MD03 - Criminal Intent

by Sheldon Siegel

  “I don’t know.”

  I put it right back to her. “Surely, youmust have a theory.”

  “I might.” She finishes her beer and answers with a question. “Guess where I was Friday night?”

  I already know. “The MacArthur house.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Petrillo.”

  She smiles. “He wanted me to keep an eye on Ellis. There were rumors that Big Dick and Ellis were going to try an end run on the China Basin project to squeeze out Millennium.”

  Sounds like everybody was trying to screw everybody else. I ask her what she saw on Friday night.

  “Ellis left with Petrillo in the limo. I presume they went back to the hotel together.”

  “Did you follow them?”

  “I couldn’t get to my car soon enough. It was parked a couple of blocks away.”

  I ask, “Where were you hiding? Down on the beach?”

  “No. I would have been too easy to spot. I was in the bushes on the east side of the house, next to the path leading to the beach.” She assures us that nobody could have seen her.

  I ask her if she could see the deck.

  “No. I couldn’t see much of the front of the house or the driveway, either.”

  “Do you know when everybody left?”,

  “For the most part.” She says Ellis and Petrillo left in the limo at one forty-five and Springer and Crown left around two. “I’m not sure when Kent or Richard Junior left.”

  I think about my conversation with Joe Lynch. I wonder if Little Richard and Ellis went back to Big Dick’s house. If they walked, Kaela Joy probably wouldn’t have seen them and may not have heard them. I ask her if anyone else came over to Big Dick’s house after Springer and Crown left.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Did you hear any cars after Springer and Crown left?”

  “I heard a car pull up around two-fifty. I think somebody was picked up, but I don’t know who. I heard another car pull out about twenty after three. I don’t know who was in it.”

  Now we have two cars that are unaccounted for. Angel or Kent or even Little Richard or Ellis could have been in either one. “Was the second car MacArthur’s new Jag?”

  “I don’t know.”

  So close. “Have you talked to the police?”

  “I told Inspector O’Brien everything I know. By the way, he said your client is guilty.”

  “Do you agree with him?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here trying to help you.”

  I finish my Guinness and say, “You said you had a theory about Kent.”

  “I heard footsteps around three. Somebody walked down the path to the beach.”

  “Could you see who it was?”

  “I didn’t get a good look.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Man.”

  “Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “I’d guess it was Kent.”

  # # #

  “What did you think?” I ask Pete. We’re standing outside the Edinburgh Castle watching Kaela Joy Gullion saunter down Geary. The homeless people and night owls give her a wide berth. She’s the embodiment of the term, “Don’t mess with me.”

  Pete tugs at his mustache. “I believe her.”

  So do I. “Sounds like the movie is going to be released on time. That leaves the studio project. If she’s right, Big Dick and Kent wanted in and Little Richard wanted out.”

  “Yep. And it seems Ellis and Petrillo are in, but it’s hard to tell whose side they’re on. Maybe they’re in together and they’re trying to screw everybody else.”

  “Maybe.” I’m struggling to fight the fatigue. I ask, “What about the cars?”

  “The first one may have been a cab. The second one was probably the Jag.”

  “Who was in them?”

  He smiles and says, “If we knew the answer, we’d have this case solved, wouldn’t we?”

  True enough. “Do you think it was Kent who walked by Kaela Joy?”

  “Probably.”

  “Where was he going?”

  “To the bridge to commit suicide.”

  I’m inclined to think he’s right. And you can bet that’s the argument Nicole Ward will make. Pete’s cell phone rings. He answers it and hands it to me. “Rosie,” he says.

  Why is she calling on Pete’s phone? I grab it and ask, “Are you and Grace all right?”

  “Yeah.” She sounds exhausted. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and realize the battery is dead. “It’s after two.”

  “I know. Where are you?”

  “Polk and Geary,” I say. I tell her we were talking to Kaela Joy.

  “You can tell me about it later. How soon can you meet me at San Francisco General?”

  “Right away. Is your mother okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  My mind races. “Tony? Rolanda? Theresa?”

  I hear her take a deep breath before she says, “Angel tried to commit suicide.”

  Oh God. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They were supposed to be watching her. How could they have let this happen?”

  Rosie keeps her composure. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  *****

  Chapter 31

  “She Really Wanted to Die”

  “Angelina Chavez has been admitted for treatment. We will provide additional information as it becomes available.”

  — Spokesman for San Francisco General Hospital. Tuesday, June 8. 3:00 a.m.

  I hear Rosie telling Theresa that she’ll call her as soon as she can. Then she hits the “End” button on her cell and gives me an exhausted frown.

  “How is Angel?” I ask.

  We’re standing next to a police guard outside the intensive care unit at San Francisco General. The drab corridor at the industrial-strength public hospital smells of disinfectant and brims with activity.

  Rosie’s eyes are red and her voice is barely a whisper. “She really wanted to die. She lost some blood, but they think she’s going to be okay.”

  Thank God. “Do they know how she did it?”

  “She cut her wrist. I don’t know how she got her hands on something sharp.”

  “Somebody was supposed to have been watching her.”

  “They were. She was under a blanket. The guard saw blood after she passed out.”

  I ask if she left a note.

  “They found a scrap of toilet paper.” Rosie’s voice cracks. “There were only five words: I didn’t kill my husband.” She buries her head in my shoulder. I hold her tightly. My arms are still around her as we walk into the waiting area. I help her into a seat and give her a drink of water. The television is tuned to Channel 4, but the sound is off. I see a headline that says Angel attempted suicide. Rosie slowly regains her composure. We sit in silence.

  A short time later, a young resident in a white coat approaches us and says, “Your niece is conscious, Ms. Fernandez. She’s going to be all right. She lost some blood, but her injuries were relatively minor. She was very fortunate.”

  “Can we see her?”

  “For a few minutes, but please keep it short. She’s very tired.” The doctor hesitates and says, “Ms. Fernandez, we discovered some slight irregularities in her blood work.”

  Rosie darts a glance in my direction. “What sort?”

  “At first we thought she was pregnant, so we ran a few more tests. Then she told us she had terminated a pregnancy about two weeks ago.”

  “An abortion?”

  “No, Ms. Fernandez. A miscarriage.”

  Rosie closes her eyes. She reopens them slowly and asks, “Will she be able to have children?”

  “We think so. There doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage. We’ll need to run more tests. So far, everything appears to be within normal ranges.”

  In the circums
tances, normal ranges are good. I ask, “How far along was she?”

  “Early. No more than six to eight weeks.”

  Rosie tells the doctor she’ll be in to see Angel in a moment. She turns to me and says, “What am I supposed to tell Angel? What do I tell my sister?” She looks away for a moment and adds, “I can’t begin to think about all the potential legal issues. The papers are going to go crazy.”

  I take her hand and say, “We have to focus on Angel. She needs to know that we’re with her—and we always will be—no matter what. That’s what we have to tell her now. As for your sister, we’ll have to try to keep her calm. We’ll need a lot of help from your mother and your brother. You’re going to have to look after Angel—and probably Theresa. You’re the only family they have. Carolyn and Pete and I will worry about the legal maneuvering and the investigation. Somehow, we’ll get through this.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “It’s the best we can do.” I look into her eyes and ask, “Do you want me to come with you to see Angel?”

  “It might help. Thanks.”

  # # #

  Angel’s once-vibrant eyes are now a dull gray. She’s wearing a hospital gown. An IV is connected to her arm. She whispers, “I really screwed up this time.”

  I’m standing by the door. Rosie is holding Angel’s free hand. “Everything’s going to be okay,” Rosie tells her.

  Angel looks like a teenager. Her eyes are filled with tears. “My husband is dead, Aunt Rosie,” she says. “So is my baby. I’m going to rot in jail for the rest of my life.”

  “We’ll get you out of there, honey. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “My life is over.”

  Rosie brushes the hair out of Angel’s eyes. She kisses her forehead and says, “Why didn’t you tell us you were pregnant?”

  “It didn’t matter anymore. The baby was gone.”

  “How far along were you?”

  “Only a few weeks. I missed two periods.”

  “Did anybody else know you were pregnant?”

  “Dick knew.”

  Rosie swallows hard and asks, “Was he pleased?”

  Angel takes a sip of water. She takes a deep breath and answers, “No.”

  A look of alarm crosses Rosie’s face. “Why not?”

  Angel starts to cry. She looks at me through her tears and says, “Uncle Mike, are you still permitted to listen to confessions?”

  What do I say? I can’t send her down to St. Peter’s. “Sure, honey.”

  Angel looks at me and recites, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”

  “How long has it been since your last confession?”

  “About two years.”

  I catch Rosie’s eyes. She’s still holding her niece’s hand. I turn to Angel and say, “What is it, honey?”

  “I lost my baby, Uncle Mike.”

  “These things happen. It isn’t a sin and you mustn’t blame yourself.”

  “Yes I should.”

  Rosie squeezes her hand and says, “No, you shouldn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes it was.”

  I try again. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

  “But it wasmy fault, Uncle Mike. I didn’t take care of myself. I didn’t take care of my baby. I took drugs. I drank alcohol. God decided I wasn’t fit to be a mother.”

  I say to her, “No, Angel. Everybody makes mistakes. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “I do. And it wasn’t my only mistake.”

  This gets a troubled look from Rosie. She turns to Angel and says, “What is it, honey?”

  Angel bites her lip and the tears flow freely. She tries to hug Rosie, but the IV gets in the way. Finally, she blurts out, “Dick wasn’t the father.”

  *****

  Chapter 32

  “I Have to Ask”

  “We were very saddened to hear about the suicide attempt by Angelina Chavez. We wish her a speedy and full recovery.”

  — Cheryl Springer. KGO Radio. Tuesday, June 8. 3:30 a.m.

  It all comes pouring out. “I knew Dick was having an affair with an actress in L.A.,” Angel tells us. “So I slept with another man. That’s why God is punishing me. I deserved to lose my husband. And my baby.” She dissolves into a torrent of tears. She sobs uncontrollably into Rosie’s shoulder. Rosie rocks her tightly and whispers into her ear. I stand helplessly at the foot of the bed.

  Fatigue finally overcomes Angel and Rosie manages to calm her down. Angel drinks water and closes her eyes. Rosie leans over to her and says, “Did Dick know he wasn’t the father?”

  “Yes. He told me I had to get an abortion. When I told him I wouldn’t, he said he’d file for divorce. He said he’d make sure I would never work in the film business again—ever.” She swallows hard and adds, “Then he hit me.”

  Christ. I ask, “Where?”

  “In the stomach. I started bleeding. I called an ambulance. The baby was gone by the time I got to the hospital.”

  I can feel a burning in the back of my throat. The vile bastard.

  Angel lowers her eyes and says, “He didn’t even come to the hospital. He said I got what I deserved. He told me I wouldn’t get a cent because of the prenup. I was an idiot. I should have hired a lawyer.”

  Rosie’s eyes are on fire. She says to Angel, “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was.” Angel turns to me and says, “Is there any way God will forgive me?”

  One of the reasons I left the priesthood was because I felt unqualified to act as God’s spokesperson. I pause with hopes that God will give me a sign. Then I quietly say, “God loves you, Angel. God will forgive you.”

  “Are you sure, Uncle Mike?”

  “I’m sure, honey.”

  She nods submissively and buries her face in Rosie’s shoulder. Then the doctor comes in and tells us that Angel needs to rest. Rosie negotiates a few extra minutes. She turns back to Angel and says, “Honey, I have to ask. Who was the father?”

  Angel’s voice is barely a whisper when she says, “Danny Crown.”

  My God. “Does he know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him about the miscarriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Friday night. He was furious at Dick.”

  *****

  Chapter 33

  “Crown is Back in the Mix”

  “Our sources have reported that the father of Angelina Chavez’s baby was her co-star in The Return of the Master, Daniel Crown.”

  — Jerry Edwards. KGO Radio. Tuesday, June 8. 4:00 a.m.

  Four a.m. A combination of heavy sedatives and exhaustion finally caused Angel to doze off. Rosie and I are in the corridor outside the ICU where Jack O’Brien is chatting with one of the uniforms. Nicole Ward stopped by to check on Angel’s condition. She informed us that the preliminary hearing will proceed as scheduled.

  We told O’Brien that Angel had recently suffered a miscarriage and that Crown was the father. We explained that he was irate at Big Dick. There is no reason to hide the ball. They’ll find out eventually and it gives them another suspect. The flip side is that they’ll argue the miscarriage gave Angel greater motive. The tabloids are going to love this.

  Rosie and I shove our way through the reporters on the front steps of the hospital. The morning news shows will treat their viewers to my shouts of “No comment.” We sit in stark silence in the car. Rosie leans back against the headrest and closes her eyes.

  Things get infinitely worse when we arrive at Sylvia’s house ten minutes later. Sylvia is trying to put on a good front, but Theresa is a basket case. She loses what little composure she has left as soon as we walk in the door. “Is Angel going to be okay?” she asks repeatedly. It takes Rosie an hour to calm her down. Theresa insists she has to go to the hospital to see Angel. Rosie convinces her that she should wait until morning when Angel is awake.

  Rosie and I don’t sleep at all. We sit at her mother’s kitchen t
able drinking coffee and playing out the scenarios in Angel’s case. In our exhaustion, our analytical skills are substantially diminished. We discuss Daniel Crown. We talk about my conversation with Kaela Joy Gullion.