Greg also started eating and passed the cinnamon bread to Dev. “Great breakfast, Odelia,” Dev said as he took two slices of bread.
The men stuffed their faces as if it was just a normal, casual brunch. I’m convinced that no matter what their ages or occupations, nothing comes between a man and his stomach.
My eggs forgotten, I cleared my tight throat with a gulp of coffee. “And Harper? What about him?”
“Without Thomas, we have nothing to directly connect him to Laurie’s murder and the smuggling.”
“But I heard them talking. I saw and heard Harper threaten Kirk and Lisa.”
Dev wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. “I know, Odelia, and that information was very helpful. The feds have been watching Gordon Harper for a long time—another reason why we’re taking a step back—but he’s slippery, and they have never been able to grab him and keep him. When they nab him this time, it will be with evidence that will nail his coffin shut. Kirk Thomas is the key. They need to find him and get him to spill his guts.” Dev took a big swallow of coffee. “From the way you described his emotional state when you last saw him, it shouldn’t take much to get him to cave once he’s found.”
It flashed across my mind that Kirk might be dead. “And if they don’t find Kirk?”
“The feds will handle it as they see fit, Odelia. They may just continue to watch Harper, waiting for a slip-up that will bring him down.” Dev paused and once more looked me straight in the eye. “You need to butt out.” He turned to Greg. “Both of you.”
“And Lisa?” Under the table, my left foot was tapping the floor tile in annoyance. I steadied it before the noise became obvious.
“Lisa is to stay where she is for the time being. I told the feds that I have her in a safe house, and they were cool with that. Kami and I will remain the contacts with regard to her.”
I let out a laugh that sounded more like a snort. “Who’d ever have thought that Compton would be considered a safe haven?” Then another thought occurred to me. “What if they don’t find Kirk and can’t nail Harper? What about Lisa then? How long is she supposed to hide out?”
“I talked to Lisa late last night. She’s antsy to get home and get on with her life, especially now that she realizes she didn’t have anything to do with her sister’s murder. I really drilled home to her that she’s in danger. She’s gotten a leave from work and is willing to stay put for a few more days. If nothing turns up by then, we’ll have to rethink it.” Another pause. “She also said to thank you for all your help.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“It’s best that you don’t, especially since Harper knows you know her. You may inadvertently lead him to her, one way or another.”
I nodded in understanding, but my lower lip was definitely in pout mode.
Dev chuckled. “Don’t worry about Lisa, she’s fine. Zee’s taking her some clothes today and will spend time with her. She’s well cared for.”
The three of us went back to our meal, eating in silence for a few moments. My eggs were almost cold, but I ate them anyway, taking bites and chewing on autopilot while I thought over the recent turn of events. The federal government was now involved. This was, indeed, way over my stumpy little head.
Greg changed the topic. “Dev, what about Brian Eddy? Do you think he could be the Blond Bomber?”
Dev looked from Greg to me. “Dr. Eddy has a tight alibi for the Amber Jorgensen murder. As for the others, I’m sure the Laguna Beach Police will be happy to learn of the connection between Jane Sharp and the victims. I have no doubt they will look more closely at her husband and at all her past affairs and business associates.”
“Why the Laguna Beach Police?” Greg pushed away his plate and waited for the explanation.
“The Laguna Beach Police have taken the lead from the beginning. The victims were from all over Southern California, but the bodies were found in Laguna Canyon. Three different agencies have jurisdiction over various parts of that area, but the bodies were all dumped in the part of the canyon under the jurisdiction of the Laguna Beach PD. Kami and I were working with them on the Luke murder because she lived in and disappeared from Newport Beach. Several of the detectives down there are buddies of mine. So I will, of course, help out whenever and however they need me.”
As I digested this along with my eggs, Steele crossed my mind. “Mike Steele was one of Jane Sharp’s clients. Will he be questioned? It was four or five years ago.”
“He might be. Depends on how far back they go.”
After both men left for their respective workplaces, I cleared the table, unloaded the dishwasher of clean dishes, and put in the dirty ones. It felt odd to be home alone on a weekday, even if it was a Friday. I made a quick call to the office to let them know I wouldn’t be in and then another to Memorial Hospital to check on Dad. The nurse said he was resting comfortably and that the doctor had already been by to see him. They expected him to go home later in the afternoon. The nurse transferred me to his room. Dad is very hard of hearing, and I hoped he had his hearing aid in so he could pick up the phone and talk to me. I was in luck.
“Hi, honey,” the warm, familiar voice said after realizing who was calling.
“Hi, Dad. How do you feel today?”
“Not bad for an old man who took a tumble.”
“How’s your head and back?”
“Both still ache a bit, but nothing I can’t live with. Doc came by and said they want to take one more test this morning. If all is well, I’ll be home in time to watch Judge Judy.”
“I’ll stop by later, then, and wait until you can go home.”
“Don’t bother, honey. I know you’re busy. JJ can pick me up and cart me home. He’s much closer than you to the hospital.”
“JJ will probably make you walk home, Dad. Or at the very least, charge you for gas.”
There was a pause, and I wondered if Dad had fallen asleep.
“Odelia, I know you dislike Gigi and her kids and have good reason, but you have to understand something.”
I waited, my nose twitching with annoyance.
“They’re not really bad people, honey, just ignorant. It’s how Gigi was raised and how she raised JJ and Dee. True, they’re selfish, but they’re my family. Same as you.” Dad paused, letting what he said sink into my hard head.
“Will you do your old man a favor? Will you try to get along with them better? Take the high road, no matter what happens. They’re not capable of that, but you are. Both you and Greg.”
“I suppose they told you about the fight between JJ and Greg. And I’m sure they claim Greg started it.”
“I know JJ, and I know Greg. I have no doubt who really started it.” He chuckled. “I just wish I’d been there to see it.”
Dad suggested that instead of coming to the hospital, I wait and visit him at home either tomorrow or Sunday. He said a few days would cool things down in the family. He also asked me to bring Wainwright when I visited. My father loved the goofy yellow dog almost as much as he loved Greg and me.
After making the bed and straightening up, I began to think about going into the office. Things seemed to be tied up, or as least tied up enough for the authorities to step in and unravel the players and who did what to whom. But it nagged at me that I still hadn’t finished what I’d set out to do for Lil. I hadn’t proved yet that Brian Eddy was not the Blond Bomber, and it wasn’t clear that he was, either. Dev even admitted this morning that with the obvious ties to Jane Sharp, the Blond Bomber could be almost anyone who’d had contact with her and her business. It didn’t leave her husband out, but forced him to step aside and make room for other possible suspects, like the dozens of men she’d slept with in the past six years, including Mike Steele. Picking up the phone, I called Steele’s direct line.
“Steele here.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“How’s your dad?”
“Fine, thanks. Just bumps and bruises from the fall and a nasty
cut on his head. He’s going home this afternoon.”
“That’s good news. I heard you weren’t coming in today.”
“Actually, I might be in later, especially with Dad doing so well.”
“What, no Murders‘R’Us today?”
Hmmm. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Steele, are you the Blond Bomber?”
“What?” His voice raised and caught in his throat, as if he’d swallowed a fishhook.
“That’s the question the police might be asking you soon—and your friend Stuart.”
“Why in the hell would they ask us that?”
I gave Steele a rundown of what I’d learned about Jane Sharp.
“So the police are going to question all of her past lovers? That could take a long time.”
“More on point, they might be questioning all of her clients in the past several years, and considering the bodies were all dumped just a few miles from where you live, they might start with you.”
“Do you really think that I’m the Blond Bomber?”
Again, I paused for effect.
“Damn it, Grey!”
I let loose with an evil chuckle. “No, Steele, I don’t. The only way you’d ever put that much time, thought, and effort into something is if you could bill for it.”
“Damn straight.”
Although tweaking Steele’s nose was fun, it wasn’t the reason why I’d called him.
“Steele, when Jane Sharp was decorating your place, did she have an assistant named Mason Bell?”
There was silence while Steele foraged around in his memory bank. Even over the phone, I could hear a faint squeak … squeak as he swiveled in his chair.
“I do remember her having an assistant. A young guy. Not sure of his name though. He was mostly in the background doing the leg work.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
There was a long moment when all I heard was Steele’s chair. “If my memory’s correct, he was average height and on the slim side. One of those guys you aren’t quite sure if he’s gay or straight. Know what I mean?”
“That’s all you remember? Was he attractive? What color hair did he have? Any distinguishing marks, tattoos, things like that? Did he speak with any particular accent?”
Another long pause. “I do remember one specific thing, now that you mention it. It was something about his face, not sure which side, but he had a scar—a thin one extending from his sideburn area over his jaw and slightly down his neck. I remember noticing it when he was bending close to me, fussing over swatches. Otherwise, I might not have seen it.”
Paul Milholland crossed my mind. “Do you recall seeing anyone else working with them? A delivery guy or someone like that?”
“Hmmm, no, no one else. But I was staying with a friend while the bulk of the work was being done.”
“Thanks, Steele.”
“So, you coming in or not?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Now that your dad’s better, Grey, your tab’s running.”
“And you say hello to the police for me when they come to question you about your sex life.”
The Jane Sharp/Blond Bomber connection nagged at me while I threw a load of towels into the washer. I still wasn’t sure if I was going into the office today or not, but decided if I did, it would be this afternoon—that I’d take the morning for myself and try to sort out my mind unencumbered with office work.
As soon as the washer started, I sat down at the dining table with a large sheet of brown paper torn from a roll kept in our home office. With a marker, at the top I wrote Blond Bomber, Jane, Brian. To the left, down a column, I wrote the names of the murdered women. With this grid in place, I started checking off any connections between the victims and the three at the top of the sheet.
Elaine Epps was connected to both the Blond Bomber and Jane, but I didn’t know if she had ever known or seen Brian Eddy. A check across from her name went under both the Blond Bomber’s and Jane’s columns. A question mark went into Brian’s column.
Crystal Lee Harper received checks in all three columns; Gabby Kerr in only the first two. Laurie Luke went only in Jane’s column. Amber received checks in only the Blond Bomber’s column and Dr. Eddy’s. But what about Madeline Sparks, the latest victim? Except for her hair color, what connection did she have with the people across the top of the chart? For now, I just checked the column under the serial killer.
I thought about Jane Sharp and Madeline Sparks, and wondered what was going through Jane’s head right now. Did she know Madeline? It must be scaring the snot out of her that the latest victim had hair similar to her new hairdo. I made a separate note to try and reach Jane later.
Under the names of the murdered women, I also listed Kirk Thomas and Gordon Harper. Kirk received checks in the first two columns, while Harper received them in all three.
I didn’t know if this chart meant anything or would be of any help, but it certainly did help clear my mind to take what was in my head and lay it all out. There were definitely more checks in Jane’s column than Brian’s. It still didn’t prove Dr. Eddy wasn’t the killer, but it looked more orderly all spread out across the sheet, even if the ties were a mess in reality.
Another thing that caught my attention was that the murders were happening more often, with less time between them. Looking back over the chart, I jotted down the approximate dates of the earlier murders. The first three happened approximately three months apart. Laurie Luke’s murder, had she been one of the Blond Bomber’s victims, would have been right on schedule as the fourth victim. It made me wonder if Amber had been prescheduled as the fourth victim before Laurie’s murder—in the killer’s sick mind, was she just an expendable note, no more valuable than a Post-It, jotted to the police? Madeline, the latest victim, had been right on the heels of Amber, with virtually no cool-off time between the two. What did that mean? And no matter what the pecking order, whoever was killing these women knew that Jane had changed her hairstyle, so it was someone who had seen her in the past month.
From the kitchen table, I went into our home office and looked up Mason Bell’s company on the computer. Mason Bell Interiors was located in Los Angeles on Olympic Boulevard off of La Cienega. As with Sharp Design, Mason Bell Interior had an online portfolio with photos from several projects. I recognized Debra Kerr’s living room, with its marriage of traditional and modern styles, among them. But because he’d not been in business very long, his client list was short. With a click of the mouse, I opened his bio page and came face to face with Mason Bell himself.
Although as stylish as Jane Sharp, Mason Bell was much more hip and happening. His clothing was tasteful, trendy, and full of pizzazz all at the same time. He had a nice face, neither handsome nor ugly but far from plain, behind a close-cropped beard. His hair was also worn cropped very close. I saw no sign of the scar Steele remembered, but the headshots weren’t close-ups and the beard would have covered much of it. From the photos, it was easy to see that Mason worked out a lot. His body was tight and buffed, and the clothing he wore accentuated it.
If the Blond Bomber was a competitor, Mason Bell would be a good candidate. After all, he was inheriting a lot of her clients, including the Thomases. And Mason knew her well enough to plan such a heinous thing. He knew who her clients were and would probably know Brian. Maybe Mason, either in an attempt to ruin Jane’s business or in the role of frustrated suitor, had marked the look-alike clients for death.
I picked up the phone, called Mason Bell Interiors, and asked to speak with the man himself. When the receptionist asked what it was about, I gave him my name and told him it was about Jane Sharp. For several minutes, I listened to easy-listening music until someone came on the line.
“Hello, this is Mason Bell.” His voice was refined and a bit dramatic, as if he were bored with the call already.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Bell. I’d like to ask you a few qu
estions, if I may.”
“About Jane?”
“Yes. It’s important.”
“Are you looking for a review or comment on her work?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then I’m really very busy.”
Sensing he was about to say goodbye and hang up, I laid it on the line. I had to say something to shock him into paying attention and want to hear more.
“It’s about her connection to the Blond Bomber.”
“Her what ?” His voice went almost shrill.
“Her connection to the Blond Bomber—you know, the serial killer.”
He laughed. “Don’t tell me she’s sleeping with him now.”
I looked at the photos on the computer screen in front of me. Steele said that years ago he couldn’t tell if Mason Bell was gay or straight. But looking at his photos and listening to his voice and tone, I would bet my collection of Elton John CDs that Mason Bell was gay, even if Jane Sharp hadn’t said anything. Somewhere along the line, he must have openly embraced the rainbow within him.
All the victims had been sexually assaulted. I found it difficult to believe that a gay man would do such a thing to a woman, but it certainly would not be impossible. A closeted, frustrated homosexual maybe, but not an openly gay man. It just wouldn’t make sense.
“You were her assistant until recently, when you started your own company, were you not?”
He stopped chuckling. “What did you say your name was?”
“Odelia Grey.”
There was a pause. Unlike before, I didn’t get the sense he was going to hang up, but was measuring his words carefully.
“Yes, I was, for a number of years. Jane employed me right out of design school.”
“So, like her, you knew all of the women killed by the Blond Bomber?”
“Are you a cop? Or a journalist?”
“I’m not with the police or the media, but I am personally looking into the connection between the slain women and Sharp Design. By the way, you can expect the police to be knocking on your door very soon and asking the same questions. They’ve figured out the connection, too.”
Booby Trap Page 18