Insidious

by Catherine Coulter

  Missy shook her head. “Bummer. I have an audition for a buttermilk commercial. Actually, I have to go get ready. Good luck, guys.” She padded out of the kitchen.

  Daniel said, “Arturo, you have something for us?”

  “Come, sit down,” Cam said.

  Once seated, Arturo said, “It’s about Dr. Mark Richards’s alibi for Tuesday night, the night Deborah was murdered. He claimed he’d stayed at the hospital all night. We thought we’d interviewed everyone who could verify he’d been there, but it turns out we missed someone because she’d switched to day shift. I found her, spoke to her. She thought Dr. Richards was in the doctor’s on-call room, sleeping, but she needed him, and when he didn’t answer his page, she checked. He wasn’t there. She wondered where he was, but then got busy and forgot it. She says she did see him coming out of the on-call room later, like he just woke up. But there was a sizable gap, and he wasn’t where he said he was.

  “Remember he’s a runner, so he could have run to Deborah’s place, killed her, and run back. I timed it, twenty-eight minutes. He could have easily avoided the cameras in the hospital. That late, who would even notice a guy out running?”

  Cam said more to herself than to anyone else, “No, I can’t be that wrong about somebody.”

  Daniel patted her arm. “Maybe you’re not wrong, but I’ve got to wonder why Theo Markham is so convinced Doc murdered Deborah. What reason could he have?”

  Cam said slowly, “It seems to me it’s got to have something to do with Connie Morrissey. But what?”

  Arturo said, “Or maybe Doc did kill Deborah, and Markham found out about it.”

  Cam looked around. “If that’s the case, just shoot me.”

  Daniel said, “Let’s not be hasty, Wittier. Look, Gloria’s a good reason to talk to Markham again, that and why he didn’t bother to tell us he was about to give The Crown Prince role to Connie before she was murdered and then the role went to Deborah. We might get more out of him if we go tell him about Gloria before he finds out from the media.”

  Cam nodded, stood up. “Arturo, why don’t you talk to Gloria at my parents’ house while we’re gone? We’ll hook up with you there later.”

  52

  * * *

  HOOVER BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  FRIDAY

  Savich knew he was being perverse for not wanting to crate Alexander Rasmussen up and ship him to Attica, but his gut simply wouldn’t allow it. Alexander was probably Venus’s smartest progeny. He was also too sly, too willing to torpedo ethics when it suited him, as he had when he embezzled money from his New York law firm. But if Alexander had decided on a head-on battle with his grandmother, to unseat her from her throne at Rasmussen Industries before she wanted to retire, and he’d decided on murder, he would have gotten away with it, no doubt in Savich’s mind. Nor could he see Alexander hiring Willig—he was more the type to sink into the shadows and wait until the timing was perfect. Nor would he ever leave evidence behind. That wasn’t Alexander. He was many things, but Sherlock was right, he wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t tried to murder his grandmother. And that left the big question—who was framing him?

  It had to be someone close, very close, most likely another family member. But who? Glynis, as shrewd and ruthless as Alexander, but less driven? Less ruthless? Besides, she’d simply ask for more money, and probably get it, not plot her own grandmother’s murder. Hildi? Did she hate her mother for paying off her husband and getting him out of her life? A hippie artist, was Hildi capable of that? And faithful Veronica, fiercely loyal and protective of Venus, with her for fifteen years? Had Veronica been the one to fabricate evidence to bury Alexander, to cover her own guilt? She certainly had all the opportunity she could want. But why?

  His cell belted out Little Big Town’s Tornado.

  It was Cam, calling from Malibu. His brain happily switched gears. “Hi, Cam. Thanks for the heads-up about the actress Gloria Swanson. You’ve got something new now?”

  “Not a lot, Dillon. We’re back to making sure Doc—Dr. Mark Richards, Deborah Connelly’s boyfriend—didn’t kill her. One of the LAPD detectives, Arturo Loomis, found out he couldn’t account for over forty minutes around the time of her murder. Doc claimed he was asleep in the break room.”

  “What about security tapes?”

  “There aren’t any in the doctors’ break room, and there’s only one security camera in the stairwell beside the room, but easily spotted, easily avoided.”

  “What about the cameras in the parking lot?”

  “His car never moved. But Deborah’s house is only about a half mile away from the hospital, and he’s a runner. He knows the area, so he could have avoided all the cameras. But we don’t even have a good focus on the motive yet, Dillon. The Serial could be a complete stranger, someone completely off our radar.”

  “But you don’t think so. You’re looking at Markham.”

  She paused, and Savich waited.

  “We’ve been looking for whatever connects all the victims, for a single motive, though of course a Serial might not have anything like a motive we’d recognize. But unless something falls into our laps, it’s our best approach. And it’s turning my brain into mush. One path suggests another, and those lead to dead ends. I’m being sucked under for the third time, Dillon. Maybe you should send out another agent to lead the case. I’m clearly incompetent.”

  Savich smiled. “I know the feeling well.”

  “You said in a class at Quantico that when you can’t see the forest through the trees, get an ax.”

  He laughed. “Yes, simplify. Seems to me your cases may not be connected in a straightforward way, Cam. It’s even possible you’re looking for more than one murderer given what our M.E. said. I sugguest you focus on Deborah Connelly’s murder. Dump everything else out of your brain, the auditions, all the obvious connections among the actresses. When you solve her case, you’ll see what connects all the murders, and everything will fall into place.”

  Cam paused again. He heard her draw a deep breath. “Good advice, Dillon, all my focus is now on Deborah Connelly. Thank you.”

  “Trust your gut, Cam. At the end of the day it’s all you’ve got.”

  He rang off, thinking about what he’d just told Cam. Simplify. Back to basics. Time to take his own advice. Savich woke MAX out of sleep mode again. Even clever people left more trails in the Cloud than they even dreamed existed. MAX was his bloodhound in cyberspace. Maitland had told him once he didn’t ever want to know where Savich took MAX to mine all his data. He was certain Maitland wouldn’t want to know this time either.

  He scrolled through his preliminary information about Veronica again, all of it expected, pedestrian, really, except for the bust for marijuana back in the day, and that was only a point of interest. A short bitter marriage to an army major, no children. He looked up when Sherlock stuck her head in the door.

  “Dillon, we’ve finished studying every bit of footage from retailers’ security cameras and traffic cams near K Street. Griffin spotted a guy standing very close to Delsey at the intersection just before she was pushed into traffic. But the guy’s in a crowd, and he’s wearing a hoodie and sunglasses, showing a bit of jaw and that’s it. Griffin wants you to have a look at it.”

  Savich nodded. “Let me see it.”

  “The reason I came in, though—and this is a surprise—Veronica is here. She says it’s important.”

  Savich glanced down at MAX’s screen, a summary of Veronica’s grades at Smith, mainly Bs and As, psychology major. He punched several keys, and MAX’s screen went black. “Let’s see what she’s got to say.”

  53

  * * *

  Savich found Veronica seated next to Shirley’s desk, laughing at the photo of Shirley’s Pomeranian enthusiastically licking her face. “His name is Barker,” Shirley was saying, “after the old show host. He’s a yapper, particularly when he sees me eating bacon, which is way too often.” She looked at Savich. “You’ve told me
Barker is Astro’s cousin when it comes to bacon.”

  “Only difference is Astro prefers turkey bacon. Come, Veronica, let’s talk.” Savich touched Veronica’s hand, nodded to the CAU conference room. Sherlock joined them.

  Once she was seated, Veronica said without preamble, “I had to insist on taking Venus to see Dr. Filbert this morning. What happened between her and Alexander last night, your insisting he move out of the house, on top of that horrible man Willig trying to shoot her, it’s all having a very bad effect on her, though she’s trying to hide it. Her blood pressure was way up this morning, and she didn’t look well. Pruitt told her all the stress she’s been living under would be too much for a twenty-year-old, but a twenty-year-old didn’t have to worry about a heart attack and she did. He told her she had to face the fact that she wasn’t a spring chicken any longer and she simply wasn’t up to all this nonsense. He said at her age a heart attack could kill her, and that’s why I’m here. She needs answers, Dillon. Can you tell me anything I can pass along to her? Or could you speak to her yourself?”

  “Is she home resting?”

  “Ha! Not a chance. You know Venus, she’s at Rasmussen Industries, in her big corner office, running things as she always is. She says if her heart goes, it goes, but she isn’t going to lie around with her feet up, waiting for it to happen. She’s got work to do.”

  Sherlock said, “In other words, she insists on living her life until she drops.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  “What did Venus say to you about Alexander, Veronica?”

  “I hate this, Dillon, I really do. Venus asked me what I thought. When I didn’t answer right away, she bowed her head, didn’t say another word. I should have reassured her, I know that now, but—”

  Sherlock said, “So you believe Alexander is guilty?”

  “Venus told me about the evidence you found against him—the arsenic in his medicine cabinet, those phone calls to Willig. Honestly, I can’t imagine it, but—” She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Veronica,” Savich said, “are you currently having, or have you ever had, an intimate relationship with Alexander?”

  Veronica jerked back in her chair. “Me and Alexander? Goodness, no, Dillon, of course not. He’s never been interested in me that way, nor I him, I might add.”

  “Why?” Sherlock asked. “He’s good-looking, smart, successful.”

  “Let me say that Alexander’s always very polite to me, scrupulously so, for the fifteen years I’ve been with Venus. But I’ve always been aware he regards me as a kind of servant, not deserving of his attention, a very upstairs/downstairs mentality.”

  “One other quick question,” Savich said. “Venus goes to her office every day, has for years. I’ve wondered why she believed she needed a companion fifteen years ago.”

  Veronica smiled. “One week before she hired me, Venus had a real scare. She had the flu, and maybe it affected her heart rhythm, but she passed out. If Isabel hadn’t happened to come in her room that morning, she might have died. Venus decided she wanted someone who would always be there, making sure she put her feet on the floor in the morning. She never had that particular health problem again, but Venus and I really hit it off and she asked me not to leave.

  “To tell you the truth, I chafed at first. I mean, the pay was good, but what was I to do with myself? I could read only so many books, walk so many miles since I never accompanied her to work. It was Venus who told me I was free as a bird during the day, so why not spread my wings? Why not decide what I most wanted and do it. I did.”

  “And what was that?” Savich asked her.

  “I started a small retail website for women’s clothing, as a reseller. It’s called Classic Threads.” She smiled. “Actually, it’s made what to me is a bundle over the years. I put a lot back into the business, since Venus sees to it that I don’t have to worry about money day to day. Nowadays, I’m up against big-time competition, but my reputation is well established, my prices are competitive, and I’ve got a huge reach geographically. Plus I’ve established some great relationships with my suppliers.”

  Sherlock said, “Classic Threads, good website name. I’ll look you up. Venus must be really proud. Veronica, do you know if Venus is going to be at her office until this evening?”

  “No. She promised me she’d be home by four this afternoon. But what about Alexander? Are you going to arrest him? Is he going to be able to live at home again?”

  Savich sat forward. “This is difficult, I know, for you, for everyone in the family. About Alexander, we’ll have to see. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll keep your eye on Venus, help her in any way you can. Tell her we’ll be speaking to her, and soon. Thank you for coming.”

  As they escorted Veronica out of the conference room, Sherlock said, “Have you seen Rob Rasmussen since Tuesday night at the mansion?”

  “No, why?”

  “Just curious. What did you think of him?”

  “Well, I have to say I have fond memories of the boy, but I don’t know the man yet. He’s got those unmistakable Rasmussen good looks. From what Venus tells me, he’s turned into a model citizen, a good businessman. But I think he’ll have to convince the rest of them, though. Tuesday night he was obviously on his best behavior, wanting everybody happy he was back.” She sighed. “He’s not at all like Alexander, thank goodness.”

  Veronica paused, looked up at Savich. “I know you and Alexander don’t get along, but do you think he’s guilty of trying to murder his own grandmother?”

  He only smiled. “Thanks again for coming, Veronica.”

  54

  * * *

  CENTURY CITY

  LOS ANGELES

  FRIDAY MORNING

  When they stepped off the elevator at the Culver Building an hour and a half later, Markham’s assistant showed them into his office without a word. Markham rose slowly from behind his desk. He said something to a man seated in front of his desk and the man left quickly, not meeting their eyes.

  “Forgive Bobby, he doesn’t like cops. I find accountants rarely do. His brother’s in prison for embezzlement.” He eyed them. “So why are you here again? I’ve already cooperated with answering your questions, more than I needed to. So why am I still in your loop?” He laid his fist against the top of his desk.

  Cam said, “We’re here to tell you that Gloria Swanson was attacked last night in her home in Santa Monica.”

  Markham looked like he’d been shot. He stared at them, not speaking, obviously shaken.

  “She’s all right,” Daniel said. “She saved herself. One of our people called some of the actresses we were worried might be possible targets. Gloria bought a gun and when the Serial came, she shot at him but didn’t hit him. Unfortunately, he’s still at large.”

  Cam stepped forward. “Mr. Markham, are you all right? Would you like a glass of water?”

  “No, no, thank you. She’s really all right?”

  “Yes, she’s quite safe,” Daniel said. “Can you tell us where you were last night, say around one a.m.?”

  Markham stared blankly at Daniel as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. He moistened his mouth with his tongue. “You think I could have— You’re crazy. I was at home, asleep, with my wife, in our bed. I left the house at eight o’clock this morning.”

  Cam said, “You never mentioned the lead role in The Crown Prince was about to go to Connie Morrissey before she was murdered. The same role you then gave to Deborah Connelly. The role she was playing when she was murdered on Tuesday night. You didn’t think that fact would interest us? You didn’t think our knowing that was important?”

  He stared at Cam. “What? No, of course that was true, but I was in shock about Deborah’s death and I didn’t think of it.” He looked back and forth between them, both of them hard-faced with not a bit of give. “Really, it didn’t occur to me at the time. I’m not lying and besides, what difference does it make?”

  “Where were you Tuesday night, sir
?”

  “Tuesday night?”

  “The night Deborah was murdered.”

  “I was at the studio, studying rushes from The Crown Prince. We ran really late that night. Then I went home.”

  “How long after Connie was murdered did you offer Deborah her role in The Crown Prince?”

  “I don’t remember, a week, maybe, I don’t know. Casting contacted me, I think, cleared Ms. Connelly, and that’s why that madman Doc murdered her. I’m sure he fought her tooth and nail about it. Maybe she had enough and wanted to leave him. I know she was over-the-top happy when she was by herself filming in Italy those two weeks. I’ll bet seeing him again, listening to him grill her, accuse her of sleeping with other actors—”

  He ground down, shut his mouth.

  Cam said immediately, “You’re sleeping with Gloria and that’s why you helped her get the lead in Hard Line, right?”

  He stiffened. “This Gloria Swanson will be as famous as the first one and that role will be her springboard. She’s as talented as Connie was. She deserves the role in Hard Line. She’ll be excellent. Sleeping with her has nothing to do with it.”

  “But it didn’t hurt she was sleeping with you, right? Like Connie Morrissey was sleeping with you? And now Gloria was almost murdered like Connie was, if she hadn’t been smart. Help us out here, Mr. Markham. Make us understand. What does that say to you?”

  “I don’t know! Do you hear me, I don’t understand any of this. You should do your job instead of badgering me—” He broke off and licked his lips again. “Did Gloria tell you we were sleeping together?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Cam said. “As I recall, she said you would prefer she didn’t say. But of course you were, just as you were sleeping with Connie.”

  “I have a family and I don’t want my wife involved in any of this. We have an understanding, but that includes keeping our private lives out of the press. It would ruin things for me.”