Fourth Wall (An Anthony Carrick Mystery Book 8)

by Jason Blacker

  She trailed off and started sobbing softly. I pulled out my handkerchief and offered it to her. She accepted it and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Were you and Mary close?” I asked.

  She looked up at me from behind wet, sad eyes.

  “Not particularly. But she was always very kind to me. I was invited to the after-party on opening night, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “Assistants don’t usually get to go to those things.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s just so sad. It seems so senseless. Why would her husband want to kill her?”

  “How do you know it was from her husband?”

  “I didn’t. But when I took them to her she told me I was a godsend. I said it wasn’t from me. She seemed surprised and then opened the note. She said it was from her husband. What a thoughtful thing to do she said.”

  “So you took the basket straight up to her when you received it?”

  She nodded.

  “You didn’t put it aside for even a minute?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I went and gave it straight to her because I knew she was in such a state not having her pomegranate juice. And I knew it would cheer her up.”

  Penman sobbed quietly and briefly again.

  “Did she have a preferred brand?”

  “I know she said she really liked Pommie but it’s hard to find. It’s a British brand you know. She usually just drank Tom’s Pom when she brought it herself.”

  “Her husband also brought her a gift basket on opening night. Was it sent by courier or did he bring it with him that time?”

  “I think he brought it with him.”

  She paused and looked away for a moment. Then she nodded her head.

  “Yes, I think he brought it with him. He was here and he visited her backstage before the play started.”

  “Do you remember what was in it?” I asked.

  “Pretty much similar things that were in this one I think. I remember telling him how nice a gift basket it was. He told me he got it from Brigitte’s Baskets and Gifts because she can find all sorts of odd and unusual treats.”

  “But he wasn’t here tonight, was he?”

  She shook her head.

  “Any particular reason he might send her a basket tonight of all nights?”

  She shook her head again and dabbed at her eyes. She wasn’t looking at me.

  “Maybe because he knew she was quite upset from learning of her friend’s death last night?”

  “Did you know Anna Ancher at all?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Were you at the party last night?”

  She nodded slowly as if she was wearing a neck brace.

  “Yes, Billy and Mary had invited me over as their chaperone.”

  “And what time did you leave?”

  “I think it was around two. I stayed to clean up a little.”

  “And that’s also what time Orpen and Beale left?”

  “No, they left around one I think.”

  “How did you get home?”

  “I caught a cab.”

  She looked at me with her soft, sad eyes.

  “Do you think I had something to do with Anna’s death? I thought she drowned.”

  “I’m sorry, Gina, I don’t mean to give you that impression. These are just standard questions to get a feel for where everyone was. Where was Ancher when you left?”

  “She was in the pool. I let myself out.”

  “And did you see anything when you left. Anything at all?”

  “Well, as I was leaving in my cab I remember seeing Rip pulling up at the entrance by the guard station.”

  “Rip Peso?”

  She nodded.

  “How did you know it was him?”

  “Everybody knows his car. It’s one of those big old American cars with an open top that’s painted a bright green with red fire stripes down the side.”

  “Do you know what kind?”

  “No, but I saw him in it. He was speaking to the guard as I drove by. And as we left, he headed up towards her house.”

  “Ancher’s house?”

  Penman nodded.

  “Back to Beale. You called 911. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “It was at the end of scene ten and I was getting our stage hands to get ready to set up for scene eleven. I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on on stage. As the lights went out, Billy came out frantic saying that Mary was dying. That she wasn’t responding. Beau went out to offer CPR and I called 911. I went out to the front of the theater to wait for the ambulance and I let them in.”

  “Okay thank you, Gina, you’ve been very helpful.”

  She looked up at me and offered me my handkerchief back. I took it. It was awkward, but I didn’t fancy the alternative.

  “You will find out who did this won’t you? I mean what if they’re after the rest of us?”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  I smiled at her. I’d long ago forbidden my mouth from writing checks I couldn’t cash. Ever since I’d been unable to get justice for a couple who’s small boy had been killed by a drunk driver. We’d arrested the asshole, it was the DA who’d fucked the case up and let him walk.

  Penman smiled at me and walked away. I looked at Beeves and Roberts.

  “Maybe they’re unrelated after all,” I said.

  “Could be,” said Roberts.

  Beeves nodded, putting his notebook and pen away.

  “Yeah, that bit about her seeing Rip coming back around two. Now that’s interesting. Maybe we’ve got two separate homicides for two similar motives.”

  “Being?” asked Roberts.

  “Twisted love,” said Beeves. “Rip kills his girlfriend because he’s spurned and wants her back. Emmett kills his wife because she’s fucking around with Orpen and God knows who else.”

  “It’s a working theory,” I said. “You guys still looking for him?”

  “Who?”

  “Peso,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s a big city, Anthony,” said Roberts. “You know how difficult it can be to find someone quickly.”

  “You’ve checked his home, friends, regular hangouts, pinged his phone?” I asked.

  Roberts grinned at me and looked at Beeves.

  “This guy,” said Roberts. “We should get on that.”

  Beeves chuckled.

  “Alright, alright,” I said. “I’m just eager to get this moving along.”

  “His phone is off, has been since early this morning. He’s not at his home, we’re checking around his pals. Nothing yet.”

  “Anybody know what kind of car he drives?”

  “Yeah, it’s a fifty-seven Chevy Bel Air, painted by a retard just like Penman said,” said Beeves.

  “Well, that should be easy to spot.”

  “Should be if he was driving it around,” said Roberts. “He isn’t. It’s in his garage. He took his motorcycle.”

  “And what kind is that?”

  “It’s a Ninja 650. They’re a dime a dozen, and from what we can tell there’s nothing fancy about it,” said Beeves.

  “Besides, Anthony,” said Roberts, “what’s your rush. Aren’t you eager to suck on the teat of momma LAPD for a few days? Grind out some Benjamins.”

  I grinned at him.

  “Seeing as how you put it like that, I’d like us to put this on hold for a couple of days. How about doing those interviews on Monday instead.”

  Roberts pretended to fan through a notebook.

  “Nope, sorry. Monday won’t work, but I see Wednesday’s open at the food bank.”

  “You’ll call me tomorrow when you’ve got those interviews ready?”

  Roberts nodded.

  “Planning on getting an early start. And if they’re not coming to us, Anthony, we’ll be going to them. Starting with Orpen again.”

  I nodded. I said goodbye and walked out of the theater into the warm damp dog’s muzzle of a night in LA. T
he night was worming its way towards one and I needed a drink. What I did instead was head home to see how Aibhilin was doing.

  ELEVEN

  The Rich and Infamous

  I was up at eight. Not because I was reinvigorating my long deceased New Year’s resolutions, but because Roberts called. He told me we were seeing Orpen at nine thirty sharp. And it wasn’t going to be at the station. It was at his Beverly Hills mansion. The price of houses in this city of ours is obscene. Especially in Beverly Hills. You need more than a million bucks just to go looking. That, or a badge. I had neither, but I had enthusiasm and chutzpah.

  I got out of bed and had a quick shower. By eight fifteen I was cooking eggs and sausages and toast for Aibhilin and I. I had woken up an angry wicked witch after I’d had my shower. I was hoping by the time she stepped out of the shower she would be my little princess again. By eight forty-five we were eating breakfast, drinking orange juice and sharing laughs. She’d been asleep when I came home and Martha was nodding off on my couch. I thanked her for keeping an eye on my babydoll.

  “How did it go last night?” she asked, through a mouthful of toast and eggs.

  “It went okay, babydoll. We interviewed a bunch of people. I spoke with William Orpen.”

  That made her eyes light up.

  “What did he have to say?” she asked more enthusiastically than anything else she’d been inquiring about this morning.

  “He asked how come you never come to any of his shows,” I said, grinning.

  Aibhilin rolled her eyes.

  “Dad,” she said, dragging out that A like it was a magician’s magic handkerchief stuck down her throat. “You’re impossible.”

  “You know I can’t say, babydoll. We were asking everyone questions about what happened last night. This morning though I have to get going here right away, I’ll drop you off at your mother’s on my way.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to speak to Orpen again and then to speak with a few more people about the case.”

  “Can’t I come? I’ll just wait in the car. I want to see where he lives.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m afraid not, babydoll. But I tell you what, I’ll take a picture of his house. How about that.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  We sat in silence for a while. Aibhilin picking at her food sullenly. I finished my plate of two fried eggs and two sausages and used the rest of my toast to mop up the yolk. I looked up at her. She wasn’t done, and I needed to get going.

  “You’ve gotta finish up, babydoll, I need to leave in five minutes.”

  I drank some orange juice. She didn’t look at me. She pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate like she was working a maze.

  “Daddy,” she said.

  “Yes, babydoll.”

  “Can I stay with you for another day?”

  “I don’t know if your mother will allow that,” I said.

  “But would you allow it?” she said, looking up at me with those eyes that I’d do anything for.

  “I’d allow you to stay with me full time, babydoll, you know that.”

  “Then can I stay with you again for today?”

  I looked at her and took a deep breath. This was gonna cost me a piece of my sanity having to maneuver this with Racquel.

  “Of course, babydoll. But you can’t come with me this morning,” I said.

  “That’s okay,” she said, looking back at me and smiling and then putting some eggs and sausage into her mouth. “Pirate and I like hanging out together, don’t we?”

  He was curled down by her seat and she reached down and patted him on the head. I could hear him purring from my side of the table.

  “Okay,” I said, “but here’s the deal. I’m going to get Martha to check in on you and you have to promise to call your mother and get her permission by the time I get back.”

  I wasn’t being a coward, but I figured Aibhilin asking would make Racquel less likely to decline.

  “Okay, Daddy,” she said.

  “Is everything okay at your mother’s house?” I asked her.

  She didn’t look at me. She played with her food for a while.

  “You can tell me, babydoll,” I said.

  She shrugged.

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that Mommy and Artero have been fighting again about his late nights at the office.”

  Banging the secretary, I thought to myself.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. ”I didn’t know what else to offer. He didn’t strike me as an abusive man and he’d never been anything but kind to Aibhilin. Folks argue. Shit, Racquel and I could really get going back in the day. Aibhilin toyed with her food some more but didn’t say anything.

  “How can I help, babydoll?” I asked her.

  She shrugged.

  “I dunno. I just don’t like them fighting.”

  “I know. But your mom and I used to fight sometimes. Doesn’t mean they don’t care for each other.”

  I couldn’t say love. I didn’t know if she really loved him. And as for him, I was pretty sure he didn’t love Racquel. But maybe I was being unkind.

  “I think Mommy thinks that he’s with someone else,” she said.

  Shit. I didn’t have time for this kind of a conversation five minutes before I had to leave. I also didn’t want to have this kind of conversation with my twelve year old daughter.

  “You should try not to let their arguments worry you, darling,” I said. “I’m sure your mom and Artero will work it out. I mean they’ve been together for a long time now.”

  She didn’t say anything. She drank some juice and her face looked like the sad face of a fallen angel.

  “Did you ever cheat on Mommy, Daddy?” she asked, looking at me like a beaten puppy. How’d you answer a question like this? I never had. But if I had, I probably would’ve lied to my daughter then. Thank God I didn’t have to.

  “No, babydoll,” I said. “I was always faithful to your mother.”

  She smiled at that and she ate some more of her scrambled eggs.

  “I wish you and Mommy would get back together,” she said, not looking at me.

  I picked up my orange juice and drank it all. It caught a lump in my throat.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t, babydoll. I really am.”

  I stood up and took my plate and glass to the kitchen. I put on my fedora and decided against a coat. It was too hot. I put the fedora on at a jaunty angle and came back into the living room.

  “Does this look any better?” I asked.

  She looked up and giggled at me.

  “Now you look like a gangster,” she said. I leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head.

  “I’ve gotta get going. I’ll make sure Martha checks in on you and hopefully I won’t be more than a few hours. Love you babydoll.”

  I went to leave.

  “Love you too, Daddy,” she said.

  I turned to her and she was looking at me shyly. I smiled at her and tipped my hat. Then I held my right hand out for the American sign language sign for I love you. Those four little words buoyed my steps as I left for the houses of the rich and infamous.

  It took me less than twenty minutes to get to Orpen’s mansion in Beverly Hills. It was a modern smooth white getup with lots of glass and maybe two or three stories high depending on the lay of the land. It had a three-car garage. I could see that through the iron gates. I got there a little late but just as Roberts was getting out of his car. He waved at me and gave me his index finger. He went inside and a minute later the gate opened. I drove my rust bucket inside. I felt like a boss.

  Orpen was in the kitchen in a white wife beater and chinos. His arms were toned but he didn’t look like someone who worked out. He had a few inches on me. But if I bulked up just a little, we’d be fighting in the same class. Maybe light heavyweight. His face still wanted a smack, and I still wanted to be the one to do it.

  Roberts was in the kitchen with Beeves. Or
pen was pouring himself some coffee from a French press. He poured cream and two sugars into it. It smelt good but he didn’t offer it to anyone. I walked from the kitchen into the open living room. The yard was landscaped and large and green with high hedges grown against iron fences.

  I heard the pitter patter of feet coming down wooden stairs. I turned and saw a gorgeous woman about my height with model looks. She had long shoulder-length dirty brown hair. She was one of those rare beauties who looked fine without any makeup on. She wore white panties and a pale blue men’s dress shirt which wasn’t buttoned up. Her belly button sported a silver barbell and as she sashayed down the stairs as if she were on a runway the shirt opened up and gave us a glimpse of a small pink nipple.

  I thought about Emily and turned to look at Orpen. He was looking at Roberts and Beeves who were particularly caught up on the model cascading towards them like a wet dream. He was grinning.

  “Who’s this?” she asked as she reached the last step. She was either an exhibitionist or not at all self conscious. Being here as she was with Orpen, I put her as an exhibitionist. I got the impression she knew her currency and spent it frivolously if it got her what she wanted.

  “These are the po-lease,” he said, trying to sound like a gang banger. It made a bad look look even worse.

  “Why are you still harassing me?” he asked, looking at Roberts.

  “Can I have some?” she asked, looking down at the French press. He didn’t look at her.

  “Get it yourself.”

  Her eyes flickered a flame of anger for a moment which was soon extinguished. She went to get herself a mug.

  “We had a meeting set up, Mr. Orpen,” said Roberts in his professional tone, “and you didn’t show up.”

  He tossed his head to the side and shrugged.

  “I don’t have to speak with you, and as you can see I was busy,” he said. Then he turned to the model. “Hurry up and give me some privacy, bitch.”

  More flames flickered beyond her deep blue eyes. She poured her coffee and added a Splenda.

  “That’s not the way to speak to a woman,” I said.