Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 03

by Milk;Honey

  Badge in hand, he approached the receptionist—a plump young woman who wore her hair in a tight bun—and flashed her his ID. Her eyes reacted with surprise.

  “Homicide investigation. I need to speak to the CEO.”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “The chief executive officer,” Decker explained.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Decker demanded. But his voice was soft.

  “Uh, that would be Mr. Donaldson,” she said. “But he’s not the CEO. That would be Mr. Cartwright. And he’s in Paris.”

  “Tell Mr. Donaldson that Detective Sergeant Decker from LAPD Homicide is here to speak with him.”

  “He’s involved in a long-distance phone conference.”

  Decker didn’t answer.

  “I’ll buzz his secretary,” the woman said.

  A minute later, Decker was sitting with a cup of coffee in the executive office of Mr. Creighton Donaldson—first vice president in charge of acquisition and development for Manfred and Associates. His secretary was around sixty, her gray tresses styled in a bouffant hairdo. A busty woman, she wore her glasses around her neck, the spectacles bouncing on her bosom whenever she walked. Mr. Donaldson would be right out, she informed Decker.

  “Right out” was a half hour later. Decker was escorted into Donaldson’s inner sanctum, full of rich, burnished leather and high-polished wood scented with lemon oil. Decker was motioned to sit in a brocade wingback while Donaldson took the chair behind a rosewood desk, its right corner covered by framed pictures of two little girls.

  The vice president was much younger than Decker had expected—forty-five, tops. About 6' even, with a tennis player’s build. Black hair, gray temples, sharp brown eyes, straight nose, and cleft chin. His white smile contrasted nicely against his deep tan. Suddenly, Decker felt scruffy.

  “I apologize for the delay,” Donaldson said. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  Decker glanced at his watch. He was due back in court in thirty minutes. No time for niceties. Just cast the rod and see what you pull up.

  “Name Linda Darcy ring a bell?” Decker asked.

  Donaldson’s eyebrows rose a millimeter. “Yes. What about her?”

  “Tell me about your dealings with her,” Decker said.

  “They’re business,” Donaldson said. “And they’re confidential.”

  “Not anymore, Mr. Donaldson,” Decker said. “She’s dead.”

  Donaldson immediately slumped into his desk chair, a seasick pallor washing over his skin. The man was sinking fast. Decker said, “If you want a drink, Mr. Donaldson, it’s okay with me.”

  “Thank you.” Donaldson stood and walked to a portable bar on the other side of the room. “Thank you, I will.” He took out a cut-crystal tumbler and cleared his throat. “How about yourself? Or aren’t you allowed to do that?”

  Decker told him he didn’t drink on duty, noticing the VP’s hands were trembling. Donaldson poured himself something straight up.

  “What was your connection to Linda Darcy?” Decker asked again.

  Donaldson gulped down the first shot, poured himself another.

  “It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” he said. “Nothing sexual, although Linda was a very sexy lady…and it might have been nice.” He turned to Decker. “Don’t repeat that. I’m a married man, and I’m quite shaken. I’m not as controlled as I usually am.”

  “You didn’t have an affair with her?” Decker asked. “It could be relevant to my investigation.”

  “No,” Donaldson said. “No, I didn’t. Our relationship was strictly business.”

  Decker paused a moment to let Donaldson know his statement was suspect. Then he said, “What kind of business?”

  Donaldson ran his hands over his face. A diamond ring decorated his right ring finger, a gold band on his left. “My specialties are acquisition and development. Mrs. Darcy and I were…how should I say this? Her father-in-law owned a parcel of land that Manfred was potentially interested in acquiring. I had approached Pappy Darcy—as they call him—around two years ago, and our substantial offer was rebuffed. Which was fine. Around a week later, Mrs. Darcy…Linda approached me with the idea that perhaps given enough time and enough incentive, realizing the position for potential profit, that maybe if we were to present to Mr. Darcy the entire picture for gain on the upside, it might be possible using untried tactics—”

  Decker interrupted. “You and Linda were scheming behind the old man’s back.”

  “We weren’t scheming,” Donaldson said. He resettled into his desk chair, his breath smelling of scotch. “We were talking business contingencies.”

  “How to talk Pappy Darcy into selling off the land,” Decker said.

  Donaldson hesitated, then said, “Basically, yes.”

  “And?”

  “And we tried several different approaches,” Donaldson said. “None of them successful.”

  “When was the last time you tried an approach?” Decker asked.

  “We came to him around a month ago. Not me personally, of course. A representative from my office.”

  Decker told him to go on. Donaldson said that Pappy Darcy wasn’t interested. Nothing more was discussed between the two of them. But Decker read in his eyes that there was more. He pressed Donaldson for details.

  “Well,” Donaldson said, “this was told to me secondhand, but it was said that Pappy Darcy got quite irate—obscene in his condemnation of the salesman, Manfred, and Linda—”

  “Linda?” Decker asked.

  “He seemed to feel that Linda was behind it all.”

  “She was, wasn’t she?”

  Donaldson paused, seemed to choose his words. “She was instrumental in keeping our interest alive, but he accused her of masterminding the whole idea. That simply was not the case.”

  “But she was keeping the whole idea alive,” Decker said.

  “She had a vested interest in Pappy Darcy selling the land, true,” Donaldson said. “Her husband had a third interest in the land. His share would have netted her a handsome profit.”

  “How much?” Decker asked.

  “Around one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A lot of money for a honey farmer.”

  A more than tidy sum for anyone breaking his back to earn his keep, Decker thought. But something else came to him. He asked Donaldson, “Who owned the other two thirds of the land?”

  Donaldson looked uncomfortable. Then he said, “Well, it’s public record anyway. Pappy Darcy of course, and Luke’s sister.”

  “Sue Beth Litton?” Decker asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What about Luke’s younger sister?” Decker asked. “Carla Darcy?”

  Donaldson shrugged. “I wasn’t even aware that there was another sister. Who is she?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Decker tried to sound casual. “She’s out of the picture.” But in his notepad, he wrote, CARLA DISINHERITED and underlined it three times. Decker steered the conversation back to Linda.

  “So you and Linda were pestering Luke to keep after his father to sell.”

  “Not pestering,” Donaldson said. “We were presenting him with options. We had several—one included giving Pappy Darcy free farming rights until such time as Manfred chose to develop the property. A very generous offer, but Pappy Darcy refused to hear us out.”

  “When was the last time you saw Linda Darcy?” Decker asked.

  “At our last appointment—around two weeks ago. You can check with my secretary for the exact date.”

  Decker didn’t say anything, just stared at the wall, then at Donaldson. The vice president seemed antsy under scrutiny. He got up and poured himself another scotch. Swirling the amber liquid, he asked, “How did she die?”

  “In a very ugly way,” Decker said.

  “Was she by any chance…” Donaldson cleared his throat. “Was she murdered by gunshot?”

  Lots of people were murdered by gunshot. But Decker wondered if Donaldson’s question had been more an educate
d than lucky guess. He replied, “Why do you ask?”

  “Because our representative…the last time he went out to the Darcy honey farm…Pappy Darcy had come out of his house holding a gun, claiming he was going to blow off the head of the next Manfred representative who trespassed upon his property.” Donaldson slugged down the scotch. “He also mentioned something about blowing off Linda’s head as part of the bargain—two for the price of one. Our representative was quite shaken by the threat.”

  “What kind of weapon was Pappy Darcy holding?” Decker asked.

  “Just a big gun,” Donaldson said. “I don’t believe James, our representative, told us the make.”

  “What kind of big gun?”

  “I seem to recall James saying that Pappy was holding a shotgun.”

  How convenient, thought Decker. He just happened to recall that bit of trivia. Decker said, “Can your representative tell a shotgun from a rifle?”

  Donaldson drummed his finger. “Perhaps Pappy was holding a rifle. James said it was a big gun.”

  “But you recall him saying it was a shotgun.”

  “Maybe I’m mistaken.”

  “Can I speak to James?” Decker asked.

  “He’s away on business.”

  “And?”

  “And he is unavailable for your questions.”

  Decker said, “You sent him to a place where there’s no phone lines?”

  Donaldson fidgeted a moment. Then he said, “Ask my secretary for his number.”

  “Great,” Decker said. “You know, Mr. Donaldson, we’re going to be investigating Linda thoroughly. Any illicit lunch dates, motel-room trysts…we’re going to find out about them.”

  A slight blush rose behind Donaldson’s ear. “I told you, Sergeant, our relationship was purely business.”

  “That’s good.” Decker handed him his card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  “I will,” Donaldson said.

  Decker turned to him before he crossed the threshold. “Would you mind if I took a look at the records concerning the property?”

  Donaldson said, “I would very much.”

  “Why?”

  “We have a lot of secret and valuable information contained in the Darcy file.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “If I told you that, Sergeant, I wouldn’t be what I am today—a trusted officer of the corporation.”

  “Fine,” Decker said. “Have it your way. I’ll get a court order.”

  “For what?”

  “Material evidence for a homicide murder.”

  Donaldson looked aghast. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Decker shrugged helplessly.

  “Let me talk to Mr. Cartwright,” Donaldson said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Decker waited a beat, then thanked him again, telling him he’d been most helpful. Donaldson gave him a sour smile in return.

  17

  Marge spied Decker parked across the street and gave him a wave. She pulled her Honda into Sophi Rawlings’s driveway and sneaked a sidelong glance at Sue Beth Litton. She’d been quiet in the morgue, completely mute on her ride over the hill—a woman shocked into silence.

  But there were questions to be asked, and like it or not, Sue Beth needed to hear them.

  Marge touched her hand, and Sue Beth jumped. The woman’s face was drawn as pale and tight as a drumskin. In a different situation, she might have been labeled cute, with her thick auburn hair, green eyes, a freckled nose—somewhere in her bloodline was the name O’something. She had very big ears, though. Carla had had big ears. Carla had also had a big nose and flat chest. Sue Beth’s nose was as small as a button; her chest, though not voluminous, was certainly not an ironing board.

  Softly, Marge said, “I need to confer with my partner for a moment, Mrs. Litton. You can wait in the car.”

  Sue Beth nodded, her eyes directed in her lap.

  Marge stepped out of the car and met Decker by the trunk of her Honda. They spoke in hushed tones.

  Marge said, “I don’t believe it. You beat us here.”

  “Defense asked for a recess for the weekend,” Decker said. “A new PD. Wants to familiarize himself with the case.”

  “What happened to the old PD?”

  “Damned if I know. I told our woman that I’d be back Monday, giving her moral support. Hopefully, she’ll return as well. One more delay, and I’m afraid she’ll crack.” Decker kicked the ground. “Enough of that. What did you find out?”

  “Forensics first,” Marge said. “Blood on Katie’s PJs. Matches with her mother and Carla. The kid was obviously at the scene of the crime either during the shooting or after all the blood was spilled. My guess she wasn’t there too long, otherwise she would have had blood from the others as well.”

  “Good.”

  “Rolland Mason. His sheet is clear, but that doesn’t tell us the whole story. I found his ex-lady—a waitress in Saugus named Betty Bidel. Chip’s tip panned out.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, he was good for something. Anyway, from Betty I learned that Rolland was dealing in meth. She also told me that Rolland had left her and had plans to marry Linda.”

  Decker said, “Was Linda aware of his plans?”

  “That I don’t know. It might have been unrequited love.”

  “You know, Marge, we keep sticking Rolland with Carla like the two of them were an item. Maybe it was Rolland and Linda who were the happy duo, and they were confronting Luke about it. Tempers got hot, bam-bam.”

  “Then where does Carla fit in?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Decker said. “She may have had her own agenda. I visited Manfred and Associates today. I spoke to an associate.”

  Marge said, “Taking on the big guys again?”

  Decker laughed. Last time he visited the head of a big corporation, he’d leaned too heavily on a well-connected CEO, and it almost lost him his job. Only his supportive captain had saved his neck….

  Decker whipped his thoughts back to the present and gave Marge a quick rundown of the conversation, including Carla’s disinheritance. He said, “Suppose Linda thought she’d have an ally in Carla. Maybe Linda even offered Carla some money if she could get Luke to sell. So the two of them confronted Luke and were rebuffed. Then all hell broke loose.”

  Marge said, “And Rolland was attached to one of the women. His old lady said he loved Linda. But maybe when he found out that Carla stood to gain some bread, he decided to pair off with her because she was convenient.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Decker said.

  “Except for a couple of minor details,” Marge said. “Even if Luke was willing to sell, he’d have to convince Pappy D and Sue Beth to sell before there was any money to be made. To me, Pappy chasing a Manfred representative off his property with a shotgun shows lack of interest.”

  Decker laughed. “I finally did get ahold of the representative. His full name’s James Chatam, and his story jibes well with Donaldson’s account except that he said Pappy Darcy had been carrying a rifle. When I asked him if it could have been a shotgun, Chatam said yeah, it could have been, he doesn’t know the difference.”

  “But Donaldson used the word shotgun specifically?”

  “Yep.”

  “Interesting that Donaldson would know the weapon and he wasn’t even there,” Marge said.

  “Something to note,” Decker said. “Although a lot of people use the terms interchangeably.” He motioned his head toward the front of the car. “What about her?”

  “She ID’d the bodies,” Marge said. “Including Rolland.”

  “So Rolland wasn’t a stranger to her.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Press her on it?”

  Marge said, “No, the timing wasn’t right. But someone should before we give her Katie.”

  “You do it,” Decker said. “She already knows you. And if you get into sensitive areas like who Linda or Carla was screwing, she mig
ht respond better to a woman.”

  “Fine.” Marge checked her watch. “It’s four-fifteen. You’ve got enough time before your Sabbath starts?”

  “About three hours,” Decker said. “After we get Katie squared away, I’m going to phone up Ozzie Crandal, get a feel for the parents and brother Earl.”

  “Having worked with Crandal, I think we should talk to the Darcys ourselves,” Marge said.

  “Agreed,” Decker said. “But unless Crandal thinks they’re going to bolt, it can wait until after the weekend.”

  “I’ll set up something for next week then,” Marge said. “By the way, I talked to a local kiddy shrink. Nice guy, spent an hour talking to me. He said yes, indeed, the kid should be seen. A, for the kid’s sake—who knows what the hell she saw and how she has interpreted it? And B, things could come out that may be useful to us. But then he said since she was only twenty months, we shouldn’t count on anything verbal.”

  “Then what kinds of things could come out?”

  “Well, he said that if she saw the actual crime take place, a good shrink could get her to recreate her interpretation in something called play therapy—she’d play out the trauma with dolls or toys. If she didn’t play it out, chances are she didn’t witness anything. That in and of itself could be useful to us. Maybe she was sleeping in a crib when it happened. That could put the crime at night or during her nap time. Things like that. Like I said, we spoke for an hour. Anyway, I have his number if Sue Beth is so inclined.”

  Decker said, “And where is the woman of the hour?”

  Marge said she’d get her. A moment later, they were all standing in the driveway. Marge made all the necessary introductions.

  Decker said, “I’m sorry for your tragedy, Mrs. Litton.”

  Sue Beth didn’t respond. But Decker could see her eyes fill with moisture. The woman had an “ain’t life a bitch” face. Weathered skin, green eyes as hard as jade. Her cheeks were high-boned, sharp and pale, her hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. Only her lips gave her visage a hint of softness—full and blood red. Perhaps they were the only part of her face that had ever known any tenderness. Decker said, “We have all the papers necessary for Katie’s release—”