Passion, Betrayal and Killer Highlights

by Kyra Davis

  “I’m working on that.”

  “Perfect.”

  I ignored his sarcasm and got out of the car. I had been forced to park seven blocks away from Cheryl’s building, so I had had some time to come up with a plan of action. Normally the best way to win Cheryl’s confidence was to drop a few celebrity names, but after her latest comments to the media she would expect me to be on the warpath and no name I could ever drop would convince her otherwise.

  Anatoly and I walked together in silence as I racked my brain, and when we arrived at Cheryl’s door I had yet to have a lightbulb blink on over my head. Anatoly looked at me expectantly and I flashed him a nervous smile before pressing the appropriate buzzer.

  “Hello?” said a voice from the intercom.

  “Cheryl? It’s Sophie.”

  She took her sweet time responding. “What do you want?”

  “Listen…” I sucked in a breath, and then it hit me. “I was contacted by Channel Four News. They’re doing a piece featuring different perspectives on how the SFPD are handling Bob’s homicide case. They’re interested in interviewing both of us—”

  The door buzzed open. I held the door for Anatoly before stepping in after him. “Am I that good, or is Cheryl just an idiot?”

  Anatoly smiled at me appreciatively. “A little of both, I suspect.”

  Cheryl met us at the top of the stairs. “Why didn’t Channel Four News contact me themselves?” she asked.

  “They didn’t contact you?” I eyed her outfit. It was a replica of the one that Drew Barrymore had worn on the cover of the most recent issue of Us magazine. “Well, they did say they were thinking of asking you. I’m sure that if I nudge them a little, they’ll follow through.”

  Cheryl lifted her chin half an inch. “Why would you do that?”

  I shrugged innocently. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe I just want to have the opportunity to rip you apart in front of a few hundred thousand viewers.”

  Cheryl smiled. “I don’t think it would work out that way, but you’re welcome to try.” Her eyes traveled to Anatoly and she immediately lowered her head and peered at him through her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” She reached out her hand in a manner that would suggest that she wanted it kissed.

  Anatoly shook it unenthusiastically. “I’m Anat—”

  “Anatoly Darinsky. I saw you on TV right after Sophie had you arrested. I must say, not many guys are as forgiving as you.” She put her hand on her heart. “My brother was like that, too. Of course I’m sure things will work out better for you than it did for him—just because Sophie’s sister is out of control doesn’t mean Sophie is—or at least not as much so…hopefully.”

  “Oh, what-the-fuck-ever.” I yanked my purse strap up before it could slide off my shoulder. “Look, Cheryl, I don’t have a lot of time. If I’m going to convince the producers to let you share the air with me then I’m going to have to tell them what they can expect from you. Do you have time for a few questions, or not?”

  Cheryl tossed her hair behind her shoulder and gestured for us to follow her into her apartment.

  This was the first time I had ever visited Cheryl’s home. One look at her place told me she wasn’t the type to leave dishes on the counter or mail strewn over the coffee table—not because she was exceptionally neat, but because there were so many trinkets that if she were to leave a lipstick on a countertop it would immediately become lost amongst the kitsch. I walked forward and examined some cute but badly displayed martini-glass-shaped votive candleholders.

  “Aren’t those just fabulous?” cooed Cheryl. “They’re the same ones Jessica Simpson has in her living room.”

  I looked up at her and then studied the other knickknacks with a new eye. I was willing to bet that they were all duplicates of things Cheryl believed to be in celebrity homes. It was amazing—in a pathetic kind of way.

  “Cheryl,” I said, working overtime to keep the disdain out of my voice, “why have you been telling the media that Leah and Bob’s marriage was in trouble?”

  “Um…because it was.” She rolled her eyes at Anatoly to underscore her feeling about my question. “Anyone with half a brain could see how unhappy they were.”

  “There’s a big difference between not being happy with your husband and wanting to kill him,” Anatoly said.

  I averted my eyes. It had been my experience that the two emotions went hand in hand, but it didn’t seem prudent to argue the point.

  “You don’t know Leah like I do.” Cheryl put a hand on Anatoly’s arm and scooted closer to him. “She’s not stable.”

  “How could she be?” I asked. “She’s a black Jew and you know how we can be. If we’re not shooting someone in a crack-induced frenzy, we’re controlling the media with our fellow conspirators.”

  Cheryl’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any more questions, or are you done?”

  I sat down on her couch and made myself comfortable. “I’m sure that the guys at Channel Four will want to know exactly when you spoke to Bob last.”

  “The last time?” Cheryl swallowed and started toying with a framed, autographed photo of Matt Damon. “I’m not exactly sure when that was. Things have been kind of crazy lately.”

  “You mean with all the demands put on a front-desk clerk you’ve had a hard time managing anything else.” I smiled sweetly. “I can see how that could happen.”

  “I’m sure I spoke to him less than a week before he died,” she growled.

  “Really?” I asked. “Was that on the phone or did you meet him somewhere?”

  “Why does any of this make a difference? My brother’s dead and your sister killed him. That’s what matters.”

  Anatoly raised an eyebrow.

  “Come on, Cheryl.” I leaned forward and leveled my gaze on her. “The police must have asked you about this. What did you tell them?”

  “They did ask.” She flipped her hair again and walked over to the bench she had placed by the bay window. “I told them what I told you.”

  “And what did you tell me again?”

  She whirled around and glared at me. “That I didn’t remember. It may have been longer than a week before his death, okay? It may have been more like a month. I’ve been busy. I just moved, and it took a lot of time and energy to really infuse this place with my own personal flare.”

  My eyes scanned the apartment again. “Is that what you were going for? I thought you wanted to infuse it with the flare of JLo.”

  “You have no intention of recommending that Channel Four News interview me, do you.” She put her hands on the armrest of the sofa and leaned forward so that she was invading my space. “You just came here to harass me.”

  Anatoly came up behind Cheryl and, taking her shoulder, gently drew her back into an upright position. “Don’t let her get to you.” He turned her around so she was facing him. “The idea to get you on Channel Four was mine. I thought it would be better if you and Sophie could be on the air together. Otherwise the interview would come off as one-sided and meaningless. But if you’re there—” he smiled and let his hand slowly slide down her arm as he withdrew it “—people will hear your impassioned plea and your intelligent arguments and they’ll be forced to think about the facts. And that’s all we want—for people’s assumptions to be educated ones.”

  Cheryl smiled. “I should have known it was your idea to come here. You’re obviously the kind of person who likes to play fair—unlike other people we know.” She lowered herself onto a brown leather armchair without breaking eye contact with Anatoly. It was amazing that anyone as calculating as Cheryl could be this gullible. Or maybe she knew Anatoly was playing her and hoped that if she went along with it he’d manipulate her right into the bedroom. That was so not going to happen. “You know, it’s not like I’m in cahoots with the police in order to put Leah away. The cops aren’t even being very nice to me. Can you believe they actually asked me to retract my last statement to the media?”

  “Nooo
.” I pulled out the word, and made a face to emphasize how shocking I found that.

  Cheryl ignored me. “I didn’t say anything bad, you know. Leah’s desperate, and if by some miracle she hasn’t played the race card yet, it’s just a matter of time before she does. And as for those people who say my statements reeked of anti-Semitism—I don’t get that at all. All I said was that her family was Jewish—and yeah, okay, I implied that Jews are traditionally wealthy, but why is that a bad thing? Everybody wants to be rich and famous, right? And most Jews are rich and everyone knows they hold all the top media positions, so it seems to me that they should be proud of their accomplishments. It’s the American dream.”

  “I understand exactly what you’re saying,” Anatoly said, before sneaking me a look that told me he did understand Cheryl and was properly disgusted. “Cheryl—” he swiveled back in her direction “—it must have been horrible when Leah called and told you the news.”

  “Yes.” She blinked and looked away. “It was.”

  “What were you doing at the time?”

  “You know, the usual. Hanging around the apartment watching E and doing some decorating.”

  Anatoly shook his head sympathetically. “Isn’t it strange to think that while you were carrying on with what must have seemed like a normal day at home, something as sinister as a murder was taking place a few miles away?”

  Cheryl reached out and grabbed Anatoly’s hand. “It’s so good to finally talk to someone who understands.”

  “I’m trying to envision it.” Anatoly creased his forehead and shook his head. “What were you doing earlier that day? Were you working? Out with friends?”

  “No, I was home all day.”

  She had no alibi. The image of Cheryl being carted away in handcuffs flashed before my eyes and I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning.

  “You must have loved your brother very much,” Anatoly said.

  “I did.” Cheryl nodded and dabbed her eyes, although I couldn’t see any tears.

  “Did the two of you spend much time together?”

  She shifted in her seat. “Bob and I are very busy people.”

  “So, you mean to tell me that a brother and sister who lived in the same city were never able to make time for each other?” Anatoly dropped her hand. “I don’t understand. I have a brother in Israel and not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could see him more often.”

  “Well, we did see each other occasionally,” Cheryl said quickly. “Sometimes he would stop by the hotel if he had a spare moment to say hi.”

  “Ah.” Anatoly’s tone softened. “So you did make some time for each other. I was being harsh. I didn’t know Bob, but Sophie said that he wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with and obviously you don’t share that opinion. Maybe the two of you just didn’t have much in common.”

  “He did share my good taste.” She nodded toward her disastrous stab at decorating. “But we had our differences, too. His priorities were a little confused. It’s like, I would tell him about how Steven Spielberg was staying with us, you know, at the Ritz, and how he took the time to compliment me personally on my exemplary service, and Bob would act like he didn’t even care.” She shrugged, apparently mystified by the memory of her brother’s indifference. “Maybe he was just jealous. It must have been hard for him to have a sister who was always getting to rub elbows with the celebs.”

  “Uh-huh.” Anatoly looked like he was beginning to get a headache. “So would you say that was your main source of contention—his lack of appreciation for Hollywood celebrities?”

  Cheryl put her fingernail in her mouth and pondered that for a moment before nodding. “Pretty much.”

  My cell phone rang, interrupting what had become a less-than-stimulating question-and-answer session. My caller ID read “Private Number.” I pressed it to my ear. “Y’ello.”

  “Miss Katz? It’s Detective Lorenzo. I was hoping you could come in to the station. We have some more questions for you.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach. “Has something happened?”

  “We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right over.” I hung up and looked at Anatoly.

  “Who was that?”

  I was going to answer him truthfully, but then I saw the inquisitive look on Cheryl’s face and decided that the honesty could wait. “It was Channel Four. They said that they might not want the interview after all.”

  “What!” Cheryl jumped out of her seat. “But you have to change their mind!”

  “Yeah, I know.” I stood up and crossed to the door. “I’ll go over there right now and see if I can make things right.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Cheryl offered.

  “No,” Anatoly said as he opened the door for me. “We don’t want to bombard them. They called Sophie, so she’s the one who should talk to them.” He smiled at her. “I promise to call you when we have it all worked out.”

  “Okay,” Cheryl said uncertainly. “If they want to interview just me…”

  “I’ll be sure to give them your number.” I grabbed Anatoly’s sleeve. “We really need to go now.”

  Anatoly nodded. “Talk to you soon, Cheryl.”

  We walked down the stairs together, but it wasn’t until we were on the street that he addressed me. “Who was that really?”

  “Detective Lorenzo—he said he had some more questions.”

  Anatoly hesitated. “It’s to be expected that he would have some follow-up questions. It doesn’t mean he has discovered anything new.”

  “You mean that he might not have found out about the affair,” I said quietly.

  “It’s possible.” But he didn’t sound all that convinced. We walked the rest of the way to the car in silence.

  It wasn’t until we were on the road and halfway to the station that I dared speak my thoughts. “What if he asks me something I don’t want to answer?”

  Anatoly sighed and rubbed his eyes. “When in doubt, tell the truth.”

  “I’m sort of a poetic license kind of girl.”

  “I’ve noticed. Unfortunately so have the police. They’re going to try to trip you up, and I’m sure you’ve heard the expression—if you tell the truth you don’t have to remember what you’ve said.”

  I stopped at a crosswalk and waited while an elderly Chinese woman and her rottweiler crossed the street. “I don’t really want to let on that Leah told me about the affair.”

  “Sophie…”

  “I just think you were right when you said that the revelation should come from Leah.” I shifted gears and turned the corner.

  Anatoly let out a heavy sigh. “Fine, don’t tell them that you knew about the affair.”

  “And I don’t want to tell Lorenzo that I have a letter from Bianca to Bob. I mean, no one but Erika, you and me know we have that letter, and Erika’s not going to say anything, so there’s no real reason to volunteer this information.”

  “Sophie, is there anything you do plan on telling them?”

  We weren’t that far from our destination so I decided to pull into a parking garage.

  “I think I’ll tell them that Leah’s innocent and that if they really want to be of service to the public they’ll just arrest Cheryl and be done with it. The woman is whacked and she has no alibi.”

  “Yes, it’s been my experience that the police love it when civilians tell them how to do their job.”

  “It’s not like I’m trying to order them around—it’ll be more like a friendly suggestion.”

  “And I’m sure there were a lot of whacked people alone on the night that Bob died.” Anatoly drummed his fingers against his thigh. “That doesn’t make them killers.”

  “But—”

  “She has no motive, Sophie.”

  I found a spot and killed the engine. “If Cheryl did have a motive, do you really think she’d tell us about it? Even she’s not that stupid.”

  Anatoly shook his head. “You can’t mold th
is case to turn out the way you want it to. Let’s look at the facts we have and follow them where they lead us, instead of following clues that aren’t there.”

  “But the facts we have all lead us to Leah!”

  Anatoly turned to me, his eyes caring but serious. “I know.”

  I swallowed hard. “Come on, let’s go to the police station and get this over with.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead he just nodded and got out of the car.

  We walked down the street, rounded the corner and then stopped short. In front of the station was a mass of people, some of them chanting “SF Justice is skin deep,” others waving signs that read Leave Sistah Leah Alone or The Jewish Defense League Supports Leah.

  “Oh, my God,” I gasped. “It’s the Rainbow Coalition, and they’re seriously pissed.”

  Anatoly shook his head, clearly riveted by the scene in front of him. “This is such an interesting country.”

  He took my arm and we pushed through the crowd.

  “Yo, check out the beautiful multicultural couple,” someone screamed.

  Cheers rose up into the air as people slapped us on the back and congratulated us on our exceptional PC-ness.

  I bit my lip to hold back my laughter. “I’m dying,” I whispered.

  “Don’t die,” Anatoly said. “If Bob’s death can cause this kind of madness, just think what yours would do. They’d probably call out Reverend Sharpton.”

  We bent our heads and pushed our way through the throng into the police station. Guards were posted at the door; no doubt they were there to help with crowd control, but it looked like a pretty peaceful bunch. Totally insane, but peaceful.

  I announced my presence to the officer sitting at what passed for a check-in desk, and then Anatoly and I took a seat in the rather expansive waiting room. The place was filled with several other civilians who were undoubtedly awaiting their own special interrogation sessions. You’d think that the atmosphere would have been one wrought with anxiety but instead the overall mood seemed to be one of bewilderment and mild amusement thanks to the spectacle outside.

  In a matter of minutes Lorenzo appeared in the doorway wearing a dark brown suit that was cut a little too wide for his slim physique. He motioned for me to follow him down the sterile hallway to his equally bland office. I glanced at the linoleum floors and his desk that was completely devoid of personal touches. Would it have killed the man to do a little decorating? If he didn’t have family photos to put up, the least he could do was buy a fern to love.