“So did you ask Bill what time I got here?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Myers cocked an eyebrow. “And he says he doesn't know. He had to leave the gate to check on a possible coyote in the area.”
“What?” Then I thought of something. “The gate's got video surveillance, right? It'll show when I got here.”
Myers shook his head.
“The video's missing, but I don't suppose you know anything about that, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ninety-nine problems and the missing video's one of them, huh?”
I saw the hint of a smile trace his lips.
* * * *
After I signed a consent for Myers to search my car, he had Dillups and another uniform go through it. I thought about revoking the search when I saw Dillups was involved, but I figured the sooner they did what they wanted to do, the quicker I'd be on my way. Besides tossing all of my personal items on the ground as carelessly as they could, they accomplished nothing.
“Satisfied?” I asked with all the sarcasm I could muster.
Dillups glared at me and walked around my car. I heard a cracking sound and stepped around so I could see. My Louis Vuitton sunglasses lay in pieces on the hard asphalt. That's when I went off calling Dillups every nasty name I could think of. Myers came walking over and told me to can it.
“Look what that jerk did to my sunglasses,” I said. “My Louis Vuitton sunglasses.”
Myers looked down at them, then over to the big cop. “Troy, you know anything about this?”
Troy? Oh-my-God, I thought. Did this guy think he was Hollywood material or what?
Dillups shook his head. “Nope. Those glasses were like that when I found them.” He made a face at me.
I started to protest but Myers held up his palm. “You want outta here?”
“Sure do,” I said. I shot Dillups another searing look.
“Go,” Myers said. “Just don't go too far. I may need to talk to you again.”
As I was getting into my car the Rosenettes's black Mercedes S Class pulled up. The chauffeur got out looking rather dapper in his black uniform pants and white shirt and tie. Usually he wore a black jacket, but in this heat I didn't blame him for having taken it off. His blond hair was spiked and was always in place.
“Hey, what's going on?” he asked. He looked perplexed. “Who are you?”
Myers held up his badge. “And you are . . . ?”
“Roy Bean, the Rosenettes's chauffeur.” He frowned. “What the cops doing here? Something happen?”
Myers looked at the car, then back to Roy. “You always arrive for work driving a Benz?”
Roy shrugged. “I had to take it for an oil change.”
“Who else is in the car?”
“Mrs. Rosenette and her daughter. I just picked them up from the spa.”
Myers's mouth tightened. Suddenly the rear door of the Benz opened and Ms. Rosenette got out. Her face was pulled taut. Maybe it was the chemical peel treatments she'd been going through the past couple weeks. She almost looked younger than the soon-to-be bride.
“What's going on here?” she asked.
The other rear passenger door popped open and Heni jumped out. “Roy, what is this?” Her words were slurred. “Are these cops?”
She was thin as wind, with dirty blonde hair looking like she'd just come from an after-hours nightclub. She wore a short, black, tank-style Prada dress with the pair of platform Giuseppe pumps I had picked up for her just last week. And of course, her staple piece, the dark designer shades to hide her eyes, or more importantly her pupils. Knowing Heni, she'd probably had Roy pick her up right from the club for her spa date with her mom, who acted like her BFF rather than her mother.
Myers spoke into his radio and I saw an advancing squad of police moving toward us. He called over to Ms. Rosenette saying he'd speak to her in a moment.
As if Myers needed any more problems to contend with, a white Celica came through the gate and stopped behind the Benz. Ruby Ann got out and looked around, her eyes wide. I could see a dark-skinned man behind the wheel looking very uncomfortable.
“Who's this?” Myers asked.
Roy glanced over his shoulder. “Ruby Ann Polk, the Rosenettes's maid.”
Ruby Ann walked over to my car and leaned down. “Girl, what's happening here? What's all the po-lice doing here?”
She was in her maid's uniform, a black dress trimmed in white lace.
Before I could say anything Myers strode over and thrust his hand between us. “Ms. Deshay was just leaving. Ms. Polk, I'm Detective Myers and I'll have to ask you to go over there and wait until I can talk to you.” He waved and two uniformed cops came trotting over.
Ruby Ann's eyes widened. “Something happen?” She directed the question to me.
Myers broke in. “Like I said, she was just leaving.” He turned to me. “Unless you'd rather we continue our conversation at the station.”
I pressed the start button. “You don't got to tell me twice.” Then I thought of something. “You know, I did see something when I was pulling in though.”
“Oh?”
“A green Crown Vic was leaving kind of fast when I was coming in.”
“Who was driving it?”
I shrugged. “Tinted windows. Didn't see.”
“Plate?”
I shook my head.
I heard one of the cops say the words “murder scene.” Ms. Rosenette shook and put her face in her hands. Heni was right beside her now and they both broke into tears, holding each other. The cries of the two wailing women filtered over to us. Myers glanced over his shoulder, cussed, and gave me one of his cards. “If you think of anything useful, call me. Now go.”
“But don't leave town?” I said, pressing the shift lever into drive.
He smirked. “Keep in touch.”
I waggled my fingers. “Whatever.”
* * * *
Back home, I changed clothes and pinned up my hair. Then I unloaded all the stuff I'd bought for the Rosenettes into my spare room. I'd have to either return it or get paid before my credit card balance went ballistic. And with this new development, who knew when that would be.
It had been about an hour or so since I'd left the scene of the crime, so I figured I might luck out with a phone call and get some kind of update. I dialed the Rosenettes's number.
“Ruby Ann, it's Stacey. How's Ms. Rosenette doing? Any chance I could talk to her for minute?”
“Sorry, girl. She ain't taking no calls.”
“What's going on there?”
“Ain't supposed to talk now. The po-po's still here interviewing everybody.”
“What they asking?”
“'Bout who all works here. Me, James, Roy, you.”
“Me? What they asking about me?”
I heard her laugh. “Relax. I ain't no snitch. Least not till they start offering some big reward money for information.”
“What you mean by that?” I asked.
Her voice turned cold. “I'll just keep that to myself. Like I said, at least until I smell the money.” She hung up.
I considered what Ruby Ann had said, not feeling any easier about the direction of the investigation. I fished Myers's card out of my purse and called the number, but it went immediately to voice mail. No help there. There was one other person I needed to talk to: Bill, the security gate guard. Why hadn't he backed me up about seeing me arrive? He was usually so friendly and helpful. Retired cop, he'd even helped me pick out my gun one afternoon after I'd admired his . . . Him I might be able to get to, but I'd need to look him in the eye and ask him why he hadn't backed up my arrival time.
I got back in my car and drove over to Lake in the Desert hoping that Bill was back manning his post, but no such luck. The guard inside was an older white guy with slicked back, dyed hair. He looked like an Elvis impersonator way past the jumpsuit stage.
I rolled down my window and flashed him my most dazzling smile. From
the way he grinned back at me I figured a little flirting might go a long way.
“Hey, good-looking,” he said. “Nice bling on your X5.” He pointed to my customized hood emblem.
I thanked him and introduced myself.
He said his name was Vern. I told him I needed to get in to see the Rosenettes.
Vern shook his head. “No can do. There was an incident over there earlier.”
I purposely widened my eyes. “Incident? What kind?”
He smiled a knowing smile. “Something big. Can't talk about it. Orders.”
“Wow.” I raised my eyebrows pretending I was impressed. “Say, is Bill around?”
“Bill?” His brow creased. “You know him?”
“Yeah, where is he?”
“Went home sick. Guess he couldn't take the pressure.” Vern's eyebrows twitched. “Not everybody can. I work the night shift. They called me in special.”
“I'll bet,” I said, keeping the wattage up high in my smile. “Say, what kind of car does Bill drive? I thought I might have passed him earlier. He lives in Henderson, right?”
Vern shook his head. “Don't know where he lives. His car is a Honda, but I doubt you passed him. His wife drops him off and picks him up.”
“No place to park?”
He shook his head. “Just about all of us working-men types gets dropped off or shuttled in, myself included.”
“Anybody drive a green Crown Vic?”
His eyes narrowed and he looked thoughtful. “Nope.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. “The rich folks don't like regular cars like Hondas and Fords sitting around messing up their landscape. Unless it's a Benz or a Beemer.” He grinned at my car. “Why?”
“I saw one of those around here.”
Vern shook his head. “Must have been somebody getting dropped off.”
“Hey,” I said, “don't you guys have video surveillance here? Can't you just wind it back to see what time Bill left?”
Vern shook his head. “The disk is missing. Cops must have already taken it.”
I knew the cops hadn't. I chatted with him a few minutes more. No procession of cop cars seemed to be leaving the Rosenettes, so I said good-bye and did a U-turn.
Where did I go from here? I had to figure out how to take some proactive steps to clear myself, but how? I took out Myers's card and dialed his number again. Just like before, it went to voice mail. I left him a generic message asking him to call me so we could get any “misunderstandings” straightened out. I also mentioned that I'd been checking on that green Crown Vic. I know I sounded like a babbling nerd.
With no other options, I decided to drive home. I had this feeling that someone was following me so I made a couple of right turns and stopped. When no suspicious cars passed by, I figured I'd been imagining things. I got back on Flamingo and began driving again, mulling things over as I went. I knew Bill was the key. The missing video disk, his unexplained absence this afternoon, and most of all, his failure to back me up on what time I got there. He had to have seen me. I mean, the man wasn't wearing blinders or anything.
My house was coming up so I glanced in my mirrors again before I made my sweeping wide turn. No sinister looking vehicles to be seen anywhere. I smiled and pressed my garage door opener.
The garage door didn't budge.
I hit the brakes and swore. Great, just what I needed—a broken garage door opener. I hit the button again. The overhead door seemed to stare back in immobile defiance. I slammed the X5 into park and got out, shuffling through my purse for my house keys. Then, as I was approaching the front door, I heard the garage door opener make a funny sound, like the linkage was reconnecting. What the hell's going on, I wondered. I stepped back to my BMW and pressed the garage door opener again. This time the overhead door went right up. I got back in my car and drove it inside the garage, hitting the opener again to close the overhead door after me.
I watched the chain revolving around the gears lowering the door. It seemed to be working fine, so long as the metal clip that hooked onto the metal hasp on the door was in place. It must have slipped out somehow.
I checked the hanging manual-disconnect pull-cord. It felt snug. I knew from experience it took a bit of muscle to disconnect the clip from the hasp so that the door could be raised manually.
As long as it's working now, I thought. Maneuvering around the car to my door, I almost tripped over a rubber wedge and a long, metal rod with a hook on one end. I didn't know what it was, or how it got there, but worse than that, I'd almost ruined my Louboutin shoe. No doubt about it, I'd been having a real bad day. Not to mention that I hadn't been paid, I'd been handcuffed, my clothes were all filthy from the squad car seat, I'd watched some jerk stomp on my Louis Vuitton sunglasses, and I was still a suspect in a murder investigation. Plus, the gate video that would clear me was strangely missing, and the security guy I thought had my back had been acting equally strange. What did it all mean?
I normally keep the door between my garage and house unlocked. As I opened the door I got the surprise of my life. I was staring straight into the barrel of a big old gun. Again! But what was even more shocking was the guy who was holding it.
Bill, the always friendly security guard. But in this case, not so friendly.
I swallowed my fear and tried pretending I was Wonder Woman. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Please don't make me shoot you, Stacey,” he said. His face was as white as a bleached pillowcase with ironed-in creases. His hands looked chalky. He had on latex gloves.
“You'd better have a good explanation for being here,” I said, pointing my cell phone like a gun. “I just called the cops.”
Bill's whole body jerked, like somebody had slapped him. I thought about trying to run then, wondering if he'd really shoot, but someone came up behind me and pulled my cell phone out of my hand. It was Roy, the chauffeur. He was wearing gloves too.
“She didn't make no call,” he said, scrutinizing my phone. “Where we going to do her?”
Bill's mouth twitched. He suddenly looked like he'd aged ten years in a minute. “No. No more killing!”
“We ain't got much choice,” Roy said. “Do we, Dad?" He said it with a sarcastic lilt to his voice. I was both shocked and scared to death.
Bill wiped a hand over his face. “Just let me think this through,”
“Fine,” Roy said. “You think about it and I'll take care of business.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small gun. When he held it to my head I realized it was mine. “Maybe a nice, easily explainable suicide.”
“Don't go pointing that thing.” Bill's voice was a growl. “That's how you got in trouble in the first place. A damn drug dealer. You know how many of you I put away when I was on the job?”
Roy smirked. “Hey, I was just giving them something they wanted. If old man Rosenette hadn't found out it was me supplying Heni, I'd still be sitting pretty.”
It was clear to me now who'd killed Mr. Rosenette. And who was covering it up. I glanced at Bill. “He's your son?" I asked.
Ignoring me, Roy handed him my gun. “You still have to change the barrel, right, Dad?”
Bill compressed his lips. “We'll take her with us for now.” He motioned his head toward the garage. They were going to jack my car, with me in it. I still had the keys in my hand, but they didn't know that. As we walked down the hall toward the garage I waited for the right moment. When Bill stepped through the door and into the garage, I pressed the alarm button. My Beemer erupted with a sudden frenzy of whopping sirens. Bill's head whirled toward the car. So did Roy's. I grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doorway and into the garage, then shot back through the door and slammed it behind me, twisting the lock. I knew it wouldn't hold them for long, but I gambled I had enough time to get out the front door. I moved at top speed, searching my purse for my cell phone; then I remembered that Roy had it. I ripped open the front door and took off running. I used to run track in high school, but it
's hard to sprint in stilettos. I paused to shake my shoes off and it cost me precious seconds. I heard the grunting and footsteps just before Roy tackled me.
I felt the sting of the gravel and dirt hitting my bare shoulder. We wrestled together. I kicked him, but he was too strong. Roy straddled me and reached over and grabbed one of the decorative rocks I had in the front of house. He drew his arm back, the rock in his hand. Silhouetted by the sun, he looked like a shadow. I crossed my arms preparing for the blow. Then the sharp cracking sound of a gunshot, and the shadow became Roy again as he jerked forward, the rock slipping from his hand. His head cocked back over his shoulder.
Bill stood there holding a gun with both hands. A whisper of smoke crept from the barrel.
“Dad . . . what . . . ?” Roy slumped over to the side, and I managed to work my way from under him.
Tears ran down Bill's face. He wiped his eyes. “I told him no more killing. Why wouldn't he listen to me?” His voice cracked and he began sobbing. I looked beyond him and saw Detective Myers standing at the corner of my garage pointing his own gun at Bill's back.
“Police, drop your weapon,” Myers said.
Bill jerked, like Myers's words had been bullets, and the big revolver he was holding slipped from his slick, gloved fingers. Myer said something into his radio as he moved forward to handcuff Bill.
I managed to get to my feet, with no help from Myers. He was bent over, checking Roy.
“Ambulance is on the way,” Myers said. “Hold on.”
“He gonna live?” I asked.
Myers gave a small nod. “Looks like it.”
“Too bad. By the way, he's the one that killed Mr. Rosenette. Not me.” I pointed to Bill. “And he's got my gun in his pocket. They were gonna frame me.”
“I figured as much,” Myers said.
“How did you manage to show up like the old Lone Ranger, anyway?”
Myers smiled. “I was following you. Figured you'd lead me to good old Bill.”
AHMM, May 2012 Page 10
