Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle

by Carlos Allende

  An hour later, Josie was still waiting for Russell at the entrance steps of the Grand Hotel when a police car pulled up in front of the building. Detective Parson and an officer in uniform stepped out.

  “Miss García?”

  The girl’s mouth twisted in a painful frown when she saw the two men in front of her. She stood up. Her first instinct was to escape.

  “You’re not under arrest,” Detective Parson made clear, as he and his companion, Inspector Henry from the LAPD, escorted the girl into the car. “We only want to ask you a few questions.”

  “It’s all routine,” Henry felt obliged to add, his double chin jiggling as he spoke. “We’ll bring you back in a jiffy.”

  It didn’t help. Josie cried from the moment he started the car all the way to the station. By the time they took her into the interrogation room, she was bellowing in agony.

  The first minutes of the interview went by with the men trying to comfort her.

  “It’s okay, kid,” Detective Parson rubbed his chin stubble. “We’re going to go through this real fast. We’ll get you some coffee, how about that? Do you like coffee?”

  Josie shook her head with a snivel. “I’d rather have a drink.”

  “That’s more like it,” Parson laughed. “Inspector Henry and I will buy you a drink afterwards, okay?” He pressed a button on a tape recorder. Josie blew her nose into a tissue. “Let’s start with this: You have the right to remain silent,” he babbled, a little bit too fast for the girl to completely understand. “Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”

  “You mean that I need a lawyer?” Josie asked.

  “Do you have one?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Then you don’t need one,” Parson responded. “We just have to say that.”

  “Have you found Heather’s murderer?” Another sob.

  “Not yet,” Parson exchanged a look with Henry. “We think it could be the same guy. Similar modus operandi… Tell me about Miss Barnett, Miss García. Was she a good friend of yours?”

  “I barely knew her.”

  “What was she doing at your house?”

  “Mr. Wehr—Richard—left her there so she could help me prepare for a small meeting with some friends. That was the same day you stopped by. Remember?”

  Detective Parson nodded. He winked at Henry.

  “Lina and I were in my room,” the girl continued, “waiting for everyone else to arrive.”

  “What did you do there?”

  “Just talk.”

  “About?”

  “I don’t know… Richard? Nothing deep. Lina wasn’t too talkative, to tell the truth. She was more interested in browsing through my stuff. Then I went downstairs to get two glasses for us to have wine, and that’s when you showed up at the door.”

  “I remember some strange noises upstairs.”

  “Probably her.”

  “What happened after I left?” Parson asked.

  “Well,” Josie sniffed, “Richard showed up. With Mr. Chatterton. Then everyone else came in—my boyfriend, Russell, and some other friends…”

  “So you’re back together,” Parson furrowed his brow.

  “Who is this Mr. Chatterton?” interrupted Henry.

  “He’s a friend of Richard’s. He formed an association to save the Gas House Café from getting closed. Richard liked him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Richard likes the company of all sorts of different people. He’s rather…eccentric.”

  Parson and Henry exchanged another look.

  “He is,” Henry chuckled.

  “What happened next?” Parson asked.

  Josie went through the particulars of the conscience-awareness meeting.

  “And all the time you were downstairs, didn’t you wonder where Miss Barnett was?”

  Josie shook her head. “We forgot about her. We didn’t notice she left. And after Miss Rivera hit the record player off the table, I was so upset that I didn’t have a mind for anything else… I should press charges against them now that I’m here. Can you press charges for damaging private property?”

  “You can,” Parson pursed his lips. “But we’ll deal with that later. What happened next?”

  Josie nodded with acceptance. “I went upstairs and packed all my stuff as fast as I could. Lina wasn’t there anymore. Then I left. I’ve been staying with my boyfriend ever since.”

  Parson flinched again at the word “boyfriend.”

  “At the Grand Hotel?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” Josie responded. “Russell shares a room with this horrible man—a poet, he calls himself, but he’s more like a bum. I’ve been staying with them all this time; a dozen people can corroborate that. But now I can’t go back…” She brushed a tear from her eye. “They told me I can’t stay there because I’m not an artist. I am homeless now. I don’t know what I’m going to do!” she bawled. “I thought of calling Richard, but I’m afraid he’s upset at me. He called me just before you showed up and asked me if I had killed Lina.”

  “Did you?” asked Inspector Henry.

  “No!” Josie shrieked.

  Detective Parson shot his partner a killer gaze.

  “Just kidding,” Inspector Henry apologized with a hunch.

  “Where did you meet Mr. Wehr?” Parson asked.

  “At Sears. I work there. He was a client. We started chatting and he invited me out for lunch. I refused, of course. I receive a lot of invitations…”

  “I bet you do,” Parson interrupted.

  Josie smiled shyly. “I thought it would have been wrong to accept. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “How long ago was this?” Parson played with his pen.

  “A few months.”

  “And when did you two start dating?”

  “Is that what he said? We never went out on a date. I didn’t see him again until last month, when I met him and Lina for dinner. I had to thank him for a favor”

  “What favor?” Henry asked.

  Josie hesitated before answering. “He bailed me out of jail.”

  “It’s in her file,” Parson said. “Completely unrelated,” he added, preventing Henry from asking any other questions. “I knew I knew you from somewhere, kid,” he addressed Josie, pulling his body back and crossing his arms behind his head. “I was standing next to you when you made that call. Now, Mr. Wehr said that you were jealous of his fiancée.”

  “I don’t know why he would say that. I barely knew Lina.”

  “‘Miss García couldn’t stand her,’” Henry read from Richard’s statement. “‘From the moment they met, I knew she wanted Lina dead.’”

  “You think I killed her?” Josie cried.

  Henry hesitated. “I don’t think you could.”

  “You’re too feeble,” Parson added, trying to sound pragmatic. “We can’t imagine you doing what was done to the poor girl. It was the work of someone much stronger.”

  “And with a lot of stomach,” Henry intervened. “They cut her into tiny weeny little pieces and spread them all around Venice.”

  Parson raised his eyebrows and nodded, in confirmation of what his colleague had just said.

  “They still haven’t found all of the parts,” Henry continued. “The press is calling the case ‘The Murders of Windward Circle,’ because if you mark on a map where all the pieces have been found, the center is right at the Circle.”

  “Murders?”

  “They found Ms. Wildfeuer’s head, too, inside a dumpster behind the Antler Hotel.” Parson said. “It was missing the eyes and the lower mandible.”

  Josie let out an exclamation of h
orror.

  “It could only have been a man,” Henry insisted. “A woman couldn’t handle such grim business.”

  “Tell us more about the other people that were there that day,” Parson continued. “Who else was with you at the house?”

  Josie gave the names and as many details as she could remember about her friends, expounding especially on Eva: “She’s cold and rancid. I’m not saying that she killed Lina, but if you need to mark one of the names, mark hers. She matches the psychotic profile completely.”

  Then Parson asked then about her youngest landlady.

  “She’s a little bit odd. She’s always been very nice to me, but I have to admit that she’s creepy. She stares at me when she thinks I’m not watching. At first I found that annoying, but I got used to it. She’s not your suspect, though. She’s a wimp. She couldn’t kill a fly if she wanted to.”

  “What about the two other sisters?” Henry asked.

  “I met them,” Parson interrupted. “One foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel.”

  Josie smiled at this commentary.

  “Well, Miss García,” Detective Parson sighed, “I think this will be all. Unless there’s anything else you would like to add.”

  “What about Will Sorenson?” Josie asked. “Heather’s ex-boyfriend? You said you were going to look for him at the Blue Wind.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Sorenson had an excellent alibi: he got arrested for drug trafficking. He’s been in the big house for almost a month now. He couldn’t have murdered either girl.” He exchanged a look with Henry. “What makes you think it could have been him who killed them?”

  “You said that Lina must have been killed by a strong man. And he is a strong man…”

  Detective Parson shrugged. “Never met him. But what makes you think that he could have attacked Miss Barnett?”

  Josie stared at both officers not knowing what to respond. “You said it probably was the same guy.”

  “It probably was, yeah,” Parson grinned. “Is there anything you haven’t told me about Ms. Wildfeuer?” he ventured.

  Josie remained silent for a moment. Then, she bobbed her head shyly. “I think I was with her the night she was murdered,” she responded, keeping her head down.

  “What?” Parson asked with surprise.

  Josie nodded. “At the cemetery,” she started to cry again. “I heard her scream and I ran away. But then I saw her car the next day, and I assumed she was okay. She took my landladies to church, remember?”

  “How could she drive your landladies to church if she was dead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And what were you doing at the cemetery?”

  Josie took a deep breath. She told the officers the same story that she had told at the meeting a week before.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked at the end.

  Parson exchanged a look with his colleague.

  “It’s not a crime to visit a cemetery,” the detective responded, scratching his chin. “Not unless you were there to dig up a corpse.”

  Henry’s head rested on his left hand, the palm covering the mouth; he looked worried.

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  Josie explained about the marijuana in Heather’s jacket pocket.

  Parson stopped the tape recorder.

  “You know we could get you canned right now for possession…”

  Josie gasped. She avoided the officers’ eyes.

  “But that may not be the best thing to do, would it?” he exchanged another look with his partner. Henry shrugged, and Detective Parson rewound the tape a bit, to erase the last part.

  Another officer took her back to the Grand Hotel.

  Richard’s chauffeur waited for her at the door.

  “Jeremy,” she exclaimed when she saw him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Wehr sent me. He wanted to make sure that everything is alright with you.”

  “It’s not. Your boss told the police that I killed his fiancée.”

  “He apologizes for that, Miss García. He asked me to pick you up. He would like you to join him for dinner.”

  “Dinner? After what he said about me? I was at the police station for almost two hours…! Okay,” Josie sniveled. She was hungry and she hadn’t had a warm meal in over a week. “If he’s really sorry about what he did… But you’ll have to bring me back in two hours—I’ll go leave a note for my boyfriend.”

  She clacked back to the front desk and wrote a brief note that she gave to the clerk with instructions to give only to Russell: Back before nine. Then she followed Jeremy to the car.

  22

  In which we stay at Richard’s home for the weekend

  Josie expected Richard’s home in Windsor Square to be sumptuous, but the austere grandeur of the red brick Edwardian mansion took her by surprise: Two stories, under a pitched roof of gray slate scattered with a dozen chimneys that cried old world, the illusion being broken only by the luscious bird-of-paradise plants in the front yard and the lanky palm trees flanking both sides of the street.

  “Is this where Richard lives?” she asked the chauffeur.

  “This is his home, Miss García.”

  The front door opened to reveal a foyer out of a Hollywood movie—this was Tinseltown, after all—black and white checkered marble floors, accent molding on the walls, and a grand staircase with a cast iron balustrade. Below the stairs, two enormous double doors of red mahogany that, Josie guessed, could only lead to a ballroom. From the middle of the foyer hung a crystal chandelier that sparkled as if inhabited by a thousand little fairies.

  “Do you like it?” the driver added.

  Josie bobbed her head, speechless.

  To the scrutiny of the modern eye, however, the house would have seemed a crime of the atomic era: velvet draperies and excessive golden ornaments framing the windows; textured wallpaper boasting chimps in top hats riding horses, and a green pistachio shag carpet.

  Jeremy guided Josie to the dining room.

  “Good evening.” Richard greeted the girl without standing up.

  He sat at the far end of a long mahogany table. Josie took a second to admire the room before sitting down at the other end, where a covered dinner plate waited for her. The wallpaper pattern in this room was a series of maroon and purple pompons on a cream background that didn’t suit the classic style of the table.

  “I thought you were having Bob over for dinner.” Josie uncovered her plate to reveal a bowl of potato soup.

  “Oh, I did,” Richard responded with a coquettish smile. “He’s gone now.”

  “Was it fun?”

  “Mr. Chatterton was delicious.”

  “You seem to be fond of him.”

  “I like the company of red-blooded men, yes.”

  “And of young women.”

  “Being surrounded with beauty and youth is rejuvenating.”

  Josie took a sip of her soup. The way in which Richard stared at her sometimes made her feel uncomfortable.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m doing fine, you silly,” Richard tittered. “Why do you ask?”

  Josie cleared her throat. “Lina?”

  “Oh, yes—that. It ruined my whole weekend. How do you like your soup?

  “It’s good,” Josie responded. “You’re not having anything?”

  “I cannot eat anymore.”

  Josie concentrated on her soup. As soon as she was finished, an elderly woman dressed in a black uniform appeared to clear her plate.

  Richard exchanged a look with her. “Ze houdt van uw patattesoepke.”

  “Mooi,” the woman responded with a grin. She left the room and a moment later reentered with a plate of beef stew.

  “You’re eating very slowly tonight,”
Richard said. “By the time you’re done it will be late. Would you like to stay over?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

  “Don’t be silly. I know you have nowhere else to go. I was cackling with laughter with Bob’s stories about the mess you’ve made at the Grand Hotel. Everyone hates you! You’ve been tried and sentenced by the clan of the holy barbarians. Misogynous pigs, that’s what they are. My win. Stay tonight. The whole weekend, if you want.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Where else would you go? Stay a month, if you need—I don’t care. The house is too big. That’s what friends are for,” he smiled.

  “You’re very kind.”

  “Mi casa es su casa, muchacha. I bet your whole family lived in a place the size of this room. Did you grow up with running water? Finish up, I’ll show you to your room.”

  “I’m done,” Josie responded with a smile.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  They left the dining room and went back to the entry hall.

  “Here is a phone, in case you need it,” Richard pointed to a little table inside an alcove under the stairs. “Is your boyfriend waiting for you?”

  Josie nodded timidly.

  “Then you should give him a call.”

  “I don’t know the number.”

  “I have it here.” Richard took a small address book out of his pocket and started dialing. He passed it to Josie after the first ring.

  Russell hadn’t yet come back, the clerk said. She left another message.

  “I’m not a morning person, so you’ll have to eat breakfast alone tomorrow,” Richard continued as they climbed the stairs. “That’s where my room is,” he pointed to a door on his left. “If you need anything, just rap on the door. My office is at the end of the hall… This is Carol’s room, my ex-wife,” he pointed to another door. “You spoke with her over the phone once, remember?”

  Josie nodded. “Does she live here?”

  “No. Why would I live with my ex-wife? You sometimes ask the most stupid questions. Carol lives in Palm Springs, with her dogs, but I let her stay here when she comes to Los Angeles. She’s coming tomorrow for Lina’s funeral. Everybody is welcome at my house; you should know that—including my exes. I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve come here. You’ve missed a few good parties. I should have hired you to come out of the cake for my birthday, since you don’t mind showing your niñas in public…This was Lina’s room.” Richard opened the last door in the hallway and led Josie in.