Chapter 14
Tyler answered on the first ring.
“Carmen’s dead,” I blurted out before Tyler had a chance to say hello or tell me I’d reached KCHC’s newsroom. “Someone or something killed her, just a few minutes ago.”
“What?” The surprise in his voice was quick and cutting like a knife. “What do you mean dead? Where? How?”
I described the scene. The restaurant on the twenty-fourth floor of the Ritz Carlton. Carmen’s body slumped lifelessly on the couch. A crowd of friends and fans, all helplessly staring at the body. The paramedics had arrived—too late—and were wrapping up their emergency equipment. The police were cordoning off the area, and onlookers were being questioned. The medical examiner had been called to the scene.
“All I can say, Tyler, is that between you and me, it looks suspicious. Not like a robbery gone bad. Whoever did this wanted Carmen dead. She’s still wearing the ruby diamond necklace she wore to the awards show.”
I could hear the clicking of computer keys in the background. Tyler had already begun to type up the story. In a few minutes, he’d interrupt KCHC’s final broadcast for the night and we’d be live on air with breaking news.
“I need you to stay where you are. I want you to fill in the facts, talk to the crowd and get their reaction. I’ll pull up Carmen’s obit file. We’ll double-team this with you there and me here in the studio.”
I stayed on the air with Tyler until well after midnight, postponing the station’s overnight broadcast of popular old mystery theater plays. I wondered how many of the station’s listeners tuning in and hearing “socialite drops dead at awards show” might think this was a joke, a modern-day mystery theater like that of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds, before they realized it was an actual news event.
Tyler pulled up Carmen’s obit file, a digital history including pictures and news stories the station kept on high-profile personalities. Information we could use at the last minute to cobble together a story in the event of an untimely death.
The file indicated Carmen and her sisters had grown up the privileged daughters of a wealthy west-side investment banker. Carmen’s mother had died when she was still in college—barely eighteen—while her globe-trotting father gambled away his grief and lost much of the family fortune. Ultimately, he committed suicide while on vacation in the Bahamas, although the circumstances of his death were never confirmed. To Carmen’s credit, she kept the family together, parlaying family connections into marriages of convenience for both herself and her sisters. While none of the unions had proved to be the match made in heaven she had tried to present publicly, each had secured their financial status. Listening to Tyler had me feeling almost sympathetic to her circumstances.
I filled in Tyler’s report with comments from Mimi, Mr. Churchill, and a few fans who were willing to make a statement. It was well past two a.m. by the time I closed out my report and headed home.
On the drive home, I scanned the radio dial. I was curious to hear if any other news stations had picked up the story of Carmen’s death and how they were reporting it. Instead, I got news of another robbery. This time at the house of Marty Montana, a popular country singer who had co-hosted the Awards Show tonight with his wife, Jennifer. The story was several hours old and I was catching an edited version from an early televised broadcast, but it caught my attention. It seemed that Montana and his wife had returned home after the awards show to find their garage door standing wide open and the back door leading to the house unlocked. I doubted anyone would have tied the news of the break-in to that of the Beverly Hills robberies, and I might not have either, until I heard Montana talking about what it was the burglar had taken.
I could picture the scene. The reporter explained he was standing outside Montana’s home off Fryman Canyon in Studio City. I knew a lot of stars had second homes in the area. Studio City was considered the Valley’s Beverly Hills. It was close to the studios, backed up to the Santa Monica Mountains, and was popular with hiking enthusiasts. It was also less than a mile from two local television news stations, and when something happened in trendy Studio City, it frequently made the news. It didn’t take much to imagine that when the police scanner indicated there was a possible robbery in the star-studded area the TV vans had likely rolled in right behind the cops.
Montana explained that he and his wife had been picked up for the preshow around four p.m., and they remembered seeing a hiker coming out of the park, but that they didn’t think it was unusual.
“There’s always a steady stream of walkers coming out of the park at that hour.”
I knew it wouldn’t take a lot of homework for a thief to figure out who lives where in the city. Star-sighting maps were for sale on nearly every corner in Hollywood, making it easy for a fan to zero in on their favorite star’s home. Some of the homes were protected behind tall walls or hedges and guarded, but a lot in the Studio City area weren’t. Just nice, quiet residences along tree-lined streets. It wasn’t a big stretch to think someone plotting a robbery might stake out their favorite celeb, watch their comings and goings and target the residence; particularly on a night like tonight, knowing no one would be home. All they would have to do is look like one of the hikers coming out of the park and blend in. With no one guarding the home, it’d be easy for a professional thief to break in, take what they wanted, then walk out and join the rest of the hikers. In LA, where neighbors seldom know one another, nobody would notice anything.
The reporter asked, “What did they get?”
Montana replied, “Whoever it was seemed to know what they wanted. Took a couple of watches, Rolexes, and most importantly, a diamond tennis bracelet I’d given my wife as an anniversary present. It had once belonged to Elizabeth Taylor.”
I turned up the volume. Jennifer was describing the bracelet. Fourteen karat gold with white and canary diamonds. I couldn’t believe it. A bracelet belonging to Liz Taylor? Was Bunny right? Did the Wigged Bandit really have a shopping list? And had she targeted the Montana’s home because she knew exactly where the bracelet was and when they’d be out of the house? I was probably the only reporter in town who thought there might be a connection.
Chapter 15
Five and a half hours after wrapping up my report on Carmen’s death, I was back in the studio preparing to deliver my top of the hour newscast when Tyler walked in. I was sleep deprived and operating on nothing but caffeine and the type of adrenaline that comes from seeing dead bodies every time I closed my eyes. No matter how much I tried to erase the vision, I couldn’t get the picture of Carmen’s body, lying spread eagle on the couch, out of my mind. It was haunting me.
I looked up from the stack of news stories in front of me. “Tyler, you can’t possibly expect me to lead with another light-hearted story about a lost puppy or a bear in somebody’s pool in Pasadena. Not after last night.”
Before Tyler could answer, my cell phone buzzed. Eric. I lunged for it and held the phone to my chest. “Excuse me, it’s Eric. I need to take this, it’s about the case. Can you give me a minute?”
Tyler narrowed his eyes, a look he reserved for when he was about to launch into a lecture about why reporters and law enforcement were a bad match; then, shaking his head, he walked out of the studio.
I whispered into the phone, “Is everything okay?”
Despite Tyler’s retreat, I didn’t trust I couldn’t be heard. I’d spent the night blaming myself because Eric hadn’t been in the restaurant when Carmen’s killer struck. Perhaps if we hadn’t been fooling around in Carmen’s suite, things might have been different. Eric prided himself on his job. I worried his absence might have compromised his position with the investigation and gotten him in trouble.
“Everything’s fine, Carol,” he answered almost too quickly.
“It’s just—”
“I called to let you know the brooch you turned over to me last night is real. Churc
hill was right. Our investigators matched it up with a piece missing from Huguette Clark’s estate. It’s worth about fifty thousand dollars.”
“Wow. So that’s good news, right?” I was hoping to hear relief in Eric’s voice. I didn’t.
Instead, his voice sounded flat, void of any emotion, and professional. A tone I’d only heard him use when talking with other agents on the phone, never with me.
“And I want to thank you for turning it over to us and for the tip you gave us concerning the mystery caller.” It sounded like he was reading from a script. Either that or the call was being monitored.
I stumbled in my reply. “I…I’m glad to hear that. I only hope I didn’t interfere in any way with the investigation.” It was a half-hearted attempt on my part to open the door and discuss what had happened last night, but with no success. Eric switched the subject instantly.
“Carol, nothing you did was a problem. In fact, everything’s fine. But going forward, I’ve been asked to remind you this is a very sensitive investigation. The FBI and LAPD have put in a lot of time and energy, and anything you say or report, particularly with respect to the brooch or what you know about our undercover operation, could damage the work we’ve done. I have to ask that you not include anything about it in your news reports.”
Now I was certain the call was being monitored. Eric would never talk to me in such a stilted manner. With the exception of verifying the brooch was real, he was repeating everything he had told me last night. I decided to play along and responded in like manner.
“I understand, Agent Langdon. Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. Not at the moment. But we’ll be in touch.”
I hung up the phone. I had a cold sinking feeling in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten, but I knew food wasn’t going to fill the emptiness I felt growing there.
I tapped on the door, certain Tyler was standing just outside.
He stepped back into the news booth.
“You wanted to talk?” I asked.
“Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what’s going on? Beginning with that call and what happened last night.”
I exhaled deeply. Tyler wasn’t going to like it, but what could I do? “The FBI’s involved in the investigation of the Beverly Hills robberies.” I figured that was no big revelation on my part. The FBI was always called in on jewelry heists and I knew Tyler knew that much. “And they were at the awards show last night—off the record—to keep an eye on Carmen and the jewels.”
“Do they think Carmen’s death is related to the robberies?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t a robbery, that’s for sure. Carmen died with the ruby necklace she wore to the show still on and Mimi went home with Liz Taylor’s La Peregrina. But that wasn’t why Eric called.”
“Then what was it?”
I paused. I wasn’t certain how I was going to tell Tyler about the Wigged Bandit.
“You’re not going to like it, but I seem to have somehow become a material witness for the FBI.”
“What?” Tyler looked at me, his red-freckled complexion paling as he leaned against the wall.
“The FBI believes I may have met the Wigged Bandit as I left Beverly Hills the day of the robbery. And that I may have accidentally helped her with bags she was carrying as I walked with her back to my car.”
“Accidentally? Carol, how does one accidentally escort a thief from the scene of a crime?”
“You have to understand. I didn’t know who she was. Not at the time. I thought she was just a sweet little old lady, confused by the explosion. That is, until last night, when Eric informed me the FBI believes the Wigged Bandit and my little old lady are one and the same.”
“You and Eric?” Tyler asked. “You’re working together?”
“Not exactly. Like I said, I’m a material witness and he’s been working undercover.”
“I’m not even going to ask.”
“Good,” I said, “because I’m really not at liberty to say a whole lot about it. But I can tell you this: the FBI thinks the Wigged Bandit may have fixated on me.”
“Fixated on you?” Tyler laughed. “Exactly what does that mean, Carol?”
“After I met her the day of the robbery, I think she called the station.”
“You never said anything.”
“I wasn’t sure, but after talking with Eric last night he thinks this might be a good thing.”
“A good thing? How is any of this a good thing?”
“Well, for one, I’m a material witness, and if she’s fixated on me for whatever reason, I’d be privy to—”
“To absolutely nothing, Carol.” Tyler ran his hands through his hair. “Don’t you get it? You can’t be both a reporter and a material witness for the FBI. You’re one side or the other, not both. They’ll pressure you for any information you’ve got. They can even threaten to put you in jail if you don’t reveal it. And if they don’t do that, they’ll tie your hands with what you can and can’t say because it might interfere with their investigation.”
“That’s not going to happen, Tyler. Besides, it’s not like I was able to say a whole lot more under Bunny’s chick-lite, good news restrictions anyway.” I grabbed a bunch of printed news stories from the in-basket on my desk and stacked them, tapping the bottom edges together on the desk. “You don’t really expect me to deliver all this chick-lite news, do you? Not after last night and Carmen’s death?”
Tyler shook his head. “I didn’t come in here to talk to you about Bunny. I came to tell you Kari Rhodes heard your broadcast last night. She’s rallied. She called and said although she’s still quarantined with the chicken pox and not well enough to come into the studio, she’ll do her show live from the bedroom of her home. She’s going to have both Mimi and Diaz on the air with her via phone patches. And I’m one hundred percent certain Carmen’s sudden death at the awards show is bound to come up. So go ahead and do whatever you like with your report, but remember, Bunny’s listening. No gory details.”
Tyler walked out of the news booth, leaving me with visions of Kari sitting on top of a satin brocade comforter, her face spotted with anti-itch cream, while I sat alone in a darkened studio.
If it wasn’t for his heavy Castilian accent, I would not have recognized who Kari was speaking with on the air. Umberto Diaz de la Roca sounded like a broken man. Between his voice cracking with emotion, the sobbing, and the going back and forth between Spanish and English, it was difficult to understand what the man was saying. On more than one occasion during the interview, he referred to Carmen as his wife, the woman of his dreams, and his ex. It was obvious the man was overcome with grief. More than I would have expected from someone who has been officially separated from his wife for a number of years and was known to travel the world with as many lovers as he did polo ponies.
Halfway through a nearly incomprehensible interview with Diaz, Kari suggested he hang on and brought Mimi on the air. Mimi sounded much more in control. She said she was with Diaz at his ranch, consoling him in his time of need. Mimi and Kari talked for a few minutes, and then Kari asked me if I had news to add to the events of last night.
“Carol, do the police have any idea what happened?”
“At this point the police haven’t ruled on the cause of Carmen’s death. They are looking at any number of possible circumstances, including natural. The only thing we do know for certain right now is that if this was a homicide, the motive does not appear to have been robbery. Carmen died with the same ruby necklace she wore to the awards show last night.”
“Yes,” Mimi said, “it was a gift from Diaz. He had given it to her for her birthday last year.”
“It was an heirloom,” Diaz said. “I picked up for her in Spain. Carmen adored rubies. I knew she’d love it.”
“Any word, Carol, on how long it will be before the coroner has a cause of death
?”
“Please,” Diaz interrupted. “I know your listeners want to know what happened to my Carmen. She was a beautiful woman, but I can’t listen to this. What I wanted to do today, Kari, was to come on your show and talk about happier times. To share my Carmen’s light and to let those who loved her know what her sister Mimi and I have planned to celebrate her life. On Wednesday, I will be opening our home, Los Caballos Grandes, for a memorial service. Carmen and I loved this ranch. We had many beautiful days here. She will always remain a part of it. I would hope since I can’t invite all who loved her to come to the ranch, that you will come, Kari, and broadcast the celebration of her life so that everyone who hears it might remember her as I do.”
“I would be honored, but under the circumstances, Diaz, I’m homebound until the doctor releases me. Until then, I can’t be out in public. But Carol, our reporter, can. I’ll send her in my stead.”
Chapter 16
I had never been to Los Caballos Grandes before, but Sheri had. Her father, a former big-time movie producer, had used the ranch numerous times for location shoots, and Sheri had frequently accompanied him. She said she knew Los Caballos better than her own backyard and insisted she come along as my guide. She promised she’d provide me with little-known inside information, the type of thing I hoped to drop into my report if things got dull and I had a lot of time to fill.
On the drive out, Sheri filled me in on everything she knew about the ranch and even more about Carmen and her strained relationship with her sisters. Diaz still used Los Caballos Grandes when he was in town, and when he wasn’t, the six-hundred-acre estate nestled in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains was frequently leased out for movie shoots and special events. With its elegant Mediterranean buildings surrounded by rock-studded hills, the property could be made up to look like a Tuscan village in the south of Italy or exactly what it was, the wealthy estate of an international playboy. As for Carmen, even the station’s very thorough obit file couldn’t touch what Sheri knew. When it came to celebrity gossip, Sheri was like a walking Wikipedia.
Without a Doubt Page 9
