E Is for Evidence

by Sue Grafton

  His gaze shifted and I watched him compose his reply before he spoke. "As far as I know, Ava's straight as an arrow. Hardworking, honest, devoted to the company."

  "What about Lance? How does she get along with him?"

  "I've never heard them exchange a cross word. He's the one who hired her, as a matter of fact, when it was clear we needed an office manager."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "God, it must be two, three years now," he said. He looked down at Olive, sitting close by. "What's your impression? Am I reporting accurately?"

  Olive shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say she's crazy about him. She thinks he plays too much when he ought to be getting work done, but I don't think she'd devise any scheme to do him in." Olive passed the hors d'oeuvre tray to me. I thought it only gracious to sample something else so I selected a potato half and popped it in my mouth.

  "Who might?" I asked, licking sour cream from my thumb. This shit was great. If they'd just leave the room for a minute, I'd have a go at the rest.

  Both seemed to come up blank.

  "Come on. He must have enemies. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble over this," I said.

  Terry said, "At the moment, I couldn't name one, but we can give it some thought. Maybe something will occur to us."

  "What can you tell me about the Wood/Warren engineer who killed himself?"

  "Hugh Case," Olive said.

  Terry seemed surprised. "What brought that up? I just got a call from Lyda Case this afternoon."

  "Really?" I said. "What did she have to say?"

  "It wasn't what she said so much as her attitude. She was completely freaked out, screaming at the top of her lungs. Said his death was my fault."

  Olive looked at him in disbelief. "Yours? What bullshit! Why would she say that?"

  "I have no idea. She sounded drunk. Ranting and raving. Foulmouthed, shrill."

  "That's curious," I said. "Is she here in town?" Terry shook his head. "She didn't say. The call was long distance from the sound of it. Where's she live?" "Dallas, I believe."

  "I got the impression she intended to fly out. Do you want to talk to her if she shows up?"

  "Yes, I'd like that," I said, careful to omit any reference to the fact that I'd met with her the night before. She hadn't seemed paranoid to me at all and she'd never mentioned Terry's name.

  Olive stirred on the couch, shifting positions. "Just in time for New Year's. Everyone'll be here." She glanced at Terry. "Did I tell you Bass gets in tonight?"

  A look of annoyance flashed across his face. "I thought he was broke. I hope you didn't pay his way."

  "Me! Absolutely not. Ebony sends him money, but you wouldn't catch me doing it," she remarked. And then to me, "Bass and I had a falling-out at Thanksgiving and we haven't spoken since. He's got a big mouth in matters that are none of his business. I think he's loathsome, and he's just about that fond of me."

  Terry glanced at his watch and I took that as my cue. "I should let you go if you've got a party," I said. "I don't feel we've been any help," Olive said. "Don't worry about it. I've got other sources. Just let me know if you come up with anything you think might pertain."

  I left my card on the coffee table. Terry walked me to the door while Olive excused herself to fetch her coat. He watched her disappear into the bedroom. "I didn't want to mention this in front of her," he said, "but Lyda Case scared the shit out of me this afternoon."

  "How so?"

  "I don't want to make Olive nervous, but the woman threatened me. I don't think it has anything to do with Lance or I'd have said so up front. This is different. I don't know what it's about, but she really sounded cracked."

  "What kind of threat?" I asked.

  "Out of nowhere, she asked me how old I'd be on my next birthday. I didn't know what she was getting at, but when I told her I'd be forty-six, she said, 'Don't count on it.' And then she laughed like a fiend. Jesus, the sound made my blood run cold. I can't believe she was serious, but my God! What a thing to say."

  "And you have no idea why she suddenly got in touch?"

  "I haven't talked to her for years. Since Hugh died, I guess."

  "I understand there's some question about the manner of his death."

  "I've heard that too and I don't know what to think."

  "How well did you know him?"

  "I wouldn't say we were close, but I worked with him, oh, probably five years or so. He never struck me as the sort who'd commit suicide. Of course, you never know what someone under pressure will do."

  "Pressure?"

  "Lyda'd threatened to leave him. Hugh was a sweet guy, but he was terribly dependent on her and I think it just knocked the props out from under him."

  "Why was she leaving? What was that about?"

  "I wasn't privy to the details. Lance might know."

  Olive reappeared, white fur coat across her shoulders, the green dress over her arm. Terry and I abandoned the topic of Lyda Case. He made no comment when she gave me the dress. Maybe Olive always gave away her clothes. The three of us left the house together, confining ourselves to small talk.

  It was fully dark by then and the night was chilly. I turned on the heater in my car and drove to a pay phone in Montebello Village, putting a call in to Darcy at home. I wanted to stop off and see her before I went back to my place. But she told me Andy'd worked late, so she hadn't had a chance to search his office. She was going in early the next morning, and said she'd call if she came up with anything.

  I hung up, realizing then how exhausted I felt. In addition to the jet lag, I was operating on a bad night's sleep, and the fragmentary nap I'd picked up this morning wasn't helping anything. I headed home. As I turned the corner onto my street, I spotted Daniel's rental car, still sitting at the curb in front of my apartment. I parked and got out. Even in the dark, I could see him slouched in the front seat, feet on the dash as they had been before. I was just opening the gate when he rolled down his window. "Can I talk to you?"

  I felt something snappish rise up in me, but I forced it back down again. I don't like being bitchy, and I hated admitting to myself that he still had the power to distress. "All right," I said. I approached the car and halted about six feet away. "What is it?"

  He unfolded himself and emerged from the car, leaning his elbows on the open car door. The pale glow from the street light gilded his cheekbones, touching off strands of silver in the cloud of blond hair.

  "I'm in a bit of a bind," he said. His face was dappled with shadows that masked the remembered clear blue of his eyes. After eight years, it was amazingly painful just to be in his company.

  I thought the safest course was to repeat information back to him without comment. "You're in a bind," I said. There was a brief silence wherein I assumed I was meant to quiz him on the nature of his problem. I clamped my teeth together, waiting patiently.

  He smiled ruefully. "Don't worry. I'm not going to ask you for money and I'm not trying to get in your pants."

  "This comes as a big relief, Daniel. What do you want?" The bitchy tone was already back, but I swear I couldn't help myself. There's nothing more infuriating than a man who's manipulated your emotions once and now thinks he can do it again. I could still remember the charge that ran between us early in our relationship, sexual electricity infusing the very air we breathed. It had taken years for me to realize that I had generated most of it myself out of my own neediness. Maybe that's what was making me so churlish in retrospect. I was still chafing at myself for what a fool I'd been.

  "I need a place to stash my gear," he said.

  "What gear?"

  He shrugged. "I got a two-thousand-dollar acoustic guitar I can't leave because the trunk lock is busted on the rental car I picked up. It'll get ripped off if it's in the back seat."

  "You brought a guitar like that all the way from Florida?"

  "I thought maybe I'd pick up a gig out here. I could use the bucks."

  "What happened to your friend? I thought you got a ride
with someone. Why not take it to his place? Or is it a woman? I guess I never asked you that."

  "Well, no, it's a guy," he said. "The problem is, he doesn't actually live here in town. He was just passing through on his way to San Francisco and he won't be back till late on Sunday. That's why I had to rent a car of my own."

  "Where are you staying? Don't you have a place?"

  "I'm working on that. The town's booked solid because of the holidays. Meantime, I can't even pull into a gas station to take a leak without hauling everything in with me. It's just for a couple of days."

  I stared at him. "You always do things like this, you know that? You're always in a bind, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping someone'll bail you out of the hole you're in. Try the Rescue Mission. Pick up a woman. That shouldn't be so tough. Or sell the damn thing. Why is it up to me?"

  "It's not up to you," he said mildly. "It's a simple favor. What's the big deal?"

  I ran out of steam. We'd had this same exchange a hundred times and he'd never heard me before. I might as well save my breath. I might as well give him what he wanted and get it over with. It was probably just an elaborate excuse to prolong our contact. "Never mind," I said. "No big deal. You can park the damn thing in a corner until Sunday and then I want it out of here."

  "Sure. No problem. Thanks."

  "I'm warning you, Daniel. If you've got a stash anywhere within six blocks of here, I'll call the cops."

  "I'm clean. I told you that. You can look for yourself.

  "Skip it " I said. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't bluff on that, because he knew me well enough to know I'd have him thrown in the slammer if I caught him.

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  I took a couple of Tylenols and slept like a stone-deep, dreamless sleep that soothed my frazzled nerves and restored my good spirits. I was up at 6:00, ready to jog as usual. There was no sign of Daniel parked at my curb. I did a perfunctory stretch against the fence post and headed toward Cabana Boulevard.

  The run felt great. The sky was a pearl gray streaked with pink. To my right, a dark-gray surf boomed against the hard-packed sand, leaving snowy froth in its wake. The wharf was mirrored in the glistening pools that remained when the waves receded. The sea seemed to shush the birds that shrieked overhead. This was the last day of the year and I ran with a sense of optimism the new year always brings. I'd find a way to sort it all out: Lance, Mac's suspicions about me, even Daniel's sudden appearance on my doorstep. I was alive and healthy, physically fit. Rosie's would open again on Monday. Henry would be home in another six days. I had the sassy green dress Olive had given me, and maybe a New Year's invitation if she came through as hoped. I did my three miles and slowed to a walk, cooling off as I headed home.

  I showered and dressed in jeans as usual, savoring the morning at home. By then it was 7:00 – too early for phone calls. I ate my cereal and read the L.A. Times over two cups of coffee. Daniel's guitar sat in the corner in mute testimony to his renewed presence in my life, but I ignored it for the most part.

  Darcy called at 7:35 from California Fidelity. She'd done a thorough search. Andy's office was clean.

  "Shit," I said, "What about a typewriter? I was hoping we could get a match on the phony fire department report, but I didn't find one at his apartment."

  "Maybe he keeps it in the trunk of his car."

  "Oh, I like that. I'll see if I can find a way to check that out. In the meantime, keep an eye peeled. Maybe something will surface. Andy's gotta be tied into this business somehow. It would help a lot to know who he knows at Wood/Warren. Did you go through his Rolodex?"

  "That won't help. He knows all those guys because that was his account. He's bound to have the number handy. I'll check it out, though. Maybe something else will come to light." She clicked off.

  At 8:00, I put a call through to Lyda Case in Texas. Her roommate said she was out of town, maybe in California, but she wasn't sure. I left my number and asked her to have Lyda get in touch with me if she called home.

  I called my pal at the credit bureau, but she was out until Monday. I had the feeling the rest of the day was going to come down about the same way. It was New Year's Eve day. As with Christmas Eve, businesses were closing early, people taking off at noon. Olive called me at 10:00 to say that she was indeed putting together an impromptu cocktail party. "It's mostly family and a few close friends. Half the people I called already had plans. Are you free? We'd love to have you, if you're not already tied up."

  "Of course I'm not," I said. "I'd love to come." I hated to sound so eager, but in truth I was. I didn't want to spend this New Year's Eve alone. I was worried Daniel might start looking too good. "Can I bring anything?"

  "Actually I could use some help," she said. "I gave the housekeeper the weekend off, so I'm throwing the whole thing together by myself. I can always use an extra set of hands."

  "Well, I'm not a cook, but I can sure chop and stir.

  What time?"

  "Four-thirty? I'll be back from the supermarket by then. Ash said she'd come about five to help, too. Everybody else will be coming about seven. We'll keep going till the food and alcohol give out."

  "Great," I said. "And the green dress will be okay?"

  "It better be. I'm giving this party so you can wear the damn thing."

  I put a call through to Lance. I didn't like initiating the contact with him, but I had to hear his version of the situation with Hugh Case. As soon as he was on the line, I told him what I'd heard. The silence was weighty. "Lance?"

  "I'm here," he said. He sighed heavily. "Jesus, I don't know how to deal with this. What the hell is going on? I heard rumors back then she thought I had something to do with his death. It's not true. It's completely untrue, but I don't have a way of proving it. Why would I do that? What could I possibly gain by killing him?"

  "Wasn't he leaving the company?"

  "Absolutely not. He talked about quitting. He said he wanted to start a company of his own. He even gave notice, but hell, Dad called him in and they had a long talk. Dad offered to make him a vice-president. Gave him a big raise and he was happy as a clam." "When was this?"

  "I don't know. A couple of days before he died."

  "Didn't that strike you as peculiar?"

  "Sure it did. She swore he didn't kill himself and I agreed. He wasn't the depressive type and he'd just made a hell of a deal for himself. Somehow she got it in her head that I killed the man. I wouldn't harm a soul. You gotta believe me. Somebody's working very hard to get me put away."

  "Speaking of which, have you heard anything from California Fidelity?"

  His tone changed. "Yeah, yesterday. They're turning everything over to the cops."

  I could feel my stomach clench. "Really? Do they have enough to make a case?"

  "I don't know. I hope not. Look, I need to talk to you privately and I can't do it here. It's important. Is there any way we can meet?"

  I told him I'd be at Olive's later and we agreed to talk then. I wasn't anxious to be seen in his company, but he seemed insistent, and at that point, I didn't see how things could get worse. I wasn't guilty of conspiracy and I was tired of acting like I was. Worry was sitting on my chest like a weight, leaden and oppressive. I had to do something to get my mind off things.

  I went out and bought a pair of high heels, anxiety translating into excitement as the day progressed. Being isolated that week had made me aware that I do have a few social impulses – buried deep, perhaps, under layers of caution, but part of me nevertheless. This was like dress-up time with the big kids, and I was looking forward to it. I'd begun to feel very charitable about Olive, whose lifestyle only yesterday had seemed superficial and self-indulgent. Who was I to judge? It was none of my business how she made her peace with the world. She'd fashioned a life out of tennis and shopping, but she managed to do occasional charity work, which was more than I could claim. She was right about one thing: the harm in the world is done by those who feel disen
franchised and abused. Contented people (as a rule) don't kite checks, rob banks, or kill their fellow citizens.

  I thought about going to the gym, but decided to bag that idea. I hadn't done a workout since Tuesday, but I just didn't give a damn. I puttered and napped through the middle of the day.

  At 3:00 I took a long bubble bath... well, I used dishwashing liquid, but it did foam right up. I washed my hair and combed it for a change. I did some stuff to my face that passed for makeup in my book, and then wiggled into underwear and panty hose. The dress was grand, and it fit like a charm, rustling the same way Olive's had the night before. I'd never had a role model for this female stuff. After my parents' death when I was five, I'd been raised by a maiden aunt, no expert herself at things feminine. I'd spent the days of my childhood with cap guns and books, learning self-sufficiency, which loomed large with her. By the time I reached junior high I was a complete misfit, and by high school I'd thrown in my lot with some badass boys who cussed and smoked dope, two things I mastered at an early age. In spite of the fact that I'm a social oaf, my aunt instilled a solid set of values, which prevailed in the end. By the time I graduated, I'd straightened up my act and now I'm a model citizen, give or take a civil code or two. At heart, I've always been a prissy little moralist. Private investigation is just my way of acting out.

  By 4:30, I was standing on the Kohlers' doorstep, listening to the door chime echo through the house. It didn't look as if anyone was there. There was mail jammed in the box, the newspaper and a brown paper-wrapped parcel on the mat. I peered into one of the long glass panels on either side of the front door. The foyer was dark and no lights were showing at the rear of the house. Olive probably wasn't home from the supermarket yet. The cat appeared from around the side of the house with her long white coat and flat face. Somehow she seemed like a girl to me, but what do I know? I said some cat-type things. She appeared unimpressed.

  I heard a car horn toot. The electronic gate was rolled back from the driveway and a white Mercedes 380 SL pulled in. Olive waved and I moved toward the parking pad. She got out of the car and moved around to the rear, looking very classy in her white fur coat.