‘Talk about what? Perkins has no imagination. If he is spoon-fed facts pointing to me, he’s going to run with it. And there’s pretty damning evidence there, too. My gun, which I’ve never shot outside of the firing range. And one of my earrings and apparently a witness who saw me there. An impossibility since I spent the night sitting on my balcony, watching the sun go down, reading a relatively good book.’
‘Did - ’
‘No. I know what you’re going to ask. Nobody saw me. I didn’t talk to anybody. I didn’t bump into anyone in the hall. I have absolutely no alibi.’
Marty took a deep breath. ‘That may be good.’
‘In what universe is not having an alibi good?’
‘If you were planning to kill someone you’d have made yourself an alibi.’
‘I’d yell at you right now, but I don’t want to draw attention to the fancy-dressed lady hiding in the shadows. Don’t worry about me, Marty. You’ve got plenty of other clients you can help.’
Marty looked at the phone, call disconnected. His driver waited for the gate to open before entering the long drive. Marty slid down the partition window. ‘Hey, you know Ellie, right?’
‘Drove her around an awful lot for about six months. Lovely girl.’
‘Yeah, I thought so too. She’s got herself into a big mess. Very unlike her.’
‘I heard. It’s been on the radio.’
‘They named her?’
‘Every chance they could.’
Marty held his heads in his hands. ‘Fuck. Wonderful. Well, I guess that was inevitable.’ He slid out of the car. ‘There are days the fifteen percent doesn’t come to anywhere near enough money.’
Henry closed up the restaurant and nodded at the police car. ‘Em, you heard the news, right? About Ellie?’
‘Doesn’t sound like her.’ Emily followed his gaze to the black and white.
‘She told some unbelievable stories about this Sweeney guy. It could be possible. I know I’d probably snap.’ He locked the door and pocketed the keys. ‘And where in the hell did the paparazzi come from all of a sudden? She’s been doing movie publicity for the past few weeks and there’s been nothing. All of a sudden, wham. Dozens of the parasites.’
‘And they’re still parked out there at this time of night.’
‘There’s more than this morning. I guess the news has drawn them. As if she’d come back here.’
‘You’ve got her number, right?’
‘I’m sure she’s got more to worry about without me calling her and warning her about the paps outside her place. She’s probably talking to the police right now anyway.’ He held the car door for his wife. ‘Doesn’t have time to talk to me.’
Emily shook her head and waited until he got in and closed the door. ‘You haven’t been paying attention. She’s not talking to the cops. She’s gone. Took off. The police are looking for her. She’s on the lam.’
Henry laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right? Ellie? Goody-two-shoes Ellie?’ He sobered at the look on his wife’s face. ‘Oh, that’s bad. You think she might have actually killed the guy?’
‘No way. You said it yourself: goody-two-shoes. We need to get a message to her that we believe in her.’
‘And implicate ourselves in this mess?’
‘Give me your phone. Don’t be such an ass. She’s always supported us and we need to support her. Or don’t you believe in her?’
‘I do. I just don’t want to get involved.’
Emily composed and sent a text with a ferocity Henry hadn’t seen in years. She tossed the phone back on his lap. ‘You’re involved.’
‘What did you send?’
‘A message of support.’ She crossed her arms and promised a silent ride.
Marty paced in his back yard, looking at the reflections of the full moon on the black Pacific. He wasn’t used to feeling this impotent. He dialed her number again.
‘What?’
‘Where are you? I’m very worried for your safety. And your mental health, if I’m honest.’
‘I’m not crazy.’
‘Then why are you hiding in the shadows, afraid someone will recognize you? You must be freezing. You didn’t have a wrap tonight and it’s down into the fifties.’
‘I’m not outside.’
‘The hell you’re not. I can hear the waves in the background, there’s a shiver in your voice, and you’re whispering. Why whisper if you’re not hiding from at least one person?’
In a diametrically-opposed neighborhood to Marty’s, income-wise, Kent hung up the phone and tapped his coffee table. How to proceed? He had called Ellie’s number and received a ‘waiting’ message on the display. She was talking to someone else.
‘No time to wait.’ He sent a text message.
“Where are you? I need to talk to you asap. See you in person, preferably.”
He dropped the phone on the table and looked at his watch. A few more productive hours left in him. He turned back to his laptop.
Marty was in full negotiator mode. ‘This is a tough city, Ell. You’re not safe on your own.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Marty heard a beep. ‘What was that?’
‘I got a text message. I’ve been getting a lot of very supportive messages. None from you, of course. Let me read it.’
Marty waited. He could hear her muttering in the background. He did hear waves before, and he could still hear them. She was somewhere near the ocean, obviously, and hadn’t moved since the last time they talked.
‘I’ve got a pretty good idea where you are, Ell. The waves, the fact you haven’t moved.’ There was a slight electronic click and all the background noise disappeared. He looked at the phone’s display. She had terminated the call. ‘Shit.’
He re-called her number, getting voicemail immediately. She had shut off her phone.
The Killer mentally moved another chess piece on the board. His board. He controlled the game. He controlled the behavior of each party. If there was an Olympics for manipulative behavior, he’d get the Gold and convince Silver to hand over their medal.
There would be sacrifices. There always were. Nobody won a chess match without giving up some pieces. On occasion the Queen was even surrendered in return for better board position.
So far everything had fallen into place. The players in their parts had reacted as he programmed them to. The second act was well under way now. Confusion was king. And when confusion reigned, misdirection was the weapon of choice. Tomorrow morning a second piece would be sacrificed. And the game would progress.
Everything sat in a state of suspended action. The two constables in the patrol car across the street from Ellie’s apartment sat waiting for her to arrive. The paparazzi, some of whom had been there since she came out of the ocean that morning, waited, expecting her to return. Marty, in his over-sized cliff-side house waited for the next move, from either his favorite client, or the police. There was nothing he could do now.
Perkins turned off his computer. ‘Stanfield, I’m calling it a night. She’s with the wind. There’s a BOLO out for her and I’ll get a call as soon as she’s found. So will you. There’s nothing to be gained staying here.’
‘We haven’t even touched all the evidence bags yet. And we still need to interview this Charlie Bates guy.’
‘It can wait until tomorrow. She’s not a serial killer. We’ve both met the victim before. The world actually is a better place with him gone. I’m not going to lose sleep. She’s young, pampered and frail. All public transport avenues are being watched. We’ll catch her at a Starbucks in the next day or so. I’ll even give you odds.’
‘You’ve got a short memory. She’s going to fight this with everything’s she’s got. Just like she fought about the so-called suicide over a year ago. You’re living in a dream if you think otherwise. Am I right?’
Perkins sighed. ‘Oh, Jesus, I hope not. This is cut and dried. The evidence is a mountain beside her molehill of protestations of innocence. We alread
y figured out the killing wasn’t a suicide. It’s clear she set it up to look like a suicide and did a very poor job of it. That’s as premeditated as it gets. She knows what’s she’s done and she knows the consequences of getting caught. No wonder she’s taken off. I probably would too.’
Chapter Eleven
The last lights of the LA County Life Guard building turned off. Finally. I’d been in the shadows of the fishing pier for a couple of hours. The dress was ruined. It was soaked with salt water from the waist down. I guess I owned it now.
To get to my apartment I needed to move undetected up the beach almost a mile under a full moon, get through an ever increasing mob of smelly paps and a couple of cops sitting outside the front entrance.
At least that’s the way they expected me to get to my apartment. They must think I’m an idiot.
The last truck drove out of the Life Guard parking lot. I stepped out from the shadows of the pier and looked across the expanse of empty sand.
I walked to the south side of the life guard building, awkward in the long dress. The building shielded me from the crowd in front of my building. My face would show up on the security camera footage, but it wouldn’t be noticed for a couple of days, at least. But now I had half a mile in the open with the full moon shining in a clear sky. Half a mile to cover undetected to get to the guys who were looking for me. Nope. I’m not an idiot.
The black and white sat on N. Venice right up at Ocean Front Walk. The paps were hanging out by the skate park. They may as well have had spotlights on them. I looked around the south-east corner of the lifies car lot. I could go east a block on twenty-fourth and approach the apartment from the back. Except I was still in a ruined $2000 gown. Even in the capital of Southern Californian weird I’d stand out.
I needed to tramp it up a bit.
And to do that I needed something sharp. It was impossible to keep a beach as large as this one clean. An almost empty bottle of beer rested in the sand by the walkway. I squatted, turned my head to protect my eyes and tapped it on the concrete walkway. And then I hit harder. The damned thing wouldn’t break. I hauled my hand back to hit with all I had when someone grabbed my wrist.
‘What the fuck?’ I turned, landing on my ass, looking up at Ann, the crazy bag-lady.
‘Why are you doing that? Kids will cut their feet on the glass.’
I crab-walked back a couple of steps. ‘What? I’ll clean up the mess. Be quiet, okay? I don’t need the attention. ‘
‘That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you break it if you’re just going to clean it up?’
I struggled to my feet. My dress was hugely impractical when running from the law. ‘Look, Ann, please keep it down. There’s a bunch of people over there looking for me, and they’re not nice.’ She seemed puzzled. Best to change the subject. ‘I need something sharp to cut down this dress. I can’t get around in it like this.’ I hefted the bottle. ‘So if you’ll excuse me I’ve got some breaking to do.’
‘Wait.’ She dug through her jacket pockets and pulled out a blue-handled kitchen knife. ‘Will this work?’
I looked at it, and at her, my unlikely co-conspirator. ‘This is perfect.’ I accepted the knife and started cutting at about mid-thigh.
She nodded and gently took the knife from my hand. ‘Let me do this.’ And she did. Much better than I could.
I stepped out of the ring of red cloth. ‘Ann, you’re a genius.’
She slipped the knife into her pocket and picked the bottom half of the dress off the ground. ‘Thanks. Can I have this?’
‘Sure.’ Then I had a thought. ‘Wait. Let me have it for half an hour and I’ll get it back to you, as well as the rest of it. Do you trust me?’
She smiled. She really needed urgent dental care. ‘Of course I do. Will I meet you here?’
I looked around. I didn’t feel like exposing myself on the beach again tonight. I took the bottom half of the dress from Ann and tied my hair in a bun, letting the ends drape across my shoulders. ‘Walk with me. There’s a nice bench you can rest on until I’m finished doing what I need to do.’
She shook her head. ‘You go. I can’t wait around. I don’t belong out there.’ She pointed up 24th. ‘You’ll see me around again. Give it to me then.’
She smiled, turned and walked into the night.
Well, it was now or never. Getting close to midnight and the crowds were dissipating. I went with the theory that if you looked like you belonged, people would believe you belonged. I just needed to get in my place without getting tagged.
I strolled up 24th, trying to keep a balance between casual and slutty. With my luck I’d be propositioned, or pulled up for soliciting. I tried blending in. I was too tall in high school and spent a good deal of time in the early years trying to blend in with the wall. It wasn’t until I discovered tall could get me money as a model, early in Year 12, that my confidence took over and I was paid to not blend in. Now here I was trying to undo all that.
It was like I was back in Year 11, trying to disappear in the middle of a crowd. In the middle of an empty street.
But after I turned left on Speedway I was in the middle of a crowd. I walked in the same direction as the traffic on the one way street. And I would walk that way until I reached N. Venice and the far corner of my apartment building.
So far so good.
But it was not to last.
About half way up Speedway, right across from Virginia Court, a little crap car pulled up beside me in a cloud of exhaust. The driver tapped his horn and leaned out the window.
‘Ellie, what the hell’s going on?’
I closed my eyes and swore. ‘Jesus, Charlie, what are you doing out here?’
‘Looking for you. What about the bullshit this afternoon? It’s true bullshit too. I heard you were evading the police and figured you’d come by here.’
‘Who else knows?’
‘Nobody. I came on my own.’
‘What about Kent?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Haven’t talked to him since last night. We had beer and pizza at Bart’s place then split up.’
‘He’s called me a couple of times. Warned me about the police, actually. Now they’re sitting in front of my apartment, as are about two dozen paps. And you’re drawing attention to me, which isn’t healthy. Don’t get yourself involved, mate. Go and pretend you’ve never seen me, okay? If you want to help, let it be known I was seen in Oxnard. Or Simi.’ I picked up the pace and kept my eye on the apartment building in front of me.
He cruised along side. ‘Seriously, Ellie. Let me help.’
‘Seriously, Charlie. Fuck off and get out of here. You’re going to get me picked up.’
‘Why don’t you just go to the police and tell them what happened?’
‘Because I don’t know what happened. I was framed.’
Charlie laughed.
‘Shut it. I’m not joking. Get out of here and tell the cops you saw me in Santa Barbara.’
He shook his head, rolled up his window and pulled ahead, turning right on S. Venice.
The entrance to the car park, and my way in, sat on N. Venice, about thirty or forty feet behind the cop car. I stood at the corner, partially covered by a mail box. An old guy sat in the stairwell behind me, smelling of cheap wine and urine. He didn’t appear to notice I was standing there, not even five feet from him.
The driveway was lit. A coded keypad provided entrance to the basement car park. Once in there I was in the clear.
I stepped out from behind the mailbox and a pair of bicycle police spun by on Ocean Walk. I almost broke an ankle turning. I tried to be casual walking back toward Speedway. Without looking trampy. Damn this acting was hard.
I gave it a couple of seconds and turned back toward the parking garage. Coast clear. The six-digit code raised the door. I ran in as soon as I could and punched the button to close the door.
I took a deep breath. The elevators ran up the center of the building. Top floor was my place. I took
the stairs. Nobody else did and I really didn’t feel like meeting neighbors in the elevator.
My apartment felt different, like I hadn’t been there forever. Hardly six hours had passed since a limo picked me up.
Six hours and a lifetime.
The street lights would have to provide illumination. I couldn’t risk turning on lights or moving near the windows. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled below the window line to my bedroom. The drapes in there were closed. I stood and took stock. No time for a shower, but I had to change cloths. Denims, button down shirt and deck shoes would do. I grabbed a ball cap and attempted to stuff my hair under it. The damned stuff was too long. I took a pair of scissors and was about to do a quickie cut, and stopped.
They’d see the hair in my apartment; no matter how hard I tried to get it all in the clean up, I’d miss some. Then they’d know I cut it. I tapped the scissors on the bathroom sink for a minute, thinking. My old Beetle was in the garage. Still in running order. Nobody knew it and I could use it to get away for a little while until I could sort things out.
So I tossed the scissors on the counter, grabbed my ATM card and the money I had in the apartment - around $500 - and then stopped again. My ATM card would be like a tap on the cops’ shoulder. So only the cash. I tossed the card on my dresser. Just the cash and my phone. And I had to keep my phone off to preserve the battery.
Like a caveman.
A wry smile was better than no smile at all. Enough money in the bank to live comfortably for years and I couldn’t access it. One of the best phones on the market and I couldn’t turn it on.
I took the stairs back to the basement. My new Beetle was blocking in the old girl. The police would probably have broadcast the make, model and tag number. I couldn’t even drive my new car.
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