The rich baritone made even more velvety by a BBC British accent filled the room. “Hallo, Linnet, first, not to worry, Vento is fine. He misses you. Which got me to thinking; if you’re going to be stuck on the Left Coast for weeks and perhaps months it might make it more tolerable if you had your horse. So, Vento is on a van heading to the LA Equestrian Center. He should arrive day after tomorrow. Everything in terms of board has been arranged, and I have a dressage instructor friend who will keep an eye on him, and she can both coach you and ride Vento if you are just too busy. Cheers.”
I stared at the phone. It wasn’t all that uncommon in horse circles. Vans crisscrossed the country carrying race horses and top show horses from coast to coast each week, but I wasn’t a professional rider, and Vento wasn’t really my horse; he was Jolly’s. He was clearly a madman, but if the Englishman had been closer I would have kissed him. I was good about using the health club at the Oakwood, but the surroundings were so sterile. How much better to be outside with a horse.
I went to bed, feeling marginally better because I had good news and a plan of action. Something strange was happening, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
9
In addition to the pools, the heath club, and the clubhouse complete with Ping-Pong and pool tables, the Oakwood had a dry cleaner and a small grocery store on site. At six thirty, after three hours of sleep, I staggered into the kitchen. An examination of my fridge revealed a deficit of orange juice, so I decided to make use of the market. As I walked down paths and stairs to the little market to pick up a carton of orange juice and the LA Times, I wished David had called to tell me the time of my appointment at police headquarters. Stressing that it might be at eight a.m. was what had me get up at so damn early.
As if in answer to my thoughts my cell phone rang, but it wasn’t David, it was Caroline calling from New York. My first paranoid thought was for the cat.
“Oh, God, is Gadzooks okay?”
“He’s fine,” she said with that faint tone of impatience that she always had when she talked to me.
“Then why are you calling?” I asked.
“Don’t be dense! To check on you, of course.”
“Oh, no. How did you find out? Is it in the New York papers. Tell me it’s not in the New York papers.”
“The shooting is, but you’re not singled out. David called the senior partners, and the word got out.”
“Wow, the vamps must be slipping. They’re usually better about keeping things quiet. Wonder—”
“Would you stop nattering! Linnet, how are you? Are you okay? Did you get hurt? All we heard was that you were there, the partners did fine about keeping quiet about the stuff that really mattered. Like if you were okay. And why didn’t you call any of us?”
Even through the forced impatience I could hear the honest concern, and it warmed the cold place that I hadn’t realized had settled into my chest. I sat down on a convenient (if damp) bench and blinked away the sudden moisture that filled my eyes.
“I didn’t think about it. There’s something—” I broke off realizing how easy it was to hack cell phones. “I was checking out a few things, and then I tried to get a little sleep.”
Caroline wasn’t stupid. Nobody was who worked at Ishmael, McGillary and Gold. “Call me back when you feel like it’s appropriate.”
“Will do. Tell everybody hi.”
“I will. They’ll be glad to know you’re okay.”
Tears threatened once again as I stuck the phone back in my pants pocket and considered the women that I worked with. All of them brilliant and dedicated, graduates of the finest law schools, and most of them would never make partner as long as they stayed at a vampire-owned law firm. Maybe we were all crazy, and what we really needed to do was set up our own firm. I continued to the market, stepped through the doors, and headed to the cold case. There was an elderly man with a great smile pulling out a yogurt.
“What do you need, young lady?” he asked.
“Orange juice.”
“Good healthy thing. That’s how you stay so beautiful.” I blushed, as he handed me a carton. “Did you get up early to watch the announcement?”
“Announcement?” I repeated stupidly.
“For the Academy Awards. I’m still interested even though I’ve been retired for almost twenty years.”
“Uh, no. I didn’t know it was happening,” I replied.
He chuckled. “You must not be from around here or in the industry.”
“Both. Anything interesting in the nominations?” I asked as we walked toward the checkout counter together.
“One of those Álfar fellahs got nominated. Best Supporting Actor.”
We reached the counter. There was a stack of newspapers next to the register, and I nearly dropped the juice because on the front page was a picture of David and me driving off the Warner Bros. lot. It looked like the old vampire whammy could cloud men’s minds but not digital cameras. I bought the paper along with my juice, and rushed out of the store. My elderly admirer gave me a wink as I raced past.
Back in the apartment I scanned the article. It was basic just-the-facts-ma’am reporting, including the statements by the reporters and paparazzi that all they saw was fog. But deep in the paper the editorial knives came out. It was all about the similarities between the industry and the Powers in terms of believing they were above the law, and that the rules that applied to ordinary people didn’t apply to them. They reflected that Jondin would probably get off by going into rehab and issuing a tearful apology on The Tonight Show. Especially since “supposed” officers of the court seemed determined to impede the investigation by refusing to talk to the police. From there it segued into musing about the first Álfar Academy Award nomination.
Information about the nominations was on page two. I had managed to knock a bunch of actors off the front page of the Los Angeles Times in friggin’ Hollywood. There were pictures of the nominees for Best Actor and Best Actress, and the first Álfar nomination was felt to be worthy of a photograph too. I studied the picture of a smiling Álfar with a slightly beaky nose, and a lump that suggested it had been broken sometime in the distant past, a pointed chin, and up-tilted eyes. Since the photo was a black-and-white there was no sense of the colors of his hair, but the different shades of gray suggested he was a piebald like so many of them. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a film with Jujuran Ne Seran, but apparently he had turned in a stunning performance as the gay lover of a politician torn between love and a run at the White House.
My phone rang as I was wallowing in Hollywood news and trying to forget I was once more on the front page of a major newspaper. It was David.
“Did you see…,” we said in concert.
“You first,” I said.
“Montolbano is going in at eleven a.m. with Hank. I think you and I need to get in there as quickly as possible.”
“I agree. I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll pick you up. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”
“Yes, but you won’t be here in twenty minutes. I’ll call the front gate to get you on the drive-on list.”
He hung up and I tossed an English muffin in the toaster and ran for the shower. I had just gotten lather all over me when I heard the phone ringing. Usually I would have just let it go to voice mail, but the photo and the implications being drawn from it had me rattled. I bolted out of the shower, ran into the living room, and grabbed the phone on the kitchen counter.
“Hello?”
“Bitch. Too good to defend decent human people. You’ll burn in hell!” It was the same voice that had called me a whore a few nights before.
The naked hatred in the voice shook me, then my initial shock and fear passed, and rage buzzed in my head.
“Fuck you!” I screamed into the phone, but they had already hung up.
The smell of burning muffin assailed my nose. I popped the charred muffin out of the toaster, turned down the setting and put in another one, then headed bac
k to my interrupted shower. Somehow I had become the focus for the anti-Álfar fury. The vitriol had shaken me, but also made me angry. Yeah, I was so going to talk to the people at Human First.
I ate with one hand while I dried my hair and applied makeup with the other, and I was ready in thirty minutes. I then sat down to watch the local news. It was all about the shooting at Warner Bros. and the nominations. The picture of David and me kept making an appearance with much tsk-tsking and editorializing from the anchors about the secrecy of the Powers. David put in a literal appearance forty minutes after his call. His expression was sour, and his face was pinched and hollow. Clearly he hadn’t had time for breakfast.
“Told you,” I said. He made a growly sound, settled his broadbrimmed hat back on his head, and opened his umbrella. “That’s bad luck, you know.”
The growl resolved into words. “Why are you irritating me this morning?”
“Low impulse control due to lack of sleep?” I suggested.
“You always have low impulse control,” he said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Let’s go.”
I followed him down the hall to the stairs. The metal and concrete rang hollowly beneath our feet as we hurried down. I considered telling him about the phone calls, but decided to wait until he’d eaten. It would just make him angrier, and I could imagine what he would say: “And just what am I supposed to do about it?” Which would be a fair question. No, I’d hold off until I’d done a bit more investigating.
* * *
Downtown Los Angeles was easy to spot. The skyscrapers seemed more like steel-and-glass spikes that had been driven in the heart of a tangle of single-story buildings rather than an actual city center.
LAPD headquarters was in a multistory, glass monolith in the center of downtown. The old headquarters was known as Parker Center, after a police chief who’d run the LAPD through all of the 1950s and into the 1960s. Some people wanted the new building to bear the same name, but since William Parker had a somewhat checkered history when it came to minority relations—the Watts riot had occurred during his tenure—bestowing his name on the new building was proving to be a political hot potato.
We parked, walked through the lobby, which was so long it seemed more like a runway than a lobby, and were taken up to a conference room to Detective Ernesto Rodriquez. He stood up at our entrance and studied me while I studied him. He sported a conquistador’s spade beard, which didn’t really suit his round face, but he had gentle eyes and a nice smile, with curved full lips beneath the mustache.
“Ms. Ellery, thanks for coming in.”
“My pleasure.”
“Get you anything?” he asked.
“Coffee would be great. I didn’t have time for a cup this morning.”
“Take anything?”
“No, straight.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He disappeared out the door.
I leaned in to David. “He didn’t offer you anything.”
“Somehow I think the police would be uncomfortable with having beakers of blood in their fridge,” he whispered back.
“Bet they do in New York,” I said.
“Let’s not find out, shall we?”
Rodriquez returned with two cups and settled into a chair across from me. “Mind if I tape this?” I glanced at David, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. My nod was bigger. “Great.” Rodriquez set a small recorder on the table between us and turned it on. “Just tell me in your own words what happened.”
So I did. By the end he had the strangest expression on his face. I had seen the same expression on the face of the detective in New York when I told him how a werewolf had taken a header down an elevator shaft while trying to rend me limb from limb. I’d seen it again on the face of the detective in Bayonne when I’d told him about the werewolf attack on an old retired lawyer that had ended up with five dead werewolves and a dead lawyer, and me escaping unharmed. Now here it was again.
There was a long silence, then Rodriquez said, sort of hesitantly, “You must be the luckiest person alive.”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean … I’m alive.”
“I know it seems incredible—” David began, but Rodriquez cut him off.
“Yeah, it does, but it also pretty much matches what Ms. Morales told us.”
“Ms. Morales?” I asked.
“The EMT.”
“Oh, Consuela … Connie.”
“Well, she says you saved her life when you ran between her and the shooter.”
David turned and gave me a look. I hadn’t exactly mentioned that part, figuring I would get just this reaction. I gave him an apologetic shrug. “I had to do something.”
“Let me make the argument that hiding also constitutes doing something,” he said.
“She was going to shoot that girl.”
The detective jumped back in, sensing a squabble coming. “How did Jondin seem to you? During the events?” Rodriquez asked.
I sat and thought about that. Tried to picture that cold, beautiful face. Then it struck me. “Expressionless. She seemed … detached.”
“Not angry?”
“No.”
“Did she say anything?” he asked.
“No. She didn’t make a sound until she got hurt and then she just screamed.” The detective gave a gusting sigh and leaned back in his chair. “What?” I asked and gave him an encouraging smile.
“Jondin claims she has no memory of the events. None. Says she has no idea even where she got the guns,” the detective said.
“She had a freaking arsenal. That’s not something you buy in an afternoon,” I said.
“Have you been able to trace them?” David asked.
“It’s only been a day. Once we have that information, hopefully, it will give us some more to go on.”
David stood. “Well, it seems you’ve exhausted your questions for Ms. Ellery.”
Rodriquez scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it for now. Thanks again for coming in.”
We shook hands all around though I noticed that the policeman thrust his hand into his pants pocket after the cold clasp of David’s hand.
“If you should think of anything else.” He handed me his card.
As David and I walked to the elevator I said, “Well, that was painless. You probably didn’t need to come with me.”
“I was not going to leave you alone.” He then suddenly added. “You tend to get into trouble when left alone.”
“That is so totally unfair,” I said. The elevator arrived with an anemic ding.
“Oh really? Three werewolf assaults, and now this.” We stepped onto the elevator, and David punched the lobby button.
“I wasn’t the target of this. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I countered.
“You could say that’s how all the trouble started back in New York. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when Chip got killed, and then things … escalated.” He gazed down at me. And now you’re digging into these events here. I worry, Linnet.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, and hoped it wasn’t famous last words.
10
Even though I had a million questions buzzing around in my head and things I needed to do, by the time we finished at LAPD headquarters I was a zombie. I would think I had grasped a thought thread only to have it turn to smoke or grind to a halt as my brain tried to shut down. Since the day’s hearing had been canceled, I collected my car from the office parking garage and very carefully drove myself back to the Oakwood.
There was a takeout menu from a nearby Chinese place hanging on the doorknob. That looked good to me. I ordered in kung pao chicken with fried rice, sat down to wait for the food, and tried not to fall asleep. Didn’t work. I was jerked awake by a knock at the door.
“Just a minute,” I called, stumbled over to my purse and grabbed out some cash.
After some fumbling I got the chain off the door, threw the deadbolt, and opened the door. Instead of th
e usual pimple-faced delivery teenager there was my father. Fatigue had painted dark circles beneath his gray eyes, which were filled with worry. I gave a half sob, half moan of relief and fell into his embrace.
“Oh, Linnie, honey.” One hand was patting all over my back as if reassuring himself that I was there and intact.
“Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here, but it’s such a long way—”
“Shhh.”
“Come in.” I noticed there was an overnight case at his feet. He gathered up his small bag and followed me into the apartment.
We settled onto the couch and I nestled against him. “How did you find out?”
“It was all over the news.”
“About me?”
“No, about the shootings, but then Shade let me know you had been there. Now, tell me what happened.”
So, I did. After I finished we sat in silence for a few minutes. Then I hesitantly asked, “Daddy, do you think there’s something weird about me?”
The arm around my shoulder stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Everybody talks about how lucky I am, but I don’t feel lucky because these awful things keep happening to me or around me.” I sighed. “Eventually I’m going to be afraid to leave home.”
“Well, speaking of home … why don’t you come back to Rhode Island with me? Catch your breath. Decide what you want to do.”
“Is Mom away on a trip?”
“No.”
“Then you know how relaxing it’s going to be. We drive each other crazy. I want to see it through out here, and David needs my help.” I didn’t mention my belief that some other force was at work or my determination to figure out what it was. That would only have worried him.
A memory came jostling and pushing its way to the fore. Last time I’d been in terrible danger during the werewolf attacks my dad had been adamant that I not leave IMG. In fact he had made damn sure my job was secure even before he came to see me. Now suddenly it was all “Why don’t you come home?” I pointed this out to him.
He spread his hands apologetically. “This is the fourth time you’ve been in terrible danger. I guess I’m worried that if it happened again you wouldn’t be so lucky.”
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