A Clean Kill

by Glass, Leslie

  "Yes, the owners of a company can install surveillance in their own facilities. If there's a camera in the ladies' room, that's a different story."

  "Oh, heaven forbid." Jo Ellen covered her eyes with a big hand.

  April had a feeling that the hair under her hat was dyed red and she vibrated with excitement.

  "Do you think I have any recourse?" Jo Ellen was saying.

  "I'm here to talk to you about something far more serious than surveillance in your workplace."

  "But I love my work. I've increased the business over a hundred and fifty percent since my aunt passed on. The acquisition was a robbery, a terrible thing. And no one cares."

  "Maybe I can help you with it," April suggested.

  "Oh, would you? That would be such a blessing. It's so hard to work with people spying down your neck. I can't even set my own salary anymore. They cut my commissions in half—just the opposite of everything they promised. My aunt thought we'd be able to keep the house, but her death taxes took it all. I don't know what I'm going to do." She drummed her fists on the arms of her chairs.

  "What is your agreement with Hunter?" April asked. The way the woman looked and acted, it was surprising they'd kept her on for a single day.

  "They said I could stay as long as I wanted, but now they're asking me to leave by Labor Day. Do you think I'd have an age discrimination case?"

  April shook her head. She didn't know if Jo Ellen Anderson had any case. "I'm here to find the person who killed Maddy Wilson and Alison Perkins."

  "Well, I know a lot about them," she acknowledged, "but how would I know who killed them?"

  "I think you may know something about it."

  She looked wary. "Why would you think that?"

  "You live in the neighborhood. You talk to people every day. You may have seen, or possibly even know, the killer."

  "Impossible."

  "What time did you come into the office?"

  "Oh, my, which day? I have a memory deficit about these things. I'm not sure, Monday— sometime between eight thirty and nine. That's my usual time. Does that help?"

  "Alison Perkins lived across the street from you—"

  "Yes, she came to tea at my house. She was going to help me with my book."

  "Your book?"

  "Yes, I'm an author. My book is about all the people I've helped in my time. You may not know that Princess Diana was an au pair over here. I placed her with her family, so of course she invited me to her wedding. My book is going to be a big best seller."

  "I'm sure it is. But right now we're looking for a

  killer. Alison Perkins called you yesterday morning. What did she want?"

  Jo Ellen clicked her tongue. "Oh, they were leaving for the Vineyard soon. She needed to change girls."

  "Why did she need to change girls?" April watched the brim of the hat tip up to the ceiling.

  "Why is the sky blue? Because Alison was never satisfied. She wanted the perfect girl. No girl is the perfect girl. You can try to train them to suit the households, but you can't train the households to keep them. People like Alison change their staff because they can. I've been very successful in this business because I come from quality myself; I know how wealthy people think. I try to pass this knowledge on to my girls, but it doesn't always help them."

  "Your notes on Remy and Lynn seem unusually detailed. Were they a problem?"

  "I told you, I work with them on their improvement."

  "And it sounds like you enjoy moving them around. Don't you get double fees if they have to be replaced?"

  "Oh, that doesn't mean anything to my clients. They can afford it. I know what their needs are. I can always fix whatever goes wrong in their houses," she said airily.

  "It sounds like you may have had a hand in making things go wrong," April said.

  "No, no. Don't try that. I've never had a complaint about my services. I know how to handle things," she retorted angrily. "Are you here to make trouble for me?"

  "Your employees were telling you what was going on in the houses, and you exploited that information to encourage turnover," April said straight out.

  "They told me a little, here and there, but I never exploited anybody. I have a great sensitivity to my insider position. Knowledge is power, you know, and you have to be careful with power." Jo Ellen adjusted her hat.

  "Somebody killed your clients," April said angrily.

  "Yes, I could put it in my book." Jo Ellen looked pleased. She didn't seem to get the gravity of the situation.

  "Let's start with the hiring history of Mrs. Wilson," April told her, settling in for a long interview.

  "You mean everyone who worked for them? That's a lot of people." She made a face.

  "Did anyone work for both Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Perkins—a cleaning lady, somebody who had keys to both houses?" April watched her face.

  "Oh, I don't know. They have to return the keys when they leave. That's a rule," Jo Ellen said flatly.

  "To you?" April asked.

  She put her finger to her lips. "I do have some keys," she admitted.

  April glanced at Woody. "Does anybody else have access to them?"

  "No, of course not," she said indignantly. "I'm very careful."

  April let that pass. "Is it unusual that Remy and Lynn were both fired at the same time?"

  "In this business anything can happen. Sometimes there's a stealing issue." Jo Ellen screwed up her puffy face some more. "My high-net-worth clients have so many possessions, they can't keep track of them all. They buy a dozen sweaters and leave six in the bag. They shop at Tiffany and don't remember what they bought. They misplace cash and think it's stolen. 1 get calls all the time. 1 have to calm them down, but sometimes the staff gets blamed anyway. It's a vicious cycle. People get hired; people get fired. It's all part of the game."

  "But Remy was fired because of her relationship with Mr. Wilson," April reminded her.

  "Well, yes. That's another reason. Girls these days." She shook her head and looked sad.

  For someone who had been so keenly interested in every intimate detail of Maddy's and Alison's lives, Jo Ellen was remarkably uninterested in their deaths. She was not connecting. April changed the subject.

  "What was the incident that caused Hunter to put in surveillance cameras?" she asked finally.

  Jo Ellen stared at nothing for a moment. "I have no idea." Then she changed her mind. Her face deflated a little. "I believe someone was assaulted," she said slowly. "But 1 can explain everything."

  April turned the page in her notebook. Now she was getting somewhere. "Who was assaulted?" April asked Jo Ellen.

  "One of the women. She was in late. 1 don't remember the details."

  "I'd like to talk to her."

  "Well, you can't talk to her. She isn't with us anymore," said airily.

  "Do you have a telephone number for her?"

  "I really couldn't answer that."

  April gestured to Woody. He nodded and left the room to start grilling the employees. Twenty minutes into the interview and already armed with a number of Jo Ellen's conflicting statements about several key questions, April began to zero in on the difference between accepting gifts from clients and stealing from them. And meddling in their lives so she could restaff their houses again and again for the fees. Jo Ellen didn't seem to understand what was wrong about it.

  "The Duchess of Windsor was one of my best friends, rest her soul," she said. "She gave me one of her own bracelets as a token of her appreciation for everything 1 did for her."

  "I'd like to see it," April said, and she planned to do that very soon. Her cell phone rang, and she picked it out of her pocket. "Lieutenant Woo Sanchez.''

  "It's Barry Queue. 1 have the warrant," he told her.

  She glanced at her watch. "I'm on my way. What do you say, twenty minutes?"

  "The traffic's bad. Call it thirty. 1 called Sergeant Gelo. She isn't picking up."

  "Well, it doesn't matter. She can stay at the shop fo
r now," April assured him.

  "She's not at the shop," he said.

  "What? Where is she?" April was surprised and annoyed. She didn't like it when people didn't follow orders.

  "She went to the Anderson house."

  "What? Why did she do that?"

  "I don't know," Barry said.

  "Okay, well, keep calling. We'll be there soon."

  April hung up and returned to Jo Ellen. She was a big woman, arrogant and seemingly without much feeling for anyone. She didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. Furthermore, she seemed to think that because her family had been tops in the domestic-employment game for so long, she was entitled to use the trust people had in her name to exploit them.

  April connected the dots and suspected that the house keys Jo Ellen admitted to having were given to her by the girls she'd placed in those homes. Further, she guessed that Remy and Lynn revealed intimate details about their bosses' lives and knew when they were not at home. That made the girls accomplices to, or even guilty of, thefts that occurred and would explain why they were fearful to talk openly about what they knew. The three of them were guilty of something. But murder? Why would Jo Ellen, or any of her staff, kill her clients? Even if she was disturbed, it made no sense. Why kill the source of the income she desperately needed, and so close to her own home? More importantly, it didn't fit her profile. She was a manipulator and possibly a thief, but that didn't make her a killer. Then April had a new thought. There might be someone else in Jo Ellen's close circle they didn't know about. She started sweating.

  Jo Ellen had a tight little smile on her face as if all of this were merely good material for her book.

  "Miss Anderson, would you remove your hat?" April asked her quietly.

  "Oh, no, I can't," she cried.

  "Why not?"

  Jo Ellen pointed behind her at the camera.

  "Do your roots show?" April leaned forward.

  "My roots?" She looked startled.

  "You have red hair, right, colored from gray?"

  Jo Ellen winced and her eyes squeezed shut in a' private agony. "You caught me," she said.

  "Why did you kill them?" April was elated. She'd cleared the case.

  Jo Ellen opened her eyes. "Kill them? I didn't kill them."

  "I think you did. A piece of your raincoat was found at Maddy Wilson's house, and your hair at Alison Perkins's house. It puts you on the scene."

  "No," she said wildly. "It's not possible."

  "I can help you with this," April offered.

  "No, I can explain it."

  "Good, explain." April's pen started moving on the page.

  Then Jo Ellen shook her head. "I don't believe you. You're making that up."

  "Miss Anderson. Take your hat off."

  "What if I say no?"

  "You can't say no."

  Jo Ellen let out a little sob, then reached up and took off the fedora. April sucked in her breath. Underneath the hat, her head was bald as an egg. "I have cancer," she whispered. She pointed to the office and the camera. "I didn't want them to know."

  Oh, jeez: April was shocked for a second. But it didn't stop her. "You had short red hair before it fell out?"

  "Yes." Jo Ellen looked down at her hands. "It's a terrible thing to lose your hair." "And you wore hats when it was coming out? Just like now."

  She nodded.

  April swallowed. "Who else wears your hats?"

  Jo Ellen's face was gray. "It happened a long time ago. More than a decade ago. An accident, explainable. It couldn't happen again. That's it." She closed her mouth with a snap.

  "Who are you talking about?"

  "My daughter, Leah, my adopted daughter. She wears my hats, but would not hurt anyone again. She promised me. A promise is a promise. It couldn't be her."

  April felt sick. "Is she at your house?"

  "Of course. She lives there."

  Cops don't panic when events start spinning out of control. They just move forward. Ten thousand questions shot into April's head, but she didn't take the time to ask them. She collected Woody from the bull pen and briefed him in a sentence. They dm for the stairs, both reaching for their phones.

  Fifty

  As soon as she stepped inside the house, Eloise detected a peculiar musty odor The place had an old-house smell and something more complicated—a combination of dead-animal-in-the-walls and rotting-vegetation-in-the-greenhouse smell. It was creepy. The wallpaper was dark with age, and the Oriental runner badly worn, but there was no dust anywhere. She scanned the scene. Near the door an umbrella stand was crammed full of canes with ornate handles. Along one wall a coat and hat rack sported fashions from another era. From above came the dim glow of two Art Deco, gold-tinged glass tulips that barely illuminated the rows of sepia photos adorning the wall of the narrow staircase leading upstairs.

  "That's the family," Leah said, pointing to photos of men in top hats and tails, and ladies wearing summer dresses and big hats. "They're famous."

  "It smells like they died in here," Eloise remarked.

  "That's the smell of old wood. I clean and clean, but I can't do anything about it." The girl stared at her as if she'd made an accusation.

  Imagining Gothic horrors, Eloise quickly stepped aside so the girl could pass in front of her. "Please lead the way," she said gently. The house was unsettling, and the intense expression on the girl's face warned her that she had to go easy.

  "You feel it, too, don't you? It's haunted," Leah said. "Woo, woo." She wiggled her fingers.

  "No kidding," Eloise murmured uneasily.

  "Just kidding. Gotcha, didn't I?"

  Eloise laughed. The girl was a little weird, but not very big. She wasn't afraid of her. "What's the layout of the house?" she said.

  "The living room, dining room, and powder room are on this floor. The kitchen and pantry are downstairs. Two bedrooms share a bathroom upstairs, and the maids' rooms are on the fourth floor. I live up there. The ghosts are in the basement. Do you want to see them?" she teased.

  "Maybe later. Is there anyone else in the house?"

  "You already asked me that. We're all alone."

  "How about animals? It smells like you have animals."

  "We had a cat for a while, but it's gone now." Leah opened big double doors to the living room and went in.

  Eloise slowly followed her into a room crowded with furniture. Heavy sideboards of mahogany lined the walls. Small marble-topped tables and ornate chairs made an obstacle course of the room. It was hard to imagine people gathering and relaxing in such a place. She threaded her way through the maze to the window facing Fiftieth and looked out. From there she had a clear view of the Perkins house across the street. Anybody arriving or leaving there could be seen, and it would be easy to determine when AHson would be alone. She began to feel some trepidation and was glad Barry was on the way.

  Ahead of her, Leah pulled open the heavy sliding doors that separated the living room from the dining room, and Eloise was distracted from getting her phone out to call her boss with her location. In the dining room, the furniture was heavily carved, as dark as stain could make it, and too big for the space. Another bay window opened on a back garden that was a tangle of overgrown bushes, weeds, and unpruned trees. Everywhere the surfaces were loaded with stuff—commemoration cups, souvenirs from trips abroad. Beer steins, Dresden, and porcelain—people, animals, parrots. Silver boxes, tortoiseshell boxes, enamel pillboxes. Plates. Objects were stacked everywhere and completely dust free.

  "Where did all this stuff come from?"

  "Gifts from clients. Things they collected."

  Eloise pointed at the sparkly bracelets on her wrist. "What about those?"

  "Jo Ellen's favorites." She held them up for display.

  Eloise thought about Alison's missing bracelet and started chewing her lipstick off. "Are they real?" she asked.

  "Of course they're real. Don't worry, she lets me wear them."

  "Where did she get them?" />
  Leah shrugged, and Eloise thought of Alison's husband.

  "How well did you know Mrs. Perkins?" she asked suddenly.

  "The lady across the street?" Leah fingered the bracelet.

  "You know who 1 mean."

  "I knew her."

  "What about Lynn?" Eloise's eyes kept moving around, looking at the boxes and cups. The place was like an antiques warehouse.

  "She's my best friend," she said warmly.

  Eloise focused on her. "Good, then you can help me with what happened yesterday. Did you see Lynn in the morning?"

  Leah put her lips together and shook her head.

  "Okay," Eloise turned away and ran her finger over a surface, looked at it, then nodded. "Very good. What is your routine here?" she said casually.

  Leah stared at her. "What do you mean?"

  "Do you make breakfast for Miss Anderson?"

  "No, not really." She stared out of disconcerting blue eyes, one hip cocked against the table.

  "What happens then?" Leah shrugged. "She leaves for work."

  "What time would that be?"

  "Nine, ten, eleven. Depends on her treatment."

  "What treatment?" Eloise lifted an eyebrow.

  Leah frowned and moved a few paces away. "I'm not supposed to tell."

  "Oh, come on. You can tell me," Eloise said.

  Leah shook her head again. "No way. Why all the questions?"

  Just curious. Did Miss Anderson have a treatment yesterday?" Eloise picked up a porcelain parrot, all green, studied it for a second, then put it back.

  "No, she's finished for now." Leah copied what Eloise had done a moment before. She ran a finger across the highly polished table and showed it to the detective. "See, I'm a good cleaner. I'm the best. That's why Joey has me here at her house. I can do the job." She made a face. "I have to clean up for Lynn though. She's not the best."

  Eloise glanced at her watch. Where was everybody? Surely, someone should be calling her by now. "You have to clean up for Lynn?" she said slowly.

  "She's lazy. I'm not." The girl laughed.

  "You clean across the street?" Eloise asked.