“I can imagine it was confusing and upsetting for you,” Kali said noncommittally.
“Si. And when I finally leave, it’s late. I am in a hurry. I take Mr. John’s appointment book.” She nodded toward a weekly calendar on the coffee table. “It was on the kitchen counter, near my bag. I no mean to. I am not thief.”
“No, of course not.” Kali had no idea, really, whether she was or not, but the woman didn’t look dangerous and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Graciela also had firsthand information about John. Kali wanted to pump her for what she could.
“Would you like some coffee?” Kali offered. “Or tea?”
“I make.” Graciela hurried into the kitchen.
Kali followed. “I didn’t mean for you to make it.”
“Sit. I do it. Please.”
Kali sat at the counter while Graciela bustled about the kitchen. Kali wanted to ask about finding John’s body but couldn’t decide the best way to raise the issue.
“It must have been horrible for you, finding John in the pool,” she said finally.
Graciela nodded and again crossed herself. “The patio door was open. I think he outside. I begin work in here, in the kitchen. Much mess, like Mr. John make a sandwich and not clean up.” She opened her hands, palms up.
That explained why the kitchen had been so neat when she and Sabrina had arrived, Kali thought. Graciela had just cleaned it.
Gracelia continued recounting the morning she’d found John’s body. “I finish here in the kitchen, then scrub the bathroom. Still no Mr. John. I go outside, call his name. I think maybe he go to work and forget about the door.” She paused, looking distraught.
“And then you saw him?”
“Si. In the water, at the bottom.”
“What did you do?”
Graciela started crying. “I no swim. I not help.”
“No one’s blaming you, Graciela. I’m just trying to understand what happened. There was nothing you could have done to save him.”
“The doctor say that too.” Still, she looked miserable.
Kali took the cup of coffee Graciela handed her. “Sit down,” Kali said. “Please.”
Graciela dropped into one of the empty chairs.
“Don’t you want coffee, too?”
She shook her head, tucked her hands back into her pockets.
“How long had you worked for my brother?” Kali asked.
“Almost one year.”
“What was he like to work for?”
“Mostly he is not here. He is at his job. When I see him, he is polite. Ask about my husband and children. Tell me thank you.”
“Was he hard to please?”
Graciela shook her head. “Not like some clients. Mr. John could get himself into a temper, but never at me. I hear him on phone sometimes.”
Kali was familiar with John’s angry explosions, but it had been years since she’d experienced one.
“How did he seem the week or so before he died? Upset? Worried? Angry?”
“I talk to him only once. He is just leaving when I arrive. Hurry, like many times.”
“Did you notice anything different?”
She thought for a moment. “He work more at his desk. Many papers there. Dirty dishes. Crumbs.”
“At the computer, you mean?”
A nod. “Like he spend many, many hours.”
A project for work? Something that involved his battle with Sloane Winslow? When she’d tried to check her own e-mail, Kali had discovered that John’s computer was password protected, and she hadn’t been able to get access. Not that whatever he’d been doing would tell them if he had really killed two women.
Graciela pulled her sweater across her broad middle. “Is it okay I go now?”
“Sure.” Kali realized the woman had probably stayed and talked with her only because she was afraid not to. “Thank you for talking to me about my brother.”
Graciela rose. “Thank you for not shooting me,” she said softly.
“I didn’t really have a gun,” Kali told her. “I was scared because I heard someone in the house.”
It took a moment, but Graciela laughed. “A trick. A good one.”
The moment Graciela was out the door, Kali picked up the appointment book the housekeeper had returned and opened it to the week when Sloane and Olivia were murdered. A dental appointment was noted for Thursday morning, the day the bodies had been discovered. A coincidence, or had John planned that to allow himself a little breathing room? Kali hated that the thought even entered her head.
There was a golf game noted for Sunday, a W Clarke, 2:00 for the following Monday. On Tuesday, the evening of the murders, 7:00 Jack’s Bistro w/S. John and Sloane had had dinner together, and had been arguing.
But hadn’t John’s secretary said it was a last-minute arrangement? Why then was it noted on his home calendar?
Kali leafed through the weeks preceding and following, trying to get a feel for her brother’s life, but nothing jumped out at her as telling, or even particularly interesting. She set the appointment book back down on the coffee table and considered her options.
The day was already too warm for a vigorous morning walk. She could continue with the paperwork Sabrina had begun or she could tackle packing up John’s household possessions. They’d need to clean out his closets, his drawers. His kitchen and bathroom. The very thought of it was more than she could deal with.
Those chores would keep. More pressing was the matter of Sloane Winslow’s murder, and the question of John’s involvement. Or lack thereof.
News accounts of the crime would be a good place to start, but Kali was frustrated by lack of access to John’s computer. She found it somewhat surprising the police hadn’t seized the machine when they searched his house. Either they’d been granted only a very limited warrant or they’d messed up. But it didn’t do her much good without a password.
She spent ten minutes again trying obvious password choices— his name, date of birth, address, favorite color and food. As she tried the last two she realized she didn’t know John’s preferences anymore. She doubted that black and hot fudge sundae still topped his lists of favorites as they had when he was a teenager.
Remembering that she’d passed a library not far from John’s, Kali grabbed her purse and keys and headed there.
Accustomed to the small branch libraries in Berkeley and Oakland, Kali was pleasantly surprised by the large, modern branch near John’s house. For five dollars she was able to obtain a guest library card that gave her access to the Internet. She settled in and began reading news coverage about the murders.
Most of the early stories were a rehash of what Kali already knew. The bodies of Sloane Winslow and Olivia Perez, who worked for Winslow and lived on the premises, had been found in Winslow’s Foothill Estates home by a neighbor. The police were not releasing details except to confirm that both women had been shot and burglary did not appear to be a motive.
Kali clicked on later dates, following the developing story in sequential order and jotting down names of people she might be able to talk to. Friends of both women, the restaurant employee who’d seen John and Sloane arguing, Olivia’s parents. She also made note of the reporter who’d covered the crime for the Arizona Daily Star.
Then she went back and began to click through the articles again, this time focusing on the photos and links to related stories. At the bottom of the second Web page, she found photos of the two victims. She stopped short as though she’d been punched in the gut.
She tried to enlarge the picture of Olivia but couldn’t. She quickly clicked through other links, hunting for a larger photo, and finally found one. A high school graduation photo, from the looks of it. It showed a doe-eyed young woman with long, dark hair and a full mouth.
It had to be her imagination, Kali told herself. It would be easy to confuse one exotic-looking young woman with another.
But she knew she wasn’t confused.
&nb
sp; Olivia Perez was one of the girls in the photo she’d found hidden away inside John’s office dictionary.
Chapter 14
Kali stared at the photo of Olivia Perez for another minute, then logged off the computer. She felt ill. The cops had been ready to pin the murders on John because of his ties with Sloane. Here was another link. Olivia.
A link the police seemed to know nothing about.
What did it mean that her brother had tucked away a photo of the dead girl? If he’d wanted to hide the fact that he knew her, why not burn the picture or throw it away? If Kali wanted to learn the truth—to clear John’s name—she needed to know more about Olivia.
The girl’s parents seemed like the logical place to start. If they’d been aware of a connection between their daughter and John, they’d undoubtedly have shared the information with the police. Still, they might know something that would help Kali sort out the relationship.
She logged back onto the Internet, looked up the Perez family’s address, and then went to MapQuest and printed out directions.
She drove back to John’s, picked up the photo of the three girls, then headed down into the flatlands of central Tucson.
Luis and Angeles Perez lived in an L-shaped, two-story stucco apartment building. It wasn’t fancy, but the landscaping was neat and the complex looked well maintained. Even though it was early on a Saturday afternoon, Kali saw no one about except for a little boy watching her from a first-floor window. Apparently the residents had better sense than to be out in the sweltering sun.
Kali waved to the boy, then climbed the stairs to the second floor.
She dreaded introducing herself to Olivia’s parents. If they were planning to file a wrongful death suit against John’s estate, as Michelle Parker had suggested, that meant they held John responsible for their daughter’s death. As his sister, Kali would be unwelcome at best.
Once she found the correct unit, she took a calming breath and knocked on the door. She could hear the sound of a television action show in the background.
A male voice thundered, “Who’s there?”
“It’s about your daughter,” Kali said.
Several moments passed without response. She thought maybe he hadn’t heard her and knocked again just as the door opened. The man smelled of booze, sweat, and cheap aftershave. He was only slightly taller than she was, but thickly built with wide shoulders and a protruding gut. He wore a sleeveless undershirt, a “beater” in popular parlance, and jeans. Neither was particularly clean.
“Mr. Perez?”
“What do you want? You a reporter?” His voice held only the faintest trace of an accent.
She shook her head. “I’m John O’Brien’s sister.”
It took a moment for the name to register, and when it did, his face darkened. But rather than move in closer, as Kali had feared, he stepped back. “I don’t got to talk to you,” he said.
“No, you don’t. But I wanted to tell you, first of all, how terribly sorry I am about Olivia’s death. My heart goes out to both you and your wife.”
“Yeah, it’s terrible.” He scratched his neck. “She’s taking it hard, my wife.”
“Is she home?” Kali tried to peer over his shoulder into the apartment. The drapes were drawn, so the light was murky, but she couldn’t see signs that anyone else was inside.
“At work,” he said.
Kali had hoped to catch them together. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be.”
“I loved my daughter, no matter what people say.”
“I’m sure you did,” Kali offered. What did people say? was what she really wanted to ask.
Perez widened his stance. “I warned her ‘bout trying to be what she wasn’t.” He shook his head. “Her and her big ideas, moving in with that rich lady, thinking she was somebody. If she hadn’a been there at the house ...”
“It was her job,” Kali pointed out. “I understand she was putting herself through school.”
“Still, your brother got no reason to kill my Olivia.”
Kali took a breath. “I’m not sure he killed either of them,” she said evenly.
“It was on the news. They were looking at him. The cops said so.
“You’ve spoken with them about the investigation?”
He spread his hands. “They said it was him.”
Kali nodded. It wasn’t a point worth arguing right then. “Do you think it’s possible there was some connection between your daughter and my brother? Other than Sloane Winslow, I mean.”
“What are you saying?” His voice was resonant with anger. “My daughter was a good girl.”
“I wasn’t trying to imply that she wasn’t,” Kali said hastily. “I just wondered if they’d met or something.”
Perez dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “No matter, he had no reason to kill her.”
Kali showed him the photograph. “Do you recognize either of these other girls?”
He frowned, puzzled. “You took this? You knew my Olivia?”
The question erased any doubt Kali had that Olivia was indeed the girl in the photo. “No, I never had the pleasure.” She hoped he didn’t press her about the origin of the photo. “What about the other girls? Do you know who they are?”
“More of her fancy friends from school probably.” His tone was bitter. “Olivia wanted to get away. Thought she was too good for us.”
“I’d like to know more about your daughter,” Kali said. “I was hoping we could talk—”
“You got to talk to the attorney. Carmen Escobar. She told us not to talk to anyone but her ‘bout what happened.”
“Lawsuits are messy,” Kali argued. “And costly. They—”
“Olivia was our baby. We got a right.” He shut the door before Kali had time to press him further.
<><><>
Back in her stifling car, Kali cranked the air conditioner up full force. So Michelle Parker had been right. The family had contacted an attorney. Or maybe Carmen Escobar was an ambulance chaser who had contacted them. In either case, the threat of a lawsuit did nothing to improve Kali’s mood.
She debated contacting the attorney and tackling the problem head on, then decided her call might send the wrong message— that she and Sabrina were acknowledging John’s guilt. Better to let Escobar make the first move. Maybe nothing would come of it, anyway.
Kali lifted her hair off her neck to let the cool air from the vents reach her skin. The photo troubled her. Three young women. Nothing strange in the abstract. So what if they were wearing skimpy bathing suits? That was the style these days. But context was everything. What was John doing with the photo in the first place? Why had he stashed it in what he presumably thought was a safe place? Now that Kali knew one of the women was Olivia Perez, the thought of the photo wrenched her gut.
Although she’d initially agreed to look into the murders to appease Sabrina, Kali had come to want answers for her own sake. Now she was beginning to wonder if she’d even been asking the right questions.
She scanned the list of names she’d jotted down in the library. One of the news accounts had quoted a high school friend of Olivia’s, Melody Hughes. Since the two girls had gone to school together, the family must live close by. Kali drove around until she found a convenience store with a public phone and phone book, no small task in this day and age. Then, armed with listings for Hughes and a map of the city she picked up at the same store, she identified two possibilities and called. The first listing was a miss. The man who picked up knew nothing about Melody Hughes. But the second call was a hit.
The phone was answered by what sounded like a teenage boy.
“Is Melody around?” Kali asked.
“She’s hardly ever here. Try her cell.” He gave her the number. Kali called and Melody answered on the third ring. There was a clamor of conversation in the background.
“Hi,” Kali said. She decided to skip the introduction if she could get away with it. “I understand you were a friend of
Olivia Perez’s.”
“Who is this?”
So much for pulling the wool over the eyes of the younger generation. “My name is Kali. I’m an attorney doing some follow- up work on the murders.”
“Okay, yeah. Olivia and I were friends.”
“I’d really like to talk with you in person. I can meet you wherever you’d like.”
“I’m at work right now.”
“When do you get off?” Kali asked.
“Well, I’ve got a break coming up in half an hour. Would that be a good time?”
“Perfect.”
“I’m a waitress at Applebee’s.” Melody reeled off the address.
<><><>
Melody Hughes was slender and fair, with straight hair pulled into a ponytail. To Kali’s disappointment, Melody wasn’t one of the girls in the photograph.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Melody asked when they met at the Applebee’s entrance.
“Background questions for the most part. You want to go get an ice cream or something?” Kali had noticed a Dairy Queen across the parking lot. “Or maybe you’re sick of food after serving it all day.”
“No, ice cream sounds good. Actually,” Melody added with a laugh, “anything that gets me out of this place sounds good.”
In the ice cream shop they ordered small sundaes and found a table near the window.
“I’m sorry to bring up bad memories,” Kali said. “I know how difficult it is to lose a friend.”
Melody nodded, her eyes on her ice cream. “It’s hard to believe she’s really dead. Olivia was so . . . alive. ‘Spunky’ is what my mom used to say. I think she wishes I were a bit spunkier myself.”
“Why do you say that?”
Melody laughed and held out her left hand. There was a very tiny diamond on her ring finger. “My mom thinks I’m selling myself short. Marco and I have been going together since eighth grade. He’s in the military now, in Iraq, but we’re getting married as soon as he gets back.”
Silently, Kali agreed with the girl’s mother. Nineteen seemed awfully young for marriage, but she offered her congratulations anyway, then said, “Tell me about Olivia.”
The Next Victim Page 11