“Dr. Stevenson, what did you and your accomplice do with the remains? It’s clear you had help.” Detective Wulf stood and loomed over the bed. Gone were all attempts at civility. The man who stood before her now oozed contempt and the disgust of a career dealing with liars.
She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream at this asshole cop in front of her. She shook her head. “I didn’t take her…I would never take her.”
“And why is that?”
Mariska hit the bed with a fist and looked the cop dead in the eyes. “I have spent my entire life wondering who the hell I was. Where did I come from? Who were my real parents? Why did they throw me away like a piece of trash?”
Detective Wulf shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care, but his jawline softened enough to betray he still had a heart. “What does that have to do with the remains?”
“Don’t you get it?” Mariska spit the words out in disgust. “Of course, you wouldn’t. You don’t see it at all. No one knows who the La Brea Woman was or where she came from…who she belongs to. I had the chance to find out those answers. Me, a woman who’s been unable to piece together her own beginning was going to help solve the mysteries of another woman’s life. Bring her, closure.” Mariska’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Without her body…I can’t do that.”
“Rumor has it you didn’t get the grant.” He shrugged. “Just like you said. Without her body, you couldn’t study her.”
But she had been granted the rights to study the La Brea Woman…hadn’t she? From what she could remember it was nearly final—nearly. Frustration and anger welled up in her and poured down her cheeks.
The detective offered her nothing. No reassurance. No sympathy or understanding. She looked up at him after a few moments. “I’m the one lying in a hospital bed as a victim of assault, and you’re accusing me of a crime? Short of a cavity search, you can clearly see I don’t have the remains.”
The detective’s hard stare softened a touch. He turned and stepped toward the door.
“I guess this means I’m a suspect?”
Hand on the door, he stopped and turned back. His jaw was set, but his eyes betrayed the compassion he must have been feeling. “Please don’t leave town.”
Chapter Three
Detective Eric Wulf stepped out of the hospital room and was immediately confronted by the suspect’s friend.
“So, what did Mariska say?” David said. “Does she remember anything?”
Wulf put his hands up in front of him to give him a foot of personal space. “Please back up a step.”
David looked down for a second. He must have realized he was a bit too close as he took a couple steps back and said, “Oh I’m sorry. It’s been a terrible night.”
“Understandable.” Wulf scanned the hallway for Dr. Stevenson’s parents. “Did her family leave?”
David turned and flicked his head at the alcove of empty seats. “Yeah, they took off. Her mom was pretty upset. I think Mr. Stevenson took her home to get some rest.”
That’s fine. They aren’t a flight risk.
Wulf motioned over to the seats and said, “Let’s have a seat for a moment, shall we?”
David looked at the closed hospital room door and then back to Wulf. A moment of hesitation. Wulf pushed on, “It’ll just take a minute or two.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.” David hurried over to the nearest seat and sat. “I can’t believe this happened. And to her of all people.”
“Why do you say that?” Wulf asked, taking out a notepad and pen. “What about this is so unexpected?”
“What?” David wiped his hand across his face. Everything about his body language said he was tired. Tired and worried. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Mussed hair.
“Where were you when Dr. Stevenson was attacked?” Wulf asked.
“I thought I’d gone over all this before.” David sat back into the chair. “I was in the Tombs with her, and we decided to rejoin the fundraiser Gala upstairs. We got into the elevator and then…”
Wulf looked up from his notepad. With arched eyebrows, he urged him to continue. “Go on.”
“I don’t know, she just handed me back the champagne glass and stepped out of the elevator.” David looked off in the distance, lost in his memories. “It’s like she forgot something.”
Wulf nodded. “Yes, she mentioned a purse.”
David rolled his eyes. “A stupid purse. No doubt one bought for her by her mom.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Her mom is always buying her expensive things. It’s like she feels guilty about something…I have no idea.” David huffed. “This all could have been avoided if it wasn’t for that damn purse.”
Wulf continued to take notes. David stood and said, “Unless there’s something else, I think I should to be with her.”
This guy has it bad for the girl.
“Absolutely,” Wulf said. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
David looked at him for a second and then nodded. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Wulf stood and stepped to the side so David could pass by more easily. David stopped at the hospital room door and glanced at Wulf before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
What would be the motive behind this crime? Greed? Sabotage? Hate?
Making his way out of the hospital and into the parking garage, Wulf’s mind ran through one scenario after the next, trying to make sense of it all. Cases like this were time-sensitive; they grew stagnant very quickly. If Wulf made a wrong turn this early on in pursuit of answers in this case, there might not be time to right the ship before it went cold.
Things he already knew were the La Brea Woman’s remains had been stolen. The Paleontologist potentially assigned to researching her was attacked the night she thought she was to be given the official go-ahead to start her project. And the usual: no one saw anything. No one heard anything.
He unlocked his car and got inside. Turning on the airconditioner and headlights, he began to ease out of the parking space and go back to the police station but stopped. He pulled out his phone and started searching the internet for general public information regarding the La Brea Woman and the Page Museum. As he scrolled down the links that popped up first, he soon came across the controversy surrounding the remains.
The woman was found in 1914 by the owners of the land and subsequent founders of the Page Museum, Mr. Ashton. He clicked on the highlighted link and found that Mr. Ashton had a son and granddaughter associated with the museum as well. Ingrid Ashton, the founder’s granddaughter was the last remaining living relative of this wealthy and influential Los Angeles family. Under her name, the word Controversy was highlighted in blue.
Wulf clicked it and was immediately sent to another page containing a petition. The local Chumash tribe had been gathering signatures for decades trying to pressure the museum into releasing the La Brea Woman’s remains. As he continued to scroll, Wulf found what he was looking for. The subheading read: Threats Shut Down the Museum. It was dated back to January 3, 1971.
After clicking the link, an image of a local newspaper clipping filled his screen. It showed a picket line surrounding the museum. The signs read: GIVE HER BACK. SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU. LET HER COME HOME. And, WE WON’T REST UNTIL SHE CAN.
The article went on:
The local Chumash people continue to picket the Page Museum, demanding the return of who they say belong to them. Museum officials have repeatedly denied their request stating, “She will be returned to them when proof becomes available indicating her true lineage.” Local officials have been wary of wading in on such a tinderbox subject. According to Douglas Whitman, a local expert on such matters, “The Chumash people believe that specific ceremonial adornments and rituals are required for a member of their people to pass through to the afterlife.” Recent threats of violence and even a bomb threat has caused the museum to close its doors to the public for an indefinite time period. Clear
ly, this is a high-stakes he-said/she-said, and the people of Los Angeles, as well as the rest of the world, wait to see what happens next.
Wulf turned off his phone. He’d lived here his entire life, and it was as if none of this ever happened. Sure, there were picket-lines whenever the museum had an annual Gala, but there had never been threats of violence in recent memory. If the Chumash had never received the La Brea Woman’s remains, why did they stop trying? Surely, by now they would have taken the matter to court and yet there wasn’t a record of that happening.
Why now? Why Dr. Stevenson? Very good questions that he intended on getting to the bottom of, and soon.
Chapter Four
Mariska sat in silence while David drove her home. He’d been concerned when he walked into her hospital room and saw she’d gotten out of bed. Somehow, she’d managed to get dressed, find her purse, and stash the mysterious objects she’d found that night into her bra for safekeeping before he walked into the room. She ignored his protests and pushed the doctors for a quick discharge. Afterward, she used her best puppy-dog-eyes to make sure David would still be willing to give her a ride home. It worked, although she started to feel guilty for manipulating him. No wonder he was upset with her. Had the roles been reversed, she would have felt the same way.
“I know you’re irritated with me,” Mariska said, looking out the window as they passed by the many closed businesses at that early morning hour.
He turned to face her. She could see his reflection in the window, and his eyes were weary, almost sad.
“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. The doctors said—”
“I don’t care what the damn doctor said.” David smacked the steering wheel. “You were just in the hospital with a head injury, and you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
She turned and glared at him. “I wanted to go home, so I’m going home. You didn’t have to take me.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Your parents were already gone.”
“You always have a choice. We all have choices, David. I’m choosing to go home, and you’re choosing to take me there. I could have taken a cab, Uber, or maybe even called my assistant.”
“Kathy?” David said with a sarcastic tone. “She doesn’t even like you.”
Hearing the statement out loud, hit her in the stomach, but it wasn’t a surprise. “Who gives a shit? She doesn’t have to like me. Kathy’s my assistant, and she does her job without bitching about it.”
David rolled his eyes, letting out an exacerbated sigh through his nose. “Well, maybe not to your face, but…”
Mariska turned back to look out of the window. David was so overprotective at times it could be smothering. But how could she tell him he was smothering her when he was her friend, her only real friend?
“I’m sorry,” David whispered.
“It’s fine.” Mariska kept looking out the window.
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I really am. I just worry about you sometimes. I think you are so…so…”
She turned and gave him a look that said he better pick the right words and yanked her hand free.
He kept his attention on the road. “I worry your stubbornness might come between you and…well, your life.”
Her clenched jaw and pursed lips turned into a smirk. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Me? Dramatic?” He clutched for his imaginary pearls.
Laughter broke the tension in the air, and they both settled into a comfortable silence. David turned the car into the alleyway behind her apartment. When they came to a stop, Mariska felt a sudden and overwhelming fatigue she hadn’t felt before, not even at the hospital.
“Are you, okay?” David asked. “You look like a wet noodle.”
She yawned and stretched her arms out above her head, slowly bending her neck from side to side. The stiffness had set in on the car ride, and she suspected the drugs she’d been given in the hospital were wearing off.
“I’m just tired…and sore.” She took off her seatbelt and opened the door with a groan. “I think I’ll be better once I get a nice, long hot shower.”
“That does sound nice.” David’s face flushed red, and even in the poor lighting of the overhead car light, Mariska noticed it.
Was she ready to turn their friendship into something more? Yesterday, despite their mutual decision to not pursue a romantic relationship, she might have let it happen. But now was not the right time. Despite the butterflies of attraction, she said, “You’re more than welcome to take one too, but I’m first.”
“Great,” he said, getting out of the car and hurrying around the side to help her. “Here, grab my hands.”
She let him assist her to her feet. Her body swayed ever so slightly, but she fought hard not to let it show. Last thing she needed was David to throw her back into the car and rush her to the hospital.
Mariska threaded her arm easily between David’s elbow and torso. Their bodies linked together like they belonged that way. She leaned against him while they walked. His body helped to warm her on the cool, damp evening. The streetlight at the entrance to the apartment parking lot did little to illuminate their path, but it was nice not to squint past the headache. When they reached the long, steep, metal staircase that lead to the upstairs apartment, she looked up at the daunting challenge. When she’d found her apartment, she’d loved the fact it was located above a Korean market. A screech of tires behind them made her tighten her hold on David’s arm. Now she wished she’d chosen the posh high rise her mother tried to foist on her. It had an elevator.
Just the thought of stepping into another elevator tightened the breath in her chest. She had a sudden flash of memory, bright and blurry. She’d been in a hurry to retrieve her purse. After a dash down the hall, her hand settled on the knob to push the door to the Tombs open. She could still feel the cold metal in her grip. Her heart began to race. The La Brea woman was gone. A sound—movement behind her. Pain—
Someone had hit her from behind.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” David’s face swam into focus, inches from hers, concern etched deeply into his brow. “That’s it. We’re going back to—”
“No we’re not,” she told him with as much edge to her voice as she could muster.
He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you sure you can make it?” David asked, giving in with sigh. “We can always go back to my place.”
“Nope, I can do this.” She let go of his arm and grabbed both railings.
She counted each step in her head, feeling accomplished with each one she left behind. The first two or three steps weren’t that bad, but they became more and more difficult as she climbed. With less than five steps remaining, her quads started to shake, and her knees threatened to buckle. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” David anchored his hand below her elbow.
“Just a bit tired. I’ll be all right.”
Determined to make it to her apartment so she could take a shower, slip into something comfortable and relax in her own bed. She gritted her teeth and continued up the stairs. The last two were downright painful, but she made it to the landing.
“Here, let me get the door,” David said as he wiggled the key into the lock. “Are you sure this is the right key? It won’t unlock.”
“Oh yeah. The lock sticks.” She changed positions with him and pulled out the key. “You just have to use a bit of finesse.” She slid the key all the way into the lock then backed it out just a touch. “And then you…” She banged her fist against the door, above the knob, and turned the key. “Easy, enough.” Mariska grinned, despite the fact that all the banging and jiggling made her a bit nauseated.
David wasn’t nearly as impressed with her door opening skills as she was. “Right,” he said, giving her another furrowed-brow look. “You should get that fixed.”
David ushered her inside, and Mariska was sure to lock the do
orknob and both deadbolts. It wasn’t the best part of town, although it could have been much worse. The apartment itself was great. The only one in the building, it was expansive and the owner, Miss Yi, allowed her to decorate it however she wanted. Of course, her mom hired one of Los Angeles’ premiere interior designers, and the apartment went from a storage attic to a posh, postmodern living space that Mariska loved. And despite her mom’s protests, she’d been faithfully paying her parents back without fail for the renovations.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” David reached for her purse. “Here, why don’t you give me that and you can go in and start getting ready for that shower you’ve been talking about.”
Mariska hesitated, but after placing a hand to her chest, handed the purse over to David and smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you put it in the second bedroom’s walk-in closet? There’s a section for my accessories.”
David’s mouth flattened into a straight line, “For sure…the accessories section.”
They walked together down the hallway. She knew David hadn’t grown up in a life of luxury, and she might have felt bad about it, but between her headache, fatigue, and desire for a shower, she let it go. If he seemed weird about it later, she’d say something. He turned to walk into the second bedroom, and she stopped him. “Thank you for all your help.”
He smiled and gave her a nod, reaching for her hand. She let him. His strong, warm hand felt good around hers—comforting.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” David said.
“I do.” She squeezed his hand back. “And I hope you know how much you mean to me.”
His fingers relaxed just a bit. “I do.”
She released her grip, letting her arm fall to her side. “I shouldn’t be too long. Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll put this away, and if you don’t mind, I’ll meet you in the living room. There’s got to be something fun on television to watch.”
Preservation Page 3
