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

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “You two need to sit tight. Agent Caulfield will be here soon. I’ve got to get to the incident room.” Slovitch picked up his coffee and the autopsy report, leaving them alone in the interrogation room.

  Mike and Madeline exchanged skeptical glances. Neither of them was thrilled at the prospect of wasting more of their morning. There were plenty questions they could bat around, but they knew everything they said or did could be observed by unseen parties on the other side of the two-way mirror.

  Madeline’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, then decided to let it go to voicemail. She wanted a heads up before she engaged in a conversation with Ross Alexander. Her caffeine-filled stomach churned at the thought of doing battle over her fee. In her experience, sometimes the super-rich were quite contentious when it came to financial matters.

  “Who was that?” Mike asked, keeping his voice low. A voice message alert appeared and Madeline showed him the screen. He was as intrigued as she was. Madeline listened to the voicemail.

  The message was short and to the point: Ross Alexander wanted to speak to her ASAP. He asked that she come over at her earliest convenience. Madeline forwarded the call to Mike’s phone. After listening to it, he sent her a text.

  What do you think he wants?

  I don’t know. Want to come with?

  Sure. I have to take you there, anyway – right?

  Madeline let out a deep sigh. Of course. She had no car.

  After we see him, what’s our agenda? Madeline replied.

  I think we need to talk to Teresa…

  Madeline looked at him after she read his message. Teresa might not know that Vivian was dead. Unless she watched the news, which was possible. The story was all over the media. Either way, it would come as a big blow to her. Helen fired her on the spot, and according to her version of events, there was no mention of paying Teresa’s final wages. But Helen had supposedly warned the girl that if she stepped foot on the property again, she’d be deported.

  You’re right. The trick will be finding her, Madeline texted back.

  I’ve got the photo – we can put up a flier offering a reward for any info about her whereabouts. We can stick it up all over town. Madeline thought this over.

  We wouldn’t want to scare anyone off, she warned.

  I can come up with something subtle. Madeline cracked a smile. Subtlety was not Mike’s calling card. Ok. What else should we be doing? Madeline thought this over.

  Since I hired the photographers/videographers, I think I can get copies of their files before the cops do. We can run our own investigation.

  Good thinking

  I’ll send them a text right now…

  Madeline was in the middle of tapping out the message when Agent Caulfield came in and shut the door behind him.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked without any real concern.

  “I’ve felt worse,” Mike said. “What have you found out about the car?” Madeline’s last text could be heard whooshing away. She looked at Caulfield expectantly.

  “Well, you were right—the brake lines were definitely tampered with. There was no brake fluid in the lines at all.” Mike was wearing a smug smirk, which faded as Agent Caulfield continued.

  “They did a sweep of the car from tip to tail. No GPS.”

  “How can that be?” Mike asked, frustration getting the best of his manners again.

  “Don’t forget who we’re dealing with,” Madeline reminded them. “He would never leave any evidence that could be followed up on. He must’ve attached the GPS when I went back home to change. We gave him the opportunity at Henry’s Hole and he took it, along with the tracker,” Madeline said, directing her summary of probable events to Agent Caulfield.

  “That makes perfect sense, unless of course you still don’t believe Usherwood’s behind this,” Mike said, his hackles up.

  “I have no reason to doubt your version of events,” Caulfield said. “We just don’t have any hard evidence that Usherwood is behind this. For all we know, there’s someone else out to get you.”

  “Hey, now there’s a comforting thought,” Mike said snidely.

  “Let me see if I understand you clearly,” Madeline said. “If you can’t find anything to link Usherwood to the break-in and the attempted murder, then there’s no reason for the FBI to be involved. Is that correct?” Caulfield’s reticence said it all.

  “So, is this bounced back to SBPD?” Mike asked angrily.

  “The incident happened on their turf, and since we can’t connect it to Lionel Usherwood, then yes, it’s a matter for the local authorities.”

  “What about my vehicle?”

  “It’s at our L.A. facility. I’ll make sure it’s ready for release and let you know when it can be picked up.”

  “You’re not going to have it brought back up here?” Madeline asked incredulously.

  “I’m afraid that will be your responsibility.”

  “I don’t even know if it’s drivable or not.”

  “I think you’ll need to have it towed.” Caulfield reached into his pocket and brought out a business card bearing the address where it could be picked up.

  “Thanks,” Madeline said acidly. She was almost too mad and bewildered to speak. Mike looked like he was ready to unleash the pre-AA Mike Delaney. What she didn’t need on top of everything else was to bail his butt out of jail.

  “Well, I guess we’re done here,” Madeline said, getting to her feet. Mike looked up at her, surprised that she was willing to give up without a fight. She had two branches of law enforcement trying to foist this case on each other, with Madeline stuck in the middle.

  “Come on, Mike. We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

  “I’m not leaving this building until we speak to someone higher up on the food chain. You need protection. Usherwood’s made two attempts on your life, and I’ll be goddamned if we’re going to let these suits jerk us around.”

  “If anything else happens, call me,” Caulfield said. Madeline let out a snort of disbelief as she stood up. Mike glowered at Caulfield. “If anything else happens, I doubt I’ll be in a position to make that call,” Madeline said.

  “I’m making a record of this, and if anything happens to either one of us, I’m going to make sure the shit sticks to you, even if I have to do it from the grave,” Mike said.

  “Come on, Mike. We’re wasting our time here.” Mike glared at Agent Caulfield once more before following Madeline’s lead.

  Agent Caulfield cracked open a bottle of water and took a swig. There were times when he forgot why he chose this line of work. Something told him that with or without the arrest of Lionel Usherwood, this was going to be a case he’d never forget.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Can you believe that bullshit?” Mike asked, fuming as he unlocked his trunk and pulled out his scanner. “Apparently, you have to be dead before anyone in law enforcement takes you seriously.”

  Madeline was still too furious to speak. She got in the front seat and sat there with the door open while Mike made a thorough scan of the car, including underneath. After what she’d been through at the hands of Lionel Usherwood, she agreed with Mike that you had to stay ever-vigilant where personal safety was concerned. She wouldn’t put it past him to sabotage Mike’s car, even when it was parked in front of the police station. The guy seemed to thrive on flaunting his stealth.

  “We’re just going to have to run this case ourselves. It’s time we start aggressively pursuing Usherwood.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Madeline asked as Mike got in and started the car.

  “Just like we would if we’d been hired to track down any other stalker.”

  Madeline crossed her arms and sat back as she tried to imagine what steps they would take in a situation like that. Personally, she doubted they were any match for Lio
nel Usherwood, and they certainly didn’t have the same access to information that the FBI had. But on the other hand, they could put more time and energy into finding him, and more to the point, their lives depended on it.

  “We know that the tracking device was probably attached while I was at home yesterday afternoon. That was the only time it was parked off the Alexander estate.”

  “Right.”

  “So, when we drove to Henry’s, he followed us, messed with the brake lines while we were eating, then vanished into thin air,” Madeline said, frustrated at hitting a dead end so soon. “Wait a second,” she exclaimed excitedly, startling Mike. “Surveillance tapes!” Mike looked over at her, trying to catch up with her line of thinking.

  “You mean at Henry’s?” he asked doubtfully.

  “If we’re right about when the GPS tracker was attached, then the cameras had already been installed at my house by the time I got home.” Madeline took out her cell phone and scrolled down the screen until she found Brian’s number. When she got his voicemail, she ended the call and tapped out a text: Call me asap!

  “Where was your car parked?”

  “On the driveway,” Madeline said, lost in thought.

  “Will movement on the driveway trigger the camera?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. I was too rushed yesterday. I barely heard a word Brian said.” Madeline let out an impatient sigh. “I wish we didn’t have to go to Montecito. I want to get home and figure out how all that new gadgetry works.”

  “Why do you think we’ve been summoned?” Mike asked as his Mercedes turned down Garden Street. Without warning, he hit the brakes and continued to do so as the car stuttered down the block. Madeline braced herself against the door and dashboard until he was satisfied they weren’t in for a repeat of last night’s wild ride.

  “I imagine he wants to make sure the party’s been called off.”

  Mike shot her a doubtful look. “Isn’t that something you could’ve discussed on the phone?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just not up to guessing what is ordinary and customary in situations like this with someone like Ross Alexander. He makes a call, he expects people to come running,” Madeline said testily. She heaved a deep sigh and turned her face toward the open window in an effort to let the fresh air revive her mind and spirit. She’d been up since dawn making sure everyone involved in the furtherance of the party knew their services were no longer needed.

  “Maybe he wants you to organize the memorial service,” Mike said, half in jest. Madeline laughed, in spite of the circumstances.

  “I sure hope not,” she said. “That’s not an area I’m looking to branch into.” She let her gaze drift out the window again as her mind jumped from her brush with death to Vivian’s murder. She groaned at the futility of plowing through the same unfertile turf.

  “I just don’t understand how someone could do that to such a sweet, harmless woman,” she said absently.

  “I guess not everyone thought she was so sweet and harmless.”

  “Apparently not. But then again, it might’ve been someone seizing an opportunity.”

  “The opportunity to do what, exactly?” Mike asked.

  “To shut her up…to take more of her jewelry…to get rid of a thorn in someone’s side…?”

  “Well, the good news is the field of suspects isn’t very wide,” Mike said.

  “True. And I know I didn’t do it, so that leaves only four other possibilities—Helen, Teresa, Cherie and Sally.” Madeline looked over at Mike as he merged onto the freeway.

  “And from the time Sally is seen at the top of the stairs to the time I made the call to 911, she couldn’t have dashed to Vivian’s room, strangled her, and run down to Cherie’s room before I left it. Subtract the time it took me to get to Vivian’s room, wait for a response and discover her body, there’s no possible way she could’ve done it. She would’ve had less than two minutes. Besides, what would her motive have been?”

  “To cover up the burglary?” Mike suggested. “If she was intent on murdering Vivian, she could’ve pulled it off. She would’ve had to know exactly when to do it…” Madeline shook her head.

  “No, that seems too farfetched.”

  “Why? Vivian sent you a message. Maybe she had discovered who’d taken her things.”

  “That’s possible, but Sally wasn’t around when the jewels went missing.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Mike challenged.

  “Yes, I’m sure. She was in Brazil on a fashion shoot.” Mike looked disappointed that his theory had been shot down so quickly.

  “The ‘shutting her up and taking more of her jewelry’ motive sounds like it would have to come from either the housekeeper or the companion. Getting rid of a thorn in one’s side seems to point to Cherie,” Mike deduced.

  Madeline chewed on a nail as she turned the speculations over in her mind. “I think we’re trying to overlook the obvious,” Madeline said, a pained expression on her face. “Helen and Teresa alibi each other and were seen going down the backstairs together. There was no love between the housekeeper and the companion, so there was no conspiracy. That only leaves Cherie.”

  “Any chance Cherie put Sally up to it?”

  “To killing Vivian?” Madeline asked doubtfully. “Oh, sure—they had it all planned out. First Sally whacks the meddling mother-in-law, then they hock Vivian’s jewels and run off to Australia together. I don’t think Hollywood could come up with a storyline that farfetched.”

  Mike looked pained by her ridicule. “Okay, then—that leaves your girl Cherie,” he said as he cruised through the roundabout and headed up Hot Springs Road.

  Madeline didn’t argue; she had come to the same conclusion. It made her feel sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t deny that Cherie had the means and opportunity. The motive was still debatable, but there were several to choose from: jealousy, paranoia, revenge or simply an unbalanced mind. From what Madeline had witnessed over the last twelve months, all those motivating factors could be behind Cherie’s desire to get her mother-in-law out of her home and out of her life, permanently.

  “Actually, I think we have to consider Cherie for everything,” she concluded.

  “You really believe she would steal her mother-in-law’s jewelry?”

  Madeline shrugged. “Her marriage is not what I would call solid. Maybe she was trying to secure a little extra severance pay. Besides, Helen and Teresa’s alibis are inextricably linked. If Helen could’ve seized the opportunity to implicate the girl in Vivian’s murder, she would’ve—whether she’d done it or not. So, that leaves us with Cherie.”

  “And Sally,” Mike added.

  “And Sally. But then we’d have to come up with a realistic motive,” Madeline said as they passed a crowd of news media outside the Alexander estate. There were two sheriff’s deputies, one posted at each gate to keep the crowd to a minimum. There was no shoulder to park on, which is why all the TV news vans had been parked around the corners of Middle and Hot Springs roads.

  The crush of reporters grudgingly parted as Mike pushed his imposing vehicle toward the guardhouse of the estate. Madeline slunk down in her seat as the onlookers peered inside their car and cameras flashed, apparently mistaking them for “someone.” The guard on duty recognized Madeline and waived them through. As they wound up toward the house, Madeline was filled with dread. After what had happened the previous night, just the sight of the place filled her with trepidation.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Helen Bagley held open the door to let Madeline and Mike in. Unlike the numerous times she and Madeline had gone through this very same routine, no pleasantries were exchanged. There was now a keen distrust between the two women that Madeline figured would never be cleared. She had no problem with that scenario, nor did she imagine she’d have to trespass on Helen’s turf again.

  “Mr.
Alexander’s is expecting you,” Helen said curtly, leading them down the hallway, past the formal living room and library. She rapped lightly on the door of her employer’s study and listened.

  “Come in,” they heard Ross say through the heavy wooden door. Helen opened it and stood aside to let the visitors pass.

  “Can I get anyone anything?” Helen asked. Madeline and Mike shook their heads.

  “No thanks, Helen,” Ross said from his chair by the unlit fireplace, his voice sounding husky and hollow. He was dressed in plaid shirt and khaki chinos, both heavily creased, and butter-soft Italian loafers with no socks. It could’ve been the unkind morning light shining through the window, but Ross’s brown hair seemed grayer than the last time Madeline had seen him. Judging by his attire and the day-old stubble, she figured he hadn’t been to bed yet.

  He beckoned them in with a limp wave of his hand. The door closed quietly behind them as they made their way through the large room toward their host.

  “Ross, this is my partner, Mike Delaney.” Mike stepped forward to shake hands as Ross roused himself halfway out of his chair.

  “Our condolences on your loss. Your mother was a truly special woman,” Madeline said.

  “Thank you. Please, have a seat.” They did as instructed and waited expectantly. Ross seemed to have trouble making eye contact with them. The three sat in awkward silence for a long moment, while Madeline tried to think of something appropriate to say.

  “I understand you were the one who found her,” Ross said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

  Madeline cleared her throat nervously before answering. She had met Ross Alexander years ago when she was married to Steven Ridley, and had encountered him a number of times in the past year, but they had hardly become intimates. On those infrequent occasions when he was home during her visits, he was always too involved with his latest film projects for casual chitchat.