by Dianne Emley
“That whole scenario always stuck in my mind. I never thought that Axel had the smarts or the imagination to make something like that up, especially in such detail. Axel is black or white. There are no shades of gray. So, yes, I have my doubts.”
“Did you find the murder weapon?”
“Never did.”
“What about other suspects, like the Glendale police officer Cookie was dating?”
“Philip Wondries. Cookie had been dating him for about six months. He was working that night and was able to account for all his time. As far as Axel’s story of the stranger, he provided enough of a description to do a decent artist’s sketch. We ran it in all the newspapers and on television, but no solid leads came of it.
“We tracked down a couple of guys Cookie had dated during the prior year. One guy in particular interested me. A girlfriend of Cookie’s told us about him. Cookie had gone out with him just once, for drinks. She told her girlfriend that he was a creep. Then he started showing up at places where Cookie was.”
“Stalking her?”
“Sounded like that. The friend said that Cookie was more annoyed by him than afraid. Cookie wasn’t shy. She told him to back off.”
“What was his name?”
Iverson sucked in air through his teeth and gazed off, trying to remember. “Teddy something? Teddy Pierce, maybe. It would be in the case files. He worked as a security guard at a shopping center in Pasadena. The Rose City Center, by the freeway. He was the kind of guy who had all the right answers, but it seemed phony to me, and I can’t tell you why. He had these intense eyes. Not crazy, like Charles Manson, but cold and calculating. Ice cold. In fact, they were light blue, just like ice. No alibi, but that doesn’t mean anything. How many people have alibis for every minute of their day?”
“What did Betsy Gilroy think of him?”
“She didn’t talk to him. By the time Cookie’s girlfriend had called me to say that she remembered one more guy Cookie had known, Axel had already confessed. No one was interested in hearing about some weirdo Cookie had gone drinking with.”
“No one asked Axel if the security guard was the man he’d seen that night with Cookie?”
“Look, they had their killer. They had physical evidence and Axel’s confession. Betsy was the heir apparent to the chief’s office. Who was I to go against her?”
Vining knew what that felt like. “Was this the man?” She handed him the photo of Nitro cowering on the floor of a PPD jail cell.
After studying it for a minute, Iverson shook his head, then frowned dubiously. “That’s not the guy, but he has those same ice-blue eyes. That’s uncanny.”
“How about this man?” She took out the artist’s rendering of T B. Mann.
Iverson took a long time looking at the drawing. “Again, we’re going back ten years, but I can’t say that this doesn’t look like him. Who is this?”
“That’s the man who stabbed me and left me for dead.”
“Damn.” He took a closer look at the drawing. “He’s still loose?”
“Yes.”
He gave her the drawing back. “You should have them pull the case files over at the Colina Vista P.D. All the names and photos of everyone we interviewed would be there. But keep in mind that Betsy Gilroy didn’t want to hear about this guy then, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about him now.”
“Any way to go around her?”
“Call and ask for Joanne Temple. She’s handled records there for thirty years. Tell her I told you to call. She’ll want someone to approve the request. Suggest she ask the watch commander.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“I hope you get your guy.” He hoisted the grocery bag, testing its weight. “Is this too much? I can’t give any more away to our friends and neighbors. They’re maxed out.”
“That’s very generous. Thank you.”
“You can make a terrific marinara sauce for dinner with those tomatoes.”
She looked at her watch. “Speaking of that, I have to scoot to pick up my daughter from school.”
She took the heavy grocery bag that he handed her and gave him the empty “I Love Grandpa” mug. “Thanks, Mike, for everything.”
“It was my pleasure.”
They headed toward the house.
“Mike, one last thing. Did Cookie ever talk about receiving a pearl necklace as a gift? Did you ever see her wearing a pearl necklace? It would have come down to about here and would have had a little pendant on it, maybe with a dark blue stone.”
He let her enter the house ahead of him. “I don’t recall such. Her girlfriend might, if you can track her down. Betsy might.”
“Was there a necklace on her body?”
He opened the front door and paused with his hand on the doorknob.
She again detected the darkness that lurked behind his sunny disposition. He never mentally returned to that barn, not voluntarily. She recognized his sacrifice. He was doing it for her, because of her own spilled blood and the pursuit of her own madman.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes, gratefully returning here, but she detected a shudder. “I remember Cookie’s body, the expression on her face and in her eyes, and blood. I remember blood everywhere. I can’t tell you whether or not she was wearing a necklace.”
Vining shifted the heavy paper bag to shake his hand. She left.
THIRTY-NINE
IN THE DETECTIVES SECTION CONFERENCE ROOM, JIM KISSICK PASSED around photos of Marvin Li, Grace Shipley, and her daughter Meghan that were taken by the surveillance team. Present at the briefing were Sergeant Kendra Early, and Detectives Alex Caspers, Louis Jones, and Doug Sproul.
The women were slender and wearing tight jeans, low-cut snug tops, and high-heeled sandals. Meghan, a college student, had straight hair that fell past her shoulders. It was severely streaked blond. In one photo, she’d been snapped through Love Potion’s windows trying on a bridal veil. In another, she held a wedding gown against herself, admiring it in a mirror. Her mother still had a great figure, but her face looked hard. Her shoulder-length hair was as blindingly blond as her daughter’s.
There was a shot taken in the driveway of the Shipley home on Newcastle Street. Li was in his wheelchair. Grace was bent over with both arms around his shoulders and was kissing the top of his shaved head.
Kissick passed information gleaned from the PPD’s records search.
Caspers lingered over Megan’s photos, especially one in which she was on the sidewalk, wearing tight jeans, her back to the camera.
“I sent the Shipleys’ photos and information to Sergeant John Velado of the Sheriff’s Asian Gang Task Force,” Kissick said. “Marvin Li’s attorney, Sammy Leung, says that Li and Grace Shipley are having a romantic relationship. Leung tells us that the manager of an apartment building on La Pomelo Road, one block east of Newcastle, is the guy who hired the Aaron’s Aarrows human directionals. We talked to the manager. He was nervous, but he insists that he hired Li’s arrow guys. Leung says that Li has no knowledge of the guys who arrive after the human directionals leave at midnight and who stay parked on Newcas-tle until morning. So far, the search of Li’s phone records and computer haven’t turned up anything suspicious.”
“The top guys keep themselves insulated,” Early said.
Just then, one of the staff assistants knocked on the open conference room door. “Sorry to interrupt. Detective Kissick, Sammy Leung says he and Marvin Li want to speak with you.”
THE COOPERSMITH SCHOOL SAT ON A RIDGE ABOVE THE JUNCTION OF THE 210 and the short stretch of the 710 that had been constructed in Pasadena. The grassy, tree-shaded property and its stained-wood buildings surrounded by a tall chain-link fence, were a bucolic sip of water for drivers barreling down Pasadena Avenue toward the freeway entrances past the mammoth Huntington Hospital compound.
The two-acre Coopersmith School campus and its woodsy buildings were all that remained standing after a historic church was razed in th
e 1970s in preparation for the completion of the final six-mile stretch of the 710 freeway. Back then, Cal Trans had bought many homes and properties along the proposed route. Decades later, many of the homes still remained empty and the lots where structures had been razed were still bare as a virulent city-against-city fight raged on in the battle over traffic flow versus preservation of thousands of trees and hundreds of historic homes.
Vining had gone home and switched cars to her Jeep Cherokee as she was no longer on-call. She had to circle the block to get in the queue of SUVs driven by parents waiting to pick up their kids. A school employee stood at the parking lot entrance and directed traffic.
As Vining inched forward, she looked at the Rose City Center across Pasadena Avenue. Mike Iverson said that was where the guy who had piqued his interest in Cookie’s murder investigation had worked as a security guard. She would check it out after she picked up Emily.
T. B. Mann working as a security guard made perfect sense to Vining. His M.O. suggested familiarity with police procedures and access to buildings and property. He also had knowledge of officers’ work schedules. That wasn’t hard to figure out. Gangbangers used cheap police scanners to find out which officers were on the street. T. B. Mann also could have developed contacts within the local police.
As she waited in the queue of cars, she called Joanne Temple at the Colina Vista P.D., as Iverson had instructed. After introducing herself and catching her up on what Iverson was doing, she got to the purpose of her call.
“I chatted with Mike because I’m investigating an assault against a Pasadena police officer that has similarities with the Cookie Silva murder. Mike was very helpful, but he couldn’t remember a lot of the details of Cookie’s murder, and said I should contact you to see the case files.”
Temple’s voice was slightly raspy, suggesting that she was an older woman and a longtime smoker. Vining soon learned that the passing years had not affected her fortitude.
“Of course, Detective, but such requests have to be approved by Chief Gilroy”
“I hate bothering the chief with a case that’s been closed for years. Perhaps the watch commander could approve it. All I’d need is a half hour at most.”
Joanne Temple would not be budged. Vining got the message loud and clear. If she was going to get anywhere with the Colina Vista P.D., she had to go through Gilroy. Kissick was right. Gilroy was the queen of Colina Vista.
She thanked Temple for her time and said she’d contact the chief directly. Vining might not find the answers to her questions about Cookie Silva’s murder investigation in the case files anyway. She would have to meet with Gilroy face-to-face.
She thought about Iverson’s statements about Axel Holcomb not being capable of such a murder and the strange circumstances of Axel’s confession. Iverson didn’t say anything overtly condemning about Gilroy but he left ample room for reading between the lines. He also hinted that he was passed over for the deputy chief job that went to the shining outsider, Betsy Gilroy. Vining could see that there was much about Gilroy for longtime CVPD officers to dislike. Iverson didn’t seem like a guy who would have a problem with a female boss, but who knows?
The school’s traffic monitor finally waved Vining into the parking lot. Among the cluster of teenagers waiting beneath a slatted-wood porch covering was Emily sitting on the edge of a cement block planter. She was animatedly talking to Ken Zhang, who was standing in front of her, his body between her knees. They were holding hands. Emily didn’t let go even after she’d spotted Vining. Her demeanor was chilly.
Ken did release Emily’s hand and greeted Vining with a quick wave that was not accompanied with a smile.
Pearl Zhang had probably called her son on his cell phone before Vining had exited the front door of her office suite.
Emily picked up her backpack from the planter and slid to the ground. She pointedly kissed Ken on the lips before heading to the car.
Ken turned toward the parking lot.
Vining struggled to keep her anger in check. She said through the open driver’s window, “Hi, sweet pea.”
Emily uttered a disconsolate “Hi,” opened the Jeep’s rear door, tossed her pack on the backseat, and stopped just short of slamming the door closed. She flopped onto the front seat, staring straight ahead. Her silence was deafening.
Vining didn’t attempt to remedy it. She circled around the parking lot, still in the caravan of cars.
Emily looked longingly at Ken, who was getting into his BMW.
Vining looked at her watching him. She then took a closer look at her daughter. “Where did you get that T-shirt?”
The white, short-sleeved top was printed with a diagonal pattern of multicolored butterflies. The tight, stretchy cotton knit revealed Em’s blossoming figure.
Vining frowned at the artwork. It jarringly reminded her of the tattooed butterflies on Marvin Li’s torso.
Emily responded without looking at her. “Ken made it in his silk-screen class.”
“Where’s the blouse you were wearing this morning?”
“In my backpack. I changed in the girls’ bathroom. What’s the big deal?”
“Put your blouse on over it.”
“Why?”
“That T-shirt is too tight.”
Emily sneered, “You don’t want me to wear it because Ken gave it to me. I know everything you told Ken’s mother.” She yelled, “Mom, how can you think that Ken’s in a gang?”
The car in front of Vining pulled into the street. It was finally her turn. She took advantage of a small break in the traffic and gunned the Jeep, cutting across three lanes barely in front of the oncoming, speeding cars. A horn blared.
Emily complained, “Do you have to do that?”
“I need to make a quick stop here.”
“So you drive like you’re in hot pursuit? Are you ever not a cop? Can’t you just be a normal person sometimes?”
Vining found a parking space in front of the supermarket and cut the ignition. She faced her daughter. “One, I’ve had it with this snippy attitude of yours. Knock it off, right now. Two, I have good reasons for thinking that Ken could be involved with a Chinese gang.”
“Good reasons? Because he’s Chinese? Because he went to school with a guy who’s in a gang? Because his cousin used to be in a gang? Because he doesn’t know who his father is?” Emily’s voice grew shriller with each question.
“All those reasons, yes. Furthermore, you’re too young to be holding hands, kissing, and riding around in a car with a seventeen-year-old boy. I don’t care who he is.”
“I’m almost fifteen.”
“So you keep reminding me. I don’t care. I don’t want you seeing that boy.”
“How can I not see him when we go to the same school? Coopersmith only has two hundred students.”
“Emily, don’t be smart. You know what I mean. Quit while you’re ahead.”
Tears started down her face. In spite of the tears, the girl gave Vining a look so full of loathing that it shocked her.
“Not everyone is a criminal until proven innocent, Mom. I’m not like you. I don’t go around looking for the worst in people.”
Vining raised her index finger. “That does it. You’re grounded for a week.” She was so angry, she’d bared her teeth. It was more than anger. She felt a wave of helplessness.
“Grounded?” The tears streamed down Emily’s face. “Like how?”
It was the first time Vining had been compelled to punish Emily like that. She knew what being grounded meant when she’d been a teenager, but had to think fast to translate it for today’s world. She didn’t even know if the term was still used. “You’re coming straight home after school. No going to the mall or to movies or walking around Old Town.” She paused as she thought. “No cell phone other than to call me or your dad or in case of emergency.”
“What? I can’t use my cell phone?”
“Only to call me or your dad or in case of emergency.”
“Wh
at about text messages?”
“I said no cell phone.” Vining didn’t think she’d ever been this exasperated. Her fourteen-year-old daughter had gotten to her in a way that hardened criminals hadn’t managed to do.
“For a week?”
“Emily, this conversation is over. I have to go into the market.”
“Why? We shopped yesterday.”
“I have to do something.”
Emily wiped tears with her hands. She found a small box of tissues in the glove compartment. “Dad’s picking me up. I’m staying with him and Kaitlyn until Sunday.” She added defensively, “It’s his weekend with me, anyway. I didn’t go last time at all, so … Kaitlyn will take me to school and pick me up.”
Vining had called Wes to discuss the Ken Zhang situation. He said he’d talk it over with Emily the next time they were together, but she didn’t know they’d already spoken. “You might have shared this with me sooner. I made all that stew that’s been cooking in the crock pot all day.”
“When did I have time to tell you? You’ve been on my case since I got in the car.”
“Emily I don’t know where you learned this habit of talking back, but stop it. And by the way your father and I agree about the Ken Zhang issue.”
Vining had told her ex-husband, “We have to stand together on this, Wes.”
He said that he agreed, but was worried about their actions having the result of pushing Em into Ken’s arms. “You know how we were.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“I think you and Emily could use some space.”
Vining realized, for the first time ever, that it was true. Ever since Wes had walked out on them when Emily was two, mother and daughter had been exceptionally close. Vining had fretted that their “two against the world” stance had put an undue burden on her daughter. She knew she depended upon Em too much. Ken Zhang was perhaps merely a catalyst, bringing to light fissures between her and her daughter that had already been there. She wondered when the fracture had started. There came a point when girls tried to differentiate themselves from their mothers and pulled away. That was natural and expected. But something about what was happening between her and Emily felt unnatural. Had her obsession with T B. Mann polluted even this, her most precious relationship?
