The Bad Always Die Twice

by Cheryl Crane

  “Thompson, what’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, Edie, yet. I didn’t want you to . . . to think less of me.”

  “Think less of you? I don’t understand.”

  He turned her hand over in his, rubbing it. “I have a daughter,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “It happened a long time ago. When I first came to Hollywood. She’s almost ten.”

  “You have a daughter?” Edith whispered.

  “It was just a . . . a one night thing. I got drunk and I had sex with this girl I met in a bar and . . . and she had a baby.” He made no attempt to wipe away his tears. “She’s . . . my . . . Mandy.” He stopped, took a breath, and started again. “Something went wrong when she was born. Oxygen was cut off to her brain. My beautiful little girl, she’s severely disabled.”

  Tears welled in Nikki’s eyes. There was no way Thompson Christopher was this good an actor. He was telling the truth.... Wow. A child. I never saw that one coming.

  “Mandy lives in a private hospital in Santa Monica,” he went on. “The night of the party, the hospital called. She was very sick, Edith. They were afraid she wouldn’t make it. They’ve said all along she won’t live to adulthood.”

  Edith clung to his hand. “Oh, Thompson,” she breathed.

  “So you were not at Ramirez’s office Saturday night?” Nikki asked. “You didn’t see or talk to Tiffany?”

  “Tiffany?”

  “Tiffany Mathews. The waitress you used to work with at Kitty’s Diner.”

  He frowned. “Of course not. I haven’t seen Tiffany in ages. What does Tiffany have to do with this?”

  Nikki shook her head. “Nothing, apparently. Tell me where you go on Thursdays,” she urged, already guessing the answer.

  “Thursdays are my day with Mandy. We spend every Thursday together. I . . . I don’t know if she can understand me, or . . . or even hear me, but I read to her. We read on Thursdays. We talk. We watch movies. She likes Disney movies.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears ran down Edith’s plump cheeks. “Why did you not ever tell me?”

  “Because I was ashamed. Not of Mandy, but of the fact that I had a child with a woman I didn’t know.”

  “You pay for her medical care, don’t you?” Nikki asked.

  He nodded. “It’s expensive. I couldn’t make enough money on my own. That’s why . . . why . . .”

  When he couldn’t say it, Nikki finished for him. “Why you always date older, rich women.”

  “Yeah.” He looked into Edith’s eyes. “I was using those women because I needed their money. It’s not that I didn’t care for them, but . . . but I never felt anything for them like what I feel for you.” “I do love you, Edie, and I’ll do anything for you, anything, if you’ll say you forgive me. If you’ll marry me.” He hesitated. “But I can’t give up Mandy. Or my responsibility for her care. I just can’t.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to, darling.” Edith kissed one of his cheeks and then the other and then his mouth.

  This was definitely Nikki’s exit cue. She rose, taking her briefcase. “I’ll get your signature on this paperwork another day, Edith. Thank you. Both of you.”

  “But . . . but you still don’t know who killed Rex, do you?” Edith asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “No,” Nikki said, walking away from the pool. “But I know where to find out.”

  On the way to the office, Nikki considered calling Jessica to tell her about the turn of events at Outpost Estates, but she decided against it. Hopefully, Jessica would be at the office and she could fill her in there before she had to meet a potential client at her home in Bel Air at three.

  Instead, Nikki called the car rental company and asked to speak to Ray. She was put on hold. Heading out of Outpost Estates, she marveled at the story Thompson Christopher had revealed. It was too crazy, too heartbreaking, to be made up. She’d get the details from Thompson later, but she knew they would all pan out. She knew that come Friday, Edith March was going to be flashing a big fat diamond from Cartier. She was happy for Edith. Even for Thompson. But all she could do now was eliminate them as suspects in Rex’s death. She still didn’t know who had done it.

  While she was on hold, her phone beeped. She had another call coming in. She let it go to voicemail.

  “This is Ray, how can I help you?”

  Nikki identified herself as Detective Nikki Smith of the LAPD and launched into her questions concerning Rex’s rental car.

  “Nope. Nothing in the car, Detective. I’m looking at the report right here in the computer. We note if something was off. Damage, or something left inside. Why’re you asking?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” she explained, using a little of Victoria’s tone. “But you definitely received the car?”

  “I signed off on it, so, yeah. Definitely.”

  “Do you recall what the person who turned it in looked like?”

  “Damn, Detective. We got a lot of cars comin’ in and out of this lot in a day. That was weeks ago.”

  “Male? Female?” she asked. “Maybe a pretty blonde with a southern accent?” She was grasping at straws.

  “I’m thinking, Detective. No, not a woman. I remember the car. Brand new Mercedes, white. Sweet ride.”

  “Yes, that was it.”

  “It wasn’t a woman who dropped it off.”

  “A man, then? Hispanic?”

  “Yeah . . .” he said slowly.

  So slowly that she hoped he wasn’t feeding her a line he thought she wanted to hear.

  “It was a Hispanic guy,” Ray said. “I remember now.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Big guy.”

  “Big, like tall?” Ramirez wasn’t really a tall man. He was under six feet, but tall was relative, wasn’t it?

  “No, big like big. You know. Three hundred. Three-fifty.”

  “Three hundred and fifty pounds?” Nikki said, trying not to sound disappointed.

  “Yeah. Big guy with a cool tattoo,” he added.

  “Tattoo?” She sounded like Detective Echo, now.

  “It was on his forearm. I said something to him about it. It was a hula girl.”

  It was a hula girl . . . Ray’s last words were still bouncing around in Nikki’s head as she pulled up to a red light. Traffic was moving slowly. It was going to take her forever to get to the office. She had a ton of work to do: comps, lots of phone calls to return. And tonight was Movie Night: 1965. The Sound of Music. Nikki hated The Sound of Music. But there was no way she could work late and miss Movie Night. Pretty much the only excuse that would satisfy Victoria was death. Tragic, and preferably bloody.

  The light turned green. A hula girl tattoo. Why was that ringing a bell?

  At the next intersection, she almost hit the brakes, even though she had a green.

  A hula girl. A hula girl tattoo. Mrs. McCauley. She’d told Nikki a hula girl had tried to deliver a washing machine to her apartment the day Rex appeared in Jessica’s bed.

  Her heart suddenly pounding with excitement, Nikki cut into the left lane and made the next left turn, headed toward Laughlin Park.

  When her phone rang, she hit the button on her steering wheel. “Hello?”

  “Nikki, it’s Rob. I called a few minutes ago, but I didn’t want to leave a message.”

  She thought about telling Rob what she had found out about Rex’s car and the guy with the hula girl tattoo. She wanted desperately to tell someone. But if she was going to tell anyone, Rob probably wasn’t a good choice. It wouldn’t be fair to put him in that position. After all, he wasn’t on Rex’s case, but he was still a cop.

  “Hey, Rob,” she said.

  “I got your message about the autopsy report.” He hesitated.

  “It’s okay. I understand if you can’t get it for me. I don’t know what I was going to do with it anyway,” she confessed.

  “Yeah, I can’t really give you a copy, but I did check it out
for you.”

  “Anything stand out?”

  “Not really. Standard stuff. Description of the wound, estimated time of death, which I already explained, stuff about how the ME figured out Rex’s body was kept refrigerated, stomach contents, and the like.”

  “Stomach contents? Eww. Why would you want to know that?”

  “Helps with the timeline. We once had a case where the wife claimed she came home from church to find her husband dead. Thing was, he still had the steak dinner from the night before in his stomach.”

  “Oh my gosh! So he died the night before?”

  “Yup. The missus had to have stepped over the body to get dressed to go to church the next morning.”

  “Crazy,” Nikki said, hanging a right. “Okay, so what was in Rex’s stomach?” She was curious now.

  “Um. Looks like he’d just eaten.” He sounded as if he was reading the report. “ME says a burger, fries, a strawberry milkshake, and . . . a salad with Thousand Island dressing. Interesting. From what Marshall said, he didn’t seem like a salad kind of guy.”

  It all sounded like fast food. Maybe Rex was eating on his way to Ramirez’s office? But the salad didn’t make sense. How did he drive and eat a salad? “Interesting,” she repeated. She was almost at Jessica’s apartment complex. “Well, thanks for the info.”

  “You bet. Marshall says he wants to have you over for dinner. Maybe next week?”

  “Sounds good.” She pulled into the parking garage.

  Five minutes later, Nikki was standing in front of Mrs. McCauley’s door.

  Chapter 25

  “Mrs. McCauley, good afternoon.”

  Mrs. McCauley was missing her dentures today. When she spoke, her mouth was pink and gummy. “I wondered when you’d be back.” “Pardon?”

  The old lady winked. “The dog circus intrigued you, didn’t it? Would you like to come in? I usually don’t have cocktails until five, but exceptions can be made.”

  Nikki tried not to stare at her. She was wearing an orange tutu over a pink-and-blue flowered bathing suit, topped with a cute black cardigan that even Victoria would have approved of. The knee-high fringe moccasins, showing off bony knees, were what really made the ensemble.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have time for a drink right now.” Nikki tried to look disappointed. “Maybe another day?”

  “And if I don’t live to see another cocktail hour?” Mrs. McCauley leaned on her walker. Today she had a black garland around it with little bats swinging from the corners. “You’ll wish you’d taken me up on the opportunity, won’t you?” she said with her slight Eastern Bloc accent. “I make an excellent dry martini.”

  “I bet you do,” Nikki said.

  “So why are you here? I don’t have tickets, you know.”

  Nikki waited.

  “For the dog circus.”

  Nikki wondered why she had thought for a second that Mrs. McCauley might be of any help. She sighed. Smiled. “I don’t need tickets. But thanks. I wanted to ask you about the hula dancer that tried to deliver a dishwasher to you a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember, he or she had the wrong apartment?”

  “It was a refrigerator.”

  “You said it was a dishwasher.”

  “You think I don’t know the difference between a dishwasher and a refrigerator?”

  Nikki regrouped. “Mrs. McCauley, the person who tried to deliver the appliance to you, to the wrong apartment, was it a man or a woman?”

  “Not many female delivery men, sweetie.” Mrs. McCauley spoke slowly, as if to a none-too-bright child. “A refrigerator comes in a big box. It’s heavy, even on a handcart.”

  “So it was a man.” Nikki hesitated. “You said it was a hula dancer who tried to make the delivery.”

  Mrs. McCauley got a funny look on her face. “I said that?”

  Nikki nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s crazy. Hula dancers are women. Women don’t deliver refrigerators. Why didn’t you tell me that was craziness when I said it?”

  Nikki wondered if she should mention the absurdity of the dog circus. No need. “I guess it didn’t seem that important at the time, but it is now. Can you describe for me the man who tried to deliver the refrigerator?”

  The old lady leaned on her walker again, obviously deep in thought. “My memory’s not what it once was, but you already knew that.” She pressed her lips together over her gums. “It was a big man, not a hula dancer. He was too fat for one of those grass skirts.”

  “Did he happen to have a tattoo?” Nikki dared.

  “Darn if he didn’t!” she exclaimed, slapping her hand on the walker. The bats swung. “You know him?”

  “I . . . might know of him. Was the tattoo, by chance, of a hula dancer? On his forearm.” Nikki demonstrated with her own.

  Mrs. McCauley looked up at Nikki with great surprise on her wrinkled face. “I believe it was. That makes a lot more sense than having a hula dancer delivering refrigerators, doesn’t it?”

  Nikki grinned. “Thank you, thank you.” She reached out and squeezed her arm. “One more question. Then I promise I won’t bother you again today. When you told the man with the tattoo that he had the wrong apartment, do you know where he went next?”

  Again Mrs. McCauley had to think. “I was closing the door,” she said. “But I believe he stopped at Jessica’s apartment. Did she get a new refrigerator?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. McCauley,” she said. “But I’m sure going to find out.”

  Nikki’s appointment in Bel Air went on for what seemed like an eternity. The entire time she was touring the house and chatting up the potential client, she was thinking about the case.

  The guy who returned Rex’s rental on Sunday had to be the guy Mrs. McCauley had seen Monday. A refrigerator box was definitely big enough to hold a body . . . even Rex’s. Which meant she had to find the guy with the hula tattoo.

  Her mind kept going back to what Tiffany had said about suspecting Alex Ramirez. Ramirez was definitely a part of this mess; she just didn’t know what part. And she still had no explanation for the blue BMW the janitor had seen taking off from the parking lot, if it hadn’t been Tiffany’s. Could someone have borrowed her car? Or was it just a coincidence that Tiffany had a blue BMW and a blue BMW was seen speeding away from the office? It was certainly possible; there were plenty of them in L.A.

  It was after six when Nikki left the 9,000 square foot Mediterranean-style home, headed for Ramirez’s office. She was going to have to hurry if she was going to make it home to change before she went to Mother’s for Movie Night. The Sound of Music . . . it was almost more than she could bear to think about.

  By the time Nikki arrived on Sunset Plaza Drive, Ramirez’s parking lot was empty. Teddy met her in the lobby. “I figured you’d be back.”

  “Did you?” she asked. “What made you think that?”

  He was wearing the same uniform as the day before. Today he was carrying a broom. “I don’t know. You didn’t seem like someone who would give up easy.” He took a step closer to her and leaned on the broom. “So what’s up with you and Mr. Ramirez?”

  “N . . . nothing.”

  “Because I got to thinking. I know you’re not his wife because I’ve seen her here before. She’s in a wheelchair. But all those questions you were asking about what Mr. Ramirez was doing that night, I wondered if maybe you were his girlfriend or something.”

  “No.” She cringed. “Of course not. I told you. I’m helping out a friend.”

  “She his girlfriend?”

  “She is not.” She slung her Prada over her shoulder. “Listen, Teddy, I need you to show me where the white Mercedes was parked that night.”

  He exhaled and picked up his broom. “Guess it can’t hurt.” He leaned the broom near the door as they went outside. It was already dark out, but the parking lot was well lit.

  “Over there.” Teddy pointed.

  Nikki looked in that direction. “Could you show me exactly where?
”

  He shrugged and walked across the lot. She followed.

  She stood in the parking place he led her to and studied the pavement. There was nothing there. Nothing that looked like blood. Nothing that indicated it was any different than any of the other parking spaces. She groaned. “Can you tell me where you saw the BMW?”

  “It was here.” He pointed to the next space. “And then it took off that way, down Sunset Plaza Drive. Going that way.” He pointed north.

  Nikki stood in the parking place and turned slowly in a circle, not sure what she was looking for, but hoping she’d know it if she saw it. “Could you see the person driving the BMW?” she asked.

  “I was just getting out of my girl’s car, and like I said, it was going fast.”

  “How long between the time you saw the BMW leave and when you looked out the window and noticed that the Mercedes was gone?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “A long time. Couple of hours. It was probably after midnight. I had to wax floors.”

  “But you don’t know if Mr. Ramirez was in the building?”

  “Nope. I was buffing the halls. Didn’t go anywhere there was carpeting.”

  Having spun in a complete circle, she studied the two-story building. “Are those his office windows?” She pointed.

  He looked. “Um . . . yeah.”

  She stared at the windows, then turned suddenly to him. “Is Mr. Ramirez here now? I can see there’s no car here, but is this one of those evenings when his car is parked down the street?”

  “Nope. I saw him leave earlier. He was on his cell. He was saying something about going to his son’s soccer game.”

  She studied the bank of windows. “Do you have a key to Mr. Ramirez’s office?”

  Teddy took a step back. “Man . . . I can’t do that. You’re nice and all, but I could lose my job.”

  Nikki kept staring at the windows. She needed to get up there and poke around his office. Maybe he would have a date book with details of his meeting with Rex. Maybe a bloody ice pick lying around?

  She turned to Teddy. “I really need to get in there, Teddy. My friend has been accused of murdering someone and Ramirez has something to do with it; I just don’t know what yet.”