by Arlette Lees
“Glad to hear he’s going to make it. If you’re ready to see them tracks, we can take the pickup.”
“Let me get the casting mortar out of the trunk. A good set of tire tracks is as good as a fingerprint,” he said.
With the trunk of the car obscuring his face, Stoneacre took a good look at the pony. There was a swath of sweat on his back where a small rider had been seated. He wouldn’t have given it much thought if he hadn’t stopped off and talked with Millie at The Last Chance Café.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
WEB OF SECRETS
Amanda’s knees trembled as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Dack was having a leisurely smoke on the walkway when she lifted the house key from her purse. He was about to say something clever when he saw tears glittering in her eyelashes. She turned her head away and fumbled the key into the lock.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I can’t talk right now, Dack.” She hurried inside, kicked off her shoes and dropped onto her bed in tears. She would never forget the look on her boss’s face when she was dragged off in handcuffs. No matter what she said to them, Conover and Edwards weren’t interested in the truth. Amanda lay frozen on the bed as the phone rang, but she was too distraught to answer it.
After her interrogation, Edwards pushed her down the hall toward the exit. When no one was looking, he pinned her against the wall with a knee to her mid-section, jerked his head back and aimed directly at her face with his forehead. She let out a startled cry, but instead of head-butting her, he changed trajectory at the last second and drove his head into the wall, leaving a dent. He winked at her and smiled, blood dripping from the mole on his chin. From a room down the hall a woman stopped typing and poked her head around the door jamb.
“Everything all right down there?” she asked.
“I stumbled,” said Edwards. “Clumsy me.”
Amanda changed into shorts and sandals. She removed her pearl studs and dropped them in her jewelry box. When she reached for her charm bracelet, she noticed three pearl studs instead of two. She stared at them. She could almost hear her heart beat in the quiet room. The third earring wasn’t hers. Someone had lost it in Gavin’s car. Only one name came to mind. Crystal Monet.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SIRENS ON FAIRBANKS DRIVE
When Hallinan walked in the front door, the phone was ringing. It was Tug.
“Meet me on Fairbanks,” he said. “Someone at the house called for an ambulance. Now the coroner is up there.”
“Jesus Christ!” said Hallinan. “Heart attack?”
“There’s been a suicide.”
“Oh my god, Helen!”
When they arrived, two coroner’s assistants were carrying a stretcher to the van. Hallinan recognized Jess Burnside, one of the attendants.
“What happened here, Jess? I know these people.”
“It’s Nathan Adler…you know…Plastic Surgeon to the Stars. He shot the family cat, then ate his gun.” Hallinan glanced toward the front balcony where the last rays of the setting sun warmed the pink stucco. The young tom cat was gone. He felt sick to his stomach.
“Mrs. Adler’s doctor is on the way. She’s been asking for you.”
Hallinan looked at his partner. “Not this time,” said Tug. “I’ll be out front.”
Mrs. Adler sat alone on the front room sofa. She held out her hand. “Lieutenant, I knew you’d come.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, her eyes red-rimmed. He sat beside her and took her hand. It was fragile and cold. “I don’t know what’s gone wrong,” she said. “This used to be such a happy house.”
“I’m so sorry, Helen. What happened?” She picked up a letter-size folder from the end table and handed it to him. He let go of her hand and opened it. “A one-way ticket to Sweden?” he said.
“Nathan has been in touch with Sigrid all this time. He called her this afternoon. Everything was fine until he said he was flying to Stockholm. She confessed to having married months ago. Nathan dropped the phone and let out an anguished cry. I said, ‘Nathan, you must pull yourself together. This isn’t the end of the world.’
“He took a pistol out of the desk drawer. I said, ‘Please, don’t do anything foolish.’ I followed him to the front balcony, pleading with him to be sensible. He shot Teddy. The cat let out howl and tumbled into space. Then he turned to me with cold accusation in his eyes, like whatever had gone wrong was my fault. I thought he was going to shoot me, but instead.…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem real.”
“He was looking for someone to blame. None of this is your fault.”
Hallinan left when Helen’s doctor arrived. Media vans were pulling into the overlook. He linked up with Tug at the bottom of the stairs. From the corner of his eye he saw movement in a clump of star jasmine beside the garage. The sun had set and the purple shadows were deepening on the hillside. He squatted down. Two gold moons floated among the foliage. He separated the branches, reached out and gently touched the cat’s head. Teddy growled softly. His left back leg was dark with coagulating blood. Hallinan removed his jacket and turned to Tug. “Give me a hand? We have a survivor of this godawful mess.”
When Hallinan left Fairbanks Drive and headed to his veterinarian’s office, he never expected to see Mrs. Adler again. How wrong he was.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AMANDA MAKES A CALL
Amanda took the Club Velvet card out of her jewelry box and dialed the phone. A man picked up on the seventh ring.
“Club Velvet,” he shouted, over the uproar in the background.
“Crystal Monet, please.”
“What?”
“Crystal Monet,” she said, raising her voice.
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s about her Avon order.”
“Make it quick. She goes on in five minutes.” A fist pounded a wall.
“Yes, I’ve got it, Tom.” There was a click as he hung up.
“Miss Monet, I think you may have lost a pearl stud earring in the car of a mutual friend,” said Amanda.
“Who is this?”
“Amanda Chase.” She could hear the woman breathing on the other end.
“Three minutes to curtain!”
“I heard you the first time, Tom!” Then to Amanda: “You waited a long time to call.”
“I’m calling now.”
“It’s a bad time.”
“When is a good time?”
“Would you get your bony ass out here?” This time a different voice, deep and heavily accented.
“I’m coming, César!” she called back, her voice weak and shaky.
“Can we meet for coffee?” said Amanda. “Any place you say.”
“I’ll get back to you. Don’t call here again unless you want to get me killed.”
“Tell me something now? Anything I can hang onto.”
“I knew your husband, but we weren’t involved in the way you think.”
There was a click and she was gone.
Amanda had heard the name César for the first time. Was he the person Crystal and Gavin were trying to avoid? If so, how did he fit into the equation?
* * * * * * *
Crystal felt sick. She put her head in her hands, her stomach roiling with guilt. Gavin was dead because of her. She often asked herself if she’d loved him or if she’d been using him. It was a complicated question. In her world, everyone used everyone else.
* * * * * * *
Later that night Amanda woke to the sound of rain. She lay staring into the shadows, unable to fall back to sleep. She got up and made tea, watched rain drift through the golden halo of the streetlight and blow through the eucalyptus grove across the road. She went to the phone and dialed Rusty’s number. She was afraid he wouldn’t answer. Then she was afraid he would or that his wife would pick up. She hung up. She couldn’t decide which way to turn.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
INTO THE NIGHT
Before Hallinan walked out the door of the Veterinary Cl
inic, he rested his hand on Teddy’s head. Teddy looked up and purred through his pain, as good a metaphor for life as Hallinan could think of. The bullet had missed the bone and Dr. Butler had every confidence that he could pull the cat through.
He sat in the car and had a long slow smoke, leaned his head on the back of the seat, and watched rain-rivers slide down the windshield. His lower back was tight. His knee throbbed with ghost pain. He coughed, cracked the window, and headed east on Santa Monica to Vermont.
The Empire Hotel took on a sorrowful aspect as night-rain dripped from its rusty fire escapes and windowsills. Hallinan entered the lobby through the double doors of the recessed entry. Leather sofas and chairs flanked tables covered with newspapers and magazines. Tropical plants sat beside old-fashioned pillars, and sand urns bristled with the requisite number of cigarette butts and dead matches.
The night clerk looked up and set his racing form on the counter. The clock above his head read 1:05. “What can I do for you, Officer?” he said. He was elderly with dyed black hair pomaded over his bald spot and a leaky pen in his shirt pocket.
“That obvious, Mr…?”
“Parker Chitty. With that mug, it’s either L.A.P.D or the fire department, and the last time I looked the building wasn’t on fire.”
“You’re an observant fellow, Mr. Chitty. I’m here to do a welfare check on Miss Tyrisse Covington.”
“You’re two weeks too late. You’re the second officer been asking about her, but the other one was vice.”
“Stocky guy? Snout like a bulldog?”
“Complete with the snarl. I told him he was too damn short to be a cop. We didn’t get along so good after that.”
Hallinan smiled. “Storch has a retarded sense of humor.”
“Yup, that’s the one. Storch. He told me Miss Tyrisse was a man in drag. Like I was born yesterday? Said he was a deadbeat and a troublemaker and wanted him out of here. Always said ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ just to be a jerk. I told him he must be talking about another party, that our Tyrisse was well-regarded. He looks the lobby up and down. The ceiling. The walls. Finally he says to me: ‘You have a visit from the code inspector lately? I see three infractions just standing here.’ Hell, The Empire is eighty years old. Once inspectors start poking around I might as well burn the damn place down.”
“So, you asked her to leave.”
“I had to. I felt like a rat, but she kissed me on the cheek like a real lady and left. Never even asked for her deposit back.”
“Any idea where she went?”
“Never saw her after that.”
After he left The Empire, Hallinan took Sunset into the downtown. He cruised Pershing Square, the gay bars around 8th and Olive, Harold’s, The Crown Jewel, The Waldorf, and the donut shop on Main where the queens shot the shit. There was no sign of Tyrisse or her car.
A transient in wet rags, lacking two bits for a lice-infested flop, sheltered behind a row of trash cans. A stray dog shivered in the alcove of the all-night cafeteria. Hallinan nodded behind the wheel and headed for home, rain-shadows running like tears down his cheeks.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
OUT OF THE MIDNIGHT RAIN
Hallinan was walking up the porch steps when he heard a car door open and close on the quiet street behind him. Against the far curb, a black car was parked in the darkness beneath a large oak tree. His hand moved unconsciously to the gun beneath his coat.
A small figure stepped into the pale wash from the streetlight, wearing the kind of raincoat you might see on a London street. She stood in a swirl of rain, the wind rippling the silk scarf at her collar, a glitter of raindrops beading her hair.
“Amanda!” he said, covering the distance between them at a jog. He put a hand on either side of her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Not really,” she said, holding back tears. He pulled her close and she rested her head on his chest.
“Come inside,” he said, guiding her with a hand at her waist. “How long have you been waiting?”
“I don’t know. I fell asleep in the car.”
He hung her coat in the closet and led her to the sofa. “My god, your hands are like ice. Even the weatherman didn’t see this one coming. I’ll be right back.” He got up, turned up the thermostat and went into the kitchen. Within minutes he returned with a hot cup of Ovaltine. “Here, this will help warm you up.” He sat down beside her. “I tried to reach you after I heard what Conover and Edwards put you through,” he said. “They’re bullies. They have no evidence. Is that why you’ve come here?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Her hand trembled, rattling the cup against the saucer.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I wanted to call you so many times, but…it was the wedding ring. I didn’t want to impose…upset anyone.”
“Look,” he said, wiggling his finger. “The ring is gone. So is the woman who went with it.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she said, tension draining from her body. Then smiling: “I can’t believe I said that. You must think I’m just awful.”
Hallinan laughed. “Oh, I do, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.”
She set her cup down and went silent. He waited expectantly for her to speak, his eyes a steady, startling blue. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she said. “My world is falling apart. I’m going under. I don’t know how to cope with people like Conover and Edwards, and I’m embarrassed to go back to my job after being dragged off like a criminal. I need my job, but Mr. Cavendish will fire me the minute I show my face.”
Hallinan took a moment to consider his words. “Stay here tonight, Amanda. We can talk about it tomorrow. I have a guestroom upstairs and a pajama top you can wear. And I won’t let you go under, I promise.”
Sometime before dawn, Amanda crept into Rusty’s room and slipped in beside him. The summer rain ticked against the pane and wind blustered through the neighbor’s wind chimes. Only half-waking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She felt like she’d fallen into a feathered safety net. She turned toward Rusty and touched his face. He opened his eyes and began to say something. “It’s all right,” she said, and pressed her mouth against his. “Really, it’s all right.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EDWARDS GETS THE MESSAGE
Hallinan was picking Amanda up after his shift. He wanted to bring her to dinner at a place on La Cienega that served big filets and drinks with little paper umbrellas. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he approached the exit of the stationhouse. When he turned around, he was looking into the flushed face of Marsh Edwards. His eyes were glazed, his breath incendiary.
“I saw you drop the Chase woman at The Castleton this morning,” he said.
“Go home, Marsh. You’re drunk.”
“You’ve got the nerve sticking your nose in my investigation.”
“You don’t have an investigation. You have a vendetta. Now get the hell out of my face.”
“What’s up with you? You screwing that little tramp?”
Hallinan proceeded toward the door. Edwards blocked his path. Hallinan bumped him aside and kept going. Edwards grabbed the shoulder of his suit coat from behind and hung on.
Hallinan spun around, his elbow directed at Edwards’ nose. The cartilage snapped like a dry twig. Edwards gave a sharp yelp and stumbled into the wall, blood dripping between his fingers as he held the pieces of his face together. Hallinan straight-armed through the door without looking back.
Amanda was dressed in jeans, a blue-and-white checked blouse, and flip-flops when Hallinan arrived at her door.
“You’ve changed your mind about dinner,” he said.
“I hope you’re not disappointed, but I’m too tired for anything fancy. Could we eat at your place?”
“All I have are frozen TV dinners and cabernet.”
“Sounds like a real bacchanal. We can eat and watch Lucy, if that’s okay,”
“Sounds great.”
“By the way, Rusty, you have blood on the front of your shirt.”
He looked down. “I wonder where that came from?”
Hallinan changed into something casual when they got to Sandalwood. He showed off his fruit trees and flower beds, everything washed clean from the night’s rain. Amanda kicked off her flip-flops. “The grass feels so good,” she said. “There’s a small patch at The Castleton, but no one’s allowed to walk on it.” She buried her nose in the sweet peas, the late afternoon sun bringing out the gold highlights in her hair.
“How about an official guided tour of the house?”
She slipped back into her flip-flops and they went up the porch steps. He held the door and they went inside. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, after she’d seen every nook and cranny. “I love a house that’s been lived in, something with history.”
“There’s three bedrooms, plenty of room for kids and.…” He cut his words off mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, Amanda. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ve put the miscarriage behind me. Once they catch the person who murdered Gavin, I’m closing that chapter of my life. Come on,” she said. “Let’s raid the refrigerator.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
END OF THE LINE
There was a drum roll. The house lights dimmed and Crystal stepped into the spotlight in a handful of feathers and rhinestones. She wore a wig to cover her baldness, but there was nothing to cover a once-beautiful body that had shrunken to skeletal proportions.
She moved listlessly to the beat of the drum, slowly peeling off a red velvet glove. She was dizzy and the footlights blurred her vision. She was out of sync with the music, stumbled and twisted an ankle. She kept smiling and smiling, tears running down her face.
The booing began. A bottle smashed at her feet. A beer glass hit her shoulder. She stumbled into the wings and fell into the arms of old Tom. When she looked up, César was staring at her, his eyes cold and calculating.
