAPD’s watch list.”

  I laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

  “You okay?”

  “I take it Agent Delfino told you about my arrest? Either that, or, you’re home, reading the paper.”

  “Not home, not yet. But you’re right, Mark called and told me. I’d tell you to back off, take it easy and let the detectives do their work, but I know better.”

  “You don’t need to worry. The fact that Diamond made my snooping around public makes me think he’s not going to do anything more than try to discredit me. And, with the radio station behind me, he’d have more trouble than he’d like if I suddenly disappeared. Besides,” I joked, “I’m hardly his type. He’s into young girls. Not finely aged, full-bodied, mature women.”

  Eric laughed. Exactly the reaction I wanted. In the background I could hear the sound of the wind whipping through the Sea Mistress’s sails. I had a vision of Eric standing behind her wheel, tall, tan and warmed by the sun. It calmed me. “Sounds like a good bottle of wine. And, just so you know, I happen to be particularly fond of this particular, finely aged, full-bodied version. So take care of yourself. Don’t take any unnecessary chances. We’re making good time. I’ll be home soon. Miss you.”

  CHAPTER 28

  I let myself in Sheri’s back door. It was unlocked, and I followed the sounds of her voice and those of the boys to the family room. I found them in the middle of a popcorn bash. Charlie and Clint were each sitting in one of Sheri’s leather recliners with bowls of popcorn on their laps. In front of them, to the sides of them, and on the floor, everywhere, were popped kernels that looked as though they’d been tossed, like shrapnel at the TV and at each other. Sheri, standing between the two, had a mouthful of popcorn, and laughed when she saw me, as though she’d just been busted by the junk-food patrol.

  “You’re here.” Sheri waved with a handful of popped kernels and then tossed them in the direction of the boys.

  “Hey, Mom.” Charlie glanced momentarily in my direction, dodged the incoming kernels and then looked back to the TV.

  SC scored a field goal, and all eyes were immediately diverted to the excitement of the impending victory. Any chance I had of making apologies for missing last night’s game were suddenly lost.

  “So much for being missed,” I said. I nodded to Sheri and grabbed a cola off the counter. I was about to sit down on the couch next to the boys when Sheri indicated she wanted me to follow her. With a drink in her hand, she led the way down the hall towards the back of the house and the master suite.

  “You still planning on going to KCHC’s Hollywood promotion tonight?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Charlie doesn’t know about what happened last night. I spoke with his teacher and asked her not to mention anything, and you know the boys, they don’t read the paper—unless it’s the sports section—so you don’t have to worry. I think it’s better that way. And besides, with all the wall-to-wall football going on this weekend, I don’t think Charlie will miss you not being here. I told him you were working and he could stay with us this weekend. He’s fine with it, and tomorrow it’s the Jets and Chargers game, so go and do what you need to do. Just don’t get yourself arrested, okay?”

  “Believe me, it’s not my intention.”

  “Good, because I think you need a disguise if you plan on going tonight. And I have a closet full of possibilities.”

  Sheri’s master bedroom included a room-sized walk-in closet that would rival the wardrobe department of any Hollywood back lot. Many of the items she hoarded included pieces from shows her father had produced, plus an assortment of her own she’d never worn. Things she’d bought and held onto in hopes of one day returning to her once, impossible-to-maintain, size zero.

  “Think of it as camouflage,” she said. “A little guarantee that if the station sets up their promotional tent anywhere on Hollywood Boulevard, Diamond won’t spot you and accuse you of stalking him, and you won’t end up back in jail.”

  “Or front page news for tomorrow’s paper,” I said. “So, what magic have you got in mind?”

  “This.” Sheri pulled a purple pantsuit, a la Hillary Clinton style, off one of the racks that lined the mirrored walls. “Go on. Try it on. Let’s see if it works.”

  While I dressed, Sheri slid a long wooden stepladder along the floor-to-ceiling shelves to where she had hatboxes, dozens of them, stacked above the racks. She climbed up, removed a box marked Brunette from a top shelf, and handed it to me.

  “And this too.” Inside was an assortment of wigs, all lengths and styles. “Believe me, nobody will recognize you with dark hair.”

  I tried on a short pageboy, turned around and looked into a full-length mirror and scarcely recognized myself. Staring back at me was a face I didn’t know.

  “Perfect,” Sheri said. “And, if I might, a little, ah, pièce de résistance.” From behind her back Sheri took a red hat and placed it on my head, then stood back and, like the famous costume designer Edith Head, admired her work. “You look fabulous, darling, simply fabulous.”

  “Ha! Doesn’t do a thing for me.” I stared into
the mirror. The word frumpy came to mind.

  “Here, try these. They’re your size.” Sheri handed me a pair of red heels. Ironically, despite her being barely five-two and me nearly seven inches taller, we were, albeit our different proportions, the same exact size, shoes and all.

  I wiggled into the shoes and took another look. “Not bad. The entire look is more Chanel than what I saw Bessie Bixby wearing the other day. But...good enough.” I smoothed the pants with my hands, did a cursory rearview look in the mirror and figured nobody would recognize me.

  “Yeah, well let’s hope ‘good enough’ keeps anyone from recognizing you. It just might save your life if Diamond’s there,” Sheri said.

  I knew she was right about that. I couldn’t risk running into Diamond. Not again. Not after the restraining order. I looked back in the mirror and adjusted the hat.

  “Look out, Dr. Diamond. Two can play at this game. You want to be Clark Gable. I can be a red-hatted Lois Lane.”

  Sheri gave me one last look. “Wait a minute, before you leave, take this.”

  From one of the high top dresser drawers, Sheri took out a watch and put it on my wrist.

  “What’s this?” I asked. On my wrist she had placed a red, digitalized plastic sports watch.

  “It’s mine. I think it might come in handy. I bought it in a weak moment when I actually thought I might enjoy working out. It has a GPS device built into it. Do me a favor and wear it. It’ll send a digital readout of your heart rate, plus your location, back to my computer. At least, if something happens, I’ll know where you are, and if you’re still breathing.”

  “Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I took the watch and fastened it to my wrist, assuring her that she had absolutely nothing to worry about. I’d learned my lesson. “Believe me,” I said, “I’m not about to do anything foolish. Tomorrow night, it’s my place for dinner. You can count on it. No excuses. I promise.”

  It was almost nine-thirty by the time I parked my car behind the Pantages Theater and hurried down the street toward the corner of Hollywood and Vine. My feet were screaming at me. Sheri’s selection of footwear, while the right size and appropriate-looking, was anything but functional. Pointy shoes have no place at a stakeout. I stopped, adjusted one shoe, and with the other in my hand, hopscotched over Neil Patrick Harris’s star on the Walk of Fame, then continued down the boulevard, one shoe on, one shoe off. I was running late. There was a cool snap in the air, a sense of excitement.