50
Laurie was finally ready to call it a night when she noticed light glowing beneath her father’s bedroom door. She tapped gently on the door and cracked it open.
He was beneath his covers, reading a copy of Sports Illustrated.
“Sorry, I saw the light.”
He set the magazine down and waved her in. “You holding up okay, baby girl?”
If she had any doubt that she looked like she’d aged a decade in a day, his question sealed the deal. She plopped herself horizontally at the foot of the king bed, her head resting on his blanketed shins. She couldn’t think of a more comfortable place at that moment. “I used to hate it when you called me that. And then somewhere down the road, it became music to my ears.”
“Sometimes dads do know best.”
“Not always. Remember when you tried to push Petey Vandermon on me?”
“I’m not sure I’d agree with that wording, but I’ll concede that my matchmaking effort was what Timmy would call a fail.”
“Petey was the worst,” Laurie continued with a laugh. “You convinced me to go to that stupid carnival out in Long Island with him. He got terrified in a mirror maze and ran out screaming. He left me bumping around in there for twenty minutes in search of a way out.”
Leo chuckled at the memory. “You stormed into the living room, swearing you would never speak to me again if I ever tried to play Cupid. Then I got another lecture from your mother that night before I could go to sleep.”
“You had good intentions, though.”
“If I recall correctly, Petey was supposed to distract you from that Scott whoever-he-was.”
“Mr. Future President. Intern to a congressman. Carried a briefcase to high school.”
“I didn’t like him. He was . . . weaselly.”
“I don’t think I ever told you this. He became a lawyer and got indicted for embezzling client funds.”
Her father flipped back the covers with excitement. “See? Daddy does know what’s best.”
“Sometimes I think no one knows best. Look at how I met Greg.” The word “met” was an overstatement given that she’d been unconscious at the time. She’d been hit by a cab on Park Avenue, and Greg was the ER doctor on duty. At the time, Laurie’s parents—and eventually Laurie—had been grateful for the reassuring treatment, but she wound up engaged to him three months later. Then Laurie’s mother had died a year after that, and Greg had been there for everyone.
Her father sat up and stroked her hair. “You only reminisce like this when something’s troubling you. I know you’re worried about Jerry. He’s going to be fine.”
Laurie took a deep breath. She couldn’t cry again today. “Not to mention, I just got off the phone with Brett. I swear that man might be a vampire—I don’t think he sleeps at night. I was the one who had to beg him to cover the Cinderella Murder, and now that someone’s coming after the show, he’s dead set against canceling it. Part of me is relieved I don’t have to make the decision, but he won’t even delay the production schedule. He gave me a big song and dance about how Jerry would want us to keep working, but I know it’s all about the bottom line.”
“I was wondering whether that bottom line had something to do with your decision to stay in this house. If so, I’m going to strangle that man.”
“It’s just a few more days, Dad, and we’re all on high alert now. And you heard what Detective Reilly said about the police keeping an eye on us.”
“You do what’s right for you, Laurie. You know I’ve always got your back.”
“Thanks, Dad. It’s okay. If anything, this attack on Jerry has me convinced that whoever killed Susan is one of our participants. That makes it all the more important to me that we follow through on this.”
“I called the police up in Alameda County. They’re going to send some surveillance pictures of cars that were near Rosemary’s house around the time her neighbor was killed. I’ll go through them. Maybe we’ll catch a break.”
“You don’t sound too optimistic.”
His shrug said enough. She stood and gave him a hug. “I better call it a night. We meet with Frank Parker tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You weren’t kidding when you said Brett didn’t want to disrupt the schedule.”
“Hey, we saved the big celebrity interview for last. Then it’s on to the big summit session, and then back home to New York.”
“You do know you can’t set a timeline like that, Laurie. Don’t get your hopes up about solving this thing. All I want right now is to keep everyone safe. And don’t you dare—not for one second—blame yourself for what happened to Jerry.”
“Of course I do. I can’t help it.”
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. We realized after you and the others left to meet Madison that we didn’t have enough house keys to go around. Jerry gave me the last copy, assuming it would be fine to leave the door unlocked if he had to run out for a few minutes here and there.”
“Dad—”
“My point is that you can drive yourself crazy asking whether things would have been different if a, or b, or x, y, and z.”
He didn’t need to say any more. How many times had they both wondered if they could have done something to save Greg? She saw the light click off beneath the door as she closed it but knew neither of them would find sleep any time soon.
51
Laurie hadn’t expected to be at her best the next morning, but she felt like she was still half-asleep. She had spent the night waking up every twenty minutes, picturing Jerry being lifted onto the gurney by EMTs.
Alex must have had a rough night too. In the back of the van, parked at the curb in front of Frank Parker’s former home, a makeup artist was touching up his eyes. He had rightly said to Laurie, “I look like I was on a bender.”
For today, it was just the two of them and the camera crew from the Under Suspicion staff. Jerry, of course, was in the hospital, still in what the doctors politely called “a comalike state.” Grace had stayed at the house to keep Timmy busy while Leo pored through the surveillance footage coming in from Alameda County. If they could somehow connect the murder of Lydia Levitt to the break-in at the Bel Air house, they might figure out who assaulted Jerry. Laurie was nearly certain that person would also turn out to be Susan’s killer.
Right now, the immediate goal was to lock Frank Parker down on his timeline for the night of Susan’s murder. He and Madison had been consistent in sticking to their stories, but Madison’s mention of Susan’s car acting up before her death had added a new layer to the mix.
Laurie watched as a cameraman on a wheeled cart backed up to film Alex and Frank walking side by side. They were there now: a turn in the road entering Laurel Canyon Park, just off Mulholland Drive, the exact spot where Susan’s body had been found. For Laurie, it was a poignant moment. She couldn’t help but think of the playground where Greg had been killed. As she began to tear up, she forced herself to look toward the sky, focusing on the individual branches of a huge sycamore tree towering above them.
Her composure regained, Laurie kept up with the cameraman as he continued to film Alex and Frank walking out of the park and toward Frank Parker’s former home. The purported purpose of this stroll had been to get footage of the iconic setting for the show, but she and Alex had another goal in mind: to establish the short distance between the body and Parker’s house. It was less than half a mile.
As planned, Alex and Frank made their way past the home’s front gate to an interior courtyard, where, with the permission of the present owner, they had staged two chairs next to the front garden. Once they were seated, Alex stole a casual glance at his watch. “Our walk from the scene of Susan’s death was only ten minutes, and I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t exactly hurrying.”
Frank gave a warm smile. In the short time Alex had spent with the director, he had already managed to find a camaraderie that was apparent on camera. “You may not believe me, Alex, but I could have told
you the number of minutes without even looking at a watch. I have an inner clock that never stops ticking, and I really can pinpoint the time of day—within one to three minutes—at any given moment. It’s a useless party trick, but I have a feeling that’s not why you brought up the time.”
“Susan Dempsey lived on the UCLA campus, more than eight miles from the spot where she was killed. Yet your house is only a ten-minute walk from that spot. Or perhaps five minutes if someone were running from your house in terror. And Susan was scheduled to be at your house the very night of her murder. You must understand why people suspected you.”
“Of course I understand. If I had thought the police were unreasonable in initially questioning me, I might have hired a team of lawyers and refused to have anything to do with the investigation. But that’s not what I did, is it? Ask any of the detectives who were involved. They’ll confirm I was cooperative. Because I had no cause not to be. I was shocked, of course, when they told me Susan’s body had been found. And where it was found. I provided a thorough account of my whereabouts for the night. They confirmed that account, and that really should have been the end of the story.”
“But it wasn’t the end of the story. Instead, your name is forever associated with the Cinderella Murder case.”
“Look, it would be easier if I could take some magic truth serum so people would finally believe me, but I get it. A young, bright, talented woman lost her life—and her family has never gotten the closure they richly deserve. So I have never expected anyone to feel sorry for me. She was the victim, not me.”
“Well, let’s go over that account you gave the police.”
“Susan was supposed to be here at seven thirty, and she wasn’t. Her agent surely would have told her that I am absolutely intolerant of lateness by anyone working or potentially working for me. If time is money, it’s never truer than in the film business. Once she was fifteen minutes late, I called Madison, who had been my second choice, to see if she was interested. She must have come straight here, because she arrived by eight thirty. She left shortly before midnight. In fact, I even recall her saying, “I can’t believe it’s almost midnight.” His version matched Madison’s, minute for minute.
“And you ordered pizza,” Alex prompted.
“Yes, the pizza. My order was logged at nine twenty-seven, delivered at nine fifty-eight. Check the records. You know Tottino’s still has a copy of the takeout receipt framed on their front wall? They at least had the good judgment to black out my address.”
“And how did Madison look when she arrived?” Alex asked. This was a question they had planned in light of Madison’s waffling about whether she’d been feeling sick the night of Susan’s murder.
“How did she look? Like a million dollars. That role called for an absolute beauty, and she fit the part.”
Laurie smiled to herself but was impressed that Alex kept his expression neutral.
“The coroner estimated Susan’s time of death as between seven and eleven P.M. She was expected here at seven thirty. You and Madison said Madison arrived here at eight thirty. The assumption has always been that you could not possibly have killed Susan, called Madison, returned Susan’s car to campus, and then returned home by the time Madison arrived.”
“No, I have not yet found a way to navigate Los Angeles traffic at hyper speed.”
“But our research has revealed a new wrinkle to the timeline,” Alex said. “We have learned that Susan had been having car trouble prior to her death, so she may have gotten a ride to her audition from someone else. That means you could have had a violent interaction with her upon her arrival and have been home before Madison arrived.”
“If I went to a movie studio and pitched a story where a culprit sets an appointment to meet with someone at seven thirty, then phones her dorm room at seven forty-five, and then for some reason chases her into a park and murders her by eight thirty or so, I would get laughed out of the room. Alex, you’re one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country. Does that really sound plausible to you?”
Laurie watched Frank smile on the screen. She knew how this would play on television. The director was cocky, but he had a point. Unless they broke his alibi, Frank was in the clear. And so far, every part of the evidence supported his alibi: the phone records, Madison’s statements, the pizza receipt.
But Laurie still felt in her gut that the evidence was almost too perfect. What was she missing?
52
Talia lingered at the edge of the yard, in her carefully selected white sheath dress, wondering why she had bothered. By the time she met Frank, this was the starter house he would ask their driver to cruise by after he’d had too many drinks, eager to reminisce about his younger, less privileged days. It was probably worth two million dollars by now, but by comparison to their current homes—five total—this place was a shack.
Why had she thought for a second that the producers of Under Suspicion would ask her opinion? She wasn’t a part of the narrative. When the press wrote about Frank, at best an article might mention that the previously hard-to-get bachelor had now been married for a decade. But they never bothered to name his wife, or to mention that she was the valedictorian of her class at Indiana University, was an accomplished pianist and singer, and had had a semi-promising acting career before she’d fallen in love with Frank.
Though she’d never played out the full arc of her career, she knew enough about show business to recognize that her husband wasn’t hitting a home run on the screen right now, answering Alex Buckley’s questions. Yes, he had scored a single—maybe even a double—pointing out the ridiculousness of Alex’s theory: how could he have decided to kill Susan, executed the deed, and been back in time to answer his door in less than an hour’s time? Yet, at the same time, he sounded a bit too much like those guilty guys in bad movies who sneered while taunting, “Too bad you don’t have any evidence.”
In short, Frank had noted the lack of evidence of his guilt but hadn’t offered any alternative theory of his innocence. He had told his version of the story but hadn’t helped the show with theirs.
Talia watched the crew pack up the cameras into their overstuffed van. This clearly was not a high-budget operation. Why, oh why, had Frank even bothered participating? It would have been so easy for him to say he was too busy to help.
Their equipment was loaded, and the crew was ready to leave. Alex Buckley and the producer, Laurie, were thanking Frank again for his participation. They’d be heading to their cars soon.
She was about to miss her opportunity. How was she going to catch them without Frank’s seeing her?
Just as Alex and Laurie were walking down the driveway toward the black Land Cruiser parked on the street, Frank’s assistant, Clarence, stepped out of the production trailer, one hand covering the microphone of his cell. “Frank, I’ve got Mitchell Langley from Variety. He’s been trying to reach you all day. I told him there’s no truth to the rumors about Bradley pulling out of the project, but he wants to hear it straight from you.”
She overheard Frank offer a final good-bye before he followed Clarence into the trailer. She caught up to Laurie and Alex at the end of the driveway.
“My husband is being overly cautious.”
When they turned toward the sound of her voice, it was as if they were seeing Talia for the first time. At forty-two years old, Talia knew she was still beautiful, with high cheekbones, catlike green eyes, and shoulder-length waves of dark blond hair.
Laurie said cautiously, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker. We really didn’t get much of a chance to talk. You have something to add to your husband’s replay of the night?”
“Not directly. I didn’t even know Frank then. But I’m tired of this cloud hanging over him. I get it—her body was found a hop and skip from this house, and she was killed when she was supposed to be right here, alone with my husband. But, despite that, Frank truly has never understood why his alibi for that night hasn’t put him in the clear. In that respect, m
y husband can be a bit naive. Until someone comes up with a better theory, he will always be suspected. But, I’m telling you, you’re on the wrong track with the movie connection.”
“I understand your frustration—”
Talia cut Laurie off before she chickened out. “Susan Dempsey had a huge fight with her roommate just hours before her murder.”
“With Madison?”
“No, the other one; the third girl, Nicole. At least, according to Madison. You know how after Frank couldn’t reach Susan on her cell phone, he called the dorm room? Well, when Madison answered, she said that Susan had a knock-down, drag-out fight that afternoon with their other roommate, and maybe that’s why she was late.”
“This is the first we’ve ever heard of this,” Alex said. “Are you sure?”
“I wasn’t there, but I know for a fact that’s what Madison told Frank. It was so bad that Nicole even threw something at Susan. Then Susan called Nicole insane and said she was going to get her kicked out of the dorm, maybe even school, if she didn’t change her ways. Back when the police were clearly targeting Frank, he hired investigators to look into it. It turns out that Nicole suddenly quit school after Susan was killed. And she didn’t just take a semester or school year off. She left Los Angeles entirely and started all over again. Cut off ties with everyone. She was even using a fake name when she first moved. Then she changed her last name when she got married. Look into it: it’s like Nicole Hunter died right along with Susan.”
“Why didn’t your husband ever tell anyone this before?” Laurie asked.
“His lawyers admonished him not to,” Talia explained, clearly frustrated. “They were planning to use Nicole as the alternative suspect if he was ever formally charged.”
Talia watched Laurie look to Alex for guidance. “It’s probably what I would have advised too,” he said. “Better to say as little as possible and spring it on the prosecution at trial.”
The Cinderella Murder Page 18