by Paul Heald
As she walked around to the front of the gym, the mechanical roar of the garbage truck stopped, and a low, slow whistle followed in the sudden silence. A small, satisfied smile curled one side of Layla’s glossy lips. Yeah, definitely in three, four years she would toss the cigs after the Stairmaster and just let herself go. Five, tops.
At the end of dinner, Stanley had asked her to reschedule the interview set for the following morning and to instead track down Jade’s sister in Oxnard. If the sister were no longer there, or if she were married and no longer going by Sharperson, then it was going to take some professional leg work to find her. When Janet had gotten home, she had gone straight to her computer and searched for Sharperson in the Oxnard online white pages. She got two hits: one for a Samuel T. and one for a Rebecca. She then did a Google image search of both names, but none of the pictures in the results looked anything like the exotic Jade Delilah, née Lily Sharperson. Resolving nonetheless to call the two Oxnard hits first thing in the morning, she brushed her teeth, slipped on a shapeless gray t-shirt and fell into bed.
She got back from the gym and learned that Oxnardians were early risers. Neither Rebecca nor Samuel were at home at 7:30 a.m., so she left messages and sat back down at the computer to find a private detective. Stanley probably did not have the money to reimburse her for the expense of hiring a private eye, but her bank account was healthy, and she was intrigued by the possibility of learning Jade’s secrets. As she was searching for online ratings for investigators, the phone rang and a cheerful female voice introduced herself as Rebecca Sharperson.
“I was in the shower when you called,” she explained breathlessly.
“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.” Janet grabbed a pen and note pad and pushed her laptop to the side. “My name is Janet Stephens and I’m looking for the sister of a woman named Lily Sharperson. I don’t know the first name, but I was told that she lived in Oxnard, or at least used to live there.” She dooddled an abstract pattern of overlapping circles and squares while she talked. “I started with the white pages and found you.”
Silence on the end of the line and Janet wondered whether the woman had hung up. “I have a half-sister named Lily,” she replied cautiously, “but I haven’t seen her for a while. Who did you say you were again?”
“Janet Stephens.” She considered the possibility that Rebecca had not heard about the murder. “I’m a research assistant for Professor Stanley Hopkins—”
“—is she okay? Are you with the police?”
“No,” she spoke calmly at the tide of anxiety rising on the other end of the line, “we are definitely not with the police.”
“You’re not with her husband, are you?” She spoke with determination. “I already told him that I didn’t know where she was. And even if I did, I’d never tell that pile of shit.”
“No, wait, don’t hang up!” Janet scrambled to put together a story that would keep the young woman on the line. “I’m a friend of your sister and we need to talk. Is there anywhere we could meet? I just need a little bit of your time.”
A pause. “There’s a Denny’s on the 101, just past the last Camarillo exit.”
“Could you be there by nine thirty?” Sharperson promised to be there, and Janet hurried to get ready, plotting a course in her head that would avoid the worst of the morning traffic.
As she drove down the highway, she thought about the tidbits of information that Stanley had learned about Jade from her husband. No shock that little Jade had gone to Stripper College before graduating to porn. Strippers were a nasty lot, angrier and bitchier than the girls who started off as models. Society might not see any difference between posing for a magazine and taking off your clothes in a room full of men, but those who thrived in the raucous world of strip clubs were simply tougher, and usually more damaged, than the girls who took the plunge in private, with a little lingerie and a discrete photographer. Strippers liked controlling men in a club, not just teasing and baiting, but grabbing their balls, metaphorically, of course, and squeezing hard. Dancers were into revenge, not seduction. She hated pinheaded speculation on why women became porn stars, but she had to admit that strippers were knee-jerkers, reacting to times in their lives when they couldn’t control their men.
She popped onto the Ventura Freeway at Hidden Hills and made her way west between the hills and canyons that signaled the northern edge of the Los Angeles. She pretended that Thousand Oaks and Westlake Village did not exist and looked off toward the Santa Monica mountains whenever it was safe to take her eyes off the road. Once past Casa Conejo, she got another nice dose of green before dipping down into the Santa Rosa valley. It was noticeably warmer in the valley below, so she rolled up the windows and switched on the air conditioning for the last few miles to the Denny’s.
By 9:30 a.m., most of the breakfast crowd had cleared out and only a couple of tables were occupied. Janet looked around and saw a mousy blonde sitting in a booth at the back, dipping down her head slightly to blow on top of her coffee. She looked up and responded to the newcomer’s wave with a hesitant smile. Janet walked over and shook her hand warmly. “Thanks so much for meeting me.”
She sat down across from the woman and decided to ditch her plan to ask some quick questions before mentioning Jade’s death. Rebecca Sharperson’s face was utterly guileless. She was significantly older than Jade, probably in her early thirties, but looking even older due to the lack of flair in her frizzy hair and Wal-Mart clothes. There was something of her sister in her striking blue eyes and her nose and jaw, but nothing of the sullen smolder that was Jade’s trademark.
“Rebecca.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your sister is dead.” Janet saw the head drop and the shoulders sag and hurried to get it over with. “She was killed last week.”
The woman stifled a sob and Janet reached into her purse for a tissue. She did not completely break down but wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked profoundly sad, but not completely surprised. “Did her husband do it?”
“We don’t know yet.” She handed over another tissue. “Haven’t you seen the television reports?”
“The television?” She sniffed and looked confused. “I just got back from Vancouver. I was doing a Native American jewelry course in British Columbia for a week.” She held out a beautiful obsidian ring and bent back her collar to reveal a matching necklace. “I make and sell jewelry, you know.” She blew her nose and corrected herself. “Of course, you don’t know.”
“You must be the only person on the west coast who doesn’t know that Jade Delilah was killed at Eden Studio last week.” She reached over and covered Rebecca’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jade?” She paused for a moment. “A stage name?”
Janet waved at a waitress and ordered a cup of coffee and a refill for her companion. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about your sister over the last couple of years, and I’ll fill you in with what I know.”
The jewelry maker splashed her coffee with cream and poured in a packet of artificial sweetener. She seemed oddly comfortable telling her story, almost relieved that the inevitable last chapter had finally been written. “I last saw Lily about two years ago. She was planning on leaving her husband—”
“—William Walker, the cop?”
“That’s right.” She took a sip and continued. “She wanted to borrow some money to rent an apartment and get away from him. I knew that she’d never pay me back, but I was so glad that she was leaving him that I gave her what she needed. He called me a while later, asking where she was, but I wouldn’t tell him. He was really pissed. He called her a whore and said she was making porn movies. I called him a liar, but he sent me some nasty internet link to prove it.”
“Did you know that she worked as a stripper before that?”
She sighed and accepted more coffee from the waitress. “How else do you meet a winner like William Walker?” She shook her head. “Yeah, I knew. She said that she was just
earning enough money to go back to school, but I never believed her. She burned through her cash as fast as she earned it. That’s why she needed to borrow from me.”
“And that was the last time you saw her?”
“She basically disappeared. I assumed that she was dancing or making movies or whatever and that she’d eventually show up on my doorstep.” She grimaced and wiped her eyes with her hand. “Now I guess she has.” She straightened up and pushed her hair back out of her eyes. Despite the frizz and the unflattering jacket, she was quite attractive. She had a long sleek neck and captivating eyes when she lifted them from the table. “How did you know Lily?”
“We worked for the same studio; Eden Studio, that is. It’s the best, not that that’s much consolation, I suppose.” If Jade’s sister was surprised, it didn’t show. “We were at a large party together at the studio when your sister was found beaten to death.”
“I heard about that when I was waiting in the airport. I was sitting behind the monitor reading a book.” She shook her head and moaned.
Janet paused for a moment and took a small yellow pad out of her purse. She doubted that she would forget anything that Rebecca had to say, but the gesture of professionalism might make the interview easier. “My friend, Don Johansson, has been accused of killing her, but he didn’t do it. In fact, he was in love with her. I’m working with the investigator in his case to find out all we can about Jade, to find out who might have wanted to hurt her.”
“William is the obvious one. He used to beat her.” She nodded her head at the logic of her assertion. “That’s why I was so glad when she left him.”
“Have you ever heard of Chance Geary?” The victim’s sister shook her head. “Milton Barkley? Miriam Wilhoit?” She mentioned several other names of people in the industry that Jade worked with or knew.
None of Janet’s prompting bore fruit. Rebecca Sharperson really had little clue about her sister’s life. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I hadn’t heard from her in two years.”
“I know it’s probably not relevant, but could you tell us a little about Lily’s background?” She spoke gently, conveying the understanding that she might be intruding on private territory. “Everyone at Eden knew her, but no one had a clue about who she was. She really was pretty mysterious.”
“She’s was always like that. Even when she was a baby, she hardly cried.” The memory of her little sister evoked a rare smile. “She’d just stare up at you with those gorgeous eyes.”
“You’re older than her?” The fact was clear but politeness demanded the initial question. “You said on the phone that you were half-sisters.”
“That’s right.” She finished her coffee and then pushed it away. “I was ten when she was born. My father had divorced my mother and moved to Seattle a couple of years before that. My mother remarried an Indian surgeon named Vikram Chandrasekar, and Lily was born on their one year anniversary.”
“Are your mother and her husband still in Oxnard?”
“No,” she said quietly, “they died in a car accident last year.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of a very attractive fifty-something couple sitting down at a formal dinner. Jade’s mother had beautifully styled short, thick hair and was wearing a black dress that showed off generous décolletage. Her husband was even more striking, a dashing Indian version of Sean Connery. “They look happy, don’t they?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s just a good picture.” She slipped it back into her purse. “I keep it because my mom looks so beautiful. I should just cut him out.”
Janet nodded and considered where to go next with her questions. The line between relevance and mere curiosity was blurry. “What was your stepfather like?”
“I was nine when they married, and quite frankly, I barely got to know him. Vik was establishing his practice and was never home. And whenever he had any time off, he’d go back and visit relatives. When he was around, he was very reserved. Cold and distant, but not abusive. Other than the obvious reason, I never could understand what my mom saw in him.” An elderly couple walked in the restaurant and the waitress began guiding them in the direction of Janet and Rebecca’s table. The actress warned her off with her eyes and a slight movement of her head, and the threesome altered course.
“What about Lily?”
“I don’t know,” she said carefully. “She was about eight when I left for college, so we were never super close, but she was a cute kid and really smart. I figured she’d end up as the cheerleader/honor society type, but somehow she went off the rails.” She shook her head and sighed. This was a story she had tried to puzzle out unsuccessfully many times. “I don’t know what it was, but there was so much tension in the house that I just stopped visiting. My mom would come up to see me at school or over here in Oxnard after I moved.” She looked up hopefully. “They were living down in Orange County then, so maybe it was just the suburban drug rebellion thing.”
“Do you know for sure that she was using drugs?”
“I know that she smoked pot because I smelled it on her a couple of times, but so does every other high school kid in California. I really don’t know what she was doing.” The restaurant was almost deserted and Rebecca spoke freely, spinning her ring around her finger and trying to work out how her family had disintegrated. “All I know is that she started running away from home when she was around fifteen and finally made it stick when she was seventeen or so. I remember because my mom called me and was crying because she had dropped out of high school. Vik refused to talk about it and wouldn’t let my mother mention her name around him.”
The waitress came over and laid the bill on the table. Janet reached for it and put it underneath her coffee mug. Rebecca continued without prompting. “I really should have done more. But their house . . . it just wasn’t my home, you know? I did put Lily up for a couple of weeks, but she left and moved in with some boyfriend. I’d hear from her occasionally. She actually invited me over to her house after she got married, but it was as fucked up as my mom’s.” She started to cry again. “I guess I’m a pretty shitty big sister.”
“No, you’re not.” Janet reached over and squeezed both her hands. “There was nothing anyone could do for Jade.” She almost mentioned the sheer destructiveness at the core of her sister’s personality but there was no reason for her to know how vicious her sibling had become. “It sounds like you were there for her when she needed you. That’s all you can do.”
“I guess so,” she replied doubtfully. Janet asked a few more questions, but there seemed little more to learn about the household Jade grew up in. If there were any secrets, they probably died with the handsome couple in the photograph. Rebecca pulled out her pocketbook, but Janet refused her offer to contribute and brought the bill to the counter. The grieving sister went to the bathroom, and they met a few minutes later on the sidewalk outside the foyer.
“There is one more bit of bad news,” Janet said as they walked to their cars. “No one has claimed Lily’s body. It’s still with the county.” To her surprise, Rebecca brightened a little.
“I can do that for her, at least,” she said with sudden determination. “I won’t leave her alone.”
Janet gave her a brief hug and got into her car and wondered idly who would come and deal with her own corpse. At one time she had thought Don might have taken care of her, an old man shaking with emotion as he scattered her ashes to the wind. Not happening now. And her family certainly wouldn’t do the job. Her parents were long out of the picture and her sister’s Mormon husband allowed no contact with her profligate kin.
She pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to meet Stanley. Regrets were for fools. She had the life she wanted. Porn was not the problem; even conventional businessmen stared into the abyss sometimes. She shook her head, turned on the radio and let the Beach Boys welcome her back to LA. She watched the valley spread out before her. Maybe someday a nice academic like Stanley would take apart her body and dissect
her life for the sake of science.
XX.
FIFTEEN MORE MINUTES OF FAME
Ellen McCaffrey stood exhausted over her microscope. Her eyes could barely focus after examining one hundred and seven different hair samples over a two day period. Normally, she would have assigned the work to her technicians, but one was out with the flu and another was having a baby, so she popped into the lab whenever there was a break in her hectic schedule of autopsies, crime scene visits, and report drafting. So far, she had identified five donors whose hair required DNA testing to see if a match could be made with the strand found tangled in Jade’s ring: Alexia Genoux, Matt LeHunk, Chrissie Nubile, Janet Stephens, and Rock Tower. When given the list of names, her ex-husband volunteered that only Stephens had signed the donor consent form with her left hand.
Given the savagery of the attack, she reconsidered the likelihood that a woman could have committed the murder. With enough adrenaline, with enough rage, it was possible. On the other hand, Donald Johansson’s toxicology report lent some support to his claim that he was too stoned to have killed the victim. His blood sample had not been taken until several hours after the murder, but it had tested positive for alcohol and a pain killer/muscle relaxant. His story gained credibility when she examined the pill bottle found in his pocket and saw that the prescription had been filled for the first time just two days before the party. He may well have been unfamiliar with the drug’s side affects.
Were the levels high enough to incapacitate him? This is what the police wanted to know. Stuart’s face had gone dark at her answer. Johansson’s physical state could not be determined within a reliable degree of certainty, she had explained. There were enough drugs in his system to make him woozy, but she would have to know more about his liver and kidney function before she could opine further. The detective had also pressed her about behavioral side effects of the drug and alcohol together. On that topic, she had been a little more helpful. The combination could possibly be destabilizing; it could significantly lower inhibitions which, at the wrong time and in the wrong person, might facilitate violence. Or it might just cause someone to pass out. He could have been walking a fine edge of consciousness, mobile and dangerous, or just shuffling like a zombie.