Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  “I need you to run anything you have, and I mean anything, against the Melanie Upton samples.”

  “Her again?”

  “Yes. And Andie, whatever favor your friend in the lab needs for moving this up the priority list, I’ll pay it.”

  Gracie was on the phone but she waved frantically to Winter, pointing to the detective squad room, mouthing “They want you.”

  Ryder and Logan were crowding over Cindy’s desk. “What’s up?” asked Winter.

  “TMZ is reporting that Suzanne Mance and Jason Ayers are an item.”

  On the screen, a photo—crooked, but clear enough—showed Mance with her arms around a shirtless Ayers. Ayers was in profile, but it certainly looked like him.

  “She took a selfie,” said Ryder. “He might not even know.”

  “If it’s him.”

  “It’s him,” said Cindy. “That tattoo on his arm . . . TMZ checked it.”

  “What’s the article say?” Winter couldn’t read the small print.

  Ryder said, “Mance claims Ayers loves her, they’ve had a secret relationship. She says, quote: Even the police know about us, because I was with Jason the night that other woman claimed she was assaulted, unquote.” Ryder looked up at Winter. “I guess that totally takes Ayers off the hook for assaulting anyone, at least that night.”

  Melanie stared at the TMZ website. “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Then, for the first time in fifteen years, since that night her father had snuck his hand under her covers after saying good night, she cried.

  Winter took Logan and Ryder through it. “I can’t prove it, not yet, but if we find Upton’s DNA in Gruse’s car we’ll be a step closer. I’ll go back to the witnesses that saw them together, we can show her photo at the Greenhill. Squeeze the sister.”

  Ryder still looked skeptical. “It’s all conjecture, circumstantial.”

  “You’re right,” admitted Winter. “Melanie could have been arguing with Gruse about nothing. She might have been in his car another time. She could have been assaulted by a stranger, or no one. Gigi might not be involved at all. Gruse could have been dealing roofies, not using them for date rape.” He thumped Cindy’s desk. “But unless Melanie has an ironclad alibi, I’ll bet Sox season tickets that Gruse assaulted Gigi, and Melanie killed him for it.”

  “I’m not taking that bet,” said Logan.

  Ryder looked back and forth from Cindy to Logan. Cindy shook her head. “I wouldn’t either, even if I could afford Sox season tickets.”

  Logan shrugged. “Won’t hurt to play it out. Upton or Doyle?”

  “Both of them. Let’s pin their stories down, see if there’s any discrepancy.”

  “They’ve likely rehearsed,” objected Ryder.

  “Melanie, yes. She could hold a story together. Gigi, I’m not so sure.”

  “We still don’t have any direct evidence,” said Ryder.

  Winter looked at Logan.

  “Go get them,” said Logan.

  That fucking loser Lenny Gruse. Even from the grave he was making Melanie’s life miserable. Yet no matter how this turned out, there was no way Lenny was going to take her down.

  Her tears had long since dried. She should have known better, too much improvisation for something so important as her career. Next time she’d get it perfect.

  Now she needed some distance from all of it, from Marburg and Jason and even Gigi.

  When in doubt, fall back on what you did best. For Melanie, that was acting.

  It took her only a few minutes to book a reservation on a flight to Toronto out of Boston. That accomplished, she reached past all her shoes in the closet and pulled out her wheeled luggage, the plain black one Gigi had given her for her birthday, the same exact bag Gigi owned. It’s so practical, said Gigi. You can use it for your audition trips.

  Melanie stuffed in her underwear, leggings, shorts, makeup, toiletry kit, sneakers and sandals. She needed to leave room for what would come later. At the very end, she held up her favorite leather jacket and a pair of Jimmy Choo heels. She’d only have room for one.

  Fucking Lenny Gruse.

  “Where to first?” asked Ryder, in the parking lot.

  “Let’s split up. I’ll get Upton, you get the sister.”

  “Don’t trust me with Melanie?”

  “I don’t trust any of us with her,” said Winter.

  Winter was at Upton’s in fifteen minutes. He parked illegally in front of a hydrant, stuck a police identification sign on the dash, and banged on the downstairs door. No answer. The door was locked, so he went in the Indian restaurant.

  There was no hostess station, only a few people eating, no wait staff visible. Winter stuck his head in the kitchen. Two waitresses and a middle aged man, all Indian, looked up at him.

  “I’m with the police. Anyone know how I can get in touch with the building owner?”

  “My brother owns the building,” said the guy.

  “I need to get in the upstairs apartment, Miss Upton. She—she’s not answering, and she might be—in danger.” From me, he didn’t add.

  The Indian guy barely hesitated. “I have a key.”

  Melanie took a long look around Gigi’s bedroom. It was far better than her place, yet not the style she herself preferred. Still, she had felt comfortable here. Gigi, as different as they were, had always made her feel welcome.

  Well, except for that one time when she’d yelled about the cigarette smoke. Melanie hadn’t smoked in here since.

  In the bathroom, Melanie used her critical eye to review her outfit. Gigi’s skirt fit just fine, although the blouse was a little tight. She’d done the best she could with her hair, cutting off a few inches, rushing a dye job that at least hid her highlights. Using Gigi’s own makeup, Melanie had washed out her tan, darkened her brows—Gigi never plucked enough—and thickened her lips.

  She wasn’t trying to match how Gigi looked exactly, but was working from the flat, brightly lit passport photo, which Melanie had propped up on the vanity. In the photo, Gigi was looking slightly downward, probably told by the photographer to reduce the glare from her glasses.

  Melanie didn’t have the same glasses, but she had a few pairs of no prescription frames, standard props for an actress. She’d sometimes worn them as a joke, see if she could still pick up men. She slipped on a pair, ovoid shaped dull brown frames. This would be more of a challenge, getting guys to not look at her.

  The outfit would help, the longish gray skirt, flats, a jacket. She’d taken a sweater from Gigi’s bottom dresser drawer and a blouse from the far back side of the closet, out of a cleaner bag with a year old ticket.

  Melanie realized this was the first time she’d ever borrowed clothes from Gigi. That was a depressing thought; isn’t that what sisters were supposed to be doing for each other? Instead of lying. Beating up men. Killing.

  In consolation for the clothes, Melanie carefully placed two new tubes of Lancome mascara on the vanity, the same type she had used up that fateful night.

  Winter’s phone rang as the helpful Indian guy, whose name was Arjun, unlocked the downstairs stairway door. Cindy. “Need to be quick,” said Winter, pausing on the steps.

  “Two women Gruse had photographed in West Hollywood filed police reports for sexual assault. One had been drugged—positive test for MDMA, positive SAFE test. The other one had inconclusive tests on both the drugs and the SAFE. Both thought they’d been assaulted by a photographer, although there were no suspects.”

  “Start the paperwork to get them the Gruse DNA. Send his photo out there, see if the women can identify him.” Winter hung up, took the apartment key from Arjun, headed up the stairs. So Gruse had possibly date raped women in California. It could be a different photographer stalker, but . . .

  He listened at Upton’s apartment, nothing. Knocked, still nothing. Arjun watched from the bottom of the stairs. Winter put the key in the lock, turning and entering at the same time. “Police!”

  The apartment was empty. As it was the last
time Winter had been there, it appeared to have been hit by a clothing and footwear tornado. It was oddly quiet.

  Because the air conditioning was off.

  Of course, Upton might be frugal, keeping her energy bills down. Winter stuck his head back out the door and looked down at Arjun. “Who pays the electric bill?”

  “It’s included in the rent. I keep telling my brother he’s too generous. That woman’s bill is almost as much as the restaurant.”

  Winter was pulling out his phone as he rushed down the steps.

  Gigi Doyle didn’t want to be late for the sales meeting, so she gathered up her laptop, her phone, and her notes. She could finish her preparation in the conference room.

  From the hallway she could see into the reception area. A man in a suit was talking to the receptionist. Nothing unusual, except he felt familiar. Gigi slowed. The man turned, and Gigi recognized the policeman, Detective Ryder.

  She ducked into the ladies room, looked around wildly, scared. The other policeman, the mean one, Winter, had said that if they came back, they’d arrest her. Detective Ryder would take her away in handcuffs.

  Her phone rang, so jarring in the small tiled room she dropped her laptop. She fumbled for it, her file folder spewing papers, the phone yelling at her. She collapsed onto the floor, crying.

  Melanie’s image stared up at her from the phone, the only thing left in her hand. “Mel?”

  “Gigi? What’s wrong?”

  A tiny ray of warmth held Gigi’s tears at bay for a single moment, the realization that her sister could tell she was in distress with one syllable. It was the closest she had ever felt to Melanie in her entire life.

  That was all the control Gigi could muster. “Mel, the police are here, please, help me, you’ll help me, won’t you? Like you always do?”

  “Of course I will. Who is there? Winter?”

  “No, the other one.”

  “Right with you? Can you talk?”

  Gigi crawled into a stall, dragging her notes and smashed laptop along like a train. “I’m in the bathroom. They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?” She was crying now, her tears dripping on her blouse.

  “No, they aren’t. They’d better not. Listen, just—it’s me they want, not you. Do you understand? This has nothing to do with you. I’m so sorry, Gigi, I—this is all my fault. I’m going to take care of everything.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “That’s why I was calling you. For starters, I’m going to go away for a while. I’m not going to tell you where, so when they ask you, you can tell them the truth. You don’t know. You can even tell them you talked to me, you just don’t know where I am.”

  “Are you in trouble too?”

  “Not too. You’re not in trouble. And I can take care of myself, I don’t want you worrying about me. You’re my little sister, I’m the one who protects you, it’s not the other way around.”

  “Mel—”

  “Shh. Gigi, please, don’t fight me on this, okay? You have to trust me. They just want me, it’s about that Jason story. He must have used his connections to get the cops to hound me. I’ll back off from him, it will all die down without me around.”

  Gigi clutched her crumbled notes, her blurry eyes registering a run in her pantyhose. So foolish, she was about to lose her job, get arrested, and all she could think about was how unprofessional she’d look.

  “Mel, what about the—assault? I don’t want to lie any more, they’ll catch me.”

  “I know. I should never have asked you to do that. You were trying to help me, and I love you for it. Tell them everything you feel you need to tell them. Tell them the truth, if that’s what you have to do. That I talked you into it.”

  The truth. Finally. It would be good for her to finally be free of this lie. Melanie understood what she needed. “You were only doing it for me.”

  “Not only for you, but thank you. Now pull yourself together. Think of it as a business meeting. A negotiation. They want something, so do you. You want them to not make a scene, not drag you out in public. They want the truth about me. Make a trade.”

  “Mel, I—I can’t, I won’t. You’re my sister.”

  “And I’m glad I am. Now go, do what I can’t do, be a tough businesswoman.”

  Winter had ordered the BOLO for Melanie Upton by the time he was back in his car. The next call was to Ryder. “Upton’s not at her apartment. I have the sense she’s gone for a while. She could be at her sister’s, I’m heading over there.”

  “I’m at Gigi’s office. They are trying to locate her. Says she’s here, just can’t track her down.”

  “You think they are giving you the runaround?”

  “No, they seem surprised. Wait, here she comes.”

  “Convince her to let us into her apartment, meet me there.”

  Melanie hadn’t really planned for this day, so she was improvising. That hadn’t worked out so well the first time, so she sat in her car and took a minute to think.

  She just needed to get away for a while. She’d call Jason, make nice, promise never to bother him again. The story would fade, especially since Jason would be hip deep in the Mance story. Maybe she could help him out with that, a trade of her own.

  She might be able to get on a plane with Gigi’s passport, but didn’t want to take the chance. International travel would also look suspicious, in case the cops were still trying to connect her to Lenny. She couldn’t see how, they were probably still fishing. Still . . . Would the cops threaten to arrest Gigi just because of the Jason story?

  Get away, think it through.

  Driving was out, at least with her car. She could rent, but she hated driving long distances. No fucking way she’d take a bus.

  That left the train.

  One decision out of the way, she got on the bypass road. Boston would have more train options, but she didn’t want to be on the road that long. She’d have to risk the Marburg station.

  Fucking Lenny Gruse.

  Winter was waiting at Gigi’s front door when Ryder pulled up. Ryder had put Gigi in the back seat, and came around to open the locked door. Not a bad move; sitting in a locked police car would put pressure on Gigi. Ryder went up half a notch in Winter’s book.

  Ryder guided her by the elbow up the walkway. Gruffly he said, “She claims to not know where Melanie is.”

  “I don’t,” said Gigi.

  “But she admits she talked to Melanie just before I picked her up.”

  “Am I under arrest?” Gigi’s plaintive eyes almost were Winter’s undoing.

  He turned away as he said, “Not yet.”

  “She’s not here,” insisted Gigi, unlocking the door. “You’ll see.”

  The apartment was spotless and quiet. Winter watched Gigi closely as Ryder checked the rooms. She seemed relieved when Ryder came up empty.

  “See?” Gigi followed Winter as he walked down the hall. He’d look for signs of a break-in, see if that got Gigi talking. As he turned he noticed Gigi staring into the bathroom.

  Winter stepped back as Gigi entered the bath. He found her holding two small bottles of makeup, a sad smile on her lips.

  He was about to try to find out what had crossed her mind when his phone rang. Cindy.

  “We just got a hit on a plane reservation for Gigi Doyle to Toronto.”

  Toronto. Where had Winter seen . . .

  He ran into the spare bedroom. The travel brochures were still there, the Caribbean, Toronto.

  The passport was gone.

  Melanie left her car in a parking garage three blocks from the train station, thankful for Gigi’s practical rolling bag. Inside, she found an Amtrak brochure rack. She’d hoped to see a country wide route map, but the brochures were organized by region, Northeast, West. If she couldn’t make it as an actress, she’d make a bundle as a consultant fixing the confusing mix of train travel options.

  That was something Gigi would be so good at.

  She had faith her sister would c
ome through now that she could tell the truth. The lying, that wasn’t Gigi, that was Melanie. She was the actress, not Gigi. She could dress in Gigi’s clothes, look like her, walk like her if need be, but Gigi could never play Melanie. Sure, she could put on the clothes, could get the makeup. But she could never tell a lie, not for long.

  Gigi could never have stuck the knife in Lenny Gruse.

  Melanie settled on New Orleans, via New York. She was sure she could disappear there for a little while, and, if she finally understood the convoluted brochures, could catch another train for Texas. It would be an easy drive to Mexico, she’d been there twice.

  She pulled a deck of prepaid debit cards from her purse, held together with a rubber band. All of them gifts from various men through the years. Most were run down to almost nothing, those Jimmy Choo shoes weren’t cheap.

  She used her highest balance card to buy the ticket from a very anonymous machine kiosk.

  “She’s running,” said Winter.

  Ryder had sat Gigi on the sofa and was hovering over her. “Where is she?”

  Gigi looked up with surprising defiance. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”

  Winter stood next to Ryder, adding his presence. “Your sister may have killed someone.”

  Gigi’s mouth opened and moved, but no words came out. She bit down, locking her lips. A small head shake. “You’re not only mean, you’re a liar. Melanie warned me about you. About both of you.”

  “You think you’re in trouble now—if you are helping her get away, you’ll be an accessory,” said Ryder.

  “We know what Melanie did,” said Winter, softening his voice. “And why.”

  Gigi’s eyes jumped to Winter. Just before they hardened with anger, Winter caught a glimpse of something else. Satisfaction? Approval? “You don’t know anything,” said Gigi. She sat up straight, uncowed.