“LA’s an expensive town, Nina. Maybe Mimi wanted more than Diaz was willing to give. Could be there was a limit.”
“Hardly.” Nina started brushing the horse again, this time with stronger, more circular motions. “What Mimi wanted, Mimi got. It’s easy for Diaz. Half the time it isn’t even his money. When Mimi needed extra cash, Diaz would arrange for her to show up at some charity function and get a few photos taken. That’s how it works, you know. Nobody donates their time. There’s a cost for attaching a celebrity name to any charity in this town. It happens all the time, and Diaz just made sure Mimi got her fair share.”
“And Donatella? He takes care of her too?”
“She sleeps with him. What do you think?”
I had my suspicions about the girl, the last name Pero for one. But sharing a last name alone was hardly enough to convict one of both murder and robbery. I needed more, and from what little I had been able to learn about Donatella, it was obvious the girl was dependent upon Diaz for everything she had. If she were a struggling actress, I’d seen no evidence of it. After meeting with her in the restroom of the Beverly Wilshire, I’d researched IMDb and found no listing of her ever working. Far as I could tell, the only acting she’d been doing was that of Diaz’s girlfriend. She may have gone out on a few auditions locally, just to keep her cover, but nothing had come of it. And if what Nina said about Diaz was true and he had picked her up in Europe to work as a horse trainer, other than seeing her with a groom’s brush in her hand, my guess was the girl knew little more about horses than how to muck a stall. From all appearances, I thought Nina was right; Donatella was a wannabe actress who had come from nothing, landed in the arms of one of the world’s most flamboyant playboys, and wanted nothing more than a leg up in life, and Diaz was happy to offer her the boost she needed.
I looked around the barn. It was messy, unlike the day of Carmen’s memorial when there wasn’t so much as a stray piece of hay on the floor. Up and down the aisle some of the stall doors were open. Half the horses appeared to be out of the barn. Their gear, blankets, bridles, saddles, and pads had been placed on the top of monogrammed tack boxes outside each of their stalls in preparation for their trip back to Spain.
What if the answer was right under my nose? Right here in the barn, so close to Diaz that even he didn’t suspect.
“What about someone on Diaz’s team? You think any of them might be involved?”
Nina shook her head. “If you’d asked me three years ago, I’d have to say definitely no. Diaz’s team, they were like brothers to him. But after the horses died, none of his teammates wanted anything to do with him. They thought he was jinxed, and they deserted him. He had to start over.”
“You mean build a new team?”
“Yeah. Horses. Riders. Trainers. Everything. They’re all new. All except for Six Pence. He’s Diaz’s horse. He was in the barn the other day when you were here. A couple of Diaz’s teammates were working on his hoof. When the accident happened in Florida, Six Pence was still here. Diaz had left him on account of an injury. The horse is accident-prone. It’s the only reason he’s still alive. He’s the lone survivor and because of it, Diaz will never part with him.”
I wondered about those things Diaz wouldn’t part with, and I didn’t want to share with her my thoughts about Diaz’s new team. I wasn’t even sure myself if they were involved, but the idea starting to form in the back of my mind concerned me. Were they all in on it? Were they a team of traveling thieves?
Instead, I asked, “Was Donatella with Diaz when the accident happened?”
“That’s the first I remember hearing about her. Carmen flew down to Florida, and Donatella was with him when she arrived. Carmen was furious, but what could she do? For all practical purposes, they were separated, and you don’t leave a man like Diaz alone. You’d think the fact Diaz had Donatella with him would be enough to make Carmen want to walk away, but it wasn’t. Not without his money. Instead, she agreed to look the other way, and they continued to live separate lives. Donatella was with him from then on.”
Something about what Nina said about the timing of Donatella’s appearance and that of Diaz’s new team bothered me. I had no proof, but what if Donatella didn’t care about being the next Mrs. Umberto Diaz de la Roca as much as she let on? What if she cared more about her teammates? Could she be but one of the players in a team of thieves? Something like Lewis had described when talking about the Pink Panthers in Paris? A well-organized group of international jewel thieves? “Nina, do you think Donatella knew when Carmen would be making deliveries for Diaz?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Why?”
“Because if what you just told me is true, I don’t think Diaz killed your sister. And I don’t think he did anything to cause her to be killed either. If he did that, Donatella would be in line to be the next Mrs. Umberto Diaz de la Roca. And I don’t think that fits his lifestyle. I think he’s a playboy and a gambler, but murderer and thief? I’m not so sure. I suspect Diaz, just like you said, likes things exactly as they are, and I doubt he wants to do anything to upset it.”
“Then who killed my sister?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “It could be Donatella, or someone else close to Diaz. Maybe even several someones who knew when Carmen would be making deliveries and followed her around so they could not only steal the jewels she was delivering for Diaz but also knock off the stores she was visiting.”
“And double their take?” she asked.
“Exactly, Nina. And if Carmen found out about it—”
“It might be what got her killed.”
Chapter 28
It was dark by the time I left Nina at the barn. The sun sets early in December, and the skies were inky black and the traffic was a slow crawl back to the valley. It wasn’t until I approached the crest of the Santa Susana Pass that I noticed the headlights in my rearview mirror. The car behind me was on my tail like a dog in heat.
I sped up, and he sped up. I slowed down, and he slowed down. Then the lights blinked. Whoever was behind me wanted my attention and wasn’t going to give up until I did something to stop it. I pulled off the freeway at the first exit on the valley side and found a gas station. I figured a well-lit area beneath a street lamp with lots of people was as good a place as any to confront my tailgater. I locked the doors, sat back behind the wheel, took my phone from my purse, and with my thumb ready to hit the emergency speed dial, waited.
I watched in my rearview mirror as a big truck pulled in behind me, its front wheels hitting the curb and jostling the cab as it came to a stop. Between the dust from the mountain pass and the cab’s blackened windows, I couldn’t make out who or how many people might be in the cab. Then the driver’s side door swung open. A boot hit the ground, followed out by a cowboy hat and a pair of broad shoulders. I held my breath as the stranger approached and, with the back of his hand, knocked on my window.
“Carol, roll the window down, will ya?”
If the stranger hadn’t said my name, I might have hit the gas and sped off or, at least, leaned on the horn to attract attention. Instead, I rolled the window down partially and peered out a slim crack at the top of my door. From beneath the broad brim of the cowboy hat was a face I knew. It was Paley, Westin’s security guard.
“Sorry if I scared you Ms. Childs, but I need to talk to you. It’s important. About the case you’re working on.”
“Excuse me, but how did you even know who I am? Are you following me?” I took my thumb off the emergency dial. I was more angry than frightened. I had left numerous messages for Paley; after the robbery, several times after Churchill and I spoke, and again the day of the polo matches in Santa Barbara, all of which he had ignored. The fact that now he wanted to talk to me and had chased me down in the dark of night made me think something urgent was bothering him.
“I saw you leave the barn, Ms. Childs. And I know you’re the report
er who covered the robbery at Westin’s. Look, we can’t talk here. Can I buy you a drink?”
If I wasn’t so desperate to get answers, I might have turned him down. But a reporter can’t always pick the place and time for an interview, and I needed to know more about Paley if I had any hopes of understanding what was going on with this case.
I mentioned I knew there was a bar, the Cowboy Palace Saloon, a few blocks south off Devonshire. From time to time, Sheri and I would hang there and enjoy two-stepping to the music. And right now it seemed like a much better place to talk than in the parking lot of a gas station.
“Perfect. I’ll follow you,” he said.
I led the way, my eyes going back and forth from the road ahead to the lights in the rearview mirror the entire time, wondering what this was all about. As I pulled into the parking lot at the Cowboy Palace, I realized I really didn’t know much about Paley. I had no idea if he was involved in the robberies or if he might even be connected to Carmen’s murder.
We settled ourselves in one of the red booths and I ordered myself a glass of white wine, something to help settle my nerves. While I might have looked cool and calm on the outside, I was still shaking from our freeway pursuit. Paley ordered a beer.
“Look, Ms. Childs, I owe you an apology. I know you’ve wanted to talk to me. You called after the bombing, and I never called you back. I didn’t think I should be talking to reporters.”
I waited as the waiter set down our drinks. “And now you want to talk? Tonight?”
“Let me finish. In my defense, the police and FBI were all over the robbery and the bombing. They didn’t want me talking to the press. They told me not to talk to anyone, and Mr. Churchill, he wanted to keep things on the quiet side. So I did what I needed to do. You know, to keep my job. But now, I think I need your help.”
I wondered why the man hadn’t just picked up the phone and called me. Chasing after me in the dark of night seemed like a desperate attempt to get my attention.
“What is it you’d like me to do?”
“The investigators think it was an inside job. Whoever this Wigged Bandit is, she knew someone on the inside.” She? Paley’s reference made me think the FBI hadn’t shared much with him concerning the Wigged Bandit’s identity and probably had plenty of reason not to. “And I think they’re looking at me.”
“Why?” I wrapped my hands around my drink and leaned back against the red Naugahyde seat. I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
“It’s Diaz. He’s always been very good to us at the store. Sometimes when Carmen would come in he’d come with her, and we’d get to chatting. I love horses. I have a couple of my own. Anyway, after the robbery he sent over tickets for the polo matches. We talked more at the game, and before I knew it, he’d offered me one of his horses, a retired polo pony named Six Pence.”
“I was under the impression Diaz would never part with that horse.”
“That’s just it. He always made a big deal about how much he loved that horse. He’s got photos of the horse in all his programs and has been quoted saying how he’d never sell him.”
“And then he gives him to you, and the FBI starts to wonder why?”
“Exactly. Diaz sent him over yesterday. Up until then I thought he was joking.”
I had to admit, knowing what I did about Diaz and how Nina said he’d never part with Six Pence, this raised my suspicions as well.
“If it’s not you, just who do you think the inside contact is?” I knew I sounded snippy, but the fact that Paley hadn’t returned any of my calls and had chased after me on the freeway put me on the offensive. He could sweat a bit. I needed answers.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out. It’s not me, I promise you. And I don’t think Churchill’s involved. The only one it could have been was Ms. Pero.”
I wasn’t about to reveal that the FBI thought so too. But I was interested in knowing what suspicions Paley had concerning the woman. “Why do you say that?”
“Because Ms. Pero and Mr. Churchill went out to dinner together the night before the robbery. That in itself wasn’t unusual. They did from time to time, but the next morning Churchill calls in, and I hear Ms. Pero talking to him on the phone. Suddenly he’s sick. She tells me he must have eaten something bad last night and he won’t be in until much later in the day. Then she starts talking about Carmen Montague, that she’s expected in the store early and Churchill wants to make sure she’s not disturbed.”
I hadn’t heard this part of the story before, and I wanted to understand exactly what had gone on inside Westin’s prior to the explosion. Something either Churchill or the FBI hadn’t already shared with me. “Then what happened?”
“Ms. Pero asked if I’d keep the showroom quiet until Ms. Montague left. You know how stars are. They like to shop by themselves, with no one else in the store to bother them. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think much about it until the FBI started asking all kinds of questions.”
I knew Paley was right about celebs and their shopping habits. Before he died, Bob Hope used to grocery shop at Gelson’s after the store closed. The managers kept it open just for him so he wouldn’t be disturbed. A lot of merchants do the same for some of their bigger names.
“But you definitely remember Ms. Pero telling you Churchill said Carmen would be in the store that morning?”
“Yes, but I don’t think Mr. Churchill told her that. I think she was lying about it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The day before the robbery I heard Ms. Pero on the phone with Carmen. I could tell by the conversation Carmen wanted to speak to Mr. Churchill, but Ms. Pero kept saying he was busy. I thought that odd because I knew he was in the office napping. He did that sometimes. The old guy got tired standing on his feet all day. Anyway, later that morning, I heard Ms. Pero on the phone again. Only this time, she was calling Carmen back confirming her appointment with Mr. Churchill the following morning. I didn’t think anything of it, but now I wonder if maybe she never told Churchill about Carmen’s call or her plan to visit the store.”
“You think Ms. Pero set the appointment up and never told Churchill about it? And that she took Churchill out to dinner the night before and got him sick deliberately?”
Paley nodded. “Something like that. All I know for certain is that Ms. Pero was very upset when Mr. Churchill came in that morning. I don’t think she expected him to rally so quickly.”
“And what about the Wigged Bandit? Did you see…her?”
“I know there was a redheaded lady waiting in the showroom that morning. Ms. Pero had gone to the vault for something. When she came out, Mr. Churchill was there. She seemed very surprised to see him.”
“Did she say anything?”
“I don’t remember. Carmen arrived a few minutes later with some man, and she and Churchill started talking. Churchill was showing her something, or she was showing something to him. I’m not sure. Either way, Carmen was in a rush. Next thing I know, Carmen’s gone and there’s this explosion. The police say it was a flash bomb. Whatever it was, the air filled with smoke, and I threw open the front doors so we could breathe. Everything after that you pretty much know.”
“I assume you’ve shared this with the cops and the FBI?”
“I have. I met with them this morning, but like I said, I don’t think they believed me.”
Paley’s story backed up what I knew the FBI had on Ms. Pero, and I could understand why the old security guard was nervous. Diaz’s gift horse certainly aroused suspicion, and the FBI had no reason to believe Ms. Pero acted alone.
“Anything else you want to tell me? ’Cause if you’ve already shared this with the investigators, there’s not much I can do.”
Paley took a long swing of his beer. “It has to do with the delivery of the horse, or the driver anyway. Could have been a groom or a trainer, I don’t know. But he
was overly curious about me. He seemed to know I worked security at Westin’s and that I was there the day of the robbery. You’d think he’d be asking all about my barn and the setup, but instead he kept asking questions about the explosion and Ms. Pero.”
“Like what?” Now Paley had my attention.
“He wanted to know if I thought Ms. Pero had suffered.”
“Odd question for a delivery driver. Did you get his name?” I took a sip of my wine.
“Tomas.”
I nearly choked. Could Tomas be Tomi? My mystery caller, the Wigged Bandit? Was he the connection I was looking for? That would tie Diaz’s team to the robbery? “Tomas? You sure he said his name was Tomas, not Tomi or anything like that?”
“I don’t know anything more than that, other than he seemed to know a lot about horses and was helpful getting Six Pence set up in the barn. Truth was, I didn’t want to keep talking about the robbery. It bothered me.”
“And you shared that with the police?”
“Absolutely. But I’m not sure how much good it did. I mean, Ms. Pero’s dead, I worked security at the store, and now I’ve got Diaz’s horse. I’m pretty sure they think I’m lying.”
The waiter brought us a second round of drinks. I switched the topic back to why Paley had followed me down the freeway. I wanted to know how he had found me.
“It was an accident. I was going to call you, but then this Tomas guy, he forgot to bring some of Six Pence’s gear by when he trailered the horse over. So I came back to the barn to pick up his bridle and a few extra things. And that’s when I saw you talking to Nina. I decided to wait around until you left. I didn’t mean to scare you on the freeway. I’m sorry. But I figured if the FBI’s going to finger me for this, I could use a reporter on my side.”
“I’m a long way from being on anyone’s side, Mr. Paley.”
Without a Doubt Page 17
