The First Cut

by Dianne Emley

  Pussycat’s eyes welled.

  “Go call the police. Do it, before he wakes up.”

  “I can’t. He locked us in. What do you think those keys are around his neck? You think I’m sitting here for my health?”

  “Didn’t you know I was down here?”

  “Of course I knew.”

  “Why haven’t you called the police? He’s going to kill you, too. You’re a fool if you think he’s not.”

  “Hey, missy, he’s kept me locked up in my rooms upstairs ever since you’ve been here. He nailed the windows shut and took the phones. Please don’t treat me like an idiot. I know he’ll get rid of me, too. He’ll make it look like a suicide. I know him better than you do. He thinks of everything. There’s no hope for us.”

  Pussycat broke down. Still mindful of her makeup, she drew her fingertips beneath her eyes, trying to avoid smearing her mascara.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. As long as we’re alive, there’s hope. We have to hold it together or else we’ll be lost for sure.” Lisa rose onto one elbow, her other arm pinned beneath his head. “Doesn’t he have a phone down here?”

  Pussycat walked to a table across the room, reached to the floor, and picked up the end of a phone cord. She waved it at Lisa and hissed, “Of course he has a phone. He took it. I told you, he thinks of everything.”

  “No one thinks of everything. There’s no such thing as a perfect crime.”

  Lisa looked around and her eyes fell upon his clothes that he’d tossed onto a chair. “Does he carry a cell phone?”

  Pussycat’s eyes widened. She went to the chair and rummaged through his clothes pockets, beaming when she produced the prize. She turned it on, both of them wincing while the start up tones played, keeping their eyes on him.

  Pussycat’s smile faded when she looked at the display. “No signal. I told you. He thinks of everything. He’s always making lists and keeping track. It’s a game for him. He reads up on the law. Knows what the police can and can’t do. He loves those forensic shows. All that autopsy stuff…” Her face became grim.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Pussycat looked away and twirled a lock of hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell me.” Lisa’s voice was louder than she intended and his snoring stopped.

  They both froze and stared at him. After a couple of breaths, the wet sawing resumed.

  “I’ll mess you up with him, Pussycat. I swear I will. Don’t screw with me.”

  “It’s just…He’s so careful about not leaving evidence. He made Frankie cut and scrub her nails and wash her hair before he killed her. Then when he touched her, he wore a cap over his hair and rubber gloves. He didn’t want to leave any piece of himself behind.”

  “That’s why he shaved my pubic hair.”

  “I don’t know about that. That’s just his thing.” Pussycat fell silent and bit her lip.

  “Okay. So?”

  Pussycat sighed. “So, what I’m trying to say is, he always used condoms with Frankie.”

  Lisa collapsed onto the bed. He’d never used a condom with her. She knew what it meant. “He left Frankie Lynde’s body in plain sight. That’s why he took pains to remove all traces of himself. But he’s going to make sure no one ever finds a trace of me.”

  Lisa started to cry. She’d vowed to stay strong, not to waver, but the thought of her parents and brother waiting for word of her that would never come was overwhelming. At least Frankie Lynde’s family had a body. At least they knew.

  Pussycat went to the bed and stroked Lisa’s hair. “Don’t cry, Lisa. Please don’t cry. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I wish that gun was loaded. I’d shoot him in the head. I won’t even kill a spider in my house, but I could kill him. I swear to God I could.”

  He snorted and his snoring stopped.

  The women both stared at each other, eyes wide. After what seemed like eternity, the snoring resumed.

  Lisa lay her head back down. Her eyes fell on the remnants of the cheese and crackers on a table across the room. She gasped. “The cheese knife. Go get it. Get it and stab him in the heart.”

  Pussycat hesitantly walked to the table.

  “Go on!”

  She picked up her pace, as if she might lose her nerve. She snatched up the knife from the cutting board.

  “It’s not very big.”

  “It’s big enough to pierce his heart.”

  She inched toward her husband, slowly moving closer until she stood beside him.

  His snoring was deep and even. His mouth sagged open and his cheeks had a pink flush.

  “You do it,” Pussycat said.

  “The chains don’t reach. I could only stab him in the side. It wouldn’t kill him right away. Then we’d be done for. It has to be one stroke. Right through the heart.”

  “Okay.”

  Lisa held her breath as Pussycat grabbed the knife handle between both hands and raised her arms above his chest. She’d dreamed of this. Planned what she would do if she ever had the chance. The moment was here.

  Pussycat wavered as she looked at his face, at the fringe of dark eyelashes. Her hands trembled.

  “Do it,” Lisa growled. “You said he was going to kill you.”

  Pussycat’s trembling grew worse. She veered from the bed, dropping the knife onto the carpet.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’re an idiot.”

  Pussycat whirled to face her. “Hey, you’re not the one standing here thinking about stabbing a man in cold blood. He’s still a human being. And be careful who you’re calling an idiot. I’m the only friend you’ve got.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know if I could do it, either.”

  “Damn straight, you don’t know.” Pussycat retrieved the knife from the floor and returned it to the cutting board. “I’m sick of people thinking I’m stupid because of the way I look. Get over it already.”

  “I said I’m sorry. I am.”

  Pussycat dropped onto the chair.

  “Think he’ll wake if we try to get the keys?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s hardly budged the whole time we’ve been talking.”

  “Talking is one thing. Touching him is something else. He’s ticklish. Why else do you think he put the keys around his neck?”

  “I can cut the leather with the knife.”

  “He’ll wake up.”

  “Take the phone by the windows. The seal isn’t good there, above the piano. I can see daylight. Maybe you’ll get a signal.”

  Pussycat picked up the cell phone, threw her husband’s clothes from the chair, and carried it to the wall. She climbed on top, looked at the phone’s display, and shook her head.

  She clawed at the rubber seal around the thick mat, sliding her fingers beneath. She pulled it up and a bright ray of sunlight shone in.

  Lisa nearly cried when the light hit her face.

  Pussycat took the phone from her pocket, looked at the display, and nodded excitedly. “Three bars.” She punched in 9-1…

  Lisa yelped and darted her free hand over his face. The sunlight bathed him as well, right in the eyes. He was stirring.

  “Pussycat,” Lisa warned. “The light.”

  John Lesley staggered to his feet, and flung himself headlong at his wife, knocking her off the chair and onto the piano. She hit the keys and then the floor, hard. The phone flew across the room. He picked it up and cleared the number she’d started to dial.

  “You want to make a call, huh? You want to make a call?”

  He ground the phone against the side of her face and mouth, breaking the skin on her lips.

  “Make your call. Go ahead.”

  He smacked her in the head with it.

  She curled into a ball and whimpered, shielding her head with her hands and tucking her elbows tight, warding against a kick.

  “And you…” He sprang to
ward the bed and grabbed Lisa’s throat between his hands. “You put her up to it, didn’t you?”

  Lisa writhed against the restraints that bound her wrists and ankles, bowing her body.

  “You’re the fucking survivor.” He kept squeezing.

  Lisa’s eyes bulged and her face turned purple.

  Pussycat tucked her head between her hands against the floor and moaned.

  “Keeping her sobriety vows. Praying. I heard you. Where’s your God now, huh?”

  Lisa went limp.

  Pussycat wailed, the sound feral.

  “Relax. She’s not dead.”

  He slapped Lisa’s face. She choked and began gasping, pulling against the restraints.

  He gave Pussycat a smug look. “See?”

  He went to her, pulling her up from the floor by her hair. “I expect something like that from her. But you. I expect a little loyalty from my wife. Everything I’ve done for you and this is the thanks I get.”

  He cinched her hair more tightly in his fist.

  She cried out.

  “You could just go along, but no. You have to make trouble.” He dragged her by her hair to the bed.

  “Look at her,” he said to Lisa. “This woman had everything. Didn’t I give you everything you wanted? Didn’t I?” He shook Pussycat by her hair.

  “Yes, baby. Yes.” She grimaced with the pain.

  “All I ask is a little loyalty. All you had to do was go along. Go along to get along. It’s not hard, Pussycat. Everybody has to die sometime. Everybody has to endure pain. I’m just speeding it up for these girls and having a little fun, but you can’t freaking get it!”

  He threw her down. She hit the carpet and started to crawl away.

  He grabbed the handcuffs from Frankie’s equipment belt on the floor, roughly grabbed Pussycat’s wrist and locked on the cuff. He dragged her and looped the other cuff around the same O ring where Lisa’s left hand was bound.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” his wife cried. “I was just confused.”

  “Poor Pussycat. She was just confused. You do some pretty dumb-ass things when you’re confused.” He began putting on his clothes. “Pull yourself together. Your sister’s been calling. I’m bringing you a Xanax. You’re going to chill out, then you’re going to call your sister and have a nice conversation. I don’t want to give the police any reason to keep nosing around. I’m already into that Beltran down there for his buddy’s bachelor party in the VIP room. I already passed his piece of shit screenplay to one of the top agents in town. Now I owe that guy a favor, too.

  “Then I’m going to the club, like normal. You’re going to stay down here and think about the rest of your life, Pussycat. You have exactly one day to decide because I can’t milk this migraine excuse any longer. You are the weakest link. You can either pull yourself together and we can have a nice life doing what we want, or you’re going to have a car accident or meth overdose that you won’t survive.”

  He turned back. “Something to tuck away, Pussycat. You’re thinking I’m the bad guy, you’ll rat me out to the police and get off with a slap on the hand. You’re thinking you’re the poor abused wife and the jury will give you a break. No, darling. You aided and abetted. You are guilty of the same crimes I am. And no one’s going to be sympathetic to an ex-stripper meth hag who married a rich nightclub owner and helped him with his hobbies.”

  He counted off on his fingers. “Kidnapping, murder, torture. Two counts.”

  He leered sadistically at Lisa. “You heard right: two counts. Think about it, Pussycat. Clock’s ticking.”

  T H I R T Y - S I X

  I T WAS LATE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME VINING RETURNED TO PASADENA from Hermosa Beach.

  Kissick, Ruiz, Caspers, Sergeant Early, and Deputy District Attorney Mireya Dunn were in the conference room listening to a recording on a microcassette that Caspers held.

  On it, Officer John Chase and John Lesley were having a heated exchange.

  “Sir, if you don’t get back inside your car and let me write the citation, I’m going to have to arrest you for interfering with the duties of a police officer.”

  “I don’t like the way you’re looking at my wife. Give you a fucking badge and you think you can do anything.”

  His wife’s voice was farther away. “John, please just take the ticket and let’s go.”

  “Did I ask your opinion, Pussycat?”

  Chase interjected. “If you keep doing what you’re doing, Mr. Lesley, you’re going to jail.”

  “I just had my picture taken with the chief and you’re taking me to jail because my car windows are too dark. I stopped a robbery in progress in your city. I’m real glad I put myself at risk for you idiots. What are you looking at?”

  “What’s in that box on the floor, sir?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Can I search your car?”

  “Search my car? The answer’s not only no, it’s hell no.”

  “What’s the problem? You’ve got nothing to hide, right?”

  “You think I was born yesterday, Officer?”

  There was strained silence. Then Lesley said, “Give me the fucking thing.”

  “Vujaday,” Pussycat whined in the background. “This is so vujaday.”

  “You call yourself a police department.” Lesley’s voice faded. Chase was apparently returning to his cruiser.

  “Is this how you keep busy because you don’t have real crime in this berg?” Lesley continued to rage. “Writing bullshit tickets and giving yourself awards.”

  There were sounds of Chase opening the door of his vehicle. “Have a good day, sir.” He uttered a soft chuckle.

  “If you had a real crime to solve, you guys would fall—”

  The recording ended.

  Caspers said to the recorder he still held, “My man, the Chaser.”

  Early looked dubious. “Could be a motive to mess with us by dumping a body in Pasadena.”

  “A crack defense attorney would shoot holes through everything we have,” Dunn said. “John Lesley can afford to hire the biggest gun in town.”

  “What have you been up to?” Kissick asked Vining.

  “I’ll tell you in a second. Alex, would you please play the last part again? From where Chase asks to search the car.”

  The recording reached Pussycat’s final words.

  “Stop it there, please,” Vining said. “Vujaday. What is she saying?”

  “Vujaday.” Caspers looked incredulously at her. “Come on. Everyone knows that.”

  “I don’t know what it means,” Kissick said.

  Vining tried to remember where she had recently heard those words. She closed her eyes.

  “It’s the opposite of déjà vu,” Caspers said. “Déjà vu means you think you’ve been in this place before. Vujà dé means you never want to be in this place again.”

  Vining snapped her fingers. “Mrs. Bodek. Frankie’s neighbor. That’s where I’ve heard that. The woman Mrs. Bodek saw leaving Frankie’s condo told her the same thing. It was Pussycat. This is great. Mrs. Bodek will be priceless as a witness.”

  She became animated. “Let me tell you about my conversation with John Lesley and what I found out in Hermosa Beach.”

  She brought them up to date and tossed statements from Hank the bartender and Pollywog onto the table.

  “I’ve already booked the vomit and contact lens into evidence.”

  “Good work, Nan,” Early said.

  Everyone gave her atta girls, even Ruiz.

  “We need Pussycat Lesley’s DNA to match against the vomit and contact lens,” Kissick said. “How fast can we get DNA run?”

  Dunn responded, “We can get preliminary results in twenty-four hours, but it’s expensive.”

  “Lieutenant Beltran will push it through for us,” Ruiz said sarcastically.

  “Our buddy,” Caspers said.

  Early warned, “Watch it.”

  Kissick moved past the Beltran-bashing. “Lisa Shipp�
��s missing person case is collateral to the Frankie Lynde homicide. But it places Pussycat at the scene of a second woman’s disappearance. Maybe we can find witnesses who saw Lesley or his Hummer in Hermosa Beach that night.”

  “So we get samples of Pussycat’s DNA when we serve the warrants.” Vining noted the lack of enthusiasm in the room. “What?”

  “No warrants,” Kissick said. “Judge Ralston shut us down.” He mocked, “Corporal, if we’re going to examine someone’s highly confidential medical records and invade their home and workplace, we’d better have sound reasons, and I don’t see that you’ve fulfilled that requirement.”

  Early spat, “Yeah, highly confidential and personal dental records.”

  “Ralston’s notorious for blowing warrants out of the water,” Dunn said.

  “Didn’t he cut his teeth as a public defender?” Early asked.

  “Guess he never left,” Kissick said. “We’re still the enemy.”

  Dunn picked up the statements Vining took in Hermosa Beach and the microcassette recorder. “With this new evidence, we can rewrite the affidavits and hope we get someone other than Ralston.”

  Ruiz spread cheer, as usual. “The way our luck’s been going, I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “If John Lesley is our guy,” Early said, “I’m not convinced.”

  “All due respect, Sarge,” Vining began, “but what’s not to like about him?”

  “Vining, if you can’t convince me, how are you going to convince a jury?” Early rubbed her eyes.

  “So where does that leave us?” Kissick asked.

  “Surveil the Lesley house, wait for the missus to leave, and grab her off her property,” Ruiz suggested.

  “Therein lies the problem,” Kissick said.

  “He appears to be holding her captive at home,” Vining said. “That’s probably where Lisa Shipp is and where he held and likely killed Frankie. That property is large and isolated. He forces Pussycat to call her family so they don’t report her missing. The parents don’t question because they’re afraid he’ll shut off their gravy train. He’s got Lolly the housekeeper backing him up. No doubt she knows more than she’s telling.”

  “We don’t have the P.C. to enter Lesley’s home,” Dunn said. “To get the probable cause, we need the warrants.”

  “I’m going to be damn sure I’ve covered my ass on this one.” Early scowled. “I’ve already had one of my decisions slapped down from on high.”