by David Chill
"Mulligan here."
"Detective Mulligan. This is Burnside. We met earlier in the week."
"Burnside, sure. My Trojan hero. Heard you've had an exciting week."
"Uh, yeah. More than I wanted, really."
"Happens that way, huh?" he responded, breezily. "So what's up?"
"Are you working on the Horne case?" I asked.
"Nah, that's a wrap, Johnson handed it to the City Attorney. The partner did it, Cliff Roper."
"I have my doubts about that."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, getting interested. "Whatcha got?"
"Lots of other avenues to go down here."
"Tough to beat finding the business partner's gun at the scene of the crime."
"Doesn't that strike you as just a little too obvious?"
"You mean, like it was planted?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Yeah, I did wonder a little about that. But you know. It's hard to ignore the obvious."
"I know. Listen, there's someone I'm looking at, his name's Arty Luttinger, he's married to Horne's assistant. Over at his car dealership. Horne and the assistant were having an affair. The husband learned about it recently and the couple just split up."
"Oh yeah?"
"Arty owns a gun, not sure of the make. But he has a motive, a bigger motive than Cliff Roper ever had. Roper had just ended a business relationship, so he had no good reason to pull the trigger. He already did that, financially speaking anyway."
"Okay, sounds interesting. Let me sniff around a bit."
"Thanks. I didn't want to go through Jim Johnson. We don't have the best relationship."
"You're part of a big club, my friend. That guy's a first rate piece of work. He's got a way-too-high opinion of himself. Lot of people have a hard on for him. Inside the department and out."
"I remember your warning me," I laughed. "A UCLA guy."
"Yeah, I figured a Trojan might have a problem with him."
After hanging up, I realized it was after 11:00 a.m., and I still hadn't eaten yet. Bacon and eggs no longer seemed appealing, but I did have an idea for lunch. I didn't bother to think whether it was a good idea or a not-so-good-idea, my mind did not seem to be functioning at full capacity today. After placing a quick phone call and confirming, I drove up through the Valley and over to Toluca Lake. I stopped at a cozy little nook called Olive & Thyme, a shop which was a combination gourmet grocery, bakery and restaurant, all crammed into one small space. I arrived a little early and took a table in the back. A few minutes later, my lunch companion sashayed through the door. When she did, it felt like a bright spotlight had immediately focused on her.
"Well hello there," cooed Honey Roper, smiling her sweet smile, her long blonde hair flowing freely down her back. There was a twinkle in her mischievous blue eyes. "It's nice to see you again. And so soon."
"It's only been a couple of days. It just feels longer. I guess that happens sometimes."
"Know that feeling," she agreed.
"I appreciate your making time. I know this was short notice."
"No, this works out perfectly. I had an 11:30 that just got cancelled a little while ago. And I have a 1:00 with the head of marketing at Disney Channel, a meeting that I absolutely have to make. I was wondering how I'd fit lunch in."
"Sometimes things are meant to be," I pointed out as we perused the menu.
Honey ordered a Cobb salad, I had a grilled cheese with the sweetest tomato soup I had ever tasted. Our waiter tried to be fawning, possibly because Honey looked so good. But by noon the place was bustling rapidly, and he was racing up and down the aisle to try and fill orders.
"So your call came as a surprise," she said, her face turning serious. I wasn't sure how she was able to compartmentalize and display such different emotions so quickly. But having met people in the entertainment industry, I knew this was sometimes a job requirement.
"I just wanted to talk a bit," I said. "Your dad is back at the office, acting like everything is business as usual. It feels as if he's ignoring what he's up against."
"Oh, he knows. He thinks things will right themselves and he'll get off. He always does. He has a long history of being exonerated."
"You're confident. And I must say, you worked fast in making bail."
"Our attorney is pretty savvy," she said, digging into her salad. "I just got him some documents and Silverstein did the rest. But you're right. Dad isn't worried about all this, and he's barely thinking about the charges. He's focused on the NFL draft next weekend. But that does have me a little worried. I don't think he did it and he's beaten serious charges before. But the evidence the police have seems pretty strong."
I took a bite of grilled cheese and savored it for a moment. "When we met the other day, you told me about Gil's assistant, Betty. What more can you share about her?"
"I honestly don't know that much."
"Anything at all would help. No detail's too small."
She pushed her lower lip forward in that adorable way, and I pushed my eyes to look in another direction and just listen to her. I was engaged to Gail, in love with Gail, and I knew Gail was the right person for me. The logical part of my brain asked why I was having lunch with a beautiful girl who was half my age. The other side of my brain did not bother with such issues. There was something I needed from Honey, I just wasn't sure what that was yet.
"Well, I'm not sure. Betty wasn't exactly Gil's type, if you know what I mean. Gil usually liked them blonde and young. Betty was older. Oh, she had big boobs and all, that seemed to be a requirement for him. Dad once referred to Gil as a sex addict. And Dad wasn't exactly a monk when it came to women."
"Then why Betty?"
"My guess would be Mommy issues. Some guys never quite get over that. I've heard it might have something to do with not being breast fed as a baby. You miss out on something when you're real young, and you spend the rest of your life trying to get it."
I sat back and pondered. "You sound like a therapist. How do you know all this?"
She laughed again, giving me another glimpse of that wonderful smile. "I took a few psych classes at UNLV. But honestly, I think I picked up that tidbit from reading Cosmopolitan."
"It does make sense," I admitted. "Betty's a woman that people my age might refer to as buxom."
"Ha! And people my age might say she has a nice rack," she smiled.
"I wonder if there's any other commonality in Gilbert Horne's choices, other than his liking women that were, uh, a little top-heavy."
"Well, I don't know as Gil was overly picky about sex partners. Given the option, I think he'd go that way, but he was just a horn dog. Some guys just have to have it."
I took another bite of my sandwich and continued to savor it, along with the conversation. Eating good food with a beautiful young woman and talking about sex. Today might not be such an unlucky day after all. "Anything you can tell me about his wife, April?"
"I didn't really know her. But my guess is they were two peas in a pod. I think April had the same sex drive Gil had. That also may be why he usually went for younger women like April. They can keep up with him."
"So it wouldn't surprise you if I suggested April was having a few flings of her own?"
"Nope," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "They didn't live that far from my Dad, so I'd run into them occasionally. And one time I was at the market, and I saw April with one of Gil's clients. A football player probably. That or he just did steroids and liked to work out every day."
I peered at her. "Do you know who that was?"
"Nope," she said. "But he looked, well, Asian maybe. Or Filipino, or something else. It was hard to tell and it was a while ago. That's about all I can remember."
"That's a pretty good memory, regardless," I said, motioning to the waiter for the bill. As he walked over with it, I handed him a credit card.
"Thanks," she said. "This was a nice idea. I feel like I'm a big part of this case all of a sudden."
"I ap
preciate your helping me. And helping your Dad, of course."
"Like I said before. Your dad's your dad. You only get one."
"The one you have," I commented, "is quite a character. He's a bright guy when you get past the rude exterior."
"Some of that comes from his growing up in New York."
"Ah, that would explain some things," I said. "A New Yorker's reputation for rudeness is legendary."
"So I've seen. I didn't grow up there, so I don't really know why that is."
"I've met a lot of New Yorkers out here. Mostly when I was on the police force. I finally figured out the rudeness doesn't stem from anger. In New York you're surrounded by so many people, buildings, signs and distractions, that all the stimuli can be overwhelming. Most people just shut down to keep their sanity. They focus on certain things and tune out the rest. Their behavior comes off as rude to people who haven't experienced that kind of day-to-day existence."
Honey Roper smiled softly and looked at me in an odd way. "I like you," she said, her blue eyes sparkling. "You're easy to be around. You know a lot. And you make me think. Guys my age don't know how to do that. At least not yet."
"I'm a lot older than you," I said tepidly.
"Oh, I know. And I know my Dad might not be too pleased we're getting together again."
"I doubt he'd be happy with any guy you're with. Fathers can be protective," I said. Cliff Roper might indeed be annoyed that Honey and I were having lunch together. And in the back of my mind, I started to think that Gail Pepper might be rather unhappy at what I'd been doing as well.
Chapter 17
I left Toluca Lake and drove across the Valley for a while before turning into Beverly Glen. I thought about Gail, about our impending marriage and about my dwindling bachelor days. Mostly though, I thought of the face of an all-too-young Honey Roper. She was mature for her age, but her age couldn't have been more than 23.
Without coming to any finite conclusions about where my life or even my rented Highlander was heading, I found myself approaching Sunset Boulevard and decided I needed to make a stop in the heart of Beverly Hills. I had some more detective work to do. No sense missing the opportunity to do so in one of the ritziest cities in the world.
Downtown Beverly Hills exudes glamour in a shiny yet sophisticated way. The buildings are exquisitely designed, the shops frequently exhibiting touches of highly polished marble and granite. Even the sidewalks are noticeably clean and neat. Every now and then you see an oddity like a chain drug store, but for the most part, these mundane anomalies were few and far between. And unlike newer hot spots in the city such as L.A. Live downtown, Beverly Hills has no flashing signs, no electronic billboards, no wild bursts of light and color. Beverly Hills grabs your attention in an understated yet glamorous way.
I parked about a block from Harry Kingston Jewelers, removed my .38 and stowed it in the glove compartment. I strolled casually along Rodeo Drive, among the well-to-do and the ones who worked for them. Walking past various upscale shops, I paused to look in the windows and drink in the scene. Reaching the famed jewelry store, I stopped for a moment and admired the exterior facade. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors were framed by a gorgeous slab of brushed bronze that had a wavy texture. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I opened the door and was greeted by a very handsome and well-groomed young man. He wore a jacket and tie, and his sandy blond hair was slicked back stylishly.
"Good afternoon, sir," he said. "I'm Alex. And welcome to the salon."
"Thank you," I responded elegantly. I held back from asking why this shop was called a salon. I took in my new environment, which was noticeably dark and alluring. The air was cool and still and hushed. Rows of brightly lit, glass-encased drawers displayed glittering rings, necklaces, bracelets and earrings of various colors. Maybe they just seemed colorful because of that quick burst of light that emanated from the diamonds. I had heard that the best diamonds were ones where you could see a "fire" deep within. Looking into a few of these, I did notice that each seemed to possess this small fire, a bright multi-colored sparkle. None of the items had a price tag, and the message was obvious. If you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
I glanced around the room. There were a few customers being tended to by employees. A few women were shopping, as well as a young couple in their 20s. Discreetly standing in a corner was a tall, stocky man wearing a dark suit and nondescript tie. There was a lump next to his hip.
"How may we help you today?" asked Alex.
"I'm actually looking for something unusual," I started.
"We can accommodate almost any taste," he smiled confidently.
"I have no doubt."
"Is this for a special occasion?"
I hesitated. When I bought Gail her engagement ring, she decided she really didn't need a large diamond, and given my up-and-down financial straits, it wasn't practical. But a ring is a requirement for a proper engagement, so we purchased one at a less chi-chi jewelry store. The ring was a nice combination of amethyst set next to a series of small diamonds, and it looked good on Gail's hand. Hell, anything would look good on Gail's hand.
"Well, no, sorry. Actually I'm here on a different type of business," I said, flashing my badge and handing Alex my card. "I'm working on a fraud case for the Differential Insurance Company."
"Oh," he said with a start. "Well I'd better let you speak with our manager."
He led me into the back office and knocked on a door. A camera above the office moved slightly. He gave a three-fingered signal and a buzzer buzzed and we entered the spacious office.
"Mr. Shapiro, this is Mr. Burnside. He has something he needs to speak with you about."
Shapiro was on the phone, but motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him. Alex quickly departed. Shapiro was a rotund man in his 40s, impeccably dressed in a conservative blue suit and tie. He had a small bald spot forming at the top of his head, combed over neatly. A minute later, Shapiro ended the call and looked at me.
"Yes, sir. I'm Larry Shapiro. What can I do for you?"
"I'm working with Harold Stevens at the Differential Insurance Company."
"Never heard of him."
"I, uh, didn't think you would have," I smiled, thinking they moved in very different circles. "We're doing an investigation of a woman named Noreen Giles. Does that name ring a bell?"
Shapiro stared at me and slumped back in his chair. "Yes," he sighed. "I'm afraid it does."
"What can you tell me?"
"We do have a certain confidentiality policy," he said.
"Anything you can provide would be very helpful."
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I got the feeling this was a subject which he didn't mind discussing. I was right.
"It's an age old story I guess, for this business. And in this city. Mrs. Giles used to be a frequent shopper here. The problem was, everything she bought was returned within 30 days. We get that sometimes, usually people going to a party or affair, they need something dazzling. And then after the event is over, well, they return it."
"For a full refund?"
"It really depends," he said. "We sometimes charge a restocking fee, but each customer is treated individually. We try and work with all of our customers to give them what they want. Sometimes people can't be pleased. Sometimes their demands are not what we are able to accommodate. And sometimes they're just using us."
"And in the case of Noreen Giles?"
"She made us work. And work. And work. Sometimes she would come in and buy a diamond necklace on a Monday and return it on a Wednesday. After a while, even with the restocking fees, it was not in our best interest to continue the relationship."
"Did you suspect fraud?"
Shapiro looked at me. "After a few of these incidents, we became suspicious. We maintain relationships with other jewelers. And after doing some research, we discovered she was pulling the same routine at some of our competitors. So we had to tell her we weren't able to accommodate he
r anymore. Was it fraud? Maybe. Probably. Sometimes you just run into very eccentric people here, so we try not to judge too harshly. But there was clearly something unusual going on. And then her husband came in and began doing the same thing."
"Didn't the same name ring a bell?"
"Well, they had different last names. After a few go-rounds, we looked into it, discovered they were married and decided that working with them any further was not in our best interest."
"How did they take that?"
"Surprisingly well. You're always a little concerned when you have to tell a client you can't do business with them anymore. But in their case, they simply accepted our decision. Almost as if they had heard this before and were anticipating it. I have no idea what they were actually doing, but it struck us that they were not going to be buying anything they planned on keeping."
"What else?"
"I think that's about the extent of it. And I've probably talked too much as it is. But I think you have a sense of what's going on with them."
Indeed I did. I thanked Mr. Shapiro for his time and he escorted me back through the showroom. I took a last look at the dazzling diamonds containing the fire within. I saw a very pretty young woman bending sideways to put on a large pair of glistening earrings, and the effect on how they made her look was remarkable. It wasn't just the sparkle of the gems; her whole facial expression changed when she looked at herself in the mirror. While I was normally a practical person who didn't make many frivolous purchases, I could better understand now why some people were enamored with jewelry. It made you look a little different. It made you glow. And mostly, it made you feel special.
*
As I strolled along Rodeo Drive, I admired what seemed like a never-ending row of Mercedes, BMWs, the occasional Maserati, and a few exotic cars that I couldn't even identify. When I reached my Highlander rental, it seemed wholly out of place. I actually found myself feeling just a little disappointed as I climbed inside. Spending time in a palace like Harry Kingston's can do that to a person.
I was born into a middle-class household, and with the exception of my four years at USC, I had always led a middle-class lifestyle. From being a uniformed LAPD officer to becoming a private investigator, money was always a little tight. I had gotten by through leading a frugal lifestyle, maintaining a rent-controlled apartment, and spending lavishly only when a celebration was called for. I didn't envy those with a lot of money; it did make life easier, but it also brought a different set of problems. While I could never excuse or forgive a person engaging in criminal fraud, I at least had a better understanding of why the Noreen Giles of the world did what they did.