“Says he was in class at UCLA. We have to verify it.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“To be honest, it’s a tough call. He loved that girl and he’s crazy with grief. Just how crazy I don’t know.” Rickerson paused, flicking the hairs on his mustache. “Oh, Thomas Henderson is back on the street. One of our men spotted him in Costa Mesa yesterday on their way to court.”
“Shit,” Lara said. “He was at Camarillo State the last time I heard. He’s out?”
“You got it, kid.”
“Well, Henderson should want to kiss me, not kill me. I certainly didn’t do anything to him. It was my decision that set him free.” Wonderful, Lara thought facetiously. Now she was setting all the killers free instead of locking them up.
“I agree,” Rickerson said. “Just keep in mind that he’s out there.”
“What about all the other leads…all Ivory’s clients? One of them could have killed her and Sam. Just because this Packy person broke into my home doesn’t mean he was involved in the homicides.”
Rickerson sighed. She was right on that one, even though he thought he was headed to pay dirt with Evergreen. “We’ve interviewed almost everyone on the list. Most of them were at work with dozens of witnesses. Remember, this crime occurred during the middle of the day. Of course, the calls to hotels and things are impossible to trace.” Suddenly he remembered his conversation with Bradshaw. “I’d like to ask you something. Do you have a good friend that’s an attorney?”
“God, Rickerson, all my friends are attorneys. Either attorneys or judges.”
“This would be a male, Lara. It appears someone has been calling the station asking about suspects in this case. He claimed he was a close friend of yours and was attempting to pry information from the chief’s son.”
Lara stood there for a moment thinking. “The only person I can think of is Benjamin England. He represented Thomas Henderson. We’ve been dating, but he’s been out of town and I haven’t even talked to him since my sister’s death. I think he’s coming back tomorrow.”
Rickerson took out a small notebook and scribbled England’s name down. “I’ll check it out. Henderson, huh? Lot of people connected to this Henderson case.”
“It doesn’t make sense for Benjamin to call and ask about the case when he hasn’t even talked to me.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know where you are, Lara,” Rickerson said. The man could also be a valid suspect, he thought. As a criminal attorney he would have access to courthouse information. This boyfriend of Lara’s could have called Evergreen, claiming that he was with a local law enforcement agency, and easily arranged his release. Anyone who knew what to say and who to call could have pulled something like that off. The detective shook his head. This case was like chasing butterflies without a net. As soon as he thought he had something in his hand, it fluttered away.
Lara walked over to the sofa and threw herself on it face first. The wine, the disappointment, the stress of the past few days, were taking their toll. “I thought it was over,” she said in a thin, high voice. “Now you’re telling me I’m next…that someone really is out to kill me, that I released the man who killed my own sister. Jesus.”
At that moment she felt Rickerson’s warm breath on the back of her neck, his cool hand on her flesh. “Scoot over,” he said softly. “What you need is a neck rub.”
As he started kneading her neck, Lara stiffened. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not the big bad wolf.” This time he whispered, “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, Lara.”
His thigh was rubbing against her rib cage, brushing against her breast. She could almost feel his body heat through his clothing. And she could smell him. It wasn’t strong cologne like most men wore. It was a masculine, earthy scent. Cigars, coffee, sweat. Tonight it didn’t smell bad. This was the way her father used to smell when he used to hold her on his lap.
As he continued to rub her neck, she wondered what it would be like to have a man like this one. A man who carried a gun. A man who wasn’t afraid of anything. Then she felt something else. His hands were soft and fleshy, like he was wearing velvet-padded gloves. She felt her body responding and imagined those hands on her skin: her breasts, her hips, between her legs. She shivered. What was wrong with her? This was insanity.
“I—I’m fine, Ted,” she said, attempting to roll over. “I acted like a baby. I’m embarrassed. Let me up.”
“Ssssh,” he said. He moved his hands to her back and massaged her through her blouse. “Go to sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Lara shut her eyes. Several times she almost fell asleep and then her eyes sprang open. His hand was roaming. Either that or she was imagining it. She thought for sure she felt his touch on her buttocks. She wanted to feel his touch. That was the problem. “Ted,” she said. “Thanks for the neck rub, but I think I’ll go to bed.”
His fingers were dropping down off the side of her back and grazing her breasts. He leaned over her back and lifted her hair off her neck. She inhaled, certain he was going to kiss her. And there, right there—the one spot she was so sensitive. She closed her eyes and waited. She held her breath. Her heart was beating so fast that she was certain he could tell.
Nothing happened. She heard the door close. Rickerson had left.
Chapter 16
The following morning Lara headed to the hall of justice. It was Saturday and the parking lot was almost empty. She wanted to review the Adams case and make some phone calls. And she wanted to get out of that condo. All night long she had thrashed about in her bed, unable to sleep. Her thoughts kept returning to Ted Rickerson: what kind of lover he was, what he looked like without his clothes, what it would be like to have him inside her. She was certain he was married. He wore a wedding ring. She’d never known anyone to wear a wedding ring that wasn’t married. Not only that, he was a cop. If she started seeking sexual gratification from the police force, she might as well kiss her career goodbye.
She was all nerve endings and quivering flesh. This morning she had felt as though she’d spent the night in an X-rated movie. If he’d just make a real pass at her, she thought, the fantasy would probably vanish. That was a funny thing about women. They always seemed to want what they couldn’t have, and she, for one, was normally put off by real aggression. Men never seemed to realize that about her.
But the way the detective had touched her, it was so covert, so seductive. She shook her head, getting out of the Jaguar. She had to put this out of her mind. And fast. It was silly. She didn’t have time for this type of thing. He must think she was hard up, desperate. Was she? It was one thing to deal with life alone when it was uneventful. But now she needed someone. She needed someone to hold her, to make the pain go away.
It couldn’t be Ted Rickerson. She knew that for sure.
Since there was no security guard on weekends, she had to search in her purse for the key to get inside the hall leading to her chambers. On her way out this morning, she’d stopped at Emmet’s and he’d informed her that he’d already made arrangements with a company that would move his things to her place today and set up his equipment. The phone company had installed his line yesterday.
The air-conditioning system in the building was either off or on some type of climate control that barely moved the air. This section of the complex had no windows, and it was stuffy and uncomfortable.
Once she was inside her office, she called the number on the social workers’ card and left her number at the court. They could have at least notified her where she could call Josh, where they had placed him, she thought, feeling her frustration level rise about five notches. No wonder Victor Adams had flown off the handle and gone after one of these people. Their rules were too rigid, their attitude too superior. Yesterday she’d felt like punching them both in the face herself.
She had to buy Josh something appropriate to wear. The funeral was Monday.
The phone on her desk rang and she grabbed it. It was Rickerso
n. “How did you know where I was?” she asked him.
“I know everything,” he said.
“Oh, really.”
His voice dropped to a low level. “How did you sleep?”
She cleared her throat. She would have slept a lot better if he’d been in the bed next to her. “Fine,” she said. “And you?”
“Fine.” After an awkward pause he continued, his voice all business now. “I want to ask you some questions about Judge Evergreen.”
“Evergreen? Why?”
“Evergreen asked you to release Packy Cummings.
If I’m right, whoever arranged Cummings’s release is our killer.”
“But not Leo Evergreen. What possible motive could he have for killing my sister and brother-in-law? And he’s an old man, Ted. Ivory was raped. What you’re saying is absurd.”
“Lara, I’m not saying he killed them himself. Like I was telling you last night, I think someone hired Packy to break into your house and then kill Sam and Ivory.”
Lara’s voice went up several decibels. “But why?”
“Try blackmail?”
“Ivory and Sam were blackmailing Evergreen? Over what?”
“Ivory was a prostitute,” he said. He wasn’t prepared to tell Lara about the photos or the cash they had discovered in the safe at the pawnshop. Not yet.
“And Evergreen probably hasn’t had sex in years. None of this makes sense to me,” Lara said, tapping her pen again and again on the desk. “Ivory had a list of clients a mile long. She and Sam could have been blackmailing dozens of people.”
“Lara, your sister specialized in S and M. Her clients didn’t always have sex.”
Lara was silent.
Rickerson continued. “What do you know about Evergreen’s personal life? Is he married? Does he have children?”
“I think his wife is dead. I really don’t remember. She’s either dead or divorced him years go. I think he has a son, though.”
“How old is his son?” Rickerson asked.
“Gosh, Ted,” Lara replied, “I don’t really know. Grown, I’m sure. Come to think of it. I’ve seen a picture of his son on his desk. What does this possibly have to do with everything?”
“Stay right there, Lara. I’m coming over.”
Before she could tell him that he couldn’t get into the building, the detective had hung up. She’d have to meet him in the parking lot.
Rickerson followed Lara down the long carpeted hallway that separated the judges’ chambers from the courtrooms. “But I told you I can’t unlock the door to his chamber,” she said. “I don’t have a key. Every judge locks his door for security reasons.”
“Does your secretary have a key to your chambers?”
Lara stopped and turned around. “Well, yes, he does. He generally unlocks it before I get here every morning. He has to have a key in case I leave a case file or something in there and someone needs it when I’m not around.” Lara stopped for a few moments. The detective was making her a nervous wreck. She was in enough of a predicament as it was, and now he wanted to snoop around in Evergreen’s chambers. “Look, I know what you’re saying. Evergreen’s secretary has a key too, right?”
He nodded.
She continued, “But she probably locks her desk as well. Phillip does. I’m not going to let you break in here, Rickerson. Don’t even think it.”
As soon as they got to Evergreen’s office, Rickerson walked in, headed straight to the secretary’s desk, and removed something from his pocket. A few seconds later, he was rifling through her drawers.
Lara stood there with her hands on her hips. “How’d you get that open?”
“With a lock pick,” he said, holding it in the air. “These cheap county desks are a piece of cake. The door might be harder. Let’s go.” He had a large brass key ring jangling in his hands.
“Stop right there,” Lara told him. “I don’t like this at all, not at all. Now you’ve got me breaking into the presiding judge’s chambers. They’re going to throw me off the bench.”
Rickerson had the door open to Evergreen’s chambers and was already inside. Lara just stood there in the outer office shaking her head. He yelled at her, “You might get thrown off the bench, but it’s better than being dead.”
She walked inside.
“Is this the picture?” he said, holding up a snapshot of a baby-faced young man in his early twenties.
Lara nodded.
Rickerson picked the lock on Evergreen’s desk and started digging. He found a stack of cancelled checks on what appeared to be the judge’s personal bank account and looked up at Lara. “Don’t just stand there. Do something. Take these to a Xerox machine and copy them, front and back. Do you have one that prints in color?”
“I think so,” she said. “It’s down the hall.”
“Okay, take the picture out of the frame and copy it too. And hurry. He might come down here on weekends.”
“Why do you need a picture of Evergreen’s son?” Lara demanded.
The detective had been standing up. He now flopped down in Evergreen’s leather chair. “Trust me,” he said.
Lara snatched the photo and cancelled checks out of his hand and left the room, moving as fast as she could down the hall. All she needed was to have Evergreen catch her with the goods right in her hands. “Trust me,” she mumbled, mimicking Rickerson. “Like I’ve never heard those words before.” Finding the copy room, she slapped the checks upside down on the glass and hit the button. The machine whirred to life.
On Sunday, Lara drove to the address Madeline Murphy had given her. The house was a sprawling older adobe in a low-income section of Costa Mesa. Scattered all over the front yard were children’s toys. Lara had to pick up a skateboard off the walk to even pass. The social worker had given Lara permission to take Josh out to purchase a suit for the funeral. He came to the door himself, pale, looking as if he hadn’t slept all night, his hair dirty and limp. While he was standing in the doorway, a scruffy little boy tossed a Frisbee across the room and it struck Josh in the head.
“Knock it off, you crusted little toad,” Josh yelled, “or I’m gonna come over there and beat the shit out of you.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” the kid yelled back. He was only about seven years old, a street kid from the word go.
They drove in silence, Josh turning his head away and looking out the window.
“Honey,” she told him inside the department store, “by Tuesday you’ll be out of that place. We’re moving to another condo in the complex. It’s only temporary. It belongs to a friend of mine. You know, that man I told you about—Emmet.”
“They’re gonna keep me in that place forever. I hate those people. The woman is a porker and she stinks. The man wears his pants so low you can see his hairy ass all the time. I don’t think they ever take a bath. There’s six screaming little kids in there. I can’t even sleep.”
Lara jerked her head around. “I thought you had to have your own room. Are you telling me you’re in a room with six kids?”
“No,” he said. “I have a room about the size of a closet. I can sit on my bed and touch both walls. I can’t keep the brats out. They bang on the walls too, and they throw things.”
And these people were more suitable than she was, Lara thought. They were foster parents, people who made their living caring for kids like Josh. Unfortunately, most of them didn’t do it for the kids. They did it for the cash.
Lara had been looking through the racks of suits while Josh just stood there, no interest whatsoever. “What do you think of this one?” she said, holding up a navy blue suit with a reddish stripe.
“I hate it,” Josh said.
“Fine,” Lara said. “Even if you hate it, will you please see if it fits?”
He snatched the suit out of her hands and headed to the dressing room. She really didn’t know why she was going to all this trouble. No one was even going to be there except Irene and John Murdock, Benjamin England, if he’d received her messa
ge with the time and location, and Phillip. Then she thought of Emmet. Irene could drive his van and bring him.
The suit fit; she bought it, slapping her credit card on the counter. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow about ten o’clock,” she told him. He didn’t answer.
As they were walking to the Jaguar in the parking lot, he turned to her. “Did you go through my backpack?”
Lara froze in her tracks. A car was backing up and she stepped aside. “I-I was looking for a pen, Josh. I’m sorry. I guess I should have asked you, huh?”
“Did you take my Metallica T-shirt?”
She couldn’t lie. She unlocked the car door and got in. As soon as Josh was inside, she turned sideways in the seat. “Look, Josh, I want to be truthful with you. I took the T-shirt because it had blood on it. Now that it’s out in the open, why don’t you tell me whose blood it was?”
His eyes flashed with anger and he reached for the door handle. Lara grabbed the back of his shirt. “Don’t run away. That’s not going to solve anything. You’ve got to tell me, Josh.”
“Get your fucking hands off me. I knew you were a bitch. I don’t know why I thought you were different. You think I killed them, don’t you?” The muscles in his face started twitching, and he leaned over close to Lara’s face.
She drew back, thinking for a moment he was going to hit her.
“It was my blood. There…now you know. Are you happy?”
“What happened? Did you fall off your bike? How did you cut yourself?”
He turned away and stared out the window. “I can’t tell you.”
Lara reached across the seat and touched his hand. “Josh, please look at me. You can tell me. Honey, I have to know. This was a serious thing. I want you to be totally in the clear.”
“I can’t,” he said, sniffing. “It’s embarrassing.”
Lara just sat there. Finally she started the car and made her way out of the parking lot. She had no idea what he was talking about. Why would it be embarrassing? “I have an idea,” she said. “Could you write it?”
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