Back in Black

by Rhys Ford

  “Poppa’s doctor at the hospital was surprised when I showed up. I had to prove to him that I was who I said I am, but they let this woman waltz in and begin making decisions about Poppa’s life without even blinking.” Her hand tightened on the coffee cup, and briefly it looked like she was going to crush it. But she relaxed her fingers and continued. “I asked him to describe her to me. I thought maybe it was one of his neighbors and he’d misunderstood, but she signed paperwork for his care. So that tells me she knew exactly what she was doing.”

  “Did you see her today? Did she come to the room?” While I’d seen the fake Marlena in the hall, I couldn’t be certain she’d actually made it inside of the room.

  The sour look on Marlena’s face was all I needed to know she’d definitely spotted her curvaceous, vampy alleged doppelgänger. “She stopped at the doorway, and I looked up. I recognized her immediately from Doctor Wilson’s description, and I stood up to grab at her, but Poppa opened his eyes and began to make some noise. By the time I turned back around, she was gone, and honestly, he was a lot more important to me than chasing her down.”

  “Did you recognize her?” I made a mental note to ask O’Byrne to check the hospital’s cameras and then amended that note to tell her about the fake Marlena.

  “No.” She shook her head. Her lashes were wet, but there were still no tears coming, and I didn’t expect any. “I know most of my grandparents’ friends. And the ones I don’t are because they’re either dead or in Europe. Of course, up until a few years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined Mama had affairs with other women. So there could be things about them that I know nothing about. I did wonder if she was somebody who’d been… intimate with Mama. She had that look about her. Maybe I’m just being judgmental because she’d tried to steal my name and identity, but she looked like a using bitch, and I’ve known more than a few of those in my time.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to speak to your grandfather. He’d been attacked by the time I showed up for our appointment.” I was going to get into treacherous territory, mentioning the attack to lead her to explain about the house. My suspicions were still firmly on the side of “the Brinkerhoffs didn’t live there,” but I needed Marlena to confirm that. “We ended up surprising a gunman who shot up the front of the house, then bolted out. I actually landed in the cactus on the side of the bungalow trying to avoid getting shot.”

  “House?” Marlena glanced at me, confused and worried. “They live in a high-rise downtown. They haven’t lived in a house in over ten years. They sold the old place by the studios. Said it was too big for them with me gone. They said—”

  I’d been around so many people who’d been lied to I’d lost count. First as a police detective and then as a private investigator, I’d had a front-row seat for every single farce and betrayal someone could dream up. Having been one of the unwitting actors in my own tragic play, I knew all too well the devastating tsunami of emotions hitting Marlena at that moment. There were things about her family I didn’t understand, and I was going to have to dig through what was left of her life in order to find out who killed her grandmother and what that man was looking for in a house her grandparents supposedly didn’t own anymore.

  “I need to ask you a few more things. And I know I’m pushing that time limit you gave me, but it’s very important. I had a feeling your grandparents staged that house for some reason, and something your imposter said made me think they had a very good reason—maybe even an illegal one—for keeping that house.” She wasn’t looking at me and flinched when I touched her arm, but Marlena nodded, her upper teeth clenched over her lower lip. “She told me your grandparents were… criminals in the past, specifically a thief and an art forger. Is there any truth to that?”

  “Yes.” Her murmur was a weak mewl, and she folded into herself, rolling her shoulders in until she was nearly bent over, cuddling her coffee cup to her stomach. “They took me in after my mother died. She’d left home when she was nineteen, because… she didn’t want to live like them. For seven years she kept me away from them, even though it was just the two of us and it was hard. But what they did was wrong. She hated growing up always looking over her shoulder. Then a drunk driver hit her, and they took me in.

  “At first I didn’t understand what my mother hated about them,” Marlena confessed, letting out a bitter, short laugh. “But we kept moving. I kept changing schools, and my grades were suffering. But it was exciting because Mama taught me things like how to pick locks and pockets and our walls always had these gorgeous paintings on them. They took me to museums, and we traveled around, living out of small apartments or vans. But sometimes, late at night, they would tell me to stay in my room and people would come over. The next day some of the paintings would be gone or Mama would tell me it was time to go and pack up my things.”

  “When did you find out?” I prodded. “I mean, you’re an assistant DA now. I’m guessing something changed.”

  “I walked out during one of those visits. I can’t remember why. I think I wanted ice cream or something to drink, and there was a man standing in the living room, looking over something on the coffee table. He either didn’t know I was there or maybe he didn’t see me, because he began shouting, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor and my arm was bleeding.” She swallowed, gulping in air. “He’d shot me. Pulled out a gun and shot me. I was nine, and he didn’t even pause. Thank God Poppa jumped at him and threw his aim off or I’d be dead. I don’t remember much after that. I passed out. But I think Mama might have killed him. When I woke up, some of their friends were there, and I was patched up.”

  “Is that when they moved to the bungalow?”

  “No. Not just yet. It was about a year later. They argued a lot. I was scared, and I told them I didn’t want to live with them anymore. Not like I had a choice. There was nowhere for me to go. I remember that.” She snorted, giving another shake of her head. “I was almost twelve when I ran away the first time, and after the police brought me back, they said they would stop. That’s when we moved to Los Angeles and when I decided I was going to be a lawyer. I needed to… balance things out, I think. I don’t know. They told me they were done with that life, but it looks like all they did was create a lie for me to live in. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

  As much as I hated sifting through the shattered remains of Marlena’s life, there really wasn’t much choice. Unless Bobby cornered our imposter and she confessed everything, I had nothing to go on. I needed to find out what Adele was doing out in that neighborhood on that night. From the sounds of it, it’d been decades since the Brinkerhoffs pulled a caper in front of Marlena, but I had a slim hope she paid attention to their friends. Adele went out to meet someone she knew. My gut told me that. The fake diamonds told me she was either trying to scam someone or she’d been double-crossed.

  “How much were you told about your grandmother’s murder?” I asked as gently as I could.

  “I know that she was found in Brentwood and she’d been shot. I haven’t contacted the police yet. Silly me, I thought maybe someone would contact me, but I didn’t realize that woman stepped in to take my place.” Marlena set her cup down on the bench, and I was partially surprised it didn’t burn through the Styrofoam and into the stone, considering she drank it black. “I suppose I will have to get ahold of that detective you told me about. This is all just such a mess. There was no reason for her to be out there. But then, I guess I really didn’t know them at all, did I?”

  “I hate to be the one to tell you these things, but I have to.” Turning on the bench, I went over as briefly as I could the events of that night, leaving out the gory details but verifying how Adele met her demise and informing Marlena of the fake gems found on her body. The only time I got a reaction was when I told her I’d been the one to find her grandmother’s body. She blinked, then looked away. “Your grandfather reached out to me because he didn’t have any faith in the cops. I didn’t understand that at the time, but if what
you say is true, I can see why he wouldn’t want the police to dig into his life.”

  “If what I say is true?” Marlena snorted, her nostrils flaring in anger and her eyes narrowed, fixing on some point off in the distance. “I can give you the keys and codes to their townhouse. Maybe there’s something there, but other than that, I can’t help you. I’m as in the dark as you are.”

  “Detective O’Byrne probably will want access to the townhouse,” I replied, putting my own cup down because my stomach had had enough. “I’m a consultant on this case. Any evidence gathering needs to be done by the police. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m okay with anything that leads to my grandmother’s murderer,” Marlena said flatly, glancing up at the hospital towering above us. “And whoever attacked Poppa. They may have been lying to me all of my life, but they’re all I had. It’s just knowing I worked hard to become a lawyer—I graduated at the top of my class, for God’s sake—and all of it was paid for by criminal activity. It feels like my diploma, my career, hell, my entire life is dirty. Like I won’t ever be clean again. I’m going to need time to deal with that.”

  “I just have one last thing to ask you,” I told her, brushing her arm lightly to prevent her from standing when she leaned forward on the bench. “You said your grandparents had friends who helped you relocate. Are these people still around? Do you have any names or addresses of people they’re close to? They may be people connected to your grandparents through that kind of activity and you just weren’t aware of it.”

  “Do you want to know what’s funny? My grandfather’s best friend is an ex-cop. His name is George Watson. He and his wife, Marie, live in the townhouse kitty-corner from my grandparents’ place. There’s four apartments on each floor of the building, and mostly everyone who lives there is older.” Marlena smirked, pushing herself off the bench with a long stretch, then turning to face me as she stood up. “They all were very friendly when Mama and Poppa moved in, like they’d known each other for a long time. So maybe that’s where you should start looking. Let me know what you find. I’ll be either upstairs waiting for Poppa to get back or in the shower trying to scrub this filth off of me.”

  Thirteen

  “THE BITCH stabbed me!”

  As glad as I was to hear Bobby at the other end of the phone, I had to wince at the invective he slung out, especially since a group of nuns passing by clearly heard him through my phone’s magnificent speaker, which only seemed to have Dolby surround sound at the worst opportunities. Smiling at a particularly stern woman in formal penguin wear, I cupped my hand over the phone, hoping to mute him a bit.

  “Where the fuck are you?” Then I winced because somehow, doubling down on the profanity was obviously going to win me points with the Sister Mary Margaret brigade going past me. Luckily it seemed like they were out of earshot or I’d have gotten a ruler straight across of my mouth. “And who stabbed you?”

  “I’m in the ER. Just get over here.” Bobby growled at someone else, muttering they’d better bring someone with a painkiller in a few minutes or he’d chew through someone’s head. “They put me in the second bed after you come in, but I haven’t seen anyone yet. I’ve got pressure on the cut, but it’s going to need stitches. Whatever you do, don’t call Ichi.”

  So of course I hung up and called Ichi.

  That phone call went as I expected it to—a lot of heavy silence as my half brother sorted through the Japanese swear words probably filling his head before coming up with some English I’d understand. The call was actually pretty short and sweet. I did my best to tamp down the smugness I felt about finally being the one calling everyone else to say someone—other than me—had been hurt. I wanted to savor the moment, but Ichi seemed to be in some hurry to see his stupid husband. My asshole of a younger brother hung up on me before I could draw my smugness out to a climactic conclusion, but the damage had been done. He was headed down to the hospital in a mild fury and would soon be there to take Bobby off of my hands.

  I was dialing O’Byrne when I realized I hadn’t told Bobby he’d actually been stabbed by a fake Marlena while the real one had coughed up as much information as she could. He was going to have to wait until I was done with Dell.

  She picked up on the first ring, barking her name at me as if I didn’t know who I was dialing. But by the sounds of a siren cutting off and loud voices coming over the phone, I guessed she was a little bit busy. I identified myself and barely got my name out when she cut me off.

  “Where are you, McGinnis?” O’Byrne was walking away from whatever shitstorm she’d been standing next to. The sounds of chaos were fading. Then I heard a car door slam, and things were silent except for her breathing. “Tell me you’re near the hospital. Tell me Arthur Brinkerhoff is not only alive but also awake enough for me to shake down for information.”

  “Last time I saw him, he was alive and being wheeled out for tests. I talked to his granddaughter—”

  “Well then you were probably the last one who did, because she was just found in a parking lot a couple of blocks down from the hospital. She’s got a new hole in her head, right in the middle of her forehead.” She sighed long enough to send a whistle in my ear. “When did you talk to her?”

  “She actually just left. That woman you found? The slinky blond who could pass as Jessica Rabbit’s sister? That’s not Marlena Brinkerhoff.”

  The swearing I got this time was Mexican, but it had as much heat on it as Ichi’s Japanese. I heard Dell take a deep breath, as if she were calming herself. Then she spat out, “What the fuck are you talking about, Mac. I spoke to the woman last night for a few minutes on the phone. Bishop was with her for a couple of hours. If she’s not Marlena Brinkerhoff, who the hell is she? And where the hell is Marlena Brinkerhoff?”

  I filled Dell in on everything I’d gotten from Arthur’s real granddaughter, including their address and the name of the ex-cop Marlena pointed me toward. My stomach twisted a bit, but I had to tell her about Bobby and the altercation he’d had with the faux-Marlena.

  “Where did she stab him?” she finally asked when I was done.

  “I didn’t ask. It couldn’t have been any place vital, because he was talking and sounded kind of mad.” I shrugged to myself, thinking about all the times I’d been shot and knifed. “Of course, whenever somebody tries to give you an extra hole where you didn’t need one, it does tend to make you kind of pissed off.”

  O’Byrne took one of those shuddering breaths I recognized from Claudia and Jae. It was the kind of intake of air used to communicate a dwindling patience. After she exhaled, she said, “I don’t care where she stabbed him on his body. I want to know where did she stab him? Was it at the hospital? At a coffee shop? Where were they?”

  “I actually didn’t ask that, but we were here at the hospital, and he followed her down on the elevator. I’m going to guess probably in the parking garage, but I don’t know. I was talking to Marlena—the real Marlena—and he was supposed to keep her—the fake one—busy while I hit up Arthur with questions, because we didn’t know we had the wrong Marlena when we walked in.”

  “I must’ve run over a thousand puppies and kittens with a tractor in my past life. That’s the only reason I can think of why I’m stuck with you, McGinnis.”

  “You’re no picnic yourself, O’Byrne,” I reminded her, glancing up to the sky and wondering if it was going to rain. “We still have the problem of a leak somewhere in your department or maybe even higher up. Our fake Marlena got information from somewhere, and now that she’s been found out, someone decided she’s expendable. I’m going to go check up on Bobby. I guess I’ll see you as soon as you can get here so you can question him.”

  “Is he carrying?” she asked softly. “Because if he is, he’s got to surrender it. I need to exclude the weapon from whatever drilled a hole through Blondie. I’ll see if I can get a tech over to do a GSR test on him, but until I can get him eliminated, he’s a suspect.”

  “Got it.” I could
just imagine how Bobby was going to take that, but O’Byrne was a good cop, and she wouldn’t cut anyone slack just because she knew them. Rationally, Bobby would agree with that, but he’d just been stabbed, so I wasn’t too sure how rational he was. “I’ll make sure they don’t swab his hands down with alcohol.”

  “I’ll be there soon as I can.” She let out another curse, mumbling under her breath. “Oh, and McGinnis? I’m going to put a couple of cops on Brinkerhoff’s hospital room. Make sure you watch your back, because if they know that Marlena—the real one—is in town and she’s spilled her guts to you, you could be next on their hit list.”

  “NO, I get it. She’s got to do the job,” Bobby said, surrendering his gun to the baby-faced uniform who’d come to grab it. The kid’s hands were shaking, and I wasn’t too sure who he was more afraid of, Dawson or Ichiro, who stood at the side of the bed, glowering at him. “I’ve got a spare set of clothes in the SUV, babe. Can you or Cole grab it so I can give them what I’m wearing?”

  “I’ll get it.” Ichi’s words were clipped, sharpened with anger. He’d probably come from the shop, because he was decked out in full cool tattoo-artist gear—torn black jeans, a 415 Ink T-shirt that had seen better days, and a leather jacket so worn-in it slithered around his compact, muscled torso. “I can’t believe they think you killed her. O’Byrne knows you.”

  “It’s procedure,” Bobby reassured him, kissing Ichi on the cheek. “The best way to nail someone for a murder is to eliminate all of the people who could have done it but didn’t. That way there’s no room for doubt. That’s what the whole legal system is about—beyond a reasonable doubt, and that’s what O’Byrne needs to prove. Or at least that’s what she needs to be able to put in front of the DA. I promise I didn’t kill her, so the evidence will show that.”

  “Well, I probably shouldn’t tattoo her in the next few months,” Ichiro growled, stalking toward the curtains. “She might end up with a kanji that says asshole instead of peace.”