One on One
Page 16
“His thesis as to why he should be celebrated rather than incarcerated is certainly amusing, but the law here in Freedom is very specific regarding the penalties for Mr. Noel’s crimes. And they’re purposely harsh.”
“He should never have been arrested,” Janet Robinson argued. “A settlement should have been negotiated.”
“Not my table. I’m just a lowly officer of the law, charged with enforcing it. I’d suggest you take your issues up with the District Attorney. Or the Governor? Or maybe even the President.”
She sneered at me.
“Allow me to say what a pleasure it was meeting you all.”
I flashed my most insincere smile and left them standing in the hallway.
I overheard Ms. Robinson loudly exclaim, “Asshole.”
I turned around to face her. “That would be Sheriff Asshole.”
As I entered my office the intercom started buzzing.
“What?” I said to Wilma Hansen, the dispatcher.
“You have a number of messages from A.D.A. Alfred Wilder.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like to know exactly what he said or are you comfortable just knowing he called?”
“What are you driving at, Wilma?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that his last message was quite amusing.”
“Okay. Amuse me.”
“I quote,” she began. “Tell that son of a bitch bastard to get back to me immediately or I’ll rip out his testicles and feed them to my dog.”
“You find that amusing?”
“It made me laugh.”
“You know something, Wilma? You’re a seriously disturbed person.”
“That’s what my husband says,” she exclaimed and disconnected the line.
“It’s about time,” Skip Wilder said when he picked up my call.
“Your dog eats testicles?”
“He’s a sucker for Sheriff balls.”
“What exactly was it you wanted, Skip?”
“The unholy trinity was here.”
“Did you agree to free their client?”
“No.”
“And the D.A.?”
“He stonewalled them.”
“No settlement?”
“He was pretty adamant. Wants to make Noel an example of what’s in store for any taggers who choose to ply their trade here in San Remo County.”
“How did they react?”
“Not well. They’re threatening to file suit.”
“No injunction?”
“They can try. Bunch of high-priced Beverly Hills reprobates. It won’t work, though. Not with the way Helena Madison drafted the law. It’s pretty iron-clad.”
“Good. Was there anything else?”
“Just that I’m looking forward to the game.”
“What game?”
“The one on one.”
“She told you about it?”
“She can’t wait.”
“Aw, hell.”
“When is it, by the way?”
“Unscheduled.”
“Let me know as soon as it’s on the books.”
“Sure thing, Skip. Probably be when I rid my mind of the image of you feeding my nuts to your dog.”
Chapter Fifty-two
“I was expecting you,” Julia Peterson said.
We were in her office at Freedom High, sitting across from each other at the conference table. She was wearing a suit similar to the one she had on when I first met her, except this one was a muted brown. Her auburn hair was neatly groomed. She had on very little makeup. She seemed tired and more stressed than she had been at our earlier meeting. Several bottles of water sat chilling in an ice-filled bucket. Drinking glasses had been placed in front of us.
“Expecting me because?”
“I’ve tried to keep abreast of the investigation. I’m curious to know how you’re faring.”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Which means?”
“For the most part we’re dealing with a number of frightened youngsters, unfamiliar with police procedures and intimidated by them.”
“Is there a way I can be helpful?”
“I have a few questions if you’ve got time for me.”
She took a sip of water. “Of course.”
“How well did you know the deceased?”
“Henry Carson?”
“Yes.”
“Not too well. We were colleagues.”
“I remember you saying you didn’t socialize with him.”
“That’s correct.”
“It was you who hired him, isn’t that so?”
“It is. If memory serves, I interviewed him twice.”
“After which you hired him.”
“Yes.”
“You thought highly enough of him during your first interview to invite him back for a second?”
“Actually, that wasn’t the case.” She shifted in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair a few times. She took another sip of water and began fidgeting with a pen, mindlessly clicking the ballpoint. She seemed uncomfortable. “He was most anxious to get the job. After our initial conversation, he phoned several times and also wrote, suggesting that if I was seriously considering his candidacy, he’d be willing to return for a second interview. He offered to do so on his own dime. He was very aggressive.”
“Did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Did he return on his own dime?”
She didn’t answer right away. “He was sitting in my waiting room one morning when I arrived for work.”
“You hadn’t been expecting him?”
“No.”
“But you met with him again just the same?”
“I did.”
“How did that go?”
“He succeeded in making an impression. He was quite insistent. I told him I had yet to make up my mind. That I was also considering two other candidates.”
“How did he react to that?”
“At first he seemed disappointed. Then he began campaigning for the job.”
“Campaigning?”
“He insisted we meet later that same day. He invited me to have drinks with him.”
“And?”
“I did. Reluctantly. He was very persuasive. He was sensitive to our being seen together here in Freedom, which he felt could be interpreted unfavorably by anyone who might come upon us, so I met him in the lounge of the San Ysidro Ranch in Santa Barbara.”
“And it was there that he made the case for his candidacy?”
Our conversation had succeeded in raising her anxiety level. She continued to fiddle with the pen.
“Am I making you nervous?”
“No. No. Not at all. It’s just that I hadn’t thought of those days in a while and in light of what happened to Henry, they appear to have had an impact on me.”
“Would you prefer we stop?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“May we go on?”
“Yes. You asked about him making the case for my hiring him.”
I nodded.
“As I said, he was very aggressive. His was a commanding presence. He appeared capable and fit. He was also a charming person, self-effacing and diffident.”
“Diffident?”
“Let’s just say he made his case by underselling himself. Which was not so with his competitors.”
“So he won the job?”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“When he came back a third time.”
“A third time? You initially said you saw him only twice.”
“I’m sorry. I must have been confused. Yes, there was a third time. Also paid for by him.”
A silence fell upon us. Ms. Peterson continued to exude a palpable uneasiness. As if she knew what might be coming and was terrified by it.
“What happened during his third visit?”
“He convinced me he was the right person for the job.”
“How?”
“How did he convince me?”
“Yes.”
“His enthusiasm for the job and for moving to California was infectious. Clearly he was capable and qualified. At the end of the day, I felt he was the superior candidate.”
“When did you become aware of his behavioral aberrations?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When did you realize he was a sociopath?”
She gasped. It was as if all of the air had suddenly been punched out of her. She collapsed into herself like a rag doll. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know he seduced half the girls on the swim team?”
She sat frozen on the spot, refusing to look at me.
“When did you find out?” I asked.
She glanced at me and shuddered visibly. She spoke softly, her voice drained of emotion. “I stumbled upon one of his parties.”
“A play party?”
“If that’s what it was called, yes.”
“And you knew about it because?”
“We had a scheduled meeting. When he didn’t appear, I went around to the pool house and came upon one of the swim team boys who was in a big hurry to leave. Said he was late. When I asked him what for, he said something about a team event. I watched him leave and then followed him.”
“And he led you to a party.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I was devastated.”
“Was Henry Carson there?”
She nodded.
“He saw you?”
“He did.”
“And?”
“It was as if I didn’t exist. He looked right through me.”
“You were sleeping with him?”
She looked first at me, then away. “Yes.”
“You knew he was married?”
She nodded.
“And now you knew about the parties.”
I watched as the realization hit her, as she came to understand that life as she knew it was now over. “I hated him,” she murmured as if to herself. “I wish I had killed him myself.”
Suddenly she stood. “I can’t talk anymore.”
She stepped to her desk, picked up her purse and ran from the building.
I took out my cell phone and punched in a number. Marsha Russo picked up the call. “She’s on the run.”
“Copy that. You still want us to pick her up?”
“I do.”
“And detain her?”
“Yes.”
“Aiding and abetting?”
“That’s the charge. What really concerns me is her psychological well-being.”
“Meaning?”
“I want to make certain she doesn’t off herself.”
“And you think that busting her is the best protection.”
“I do. Arrest her and get her settled. And make certain she’s under a twenty-four-hour watch. She poses a threat to herself.”
“County?”
“Yes.”
“There she is. I see her.”
“Go easy on her, Marsha. She’s damaged goods.”
Chapter Fifty-three
“She’ll be released pending trial,” Burton Steel, Senior, said.
“Not if I can help it,” I answered. “She’s a threat to herself.”
“You think there’s a judge around who will buy that argument?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Because?”
“I watched her deflate. Forced to confront whatever flimsy self-justification she had sold herself. When faced with the truth, she folded. She’s standing bare-assed naked with no self-invented excuses to shield her from the realization she was duped by a psychopath who not only weaseled his way into her pants, but who also brought shame and disgrace to her sacred career. She’s sure to lose her job. Might even face jail time. She’s got nothing left. She’s the perfect candidate for suicide.”
“Have you talked this over with the D.A.?”
“I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“I don’t know,” the Sheriff said. “You say she knew that Carson was hosting sex parties?”
“Yes.”
“And by her silence, condoned them.”
“For whatever reason, she not only condoned them, she also went so far as to threaten one of the swim team girls who was refusing to participate.”
“Dumb,” the Sheriff said. “Nutty.”
“To say the least.”
We were sitting on his porch, braving the unseasonable chill of the late afternoon. The Sheriff was wrapped in a cashmere blanket, a gift from my stepmother for his recently celebrated sixty-fifth birthday.
His disease was the elephant in the room. We didn’t speak of it, but it hovered over us like the dense cloud cover that precedes a storm.
“What’s new with the murder?”
“I have a theory.”
“Were you planning to share it?”
“Not yet. So far it’s only a product of the disjointed thinking that accompanies chronic sleeplessness.”
“I sure had my share of that in this job,” the old man said.
“You should have told me about it.”
“What, and have you turn me down?”
“I might have, you know.”
“That’s why I kept my mouth shut.”
“Bastard.”
“And proud of it. How long before you go public with this disjointed thinking of yours?”
“Not long. I want to make one more foray into the truth before I succumb to the pressure.”
“It’s the pressure that kills you.”
“Another thing you neglected to tell me.”
“You take the job, the pressure comes with it. There’s no way of preparing for it.”
“This conversation gets more depressing by the minute.”
“Liar,” he said. “You love it, Buddy. You’re a natural.”
“Speaking of self-delusion.”
“Bullshit. The only self-delusion is yours if you don’t acknowledge what I’m telling you.”
He thought he had me dead-to-rights and was clobbering up to hit his nail on my head. “I couldn’t be prouder of the way you’re handling yourself,” he said.
“Don’t go all soft and gooey on me, Burton. It’s out of character.”
He flashed me a weary smile. “It is, isn’t it?”
Chapter Fifty-four
Marsha Russo pulled me aside as soon as I entered the building. “He’s sitting in your office.”
“Who is?”
“Gustavo Noel.”
“Robaire’s father?”
“Mr. Hollywood Mogul himself.”
“What’s he doing in my office?”
“That you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“And you let him in because?”
“He promised to introduce me to George Clooney.”
“He what?”
“You know what, Buddy? Why don’t you just go in there and see what it is he wants?”
“Feel free to let anybody in my office, Marsha. Use it as a waiting room, why don’t you?”
“Not a bad idea.” She strolled away.
I stepped into my office and was greeted by the movie industry legend himself. “It’s about time you got here. I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour.”
I sat down at my desk and stared
at him. “I don’t remember you making an appointment.”
“Fuck an appointment. It took two hours just to get here.”
“I’m sorry you suffered such an inconvenience. I hope you’ve recovered enough to make the return trip.”
It was his turn to stare.
Gustavo Noel was an imperious personage, clearly used to getting his own way, decked out in a snug-fitting, silk Bijan suit, accessorized with a pair of gold cuff links the size of cupcakes. An ostentatious gold chain encircled his neck. On his wrist was an Audemars Piguet chronograph timepiece that must have set him back at least thirty grand.
His abundant black hair was slicked back. He had an oversized aquiline nose and large puffy lips. He bore the aura of a tough guy, but one with an inalienable charm that was both warm and winning. His attentive brown eyes held the promise of good times, grand fun, and unimpeachable fellowship. He was the vision of a Hollywood mogul of yore.
“I want you to release him,” he demanded.
“No,” I responded, which was followed by silence.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not here to play footsie with you. What will it take to get him out?”
“He broke several laws, the penalties for which are clear. He’ll be released when he’s paid his debt to society.”
“They said you were difficult.”
“Yet sincere.”
“Sincerity’s overrated,” Noel said. “The great comedian Fred Allen once commented, “You can take all the sincerity in Hollywood, stick it on the head of a pin and still have room for three caraway seeds and the heart of an agent.”
“We’re not in Hollywood anymore, Toto.”
“Funny,” he said. “Clever.”
He moved his chair closer to my desk and lowered his voice. “Listen to me. I’ll make it worth your while if you let him go.”
“Surely you’re not attempting to unduly influence an officer of the law, are you, Mr. Noel?”
“Heaven forbid,” he said, flashing his most winning smile. “But surely you know I’m seriously considering Freedom as the site of my next film. A blockbuster, I might add. Clooney. Pitt. Jennifer Lawrence. All of them here for months. They’ll put Freedom on the map. The economy will go through the roof. We’re talking Hollywood North here.”