by Anna Burke
“No, not yet, Jessica. Geez, it’s been two days since we talked. Now, we’ve got all that stuff you collected to go through. What’s the rush with Donnelly?”
“If he doesn’t refer you to his lawyer when you ask those questions about his daughter, ask him about Eric Conroy while you’re at it. Tell me how Donnelly reacts,” Jessica had said.
“Eric Conroy? Who’s that?”
“I’m sure he’s Libby’s red devil, Detective.”
“Oh no, we’re not going down the path with that escapee from looneyville, are we?”
“You do know it’s not a good thing to refer to people with mental health problems as escapees from looneyville, right?”
“Save all that for the shrinks. In my book, crazy is as crazy does. It’s my job to figure out whodunit, not why. I’ll take that back. Motive matters, but all that who-shot-John crap about mitigating circumstances—that’s for you and your lawyer cronies to deal with. So, what’s up with this Eric Conroy character?”
“Frank and Don Fontana told you about all the items retrieved from our search of Libby’s condo, car and storage area. I don’t know if they mentioned the items found at Dr. Carr’s office.”
“The main thing I heard was Carr's house and office got a good cleaning. That means whoever caused all the trouble at the hospital is still at it. Somebody’s making an awful lot of effort to muck with the investigation into Carr’s life. They mentioned something about a couple black and white shots of some guy.”
“Yes, Detective, it’s Eric Conroy in those photos. I didn’t recognize him right away. You know me and kismet, though. I stumbled upon someone who saw one of the photos on my phone, and reminded me I’d met the man.”
“Stop with the kismet stuff already. That drives me crazy. The cleanup crew missed a few photos, so what?”
“Eric Conroy is in Carr’s hallway and at the door of Carr’s office—reaching for the door handle and about to go inside. Then, a few minutes later they’re leaving together, all chummy. They look like images taken from a surveillance camera in that hallway outside Carr’s office. Jerry Reynolds is trying to figure out how Carr got hold of them.”
“So what? Some guy you met before was seeing a shrink, big deal. Carr must have had male clients, in addition to all the screwed-up Beverly Hills girls’ club members.”
“Sure, but why have those photos of the guy? I doubt Carr kept photographic records of everyone in his care. And detective, I’ll bet they don’t all look like red devils. That’s hard to see in the black and white photos we found, but go check out photos on the Internet. It’ll be easier to get what I’m saying. With a little goatee and bright red hair, I can see how Libby could have come up with that red devil name for Conroy.”
“That’s a stretch, Jessica, to make red hair and a goatee the basis for suspecting Conroy was Carr’s co-conspirator. Heck, we don’t even know yet, what scheme Carr had going, involving Libby Van Der Woert, Shannon Donnelly or anybody else. You’re the one who said we may all be wasting our time looking for this Donnelly woman if she’s taken off with some new boyfriend, or maybe she’s whiling away the hours in a spa retreat somewhere. We don’t even have a body.”
“Yes, but someone tried to kill Libby and did a damn good job sanitizing Carr’s home and office. Why do that, unless there’s something to hide by destroying evidence? Conroy has the resources to pay for pros to take Libby out and clean out Carr’s house and office like that.”
“What’s your point?”
“Someone must have a good reason to spend that kind of money to shut Libby up and to hinder an investigation into Carr’s activities, Detective.”
“We’re going around in circles, Jessica. I already told you we don’t have a motive for any of this.”
“If Eric Conroy is behind this, I’ll give you one—about a billion of them, in fact.”
“Okay, go on. I’m listening.”
“Conroy is a big shot at a PR firm here in Los Angeles. Pinnacle Enterprises is a high profile company with a big deal in play at the moment. An initial public offering that stands to net the firm a billion dollars, or more, if all goes as planned.” Detective Hernandez let go a low whistle.
“Big deal is an understatement, Jessica, in my world, anyway—maybe not in yours.”
“It’s not chump change in my world either. For folks used to raising money through IPOs it’s the requisite amount you’d expect to generate in order for the big name investment banks to make it worth their while. They take 7% of any deal so it has to be big. And from what I’ve read, all of the big boys are involved. Right now they’re in the middle of the dog and pony show—they call it the roadshow. Dozens of meetings across the country with investors, to line up subscribers before the IPO that’s set for Friday, December 20th.”
“Jessica, that’s less than a week away.”
“Yes, it’s a timeline that would pressure an upscale lowlife, like Conroy, to take drastic action—like silencing Libby, fast. She’s grabbed the headlines at a sensitive moment for the deal of a lifetime. I’m not sure what his connection is yet to Carr, but complications from the likes of Libby Van Der Woert are the last thing he wants at a time like this. His share of a billion dollars is more than enough to cover the costs of cleanup—killing Libby and sanitizing Carr’s house and office is chump change.”
“I agree. He’d do just about anything to keep a deal like that on track. To be that close to a billion dollars is a hell of a motive. I’ll need more than that, though, to make him a person of interest in my investigation into the Donnelly woman’s disappearance, much more to consider him a suspect. Even linking him to Carr might not get us far. Unless we can tie him directly to Donnelly’s disappearance, there’s not much I can do. He's not implicated in Carr’s death, so the Palm Springs PD doesn’t have a reason to question him either. The whole point of hiring pros is to keep all of this at arm’s length.”
“I hear you. I'll put Jerry and others from my investigative team on Conroy’s track—digging into his background to see if we find any shady dealings or links to Carr. The SEC and the investment banks have checked out Pinnacle, but I want to have a look at the company’s financials. That’s difficult to do because the company’s privately held. I’ll see what Kim can do about that. Before you get off the phone and mumble under your breath about my impulsive nature leading me to jump to conclusions about Conroy, here’s an interesting coincidence for you. Who do you imagine is a board member at Pinnacle?”
“Not Ned Donnelly?”
“Yep, I don’t yet see why that matters, but it feels like it does. That’s a little too much kismet even for me, Detective. Donnelly's daughter was seeing Carr, so now we have this degrees-of-separation thing going... Carr connected to Donnelly through his daughter and Conroy connected to Donnelly through Pinnacle. What could have brought the three of them together?”
“Okay, so we’re back where we were when we started this conversation. I may not have a reason to pull Conroy into a room for a chat, but I will have another one with Ned Donnelly. Maybe if I ask the right questions, he can shed some light on this. I’ll see if he’s been holding out on me about what his daughter was up to in the months before she disappeared, and I’ll do a little probing about Carr and Conroy.”
“The man does not look well, Detective, so go easy.”
“Good grief, Jessica, what do you think I'll do, shine a bright light in his eyes and give him the third degree?”
“No, it’s just that you can get carried away.”
“The only time I get carried away is when some amateur sleuth is sticking her nose into things that are better handled by the police. A calamity magnet like you, willing to let kismet, hunches and impulses guide you is enough to put any self-respecting police officer on edge. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, if you’re right about Conroy, he’s a ruthless, money-grubbing bastard. I doubt he’d think twice about paying his pros a little more to take out a busy-body who threatened to impede his
billion dollar deal. You gotta spend money to make money, you know. And Jessica, one of his hired hands has excellent aim.”
“You’re singing to the choir, Detective. I am intimately familiar with what ruthless men who lust after money and mega deals can do.”
“Email me those photos, since you snagged a copy. I want to see for myself if the guy in that hallway is Eric Conroy.”
Jessica ended the call and emailed the photos. She hoped Hernandez could have that follow-up conversation with Ned Donnelly soon. Did he and his wife have any inkling that there was something more than a patient-client relationship between Shannon Donnelly and the psychiatrist? Was Donnelly aware of any connection between Carr and Conroy? Depending on the answers to those questions, they might get a step or two closer to verifying the identity of the maniacally conniving counterpart to the stupidly impulsive Dr. Carr.
Jessica had a few more minutes, so she tried to refocus, looking for another angle. What about Pinnacle? Who could give her a glimpse of what was going on behind the scenes at Pinnacle? What had all the “debate” been about before the announcement to pursue an IPO? Jessica tried to recall the name of the young woman who had accompanied Conroy at that tribute to Hank at the end of July. Eric Conroy had been a happy man that night, perhaps the troubles at Pinnacle were already behind him by then. When Jessica emailed those photos to Detective Hernandez, she flashed on a memory of the handbag carried by the fashionable blond with Conroy at the Never Built gala for Hank.
“Prada,” Jessica whispered, just like the woman in that photo taken outside Carr’s office. Maybe the same woman, then. Conroy had introduced her as a colleague at Pinnacle, the woman’s name and position eluded Jessica, but when she went through the directory on the Pinnacle website, it did not take long before she hit upon a name that sounded familiar. Carla Fergusson, Executive Assistant to the Chief Financial Officer at Pinnacle. In another few seconds, she had a face to go with the name.
“Got you,” Jessica said. She had the right woman. Carla Fergusson was as attractive as Jessica remembered her. Medium height and build, with flawless skin, blond hair, and deep set brown eyes, she exuded confidence. Although their meeting had been a brief one, she had struck Jessica as pleasant, way more likable than her companion Eric Conroy. From the website, Jessica learned that Carla Fergusson didn’t answer directly to Eric Conroy, but to the company’s Chief Financial Officer. There had been nothing in the research on Conroy that linked him to the woman. Still, there had been a familiarity between them that seemed more natural and relaxed than you might expect for people who only met around a conference table.
Jessica felt the contours of a plan forming. It might not be a great one. None of the police officers in her life would condone it, but they wouldn’t be there for dinner to object. Some of her Cat Pack friends might not like it either. She couldn’t drive, so she needed help. Maybe, at dinner, someone would come up with a better plan, after she filled them in on the latest turn of events. Jessica had already suggested they stay put at the hotel tomorrow night, too, and drive back to the desert on Monday. She didn't say what time on Monday. Their dinner reservation at Spago was for 8:00. They had a lot to talk about. More than that, Jessica learned, they had celebrating to do. The evening would be a late one. She could never have guessed how late.
26 An Old Friend
After Jessica and Bernadette left, Alexis felt energized, more upbeat than she had in ages. Maybe she could do this. The cool breeze swirled around her as she gazed at the blue waters of the Pacific. The sound of the waves was soothing, rather than annoying as it had been earlier in the day. She almost went to the lovely dining room for dinner. Rumor had it that a handsome, young actor had joined them all in rehab, and might put in an appearance at dinner time. What intrigued her most was the stir he might create. Although the day had been pleasant, it had also been tiring, so she had let stand an order for dinner to be served on her private patio. She pushed the simple, but perfectly prepared food, around on her plate.
Even with the meds they were giving her, she recognized the withdrawal symptoms. It wasn’t just her lack of appetite. Twitchy feelings, mild nausea and bouts of “chicken skin,” as Bernadette would call her goose bumps. They bothered her, off and on, even with the meds. In the background, for the moment, was that sense of dread that overwhelmed her at other times. An unshakable feeling of impending doom was one reason she took so many lovely, mind-numbing drugs. Call it angst, the old ennui, depression or anxiety; that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
Whatever it was, the waves came and went in her life as they pleased. Their visits were not as regular as the sonorous pounding of the sea below. True, she was in her first week of detox, awaiting the news she was clean enough to undergo treatment for cancer. That wasn’t the only reason for her current uneasiness. The little scene with Jessica about Eric Conroy troubled her as it replayed in her mind. She did not like the pallor her daughter’s skin had taken on when Jessica understood who that man was in the photos. Why all the drama because of that poor troubled woman’s rambling about a red devil?
Eric Conroy had struck Alexis as just one more aspirant, working to join the one percent. Based on what she knew of him, he had succeeded. That IPO, creating so much buzz, would cement his position at the top of the heap, along with the other partners at the firm. The money from that bonanza would trickle down—not out into the world at large, but to many others at the firm who held private shares in the company. Even an IPO, split too many ways, wouldn’t raise the bar for everyone on the payroll at Pinnacle. The trickle was a trickle by the time it got down to middle management. Eric Conroy would do well, though.
So what was the big deal about that? Alexis had seen the man several times over the years. He was not her type, but struck her as amiable enough. Why did he have such an impact on her daughter? Who in her network had introduced her to him, and when?
Her memory was a little jumbled, so it took more effort than in the past to ferret out information like that. It wasn’t just aging, but yet another “gift” of detox and the toll drug use had been taking on her mind as well as her body. The breezy smile of that woman with Eric Conroy, at the Never Built event for Hank, came back to her. Alexis had been a little surprised by his companion. There used to be another woman in his life. In another half second, it all came back to her.
Sally Winchester was a delicate blond, a little older than Jessica. She did not mix with Alexis and her cohort of cronies. Sally’s mother did. It had been at one of Dottie Winchester’s parties that Alexis first met Eric Conroy.
He had been dressed to the nines, bowing jauntily as Sally embraced her mother. He had struck Alexis as rather debonair. She had said as much to Dottie. They watched Eric and Sally as they circled the room for the ritual exchange of air kisses and greetings. Then Dottie spoke.
“Men aren’t always what they seem, Alexis. You should know that by now.” The abruptness of her tone had shocked Alexis. Dottie was a rather nonjudgmental woman, more reticent than many of her other friends to dish the dirt. Perhaps, it was a mother’s disdain for the man about to snatch her daughter away from her. Alexis had tried to make light of it.
“Not son-in-law material, I take it. I get it. I have doubts about my own son-in-law, trust me. Eric Conroy’s Executive Vice President at Pinnacle, according to Sally, and next in line as CEO. Doesn't he get considerable scrutiny, Dottie?”
“Scrutiny, my ass. Eric Conroy's a legend in his own mind and has put that CEO idea into Sally’s head. He thinks she can influence me, but it won’t work. If I have anything to do with it, and I do, he’ll never be CEO at Pinnacle, nor will he be my son-in-law.” Another couple had sauntered toward them at that point, and Dottie went back to playing gracious hostess.
Alexis had let it go and had never brought it up again. She had heard, not long ago, that Dorothy Winchester resigned her position on the board at Pinnacle earlier in the year. Alexis hadn’t given it much thought, but had attributed the decision
to illness or aging. Until now, she had forgotten all about Dottie’s comments regarding Eric Conroy, a man Alexis hardly knew and cared nothing about.
Maybe she should mention all of this to Jessica, since the man had evoked such concern. Dorothy or Sally Winchester might have something useful to say about him. Dottie had not referred to Eric Conroy as a red devil, like Libby Van Der Woert, but Dottie had registered strong objections to him. If he was still on Jessica’s radar the next time she visited, Alexis would have Jessica call the Winchester women. The uneasiness dogging her increased as Alexis focused on those recollections of Eric Conroy. A sudden scraping sound startled her.
“Who’s there,” she asked.
“Is that you Alexis? It’s me. Claire. You want to come over for a drink?” Her neighbor’s head appeared from around the corner of the dividing wall that made their patios private.
“Sure. I will probably float away, given how much liquid I drink. Not good when I’m trying to sleep and have to get up to use the bathroom. What the heck? It’ll just take me a second to grab a warm sweater, okay?”
“That’s a great idea. I'll do the same. You want to share my dessert? It looks delicious, but I’m not that hungry.”
“I haven’t eaten mine yet; I’ll bring it with me. I bet it’s the same.” The berry crumble thing looked good. She dashed into her bedroom and pulled on a bulky cardigan. Alexis’ loquacious socialite routine wasn’t all fake. People were among her favorite distractions, up to a point. She found them interesting, as long as she could keep the subjects light, on topics that didn’t require that she divulge personal information or, God forbid, feelings.
Claire, was quite an interesting woman. Oxycontin had become her new best friend after a skiing accident had left her with a lot of back pain. Like Alexis, Claire had traveled widely, so it would be great to compare notes about the places they had visited.
