Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “What time was this?” Detective Slovitch asked. Madeline observed his body language as his gaze penetrated the potential suspect. Even the formidable Helen Bagley flinched under his seemingly placid scrutiny.

  “Um…” Helen cocked her head, eyes averted as she thought back, “it had to have been almost nine o’clock. I remember all the guests were well into their entrees. That’s when I noticed the two vacant spots at Miss Story’s table. Everyone else was seated,” she said, her confidence reasserting itself. She stopped fidgeting and sat back ready to meet the detective’s inquiries with her usual no-nonsense authority. She had deftly managed to put Madeline’s presence out of her mind.

  “Was Miss Story already back in her rooms when you caught up with her?”

  “Yes. The girl was helping her undress when I got there.” Slovitch nodded for her to continue. “I asked if she was feeling okay. She said she felt a little drained from all the excitement. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said, yes, as a matter of fact, it would be a great relief to her if I could drive the girl home. My mouth must’ve dropped at the request. Miss Story has always been very kind and conscientious toward me. To ask me to leave my responsibilities in the middle of the party was so out of character for her.”

  Helen’s focus went inward for a moment, as if she were reliving the scene. Detective Slovitch cleared his throat to bring her back to the present.

  “Well, it was against my better judgment—to put it mildly—but I acquiesced. I turned down the bed while the girl finished getting her undressed. When Miss Story was all settled, Teresa and I went down to the kitchen so I could let my assistant, Elaine, know I had a quick errand I had to run. I grabbed my purse from my office, then we went to my car.”

  “You and Teresa?”

  “Yes, the girl, whatever her real name is, and I went down to my car.”

  “Did you notice the time when you left?”

  “Uh, yes. It was a quarter after nine.” Detective Slovitch looked at his watch. It was now 10:57.

  “You got back here less than fifteen minutes ago. Where does she live, Thousand Oaks?” he asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism. Helen’s features hardened at his surly tone.

  “No, she told me she lived out in Isla Vista.”

  “Isla Vista is a twenty minute drive from here—forty minutes round trip, max, especially this time of night,” Slovitch said, leaning forward, hands planted on the arms of the chair, almost as if he were preparing to pounce on her. Even Madeline shifted uncomfortably as she noted the change in body language. Helen’s resolve faltered again. “Why did it take you seventy-five minutes instead of forty?”

  It took Helen a couple beats to respond. “Well, it wouldn’t have taken so long to get back if that girl hadn’t jumped out at a stop sign on El Colegio Road and ran down a side street and into a culvert. It was pitch dark out there, no apartments or structures around. I drove down Camino Del Sur with the windows open, yelling for her to come back. She had left her purse on the seat.” Helen reached into her large handbag and brought out a beaded silk clutch. Judging by the style, Madeline guessed it had been loaned or given to the girl by Vivian.

  “I knew she was running around, scared—no money, no phone and probably no key. I must’ve spent twenty minutes driving around in circles trying to find her.” Helen exhaled deeply, her large bosom heaving up and down as she relived the ordeal in her mind. She leaned over and handed the bag to Detective Slovitch, who opened it and inspected the contents. He took out each item and placed it on the side table to his right. After he had removed a tube of lip gloss, a cheap compact, a plastic comb, four twenty-dollar bills and a key, he turned the bag upside down and shook it. Nothing else came out.

  Madeline had been hoping there’d be at least one form of identification, even a library card or a bus pass—something, anything, to prove they weren’t dealing with a phantom. She and Slovitch exchanged curious glances. The detective replaced the items in the clutch and handed it back to Helen. The housekeeper held up her hands and shook her head, rejecting it.

  “This doesn’t tell us anything. I don’t need it for evidence,” Slovitch said. When Helen refused to take it from him, he got up and placed it on the round table between her and Madeline. “One of you can give it to her when she comes tomorrow.”

  This last statement gave Madeline a jolt. What a horrible shock it would be for the mystery girl to learn her employer had been killed. If only I knew where to find her, I could tell her before she hears about it from the media.

  “She won’t be coming back here. Ever,” Helen said. The looks she received from Madeline and the detective forced her to qualify her remark. “I fired her.”

  “When did this happen?” Madeline asked, forgetting for a moment her place in this interview. When Detective Slovitch didn’t override the question, Helen’s gaze dropped to her lap before answering, as if she were trying to find the courage to fess up. She was bound to feel even worse when she learned of Vivian’s death.

  “While I was driving her home.” Turning to Madeline, she said, “Regardless of what you may feel about that girl, it comes down to me to make sure the people on staff here are of the highest integrity. You told me yourself the address on her application doesn’t even exist. That alone is grounds for dismissal,” Helen concluded righteously.

  “So, would that be the reason she bolted from your car, leaving her handbag with her money and house key behind?” Detective Slovitch asked. Helen colored at the implication.

  “Look, we have laws in this country regarding employing illegal aliens. I was working for Mr. Alexander when the authorities came down on him for having an undocumented worker on the gardening staff. The media made hay with it and it cost him a lot of aggravation. The caretaker at the time was fired. I cannot afford to lose my job. That girl should’ve never stepped foot on the estate. I know Miss Story won’t be happy about it, but I’ve got a couple girls in mind who would easily fill the bill. Besides, how could I keep her on knowing she’s a thief? Mr. Alexander will be furious enough when he learns that his mother’s jewelry was stolen from her room.”

  “That has yet to be proven,” Madeline said. Helen shrugged and raised her brows as if the fact that Teresa was in the country illegally was all the evidence she needed.

  Detective Slovitch took a moment to digest this news and regroup his thoughts.

  “Anything else you’ve left out?” he asked. Helen cleared her throat before expanding on her confession.

  “I told her if she ever showed up on the property again, I’d call the INS. I think she got the message.”

  “Okay, so you did your bit as an upstanding citizen…did you really drive around for twenty-plus minutes trying to find her?” Slovitch asked.

  “Yes, I did. I may have strong feelings about illegal immigrants, but I’m not an uncaring bitch. I did try to find her—for twenty-some minutes—and by the time I gave up the search, I was so turned around, it took me forever to find the freeway entrance. Then when I got to the gate, I was detained while all these emergency vehicles passed through.” She let out a perturbed grunt and gave the detective and Madeline each a stern look.

  “Now, can somebody please tell me what is going on here? I do run this household, after all. I believe that gives me the right to know what the hell is happening.”

  Madeline turned her attention to Slovitch. He remained silent as he tapped his fingers on the armrests. She looked at Helen to gauge her reaction. As she suspected, the silence was making the housekeeper shift nervously in her seat.

  “Is it Cherie?” she asked, her tone censorious. “Don’t tell me she’s…”

  “She’s what?” Detective Slovitch asked, suddenly intrigued by Helen’s concern. Helen turned to Madeline in hopes of getting a reading from her expression. Madeline’s features revealed nothing. She, too, was curious about Helen’s suspicion. />
  “Well, when I last saw her, she was in a fit of rage again.”

  “When was this?”

  “It was on my way up to check on Miss Story.” Detective Slovitch consulted his notes.

  “Around 9:00?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And where did you see her?”

  “I saw her just as I got to the top of the staircase. I heard her screaming. I looked down the hallway and I could see her in her dressing room, walking back and forth in front of her door, which was open. She was throwing her clothing and shoes and anything handy. I didn’t want any part of her histrionics, so I continued on to Miss Story’s room.”

  “Was she still raging when you left with Miss Story’s companion?” Detective Slovitch asked.

  “I don’t know. I took the girl down the back staircase.”

  “I see. Is that the way you usually go downstairs?”

  “Yes. And the only reason I took the main stairs up was because it was quickest way to get to Miss Story’s end of the house. I didn’t want to be away from my duties any longer than necessary.”

  “I see,” Detective Slovitch said. Whether he believed her or not, Madeline couldn’t tell. Her own radar was picking up on something, but she couldn’t figure out what exactly.

  “Now can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Miss Story is dead,” Detective Slovitch said. A trembling hand flew to Helen’s mouth.

  “Oh, dear God, no…” Her face became ashen and Madeline thought for a moment she might faint. “What happened? Was it her heart…?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

  “We believe she was murdered.”

  Helen’s eyes widened. She shook her head and tried to rise out of the chair only to sink back down. “Who on earth could possibly want to…to do that to Miss Story? She was the kindest, sweetest woman you could ever want to meet…” Helen’s voice trailed off. Without warning, she burst into tears. “Poor Ross! He’s going to be just devastated…” She suddenly snapped to alertness. “Does he know? Has someone contacted him?”

  “Yes. He’s on his way home.” Detective Slovitch consulted his watch again. “He should be here around midnight.”

  Madeline found Helen’s reaction to this bulletin rather unusual. The color came back to her face and her eyes brightened at the prospect of her employer being on the scene so soon.

  “Well, in that case, there are plenty things I need to see to,” she said, standing up and smoothing down her dress.

  “I’m afraid your regular duties will have to wait,” Slovitch said as he also stood up. “I understand there are surveillance cameras stationed around the house.” Helen shot Madeline a look before answering. It was the first time she had physically acknowledged her presence.

  “Yes, there are several.”

  “Good. I’ll need you to show us where the monitor is and walk us through the footage.”

  “Now?” Helen asked, clearly put out by the prospect.

  “Yes, now.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Naturally, the surveillance equipment on the Alexander estate was the most advanced money could buy. It took Helen several minutes to figure out how to call up the relevant footage. Madeline started to wonder if perhaps she was deliberately stalling. Maybe there was evidence that contradicted her previous statements.

  This theory was laid aside once Helen pulled up the recordings taken from the vantage point of both stairways. As the time stamp advanced past nine o’clock, Helen could be seen climbing the steps, hand on the railing. Shortly afterwards, the three of them watched as Cherie mounted the stairs, wobbling slightly in her four-inch stilettos. Both figures disappeared once they cleared the landing.

  “No cameras upstairs?” Detective Slovitch asked, though he had already guessed the answer.

  “No. Mr. Alexander doesn’t want their privacy invaded.” Slovitch understood the reasoning, though it was a shame in this instance.

  “How many people are aware of that?” he asked.

  “Everyone who works here. Everyone who normally works in the house, I should say. I doubt the groundskeepers know about the particulars of the interior surveillance.”

  Detective Slovitch rewound the feed past Cherie’s appearance. This time Vivian and her companion could be seen as they slowly climbed the stairs. They reached the top at 8:49. This meant it had taken Lauren more than thirty minutes to deliver Vivian’s urgent message. Had Vivian known her life was in danger? This thought made Madeline feel sick all over again.

  Detective Slovitch fast-forwarded through the footage, stopping as Cherie appeared in the foyer. Just before she reached the stairs, she turned back, said something, dabbed her nose and continued up to the second floor.

  Madeline recognized the scene. She had been just on the other side of the French doors, where she had been observing the party. Detective Slovitch made a note of the time—9:05—and rewound to Helen’s appearance. At 9:01, Helen appeared on the screen. After recording the time, he skipped to Madeline’s ascent. The time read 9:25.

  Slovitch jumped through the tape, stopping it when Sally appeared on the stairs at 9:37.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  “That’s Sally Verlain, Cherie’s makeup artist. She came into Cherie’s room just as I was leaving,” Madeline informed him.

  Slovitch fast-forwarded the tape. At 9:45, the sheriff’s deputies stationed at the house raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He logged the time and switched to the surveillance footage of the backstairs and clicked through the frames looking for any movement. Helen and Teresa appeared at 9:11. He ran the footage at normal speed, but it still seemed to Madeline that they were moving at a fast clip.

  “Is that normal speed?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Detective Slovitch backed it up and watched it again.

  “I told you I was not keen on abandoning my duties. And I’ve had a bad feeling about that girl since the moment she arrived here,” Helen said defensively.

  “But you both left Miss Story’s suite at the same time, right? No one doubled back?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Madeline’s head was swimming with doubts. Everything lined up so perfectly with Helen’s account of events. There had been no one else going up or down either staircase after Helen and Teresa went down and Madeline ascended.

  Again, she had an uneasy feeling about Cherie. Detective Slovitch hadn’t let on what his thoughts were one way or the other, but process of elimination was going to put Cherie at the right place and the right time. No one else fit that window of opportunity. Unless…unless someone had been hiding in Vivian’s room prior to her arrival. That would take a lot of luck…unless there was a reason for Vivian suddenly not feeling well.

  Madeline got up and stretched while Slovitch continued replaying footage for various cameras stationed inside the house and around the grounds.

  “I’m going to get some water. Anyone else want some?”

  “I could use some coffee,” Detective Slovitch said without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “I’ll make some coffee and get your water,” Helen said, rising out of her chair.

  “No, I need you to stay here and explain these locations to me. Madeline, you seem to know your way around here…” he said, this time glancing over his shoulder. Their eyes met, but Madeline wasn’t sure if there was a message in them for her or not. If there was, she hadn’t picked up on it.

  “I do.”

  “We keep the ground coffee in the freezer,” Helen said. It was clear in the way she said this she didn’t like interlopers on her turf. Though Madeline was hardly a stranger in this house, she had managed to get on Helen’s bad side. Not having any more obligations to fulfill in Helen’s domain was a huge weight off Madeline’s shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she mutt
ered, grateful for a chance to be alone to sort out her thoughts. She exited the housekeeper’s office and walked through the maze of butler pantries and satellite food prep areas to the heart of the kitchen. She took a glass out of a cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. She drank it down while she routed out the coffee and stood in front of the coffeemaker, her mind too frazzled to focus on the simple task before her.

  “Need some help?” Mike asked, making Madeline jump. She swung around and found him sitting at the far end of a kitchen island the size of an SUV.

  “Christ! You scared the hell out of me,” she panted, leaning against the counter for support. “What are you still doing here?”

  “I told Detective Eames I was working with you on the theft case and was undercover as a waiter so I could observe the staff. I also told him I had to wait and take you home. You didn’t expect me to abandon you in the midst of this crisis, did you?”

  “With everything that’s happened, I totally forgot you were here.”

  “Thanks, it’s nice to feel needed,” Mike said with mock sarcasm. Madeline hung her head, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan escaping her throat. “Why are they keeping you here so long?”

  “Because Vivian hired me shortly before she was murdered, Slovitch wanted me to hang around, give him feedback. Helen was apparently off the premises when Vivian was killed, which is pretty weird on the face of it.”

  “That is pretty strange—leaving with a major party underway? How long was she gone?”

  “Well over an hour. And what’s even weirder is she left with Vivian’s mystery companion. The camera caught them going down the back staircase together.”

  “So, she’s got her alibi,” Mike said. “I guess they both do.” Madeline let out a heavy sigh as she stared off into space. “And speaking of cameras, the media’s already all over this story.”

  “Damn. How do you know?”

  “I watched the 11:00 news. They’re making hay out of it. I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of coverage over the murder of a beloved star, mother of Ross Alexander, and the search for the killer. The tabloids will be feeding off this for weeks.”