“She’s been acting as your advocate, so I’m guessing the answer is no. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Are you right-or left-handed?”
“A righty with a strong left…at least, I used to have a strong left.”
“You’ll be okay. Being as you’re right-handed, your schooling shouldn’t be impacted.” She waited a moment. “After the appointment, I was going to take you to look for pianos to rent. But if you’re going to move in with your aunt, that wouldn’t make much sense.”
The boy was silent.
“If you want to live with her because she’s your aunt and you’d be more comfortable there, I’m fine with your decision. It’s hard living with strangers. But don’t leave because you think we’re mad at you. Knowing your father, you should be able to stomach a little conflict without buckling.”
“It’s not conflict. I am used to that.” Gabe looked away. “I’m tired of being a burden.”
“If you were a burden, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t do burdens, Gabe, I’m too old. Besides, I don’t have burdens, you have burdens. I’m doing great. And don’t worry about my stress level. I’ve raised two boys. They were always getting into scrapes, although I must admit that I don’t think anyone ever held a gun to their ribs.”
The teen shrugged. “I’m a magnet for trouble. Things just seem to happen when I’m around.”
“It’s not smart to be in a parking lot in that area in the dark. I’m going to call up the school. At the very least, they can put up some decent lighting.” Rina looked at him. “Knowing your father, you’ve probably been around guns all your life.”
He nodded.
“Do you have a gun? If you have one, give it to me and I’ll put it in our gun safe.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“You wouldn’t be fibbing me, would you?”
“No. I swear. I wouldn’t have used my fists if I had a gun.”
“You might not have been packing, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a piece.”
“I don’t. Check the room.”
“I might just do that when you’re not around,” Rina said. “I wouldn’t read your personal material like mail and papers, but I’m not beyond looking under mattresses and other hard-to-find places for guns or drugs.”
“I’m not a druggie. I’ve never bought the stuff in my life. I certainly don’t drink. My father’s an alcoholic and my grandfathers on both sides were alcoholic. It’s in my genes, so I don’t go there.”
“And you don’t have a gun?”
“I don’t. Feel free to look around.”
Rina shrugged. “But you know how to shoot, right?”
“Yep.” A pause. “Chris took care of that.”
“Are you a good shot?”
“Not as good as Chris, but I’ve got a decent aim. Honestly, I hate guns.”
“That makes two of us. But I also know how to shoot. I learned because my husband thought it might be a good idea.”
“Same with Chris.” He was thoughtful. “My dad has lots of enemies. He said that I needed to learn to protect my mom and myself. He used to drill me. He used to shoot at me just to get me used to the sound of whizzing bullets.”
“That’s insane.”
“My dad’s insane.” The boy smiled. “Maybe they were blanks. He never said.”
“That’s outrageous, Gabriel.”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad. Chris wouldn’t have been my first choice in fathers.” A shrug. “I guess he’s a step up from his own dad. Chris never abused me.”
Rina raised her eyebrows. “You don’t consider shooting at your child abuse?”
“I mean physical abuse. Chris’s father used to beat him. Normally I’d think that Dad was lying, but I’ve seen the scars.” He regarded Rina. “I’m sick over my mom. I really miss her. But there’s this tiny part of me that misses Chris, also. Is that weird?”
“Not at all. I’m sure you miss your old life.”
“Yeah, probably. It wasn’t pretty, but at least I owned it.”
IT TOOK ABOUT fifteen minutes before the gate opened to the condo’s parking lot. Marge followed the car inside, freaking out the woman driver. After she and Oliver displayed their badges, she calmed down. The driver was in her thirties with a mocha complexion. “You scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry about that,” Oliver said. “Would you happen to know Mandy Kowalski? She’s a nurse at St. Tim’s.”
“What unit is she in?”
Marge gave her the number. “She’s usually at home at night, but she isn’t answering her door.”
“Maybe she’s soaking in the hot tub.”
Mandy didn’t appear like the hot-tub type. Marge said, “Do you know her?”
“No, sorry. There are lots of units here.”
Marge gave her a card. “If you see her, give us a call.”
The woman threw the card into her purse. Marge and Oliver watched her until she disappeared behind a door leading to the elevators. Then Marge scanned the parking lot for Mandy’s car. “About forty double spaces?”
“Yeah, but a third are half full,” Oliver said. “You take the left, I’ll take the right.”
“And I’ll be in Scotland afore you,” Marge quipped.
Twenty minutes later, they met up, neither of them claiming success at locating Mandy’s car. Oliver said, “It’s past nine. I’m not liking this.”
Marge said, “Let’s try her condo again.”
“Her car’s not here, what makes you think she’s in her condo?”
“Just have peek, okay?”
They rode the elevator up to the third floor. As soon as they stepped out of the lift and into the open, Oliver’s phone rang. He looked at the number and shrugged. “Looks familiar but I don’t know who it is.” He depressed the talk button. “Detective Oliver.”
“It’s Sela Graydon returning your call.”
“Yes, Ms. Graydon, thank you very much. We’re trying to locate Crystal Larabee. Would you happen to know where she is?”
“No. I was actually going to call you about that. I can’t seem to get hold of her. She hasn’t answered any of my calls. It’s making me a little nervous.”
“How many times have you called her?”
“About four…maybe five.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Around nine or ten yesterday morning. We mentioned something about getting together for coffee and that was the last I’ve heard from her. I was thinking about going over to her place, but I don’t want to seem ridiculous. I mean, she is a grown woman.”
Oliver said, “How about if we meet you there?”
“You know where she lives?”
“I do. We could probably be there in twenty minutes.”
“It’ll take me about a half hour.”
“So we’ll see you in a half hour.”
“So you don’t think I’m being ridiculous?”
“Caring about your friend’s welfare is never ridiculous. Do you know anyone who might have a key to her place?”
“I have a key. I don’t know if it works. I never used it.”
“Bring it—just in case.”
“In case of what?” Sela asked.
Oliver didn’t answer, choosing to disconnect the call instead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MANDY STILL WASN’T answering her door, but with her car gone, Oliver and Marge were less worried than they were curious. Maybe the woman had asked for a few days off to soak up the sun on some close-in Mexican beach. Of greater concern was Crystal Larabee. When the friends got worried, it was time to sit up and take notice.
The two-story dingbat that Crystal called home was lit with hot white spots throwing the occasional patches on the white-fade-to-gray stucco. Sela Graydon was waiting outside, dressed in a fiery red suit with an enormous black leather purse perched on her arm. She was pacing and jingling her keys, but stopped when she saw Marge get out of the car. Her attempt at a smile was a dismal failure.
“Hi.” Sela adjusted her purse over her shoulder and held out a hand. “Thanks for coming. It makes me feel less crazy.”
Marge shook her hand. “Your friend just passed on a few days ago. You have every right to feel concerned.”
“I’m a nervous wreck. I can’t concentrate at work. I have to read everything over twice.” She bit her thumbnail. “I’m very sad, of course. It’s so horrible. I keep wondering what Adrianna got herself into.”
Marge said, “Until we know, it’s good to be cautious.”
“Cautious about what? I mean, this doesn’t have anything to do with me, right?”
“Can you think of a reason why Adrianna’s death would have something to do with you?” Marge responded.
“No. I mean just because we were friends doesn’t mean that we were involved in the same things.” A long pause. “Should I be worried?”
“One step at a time,” Oliver said. “Do you have the key to Crystal’s apartment?”
Sela held up a ring with about a dozen keys on it. “Help yourself.”
“Crystal gave you the key,” Marge said. “With it, she gave you implicit permission to enter her property. So we’ll let you do the honors.”
The trio walked upstairs. When they reached Crystal’s door, Oliver knocked hard. “Crystal?” Another knock. “Crystal, are you there?”
Sela bit her thumbnail. “Is it my imagination or am I smelling something yucky?”
“No, something stinks,” Marge said. “Could you open the door?”
“I don’t want to go in.”
Oliver said, “Tell us that you called us and wanted us to check out her apartment because you suspect something might not be right.”
“I called you to check out her place. I suspect something might not be right.”
“Great,” Oliver said. “Unlock the door and we’ll take it from there.”
With a shaking hand, Sela managed to insert the key and turn the dead bolt. As the door fell open, the stench blew stronger. Not exactly the stink of a rotting body; more like overripe garbage.
Sela was ashen. Marge said, “How about if you wait downstairs in your car?”
“Good idea.” She swooned and Oliver caught her arm. “Let me help you down the stairs.”
“I’m…okay.”
“I’m sure you are, but the steps are steep and you’re wearing heels.”
She offered no resistance as Oliver guided her to the first floor. A minute later, he came bounding back up. Marge was already inside, scoping out the kitchen. She had put on latex gloves and had opened one of the two bags of garbage stacked against the wall. “Whew, that’s strong! I should have brought up a face mask.”
“Shoulda, coulda, woulda.” Oliver put on gloves as well, shooing away a couple of buzzing flies—never a good sign. “Find any body parts?”
“No, just a lot of slimy vegetables.” She looked up, waved a fly away, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “As long as I started the dirty job, I’ll finish it up. Why don’t you look around and tell me if you find something interesting.”
He waved air in front of his face with rapid hand movements. “I won’t argue.”
Marge continued to rifle through the trash. In addition to decomposed produce, there were several discarded cartons of milk, a discarded carton of orange juice, moldy cheese, and old green-tinged deli meat. She tied up the bag and opened the next one. Its contents included a slew of half-used condiments including but not limited to ketchup, mustard, mayo, soy sauce, hot-dog relish, a jar of crystallized strawberry jam, vinegar, wasabi horseradish, maraschino cherries, pearl onions, and pimento-stuffed olives.
Oliver returned to the kitchen about twenty minutes later, just as Marge was tying up the second bag. “There are clothes on the floor and the bed’s unmade.”
“Any signs of a struggle?”
“More like she’s a slob than a crime scene.”
“How about recent sex?”
“No used condoms. The room didn’t smell particularly clean, but it didn’t reek of sperm. The bathroom is also messy, but nothing overtly gruesome like bloody towels or wall spatter. How about you?”
“For a slob, she just did a major cleanup on her kitchen.”
Oliver looked around. Like the first time, there were crusted dishes in the sink and the counters were dirty. “What do you mean? The place is a sty.”
“She cleaned out her refrigerator.” The two of them looked at each other. “Or someone cleaned out her refrigerator.” She wrapped her gloved hand around the handle of an old white Amana and gave it a yank.
An arm flopped down.
No body followed.
The two detectives peered inside. The nude body of Crystal Larabee had been crammed in so tightly that even gravity had failed to dislodge her from her gelid tomb. Shelving had been removed to make room for the corpse. She had been folded into accordion pleats. Her feet had been bent forward at the ankles, her legs folded at the knees so that her thighs sat on her stomach and chest. Her head had been pulled forward, turned to the right, and was smashed between her knees and the top nonremovable shelf.
Oliver blew out air. “You call it in to the coroner’s office. I’ll get the crime-scene kit from the car.”
Marge took out her phone. “While you’re down there, talk to Sela Graydon. We should keep an eye on her.”
“As a potential suspect or a potential victim?”
“Right now I’m thinking victim.” Marge punched in Decker’s phone number. “We don’t know what’s flying. We certainly don’t want a case of two down and one to go.”
SELA WAS IN the backseat of the unmarked. The poor woman had thrown up her dinner. Right now she was shaking and sobbing. “Why…is this…happening?”
“It must seem like a nightmare,” Marge said.
“It is a…nightmare!” Sela sobbed into a Kleenex. “I’m scared. What if it’s like one of those horror movies? Someone…from high school is getting back at us with a vendetta?”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Is there someone you could stay with for the night?”
“My parents…” She broke into a fresh round of sobs. “I want to go home!”
“Where do your parents live?”
“In Ventura.”
About forty miles away from L.A. Marge said, “I don’t think you’re in a good state to drive right now. How about if I call them up and have them come fetch you.”
“I need my car.” Sela blew her nose. “I have to go to work in the morning. I’m already behind because I’ve been so distracted…because of Adrianna.”
“Are your parents married?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Maybe they can drive down together and then drive back to the house separately.”
Sela dried her eyes. “I’ll call them up now.”
“Before you do, I want to ask you a couple of questions.” Marge took out her notebook. “Who should I call about Crystal?”
“Oh God!” The tears started up again. “I guess her mother. She doesn’t live in L.A. anymore. She moved away.”
“Do you have her number?”
Sela shook her head.
“How about a name?”
“Pandy Hurst.” Sela spelled it. “It’s short for Pandora.”
“And you have no idea where she lives?”
“I’m sure her phone number is on Crystal’s cell phone.”
“Okay. We’ll find her.” Marge paused. “Can you think of a reason why someone would want to hurt Crystal and Adrianna?”
“The only thing I can think of is that guy that Adrianna was talking to in the bar. Maybe he’s a serial killer.”
“Yes, we’re looking into him. On a more personal note, we still can’t find Garth Hammerling. From what we heard, the man wasn’t true blue. Could he have had something going with Crystal on the side?”
“It’s totally possible. Garth’s a jerk.”
“What about
Aaron Otis? He had a brief fling with Adrianna.”
“I don’t know him well…” She suddenly paled. “I think I feel sick again.”
She threw open the door and heaved on the curb, retching and coughing. In the background, Marge heard the approach of wailing sirens.
“Excuse me for a moment.” Marge got out of the backseat and met up with the two black-and-whites, giving the four uniformed officers orders to block off the street and secure the apartment building. A crowd was gathering and Marge needed their help. Oliver was already upstairs cordoning off the apartment.
Sela had stopped vomiting and was sitting in the backseat with her head between her knees. Slowly she brought her head up and then wiped her eyes and face. “God, I’m a mess!” She was drooling and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a tissue. “It’s funny.” A pause. “Not ha-ha funny but ironic funny. For the last year or so, I’ve been trying to distance myself from those two. And now they’re gone…and I feel so horrible! Like I caused it by wishing it.”
“You didn’t cause anything, you know that.” Marge had slid into the backseat of the car. “You’re as much of a victim as they are.”
“Except I’m still here.”
Survivor’s guilt. “Thank God for that. I’ll call your parents now if you want.”
“I’ll do it. I can handle this.” Sela was talking as much to herself as to Marge. She punched in the numbers, but as soon as her mother answered, she burst into sobs. Her mother started shrieking, loud enough for Marge to hear.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sela sobbed out.
Marge took the phone and introduced herself.
Another heart-wrenching phone conversation.
Another long night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
TWO BLACK-JACKETED CORONER’S investigators had gently removed the body from the refrigerator and laid it on a blanket. The older of the two investigators—a female Hispanic in her forties named Gloria—turned to Decker. “We need to let the body warm up before we unfold her. If you’ve ever worked with raw cold beef, you know that it isn’t as pliable as room-temperature meat. We don’t want to tear anything.”
“Got it.” Decker squatted down to study the body. Freed from the confines of the icebox, it had unfurled a bit. Crystal was now in the fetal position. Her polished nails appeared intact, although the paint was chipping off of them. The coroners would clip them to determine if there was foreign or biological material present. She had been placed in the fridge for a while, because lividity had taken place, the blood sinking down into the lower halves of the woman’s calves, thighs, and torso. With his naked eye, Decker couldn’t see any gunshot or stab wounds. Her skin tone hovered around bluish-tinged gray, with her lips being a deep indigo. He regarded her neck. There appeared to be some purple dots—petechiae—around the portion of her neck that was visible. That usually meant strangulation.
Hangman Page 23