“Go back up the street to your house.”
***
By the time Nicholas, Tuffy, and I returned a few minutes later, Detective Hatch and the two uniformed officers were standing on my doorstep. Weaver and John were just getting out of their cars. Weaver hiked across my lawn to join Hatch. Knowing that I care about the condition of my lawn, John took the brick path that led up to the front door.
I smiled at John, and said, “Hi.”
Nicholas nodded at him. “Morning.”
John glared at Nicholas with his usual expression of disapproval, but his responding “Hello” was polite.
Hatch had parked in front of the Maserati. Behind Nicholas’s “silver bullet,” as I referred to it, was the squad car. Weaver’s vehicle and John’s were strung out behind the black-and-white in a line that took up a good portion of the block.
With the arrival of four more adults-Nicholas, Weaver, John, and me-and a standard poodle, there was so little room at my front door that the uniformed officers and Weaver took positions on the lawn. John positioned himself on the walk behind me. Hatch blocked my front door with his body, reached into his jacket, and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.
“Search warrant,” he said, waving it in front of me. “These officers and I have permission to search your premises and your vehicle.”
I held out my hand. “I don’t have X-ray vision, Detective. Let me read it.”
He handed the paper to me, and I gave Tuffy’s leash to Nicholas.
“All the Is are dotted and the Ts are crossed,” Hatch said. “Signed by Judge Newton Carter.”
Nicholas peered over my shoulder, reading the warrant as I did. Deliberately, I took my time, while in my peripheral vision I saw Hatch fidgeting.
When I thought I’d let him wait long enough, I said, “The scope of your search is pretty narrow. You only have permission to look for DVDs or videotapes.”
Those restrictions told me he’d had trouble getting this warrant. It wasn’t an open invitation for a fishing expedition. It also told me that the police had found Ingram’s personal pornography collection, had viewed at least some of them, and thought that I might have taken one or more. Given I’d left a fingerprint, it was a pretty easy deduction.
“Why videos?” Nicholas asked.
“Evidence of an extremely personal relationship with Keith Ingram.” The innuendo in Hatch’s voice made the nature of that video unmistakable to anyone, but to embarrass me further he added, “Think about that Paris Hilton tape on the Internet.”
I saw Nicholas’s face flush with anger, but he kept his temper in check. John’s expression was stony. It was clear to me from John’s rigid lack of reaction that he’d already learned about Ingram’s sex tapes and was deliberately refusing to show any reaction.
Nicholas handed Tuffy’s leash back to me and pulled his camera phone out of his jacket pocket.
“I’m going to be with you and the officers while you search, photographing any destruction you commit.”
Hatch’s grim expression hardened. “If you put one foot in that house while we’re working there, I’ll bust you for obstruction.” He planted his feet, as though daring Nicholas to try to get past him. “Nobody except the officers, Detective Weaver, and myself goes inside until we’re through.”
“Before you start,” I said, “I want to put Tuffy out into the backyard with a bowl of water. And I want to put my cat into her carrier so that nobody steps on her, or opens a door that lets her out into the street.”
“All right,” Hatch said. He beckoned to one of the uniformed officers. “ Roy -go with her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything else.”
***
A few minutes later, I was back on my front doorstep with Emma in her carrier. It had been a struggle to get my little gray and gold calico into it because to her it meant she was going to Dr. Marks, her veterinarian, for a shot or some other unwanted intrusion into her furry person. I’d put one of her favorite soft toys in with her, but she ignored it.
I set the carrier down in the shade next to the doorway, removed the small bowl I’d shoved into my jacket pocket, and quickly filled it with water from the garden hose.
“Here, sweetie,” I whispered to Emma as I maneuvered the bowl of cool water into the front of the carrier while blocking her attempt to exit. “We’re not going to the doctor today, so just relax and enjoy watching the birds.”
John said, “God knows how long we’ll be here. I’m going on a coffee run.”
“That would be great.”
I wanted coffee, and the timing was good for John to run that errand. From the tightness of his mouth, I knew that Nicholas was upset about something. He wasn’t likely to talk about it with John around.
“How do you take yours, Martino? Black?”
“A little half-and-half with one packet of sugar. Thanks-Hara.”
If I hadn’t been aching at the thought of Hatch and company pawing through my possessions, I would have been amused at John O’Hara and Nicholas D’Martino deliberately misstating each other’s names in a childish game of tit for tat.
John ignored Nicholas’s jibe and marched down the path toward his car.
“I notice he didn’t ask how you take your coffee.” There was a sharp edge in Nicholas’s voice.
“For heaven’s sake, John and I have known each other for more than twenty years. But that remark isn’t about who takes what in their coffee. What’s bothering you?”
“In the past few months you’ve figured out a couple of murders. I think you’re smart enough to know what’s on my mind.”
“Four apes with badges are pawing through my belongings. I have no idea what damage they’re doing, and the thought of it hurts like hell. I don’t have the patience for sarcasm right now.”
“Okay. Here it is. What was going on between you and Ingram?”
“Nothing,” I said. It was a relief to tell the truth.
“Hatch couldn’t have got a search warrant without showing probable cause. Their fingerprint evidence suggests you broke into Ingram’s house. I didn’t need the Paris Hilton cheap shot to know he’s looking for a sex tape. Did you have sex with Ingram?”
I felt my face grow hot with anger. “I told you there was nothing going on between us. What part of ‘nothing’ don’t you understand?”
“Hatch obviously thinks there’s a tape of you and Ingram.” Nicholas was angry, too. I could tell from his stiff shoulders and the muscle tic in his right cheek. “You asked me what kind of a man Ingram was. You said you were concerned for Eileen, but it must have been yourself you were worried about. You met Ingram while we’ve been seeing each other.” He let out a snort of disgust. “I thought we had a deal.”
“A deal? Is that what you call our relationship? An exchange of services?”
“No. I’d thought it was more. But I’ve been wrong about women before.”
“I’m not going to defend myself to you,” I said.
“Ha! The old non-denial denial. Now you sound like a politician. I think you missed your calling, Toots.”
“Don’t you dare call me ‘Toots.’ After all these months, if you won’t take my faithfulness for granted then I don’t want you here.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
“I wasn’t asking!”
Nicholas stomped off, ignoring the brick path and digging his heels into my lawn with every step of his heavy stride. The path was a more direct route to his car, but he knew how much I prized my lawn.
“Hurting my grass is childish,” I yelled.
He ignored that. When he reached his car he hurled himself inside and-uncharacteristically-slammed the door. Nicholas usually treated his silver bullet as gently as I treat my pets.
Nicholas gave his steering wheel a hard yank to the right, barely missed hitting Hatch’s rear bumper, and roared off up the street, spewing a cloud of pungent gray exhaust fumes behind him.
“I hope you get a ticket for polluting,” I yelle
d.
I didn’t know which of us was the more furious: Nicholas because he thought I’d slept with Keith Ingram, or me because the only man I’d been to bed with since Mack died didn’t trust me.
I sat down next to Emma’s carrier, unzipped enough of the top of it to fit my hand inside, and stroked my sweet cat. Her responding purr made me feel better.
“As long as you and Tuffy and I, and the people I love, are okay, then nothing else really matters,” I whispered to Emma. “My possessions are just things.”
I hoped I’d still feel that way when I finally got back into the house.
25
When John returned fifteen minutes later it was with only two containers of coffee. He handed one to me.
“Thanks. Didn’t you get any for Nicholas?”
The slightest hint of a smile twitched the corner of his lips. “I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be here.”
I took a welcome swallow. The coffee was hot enough, without burning my throat, and he’d put the right amount of Sweet’N Low and half-and-half into it. It was my favorite flavor: Vanilla Nut. Caffeine an’ Stuff was on the container, but when I tasted it I would have known where it came from. In my coffee-craving opinion, that café brewed the best Vanilla Nut.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, John asked, “Anybody come out while I was gone?”
“No.” Fortified with the coffee, I asked, “Why did you think Nicholas would have left?”
John watched two birds twittering at each other on a low branch of my willow tree. He didn’t look at me as he said, “Because he doesn’t know you as well as I do, that you’ll take a bullet for someone you love.”
I knew he was making a subtle reference to Eileen and Ingram. I didn’t respond to that because Eileen’s involvement with the dead man was the last thing we should be discussing right now. Surely John had realized that if I broke into Ingram’s house, it had to have been for Eileen’s sake. He couldn’t ask me and I couldn’t tell him what I knew, or admit what I had done. Even though he wasn’t part of the Ingram murder investigation, as a member of the LAPD who’d sworn to uphold the law, he was obligated not to withhold pertinent information. What John didn’t know didn’t have to be revealed; he was allowed to keep his theories to himself. By our shared silence, we were protecting his daughter. Come to think of it, we were protecting me, too, from a charge of breaking and entering. With that subject out of bounds, it didn’t leave much for us to talk about, so we drank our coffees and watched cars go by. Neighbors left for work, or took their children to school. Several noticed the police car. It was impossible to miss. Several sent curious looks in my direction. I smiled, trying to give the impression that it was the most natural thing in the world to have a police car outside my house, and for me to be on the front steps with a tall man and a cat carrier.
The woman next door, who had lived in her house even longer than I’d lived in mine, called out “Hi” and waved at us as she hurried to her car. We waved back.
“I’ve seen her somewhere before,” John said.
“Julie Coombs. You met her and her husband at Mack’s funeral. She works at a talent agency and he’s in computers.”
“Oh, yeah.” I could tell from his inflection that he did remember her. John had a remarkable facility for recalling names and faces.
A few minutes later a familiar ivory-colored Range Rover came up the street and parked behind John’s Lincoln.
“That’s Liddy,” I said, getting up. John stood, too, but remained in place as I hurried down to the street to greet her with a hug.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I said. “But why are you here?”
“Nicholas called to tell me police were doing their cop thing in your house. He said you needed me.”
“I do.”
Liddy waved at John. “Where is your Sicilian stallion? Did Big John chase him off?”
“We had a fight,” I said.
“A bad one?”
“Very bad.”
“So, he stalked off in a snit, but he didn’t want you to be alone. I like him.”
John greeted Liddy with a quick squeeze of her hand. “Glad to see you. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Nicholas phoned her.” Something occurred to me. “John, if he contacted Liddy he might have phoned Eileen, too. You’d better get hold of her and tell her not to come here. Tell her I need her to go to our shop and handle the business until I call her later.”
“Good idea.” John pulled his cell phone out of his jacket, pressed a number on his speed dial, and walked down to the street for privacy.
“The forensics techs found my fingerprint at the back of Ingram’s house, where I broke in.”
Liddy’s eyes widened. “How? You were wearing gloves.”
“Latex. I cut myself on a piece of broken glass that sliced through one of the fingertips. I didn’t think I’d left a print, but I must have. It was enough for a match to the prints they had of me from before.”
Liddy nodded, remembering that I’d been suspected of murder a few months ago. At that time I’d volunteered to give the police my prints to prove that I’d never touched anything belonging to the victim. Eventually, I’d been cleared, but they had my prints in their system.
I saw John close his phone. He came back to join us at the front door.
“Your friend didn’t call Eileen,” he said. “So I didn’t tell her what’s going on here. I just said you were giving Hugh Weaver and me some additional information about people who’d been at the gala, and that you’d asked me to give her the message about going to your shop.”
Liddy opened her tote bag. “I brought us a deck of cards and a pad to keep score. How ’bout some three-handed gin while we’re stuck out here on the doorstep?”
For the first time in several days, I saw John smile. I guessed what he was thinking: that it reminded him of the “old days” when Liddy and Bill, and John and Shannon, and Mack and I played gin on Saturday nights.
***
Three hours and twelve hands of gin later-I owed Liddy six dollars and John owed her eight-Detective Hatch and his Merry Pillagers finally emerged from my house.
With a cardboard box full of DVDs and VHS tapes.
“Those are my favorite old movies,” I told Hatch. “After you’ve had your film festival, I want them back.”
“If they’re really what you say, they’ll be returned.”
In a low voice, Liddy said, “At least they’re not carting off huge garbage bags full of stuff, like I see on the cop shows.”
“That’s because Della’s house wasn’t the scene of the crime,” John said.
“We’re going to search your vehicle,” Hatch announced.
“I’ll get the keys,” I said.
“No need.” Hatch held up the keys to my Jeep. “They were on your dresser.” He tossed the ring to one of the uniformed officers. “We’re taking this to the LAPD garage to look it over there. You’ll get it back in a day or two.”
That further indignity infuriated me, but I couldn’t prevent it. “I know the mileage and how much gas is in the tank,” I said, “so no joyriding. And keep my radio on the setting where I have it.”
They ignored me and headed toward the driveway, where I’d parked. I hadn’t put the Jeep into the garage last night because Nicholas was there, and we’d started kissing.
The thought of Nicholas made me remember that I hadn’t made my bed this morning, after he and I… And Nicholas had left a wet towel on the bathroom floor after he showered. Hatch must think I’m a slob.
It suddenly struck me as funny that I’d worry about such a ridiculous thing, under the circumstances. I started to laugh.
John picked up Emma’s carrier. “You’re taking this well.”
“I was a cop’s wife,” I said. “We’re tough.”
Then I opened my front door, stepped into my house, and began to cry.
26
“Oh, no…” Liddy’s voice was a wail of despair.
She put her arm around my shoulders in sympathy. “This is awful.”
Awful didn’t begin to describe the condition of my living room.
“Bastards,” John said. “I’m sorry, Del.”
Every book had been taken from the shelves and left on the floor. Chairs were turned upside down; the drawer was removed from my Grandma Nell’s little antique writing desk and the contents scattered on the floor; sofa cushions lay in a heap in a corner. The heavy glass top on my carved wooden coffee table was leaning up against one wall, with the table upended. The two area rugs were rolled up and pushed aside. The pictures on the walls had been taken down and leaned against the baseboards. The family photos on surfaces had been taken out of their frames and left lying facedown where they used to stand upright.
Liddy handed me a packet of tissues. I wiped away the tears, blew my nose, and took a long, deep breath.
“I’m okay now.” It was a lie, but I figured if I kept saying that to myself, I could make it true.
I picked up the little wastebasket that had been under the writing desk, placed it back where it belonged, and dropped the tissues into it. “Let’s keep going.”
John lifted the cat carrier a little higher and asked, “Where do you want Emma?”
The fact that John remembered the name of my cat cheered me. In the middle of chaos, little things mattered.
“For now, in my bathroom,” I said.
At the door to my bedroom, I felt tears filling my eyes again. The linens had been torn from the bed and lay in piles on the floor. The mattress had been turned over but not put back on the box springs. All the clothes in my closets had been taken out and dropped onto the bed. The lingerie in my dresser had been dumped out and the drawers turned upside down. Even all of my handbags had been opened, shaken out, and thrown aside. Old tissues, crumpled receipts, loose coins, and partial rolls of breath mints that had been in the bottoms of the purses were left on the linen pile.
The Proof is in the Pudding Page 14