“That’s basically the same thing Liz told me,” Ross said, discouraged.
“But Mike and I are also trying to find out who is responsible. That’s something the police or the District Attorney won’t be doing. That’s really the only way to prove Cherie’s innocence.”
“I hope to God you can,” Ross said skeptically. Madeline shot Mike an inquiring look. Mike arched his brows, which Madeline took as a good sign.
“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”
“I hate to take you away from your job, but Cherie asked for you on the way to the hospital.”
“Do you think they’ll let me see her?”
“I’ll find out and let you know.”
“What about the arrest warrant?”
“Liz has a call into the D.A., but she says Cherie’s suicide attempt will probably make her look even guiltier in the eyes of the law.” Madeline and Mike exchanged worried glances.
“Are you going to stay at the hospital?” she asked. She barely recognized Ross’s voice when he responded.
“Yes. I’m going to be here,” he said. He sounded as though he were the last man standing after a massacre.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Madeline said. Ross hung up without a reply.
“What happened?”
“The cops came with a warrant for Cherie’s arrest while she was taking a shower. Rather than facing the humiliation of spending a whole day and night in the county jail, she slit her wrists.”
“Oh, Christ,” Mike said, shaking his head mournfully. “How much worse can it get?”
“Don’t ever ask that question,” Madeline said as she gathered her things together. “I’m going to walk down to Enterprise.”
“What for?”
“To rent a car,” Madeline said, more snip in her voice than she intended. “I can’t have you shuttling me all over town.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve got more important things to attend to.”
“Fine. But you’re not walking there,” Mike said, his tone intractable as he held up his keys.
“It’s just a few blocks from here,” Madeline protested. “It’ll take twice as long to drive there.” Mike stood there mutely, arms folded across his chest. “Oh, for God’s sake. Okay, fine—we’ll take the slow boat. At least then you can tell me what you found out about Helen on the way there.”
To underscore her resentment at being hung up by Mike’s compulsive desire to protect her, Madeline was already halfway down the hall by the time he emerged from their office. Mike let out an amused snort as he locked the door behind them.
“You’re lucky you’ve got me to worry about your safety,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. Madeline just bobbed her head back and forth as if she had heard it all before and wasn’t impressed. Mike put his long legs into service and caught up with her as she alighted from the bottom step.
“You were right about Helen’s son,” Mike said as he scanned his car for tracking devices and other signs of tinkering. It struck Madeline how curious Mike’s actions must appear to passersby. He was so used to the routine by now, he didn’t give it a thought. Fortunately, there weren’t many people around. For the sake of thoroughness, he insisted they do a visual inspection of the two dozen or so vehicles in the lot to root out any suspicious characters. Madeline couldn’t argue against his diligence, though she did resent the loss of precious time.
“Right about him how?” she asked.
“He is on Helen’s cell phone plan.”
“But no Social for him, right?” Madeline asked while Mike stowed his equipment in the trunk.
“No, but he was the only Trevor Bagley that came up on a criminal records search in this state.”
“Oh, do tell…”
“Three arrests—one for shoplifting and two for possession with the intent to sell.” Madeline wore an expression of startled delight.
“That would be three strikes.”
“It would’ve been, but one of the charges was dismissed.”
“Did he serve any time?” Madeline asked as she fastened the seat belt.
“Hard to tell. I need to do some more research. I did get a DOB and a LKA for him.”
“Good,” Madeline said, her mood lightening as they proceeded out of the lot. “He’s pretty young to have such a record, isn’t he?”
“Born March 22, 1991.”
“That makes him twenty-two. What’s his last known address?” Mike fished around in his shirt pocket and handed her the slip of paper with his notes.
“Port Hueneme. Hmm.”
“‘Hmm,’ what?” Mike asked, hazarding a glance at his partner as he turned left onto De La Vina.
“Just curious, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“About Ms. Prim having a bad boy for a son. Ross mentioned something about him getting into trouble, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“I wonder if he ever lived in Helen’s cottage on the estate.”
“It might be worth knowing,” Mike said, but he could tell Madeline was too distracted by her own thoughts to have heard him.
“What’s the plan, then?” he asked as he made another left onto Cota Street. It took Madeline a moment to focus on the question.
“Ross will be there when I go to see Cherie at the hospital. I’ll try to do a little discreet digging. I’ll let you know if I learn anything significant. What’s your plan?”
“I guess I’ll go back to the office and see what else I can uncover about the Bagleys, mother and son.”
“All right, sounds good,” Madeline said as Mike pulled into the Enterprise lot.
“Maddie, why don’t you take my car and I’ll rent something?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to need a car anyway. Who knows when I’ll get mine back, and if it’s even drivable.”
“If you take mine, you can get on your way quicker.” Madeline took a few seconds to consider the offer. Mike’s early 60s convertible was a classic gem, but she was used to modern technology, like GPS and Bluetooth. Going through the rental process might slow her down on the front end, but she’d feel more efficient in the long run.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll call you later,” she said as she closed the door.
“Maddie, wait!” Mike hollered. Madeline caught herself mid-stride and made an about-face, doing her best to conceal her annoyance.
“What?”
“Be very careful,” he warned.
“I’m going to be in a hospital, one that’s very hip to security risks,” she said, hoping that would placate him.
“Where are you going after the hospital?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, starting to resent Mike’s overprotective inclinations.
“Be sure you call me when you leave there. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t. I promise,” she said, moving closer to Mike’s car to let another vehicle pass. “I’ve got to go,” she said, eyeing the growing line at the rental counter. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Madeline exited the freeway at the Pueblo Street off-ramp. From a block away, she could see that word of the latest calamity to befall Ross Alexander’s family had already gotten the attention of the media. There was such a crush of reporters and their accompanying relay vans, two patrol cops were on the scene trying to keep the mob from entering the hospital and tying up traffic around it.
Madeline crept along, waiting her turn to cross the intersection. A sinking feeling came over her as she imagined how two murders and a suicide attempt involving show business elite would monopolize quasi-news programs for months to come. She had a flash of her own headline shocker after the salacious details of her fall from grace were picked up by the media, thanks to her video-recorded rape being unleashed on the internet. The s
ubsequent bombshells of murder, attempted murder and embezzlement turned her life upside down and inside out for longer than she could stand to remember.
She pulled herself back to the present, feeling only partial relief at the realization that the problems she faced now were not her own. She weighed her parking options and decided her best hope would be the lot behind the hospital, in the area reserved for the ER. But as soon as she rounded the building, she discovered more TV crews and equipment virtually blocking all ingress and egress. Uniformed hospital security guards were having little luck dispersing the unwanted visitors.
Madeline found herself sandwiched between other hapless motorists when red and blue lights flashed in her rearview mirror. Within seconds, several patrolmen alighted from the squad cars and immediately descended on the satellite vans and their occupants, delivering warnings via loudspeaker against civil disobedience and creating a public hazard.
While the parking area off the emergency entrance was slowly and cumbersomely cleared, Madeline inched along with her fellow motorists, trying to come up with another plan for gaining access to the hospital without tipping off the press about her association with the high-profile family. She sorely missed her Audi with its stash of emergency goods, such as her all-purpose wig, hat and nondescript raincoat.
After a ten-minute delay, she found herself moving again, though her parking options were not looking good. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a vehicle backing out of a space in the ER visitor parking. She pulled into the lot and put her blinker on to claim the spot.
It had been an hour since she told Ross she’d be right over. The lapse of time weighed heavily on her mind; it wasn’t professional and they certainly couldn’t afford the luxury of wasting time. She grabbed her bag, and as inconspicuously as possible, squeezed through the horde of displaced reporters and paparazzi.
She managed to climb the steps and traverse the freshly-cleared ambulance parking area without notice. She was approaching the automatic doors when she heard her name broadcasted by the shrill voice of Julia Cummings. She stepped up her pace and went inside without looking back.
As she entered the newly remodeled Emergency Trauma Center, she was greeted by one of the volunteers on duty, which in itself was a marked improvement over the chaotic atmosphere of the old ER. As she stated her business there, she became aware of another familiar voice, equally if not more assertive than the local reporter’s. She glanced around and found Liz Sweet sitting off to the side by the hospitality table, giving someone on the other end of the line their marching orders.
Liz became aware of Madeline’s presence and nodded her acknowledgment. Madeline turned her attention back to the volunteer and took the two proffered red and white stickers, one to place on her blouse and another to put on her dashboard so her car wouldn’t be towed. This last instruction created a problem for her.
“One of the reporters outside knows me. She tried to get my attention when I came in. She already knows I’m working with the Alexanders. If I go out there now, it’s just going to create a bigger frenzy.” The petite volunteer, a woman in her late sixties, had more going on than just a sweet disposition.
“Write down the make, model and license number of your car and I’ll see to it security doesn’t have it towed away.”
“Thank you,” Madeline said, relieved. “Mrs. Alexander asked to see me. I’m working on her behalf,” she added, pulling out her identification. The volunteer examined it out of politeness, but it was clear by her demeanor that no one was going to have access to the patient.
“Mrs. Alexander is going to be moved to a private room in the main building. Her doctor will then decide if she is up to seeing visitors,” the woman said. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“You’ve been very helpful, thank you.” Madeline restored her wallet to her handbag and walked toward Liz Sweet’s makeshift office. The fact that they were the only two people in the waiting area probably accounted for the lack of enforcement of the “no cell phone” sign. Liz ended the call as Madeline approached, a look of intense concentration on her face. Madeline took a seat next to her. Neither spoke as Liz made notes on her computer.
“Thanks for the referral,” Liz said, her head still bent over her task.
“I’m glad you were able to take it on. I know you like these high-profile cases.” Liz looked up over her reading glasses.
“Yes, I do. But I prefer the ones I have a chance of winning.”
Madeline had no comeback to that; yesterday Cherie’s case could be won on the grounds that the evidence was strictly circumstantial. Now it was going to take a lot of hard work and some much needed luck to keep Cherie from being convicted of murder.
“So, how does the warrant stand now?”
“As soon as she’s discharged, she’ll be taken into custody until she’s arraigned,” Liz said.
“Did you see this coming during questioning yesterday?”
“Yes and no. I figured since they didn’t bring anyone else in for formal questioning, Cherie was pretty much their prime suspect. But I certainly didn’t expect an arrest warrant so soon. Either they’re very confident with their evidence, and perhaps have something they’re holding close to their vest for the time being, or they’re getting a lot of pressure to put this case to bed, or all of the above. Regardless, Cherie’s actions didn’t do us any favors.”
Liz sat back against the chair, arms folded. She turned to Madeline, focusing the full power of her laser-sharp mind on her.
“Tell me you’ve got some promising leads on another suspect,” Liz said. It wasn’t a plea; it was an order. Madeline smiled apologetically. “Nothing?” Liz asked irritably.
“Nothing concrete,” Madeline hedged.
“Does that mean you’ve got someone in your sights?” Liz grilled her.
“Yes. But that’s all I can say for the time being. My partner, Mike Delaney, is working that end of the equation right now. I’m here because Ross said Cherie asked for me on their way over. Who knows? Maybe she wants to confess…” Liz’s permanent frown sagged into a scowl.
“But I still don’t think she killed Vivian,” Madeline added, earning herself closer scrutiny by the attorney.
Liz let out a disdainful snort, obviously not impressed with Madeline’s feelings regarding her client’s guilt or innocence.
“Ms. Dawkins?” the volunteer called out. “Mr. Alexander would like to speak to you. If you could follow me, I’ll take you upstairs.”
Madeline hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced down at the attorney, who wasn’t looking too happy about being left out of the confab.
“Let me know what your leads turn up,” Liz said.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Madeline found Ross in the corridor outside Cherie’s room. She barely recognized him in his current condition. Like some men, Ross had sailed through two decades without showing his age. Today, however, was the catching up point. Whatever signposts of life he had managed to skirt had finally made their imprint on his features. One look into his eyes and Madeline could feel all the hours of missed sleep, all the tears that had fought their way out when no one was watching. Cherie might be the most likely candidate for a murder rap, but her husband bore the look of a man condemned.
Though she thought he saw her advancing, it wasn’t until she was right next to him that his mind put the person and the place together. Even then, Ross flinched as she spoke his name.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Ross cleared his throat, embarrassed by being caught off guard. The events of the last two days had reduced him to raw nerves housed in a body and mind battered and deprived of the essential elements of survival: food, sleep and an understanding of what was happening around him.
For one awful moment, Madeline thought th
e doctors had failed to keep Cherie alive. Then it hit her that Cherie’s death might bring a modicum of sanity to Ross’s life by eliminating the horror and disgrace of having a wife accused of killing his mother. But a quick glance at the bodies and the equipment monitoring Cherie’s vital statistics dismissed that fear.
It wasn’t until Ross shifted away from the entrance that Madeline became aware of the policeman standing sentry at Cherie’s door. It was another undeniable reminder that Cherie’s life had been forever altered, regardless of her guilt or innocence. A suicide attempt—especially one played out in the public arena—was something that would follow her around for the rest of her life.
“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Madeline asked. Ross let out a sad wheeze as he shook his head.
“I don’t remember. But it makes me sick to even think of food right now.”
“How about some coffee?”
Ross held out his hand, which trembled from the amount of caffeine in his system.
“Okay, let’s at least get you some herbal tea to calm the jitters,” Madeline said, motioning with her head for Ross to follow her to the cafeteria. He looked back into the room where his wife lay, pale and oblivious to those around her, before falling in step with Madeline.
Madeline placed a porcelain teapot and a selection of decaffeinated teas in front of Ross, along with a cup, some fresh fruit and a scone. She set a cup of coffee and a cranberry muffin on her side of the table and returned the tray to the stack. When she came back to the table, Ross was ineptly trying to tear the cellophane wrapper off a teabag. Madeline resisted the urge to do it for him. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and peeled off a chunk of muffin.
Ross gave up on the wrapper and tossed it aside. He leaned back against the booth, the muscles around his jaws pulsating with tension. As innocuously as possible, Madeline reached for the discarded teabag. She kept her eyes trained on Ross as she tore open the wrapper and placed the bag in the teapot.
Soothed by Madeline’s calm demeanor, Ross let out a deep sigh and tackled the scone. For a moment, Madeline wasn’t sure if he meant to eat any of it or was merely intent on demolishing it. He finally popped a piece into his mouth and chewed listlessly before washing it down with a sip of tea.
Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay Page 28
