Steele gave it some thought. “He could have killed her earlier, stashed the body, and then dumped it after he talked to you. Laguna Canyon isn’t that close, but it’s not that far away either. And parts of it are very isolated. He could have had a late-night tryst. Depending on where he was when he was online, he could have had time to do it.”
My head was beginning to hurt. I leaned my elbows on my desk and rested my chin in my palms. My stomach was still churning, and the smell of the fritter was making it twirl in earnest. I wanted to take a nap and wake up on a beach somewhere with Greg stroking my face.
Steele cleared his throat. I looked up. He was standing at my door, hand on the handle. “I know how you are, Grey. You won’t rest until you work this through. I’ll help as I can, but there’s the firm to consider.”
He was right, of course. After all, Woobie was paying me to work for them, not to chase around after possible killers.
“I’ll stay late, Steele,” I promised. “Don’t worry about the work or my billable hours.” Then I remembered Gabby’s mother. “Crap. I can’t stay tonight, but tomorrow I will.”
Steele took his hand off my doorknob and turned to face me. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep, Grey. Besides, right now we have nothing pressing. So work as much as you can, and leave when you must. I’ll cover for you, if I have to, with the other attorneys.” He pointed a finger in my direction. “But I will still expect you to keep up your billable hours. You can make them up when all this is over.”
I nodded in agreement.
“You understand? I’m not giving you time off, I’m just giving you a waiver. Call it a loan of time, payable in full when I say it is.”
I nodded again, knowing that one day, when I least expected it, Steele would extract his pound of flesh for this favor. And I knew he couldn’t be bought off with an apple fritter.
As soon as Steele left my office, I called Zee again to ask a favor I’d forgotten to ask before: if she would visit Lisa Luke. She said she’d make sure she dropped by the hospital. By the time Zee finished fussing with Lisa, she’d forget she was alone in the world. Then I tackled the work I was paid to do.
In between my work for the firm, I researched two companies online. The first was Sharp Design. Its website was slick and beautiful but not flashy. It was pretty clear that Sharp Design catered to the rich and elegant, not to the rich and edgy. Its famous clientele included some movie and TV stars, but not a single rock star.
On the site were a couple of photos of Jane Sharp. She was indeed stunning. A leggy blond in her early forties, with perfect hair and even more perfect clothes, she exuded good taste and exclusivity. It was difficult to believe she had once been a plain Jane. Whatever work she had had done, it had been top-of-the-line.
I had to find a way to meet Jane Sharp. It crossed my mind briefly to have Steele be the go-between, but it sounded as if he hadn’t had any contact with her since their affair, and the less I involved him, the better. The fewer people who might fall, even accidentally, within the range of a killer—strike that, two killers—the better. Maybe Lil could somehow hook us up without looking too obvious.
The thought of calling Lil had hardly crossed my mind when my cell phone rang, and the caller was none other than Lillian Ramsey herself. As soon as I answered, I could hear the hysteria in her voice.
“Odelia, did you see the news? That poor girl was Brian’s nurse! He killed his own nurse! What are we going to do?”
I got up to shut my door before I answered. “Lil, calm down. I did hear about the nurse found this morning, and I know it was Amber from Brian’s office, but I have reason to believe Brian didn’t kill her.”
“You have proof, Odelia?” The hysteria in her voice went down a few notches.
I didn’t really have proof. Steele was correct. Given the time of death and my online chat with Knotdead, though very squeaky, Brian Eddy could have had time to kill and dump Amber. But little things just didn’t seem right. First of all, when we ended our chat, Dr. Eddy seemed mellow and tired, not someone hopped up to go kill or even to dump an already dead body. I’m no expert, but it seems there would be a certain mindset for something like that. He’d told Perfect4u that he was going to bed, that the day had been exhausting for him. Of course, breaking up with and killing someone could be reason for feeling tuckered out, but the tone in his chat seemed, well, almost defeated, as if I could see his sagging shoulders and sighs through the computer screen.
I didn’t know who killed Amber any more than I knew who killed Laurie Luke, but I was still standing firm on my instinct that neither died at the hands of Dr. Brian Eddy.
“Not exactly, Lil, but I do have a feeling about this. No matter how horrible it may look, I’ll be very surprised if the Blond Bomber turns out to be your son.”
“I pray that’s true.”
“In fact, I found out something very interesting this morning. You know that other nurse, the one who disappeared from Hoag Hospital?”
“Of course, the poor girl.”
“Well, the police believe she may have been killed by someone else, not by the Blond Bomber at all, but set up to look like the serial killer.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Lil. But you can’t tell anyone that. Okay?” She didn’t respond. “Okay, Lil? You’ll keep that to yourself for now?”
“Yes, of course, dear. I’m just so relieved to hear your belief that my son isn’t a killer, I feel almost lightheaded.” A pause. “It will make things so much more comfortable tomorrow.”
“Why, what’s happening tomorrow?”
“Jane, my daughter-in-law, called. She’s coming by for lunch and a chat. It was supposed to be today, but with everything that has happened, she postponed it until one tomorrow afternoon.”
I started to ask Lil if I could drop by, then decided against it. Crashing the little party unannounced would be much better for catching people being themselves.
After the call, I went back to my research, this time looking up Seventh Veil Costuming. The company was incorporated in California, and the president was Gordon Harper. The business address was in Los Angeles. A quick MapQuest search informed me the location was near the Los Angeles airport.
The company’s website was professional and hi-tech, with samples of sexy costumes, from very understated to the flashiest of flash, where no feather, crystal, or sequin was spared. There were colorful photos with models of both genders wearing the bawdy outfits and even a video trailer showing several being strutted on a stage. The pitch was for custom-made erotic fantasy costumes for all occasions and sizes. The contact information gave an address, telephone number, and e-mail address.
Picking up the phone, I dialed the contact number. After two rings, the phone was answered by a pleasant-voiced woman with an accent. She identified herself as Mrs. Santiago. I told her I was interested in having a special outfit made for my husband’s birthday. No, it wasn’t for my husband specifically, I informed the woman when she inquired, but for me to wear for my husband’s pleasure. When she asked if I had anything specifically in mind, I cast a look at the samples on the website and described one of the less flamboyant outfits. The woman then asked when I wanted to come in for a consultation. After informing her I wanted it as soon as possible, Mrs. Santiago set the appointment for one thirty that afternoon.
As soon as my old Toyota Camry was moving north on the 405 Freeway, I called Greg and gave him the updates, including Steele’s offer of letting me pursue the matter in exchange for make-up time.
Greg laughed. “Sweetheart, you just made a deal with the devil.” After a short pause, he added, “And whatever outfit you get, make sure it’s fire-engine red with black feathers.” He laughed again, this time longer and louder.
Speeding up the freeway, I tried not to worry about two things. One, that the number of hours I was going to owe Steele and Woobie were piling up rapidly; and two, that I was about to be measured for a stripper outfit.
&
nbsp; Seventh Veil Costuming was located in a light industrial area less than three miles from LAX. All of the buildings looked fairly new and housed a variety of businesses, from luggage outlets and building contractors to airport parking services. Seventh Veil was housed in a two-story building made of gray concrete set back from the street to accommodate a couple of customer parking spots in the front. On one side of the building was a large driveway clearance to allow vehicles to reach the back of the building. A chainlink fence separated it from the buildings on either side. There were no windows facing the street except for the frosted glass door front.
I parked and checked my watch. It was 1:10. I had made unusually good time from Orange County. In about three hours, the 405 would be as slow as molasses. The plan was to get in and out of Seventh Veil in time to beat the rush-hour traffic home. I wanted to relax and have a quiet dinner with Greg before meeting Gabby’s mother. If I got home in time, I might even cook something nice. Then I remembered I had promised Lisa I would stop by tonight. So much for feeding Greg a real home-cooked meal.
Just as I was about to pull open the door to Seventh Veil, I heard a voice—a very distinctive, high-pitched voice. Looking around, I didn’t see any cars but mine. Edging slowly to the end of the building in the direction of the driveway, I peeked around the corner. The building was shaped in a U formation with short sides and a long middle. The far end of the lot showed a couple of non-descript sedans parked along the fence. I turned the corner and edged down the side. In the center of the lot was a large open area, probably used for deliveries. There were no delivery trucks present, but there were two other vehicles. One was a silver Mercedes sedan and the other a dark green Jeep Wrangler.
At first I didn’t see any people, but I again heard the familiar yippy voice. Fifi the wonder poodle was definitely in the yard. I heard another voice. It was male and medium in timbre, but the tone spiked upward with pleas and emotion. I smashed my chunky body closer to the wall to get a better view.
Suddenly, two men came into view. Or rather, one was thrown into my path of vision by the other. Sprawled on the ground near the front of the Jeep was Kirk Thomas, Laurie Luke’s fiancé. A very large man dressed in a dark suit grabbed him by the front of his denim shirt and hoisted him roughly to his feet. Once upright, the man threw a one-two punch directly into Kirk’s ribs, forcing him backwards against the front of the Jeep. As he slid to the ground, the assailant kicked Kirk in his side and was about to kick him again when a command halted the attack.
“Enough,” I heard Gordon Harper say. “He’s no good to us dead or too damaged to travel.”
He walked slowly into my view, stopping directly in front of Kirk Thomas. The goon placed a foot on Kirk’s chest and pulled a gun out from under his jacket, aiming it at Kirk’s head. My eyes widened in fear, as if the gun were pointed at my own head. This was definitely not what I expected to find on a simple reconnaissance trip to a costume shop.
“The deal was for three shipments,” Gordon said, looking down at Kirk. “Not one, not two, but three.”
“No.” Kirk’s voice was ragged but determined. “No more. Go ahead, kill me. I don’t care now.” His last words were choked, almost with sobs. “I did what you asked. You didn’t have to kill her.” He struggled. The other man put more pressure on his chest.
Gordon Harper walked a few steps away and turned around, causing me to duck for cover. When I peeked again, he was facing Kirk once more.
“The broad got herself killed by acting stupid. Don’t you do the same.”
“I said no.” Kirk spat the words at Harper. “So just kill me now and get it over with.”
The older man studied the younger one for a moment. “You may not want to save your own skin, sport, but I understand that honey of yours had a sister.”
“No!” Kirk protested in a strangled voice. He squirmed under his captor’s foot and received a quick kick in his side for his trouble. Kirk let out a cry of pain.
Harper nodded something to his thug-in-waiting. The big man released Kirk and backed away, still holding the gun on him. Kirk struggled to his feet. He was holding his right side.
“You will complete the job, sport. Deliver the third shipment and the goods you lifted from the last one or the girl’s dead.”
“No.”
Harper grinned. “No, don’t kill the girl? Or no, you won’t do it?”
Kirk hung his head. “Don’t kill her. I’ll do what you want.”
“Good boy.”
Kirk looked up. “Then we’re finished, Harper. No more.”
“Three shipments was the deal, sport. And three full shipments it will be. I keep my end of a bargain.” He approached Kirk and poked a fat finger into his chest. “But you ever talk about this, and you and the sis will both wind up tied to trees in the canyon, understand?”
Harper motioned to his goon. In a flash, Kirk dropped to his knees from a blow to his head.
“Now get the hell out of here.” Gordon Harper laughed. It sounded like an asthmatic wheeze.
I took that as my cue, too. As quietly as possible, I scooted back to the front of the building and climbed into my car. I’d heard enough to make my brown hair turn gray in spite of its color job. I tried to put the key into the ignition, but my hands shook too much. I had to calm down, but I also had to get the hell out of there. I clutched the steering wheel to stop the shakes.
Trying once more, this time I successfully jammed the keys into the ignition. But before I could turn the engine over, a vehicle approached rapidly from the side driveway. Without time to back up and drive off, I simply ducked and prayed no one noticed me. Fortunately, my car was parked in the spot farthest from the driveway, and neither Kirk Thomas nor Gordon Harper knew what I drove. A vehicle came out of the side driveway and sped onto the street, taking a right. Raising my head slightly, I noted it was the Jeep Wrangler. I was about to follow Kirk’s example when I heard another car. Again, I ducked down, lifting my head in time to see the tail end of the Mercedes make a left onto the street. Unlike the Jeep, the Mercedes didn’t seem to be in a rush.
With the coast finally clear, I sat upright and took a moment to calm down.
It was pretty clear that Gordon Harper had something to do with Laurie’s death. The police believed Laurie’s killer was not the Blond Bomber and even the serial killer himself was trying to tell the police that. Given what I had just witnessed, it seemed that Kirk’s outpouring of guilt at the hospital that morning was well grounded. But what was he involved with that would get Laurie killed? And was Laurie involved, too? That Gordon Harper was involved in something shady didn’t surprise me one bit. Although Kirk’s head wasn’t stumpy, it was clear that whatever he was involved in, like me, he was in way over his head.
With Gordon Harper off the premises, I thought about my appointment with Mrs. Santiago. I was now a few minutes late and considered calling from the parking lot to cancel. I wanted to hole up somewhere and think about what I had just learned.
Harper either killed or had Laurie Luke killed because of some dealings with Kirk Thomas that went sour. But what about Crystal Lee? Did Harper bump her off, too? He seemed genuinely affected by her death when we spoke to him. I told myself not to lose sight of the fact that Harper was a tough guy, likely a career criminal, who might even kill loved ones to get what he wanted. If he did kill Crystal Lee, was it to gain control of Seventh Veil or for another reason? But what about Gabby Kerr and Elaine Epps? Did they have connections to Gordon Harper as well? Were they killed to teach a lesson to a fiancé, father, or brother? Maybe the Blond Bomber killings weren’t the work of a serial killer but were made to look that way, and Laurie’s death got screwed up and didn’t follow the pattern as it should have. Remembering what Dev said about the writing on Amber’s body, my overtaxed brain jumped the track and forged another path. If the Blond Bomber did kill Amber to send a message to the police, then Harper could have tried to make Laurie’s death look like the work of the Blond Bomber to se
nd the police on a wild goose chase.
A visit to Seventh Veil might still be helpful, but the questioning would have to travel in a different direction, or even several.
Still sitting in my car, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. My head hurt as if I’d been slammed by Harper’s thug.
A chime, like a doorbell, sounded as soon as I entered Seventh Veil Costuming. Unlike its no-frills exterior, the small reception area was decorated like an upscale bordello, or at least what I considered an upscale bordello to look like. Gold-flocked wallpaper covered the walls, and the lighting fixtures were festooned with hanging crystals. There were a couple of chairs and a loveseat, all in brocade. Instead of flowers, tall vases on small tables held colorful feathers. On the walls were photographs of women in elaborate but scanty costumes.
The woman who introduced herself to me as Maria Santiago appeared to be in her mid-forties, with an attractive hairdo and simple makeup. Her attire was business casual, her jewelry sparse and tasteful. Around her neck were eyeglasses on a shiny silver chain. She took care of herself but without overdoing it, unlike her surroundings. She held out a hand with short manicured nails for me to shake.
“Ms. Grey, you seem nervous.” She held onto my hand and cupped her other hand over it gently.
It was true, my hands were slightly shaking. “It’s nothing really.” I paused. “There was almost a car accident out front.” She looked at me with concern. “Some big silver Mercedes came barreling out of your parking lot and never saw me.”
Mrs. Santiago shook her head slightly. “That must have been Mr. Harper, the owner. He stopped by for a minute, which made him late for an appointment.” She released my hand. “I must apologize on his behalf.”
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