Fourth Wall

by Jason Blacker

  “I think it’s been about six months or thereabouts.”

  Roberts nodded.

  “I’m happy for you, buddy, I really am.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But back to the case. What are your feelings on it?”

  Roberts shrugged and looked out towards the pool.

  “No foul play. There was a legitimate party out here last night. We got a call from a neighbor complaining about noise. That was around midnight. Hard to say. My gut wants to believe that this was just a tragic accident. Maybe she was popping pills and drinking champagne and got overwhelmed and drowned.”

  “Who was the neighbor?”

  Roberts turned towards an officer just inside the living room.

  “Officer, can you get me Detective Beeves?” he said.

  “Yes, Captain,” came the reply, and the young officer left.

  “Greg Beeves is on this case with me. I don’t think you know him.”

  I shook my head.

  “Young guy. Real up and comer. Around thirty-two I think. Been with us ten years. Not homicide, been on the job ten years. This is his second year in homicide.”

  I nodded, and looked towards the living room where a stocky black detective was walking towards us. He had a shaved head over a round face. He wore a navy suit with a purple tie and pale blue shirt.

  “Greg, this is Anthony Carrick. He’s a civilian consultant, though we used to work homicide back in the day. Anthony, this is Greg, one of our rising stars.”

  We shook hands.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir,” said Beeves. “The only detective to never lose a case.”

  “Call me Anthony, and those are myths,” I said. “I’ve always had a collar but sometimes the dicks down at city hall can’t keep it tight around a perp’s neck if you know what I mean.”

  He chuckled at that.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he said. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “Anthony has some questions about last night.”

  Roberts looked over at me.

  “Yeah, who was the neighbor that called in the noise complaint?”

  “It was Maria Fitch from across the road at 2315. The ranch style house, literally right across the road.”

  “Have you spoken with her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do we have a list of the guests here last night?”

  Beeves nodded.

  “Thirteen people were here throughout the night. Two women stayed over. Friends of the deceased. Patricia Kordel and Miki Smelter. Kordel found the body this morning.”

  “Spoken with them yet?”

  “They’re at the station giving statements.”

  “Was Rip Peso here last night at all?”

  Beeves nodded.

  “Sure was. Left a little before midnight or thereabouts from what I’m told. Wasn’t around long. Came, got into a fight with his ex, the deceased, and then left. Threatened to kill her if she didn’t get back together with him, but apparently that’s his MO.”

  I nodded.

  “So what do you figure, Gregory? Is this a tragic accident or murder most foul?”

  He smiled at me.

  “My gut’s gonna say murder most foul. If only because the ex was here last night. Gives him opportunity, means and motive.”

  I turned to Roberts.

  “Do you have him in custody yet?”

  “We’re still looking for him. But remember, even though I’m with the two of you, we don’t have a homicide yet until the ME gives us foul play.”

  We both nodded at Roberts like a pair of birds pecking at seed. I turned back towards Beeves.

  “Found anything interesting yet? Anything that might count as evidence of foul play?”

  “Seems like quite a bit of coke was enjoyed by all, and some marijuana. Plenty of booze as you can probably tell and then there’s enough bottles of pills here to open a pharmacy.”

  “What kind of pills?” I asked.

  “Mostly anti-anxiety, anti-depressant, and sleeping pills plus some pretty heavy duty pain killers too,” said Beeves. “We’ve bagged and tagged OxyContin, Demerol, Percocet, Ativan, Xanax, Valium, Ambien, Lunesta, Adderall and Ritalin. Different doctors on most of these bottles. Looks like doctor shopping.”

  He wasn’t looking at a notebook as he was telling me all of this.

  “You’ve got a good memory,” I said.

  “Thanks. I try. Keeps the mind sharp. But it’s all in my notebook too for reference,” he said, tapping his suit’s breast pocket.

  “You’ve taught him well,” I said to Roberts.

  “What can I say, you’ve forgotten half of what I taught you, might as well make use of what you don’t like,” he said.

  “You mean to say you’ve forgotten half of what I taught you,” I said.

  Roberts grinned at me.

  “Have we met?” he asked.

  I turned back towards Beeves.

  “Any other interesting guests last night?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Hard to say. I don’t know most of the names. Though a couple come to mind. Mary Beale and William Orpen were here. Must have come by after the play shut down. We’ll be interviewing everyone who was here.”

  “Willy Open,” I said. “Every woman’s worst nightmare.”

  Roberts shrugged.

  “Don’t be jealous, Anthony, just because he sees more tail than the zookeepers at Central Park Zoo.”

  Beeves chuckled.

  “Willy Open?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, because he’s a slut, right? His willy’s always open to the women.”

  He chuckled some more. Having to explain it made it seem kinda lame. But sometimes it’s the small things in life that I really get the kick out of.

  “If it’s any help, Sonja doesn’t care much for him or his acting,” said Beeves.

  “So she tells you,” said Roberts.

  “Yeah, so she tells me.”

  “Sonja?” I asked.

  “That’s Beeves’ fiançee.”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, I was at the play he was in last night,” I said. “Don’t care for his acting chops, but the women were delighted.”

  “Some men get all the breaks,” said Roberts.

  I looked back out at the pool.

  “What time did Kordel call it in?” I asked.

  “Eight thirteen this morning,” said Beeves. “Apparently party went on until close to three she thinks. She was passed out in one of the bedrooms around two. Were only a few left by then she said.”

  “And Smelter?”

  “Smelter said she crashed around two thirty and awoke when a panicked Kordel shook her awake shouting and yelling about the dead body.”

  “And there was nobody else in the house when we arrived?”

  “No, the two of them were waiting outside when patrol arrived. They wanted to be as far away from the deceased as possible.”

  “I know this place is a mess, but any signs of a struggle by anyone at anytime.”

  “Doesn’t look like it. Peso and the deceased got into it a bit before midnight. And from what we heard Orpen, Beale and the deceased also got into it. Not sure what about, but sounds like a lover’s quarrel.”

  I nodded.

  “Where did you find the pills?” I asked.

  “All over the place, that’s the thing. Just about anybody could have had access to them. Some in the main bathroom, some in the master bathroom, some in the kitchen. Hell, some even out on the living room table here.”

  He pointed back into the living room area where a large glass table was stuck in front of an L shaped white leather couch. It was filled with empty glasses, bottles of booze, papers, ashtrays and mess.

  “Any sexual motive?”

  Beeves shrugged.

  “Autopsy will tell, but doesn’t look like she was in her bedroom at all last night. That’s about the only room that looks reasonably tidy. I say re
asonably, because looks like our deceased was a bit of a slob. Still found clothes piled up in there and an unfinished joint along with a baggie and residue of coke on the dresser too.”

  “Sounds like you guys got everything under control.”

  Beeves nodded.

  “Thanks, Beeves,” said Roberts.

  “Good meeting you, Anthony,” he said, shaking my hand before heading back inside.

  I nodded my head at Roberts.

  “Yeah, seems pretty thorough,” I said.

  “A rising star like I said, and Chief Burton likes him too.”

  He grinned at me. I nodded slowly.

  “Then he’s fucked,” I said. “He’ll have your job in a minute.”

  Roberts laughed.

  “I’m gonna want to talk to Kordel and Smelter.”

  “I’ll get you their addresses,” said Roberts.

  “In the meantime I’m going over to the neighbor to see what nosy Nelly might know.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  I nodded.

  “Anything else here of note?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Roberts. “You can look over our notes later if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  I fished my phone out of my pocket.

  “Don’t have a lot of time right now,” I said. “Promised Aibhilin I’d take her to that new movie starring Willy Open.”

  “Oh yeah, ‘Love Bleeds, Betty’?” asked Roberts.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Some sort of zombie love story I think. Not sure it’s appropriate for her but she swears it’s rated PG-13.”

  “She thirteen already?”

  “Not yet, soon though. Acts like she’s coming on thirty if you know what I mean?”

  Roberts chuckled and nodded his head as we walked through the house.

  “Yeah, Melissa’s the same way. Similar age to Aibhilin too.”

  FIVE

  Nosy Nelly

  THE house was a ranch style just across from Ancher’s. It was long and looked new. Most folks couldn’t afford homes like these anymore on account of the cost of the land to put them on. They took too much space. It wasn’t a new house, but it had been well maintained and had on new siding. The roof was new and side gabled with black shingles. The best I could say about the exterior was that it was green. Reminded me of a dirty lime-flavored gelato, but it didn’t look as bad as you’d think. Brick red colored exterior shutters sided every window. The concrete driveway was long that led up to a double attached garage stuck sideways on the right side of the house.

  As we walked up I could see an old lady peering out from inside the house. She moved away after I caught a glimpse of her.

  “This is how some folks live,” I said.

  “Yeah, helps to keep the paparazzi out having it gated I guess,” said Roberts.

  That wasn’t exactly what I meant. We got up to the door and Roberts knocked. A few seconds later the door opened. An older woman in great shape, around mid-sixties opened the door. She wasn’t much more than five feet. She wore glasses and her hair was naturally gray in a short cut. She had on black slacks and a blue and red patterned blouse.

  “Ms. Fitch?” asked Roberts.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’m Captain John Roberts of the Los Angeles Police Department,” he said as he showed her his badge, “and this is Anthony Carrick. Do you mind if we come in for a moment to ask you a few questions about last night?”

  “Certainly,” she said, opening the door wider. “I was wondering when you might come and visit me.”

  We walked into the entranceway and followed her straight through to the back end of the house where the dining room was. She gestured to seats. She didn’t have modern taste. The room was decorated exactly as I expected. Everything seemed like it could have come out of France during the reign of Louis something-or-other. The chairs were plump with upholstery, including the arms. I recognized some wingbacks too. All the furniture looked like it belonged together but it wasn’t bought as a set. I figured it had taken her time to put this collection together. I sat on a wingback, as did Roberts.

  “I was just making coffee if you’d like some?”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “That would be wonderful,” said Roberts.

  We sat in silence not saying anything to each other as she walked out of the open living room and turned left down the hallway before disappearing.

  The art was of a similar style to the furniture. I’d put it as late Baroque in style. In fact, I thought that more than one of the paintings I’d seen so far in the house could have been painted by Caravaggio. But I wasn’t sure if they were real. A real Caravaggio would fetch tens of millions of dollars in today’s market. But that was the style of them. Dark, contrasted colors of people at the height of an activity. Vibrant and photographic in nature. One of the ones that grabbed my attention looked to be The Death of Socrates, probably painted towards the end of his life in the early sixteen hundreds.

  Maria Fitch came back in carrying a tray with coffee and pastries on it as well as mugs and creamer and sugar. She put it down on the coffee table in front of us. She poured coffee from a silver coffee pot into the three mugs. They were differently colored. She handed me a navy mug. Roberts was given a red one and she took a yellow. I added cream and sugar. So did Roberts. Fitch only took cream. She sat down across from us on a plumply cushioned settee with a firm but cushioned back that was cut to look like a bow at the top. She took a sip of coffee and put her mug on the side table next to her.

  “Please help yourself to a pastry,” she said.

  I did. I took an apple strudel and a napkin. The strudel I put on a side plate, the napkin on my lap. Roberts took the bear claw and did the same. He took a bite so I took the bait.

  “You called in last night, Ms. Fitch, to complain about the noise from the neighbor’s place at 2319, right?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Please call me Maria, Anthony. I’ve lived here over thirty years, ever since Paul and I got married. It was a quiet neighborhood then. A place you could raise a family. But ever since we had the community gated, the new money’s come in and they don’t have the same manners or courtesies.”

  I nodded and sipped on my coffee. It was good coffee. Likely from a local roaster and it was dark.

  “Last night is just one example of the sorts of things that they do without any care or concern for their neighbors.”

  “That’s the party you were talking about?”

  “Yes, and I know what it’s like to be young, Anthony. I was young once. But when you reach a certain station in life you ought to behave a certain way and they don’t.”

  “You say they. There are others here like your neighbor at 2319.”

  “Four of them now, and they know each other. They’re not very friendly either. Actors and actresses you know, all of them. And they think you want something if you just approach them to say hello. Stuck up hoity-toity types if you ask me.”

  “When did they start moving in?” I asked, finding all of this quite humorous, though I wasn’t smiling.

  “About ten years ago when we gated it.”

  “So this isn’t the first problem you’ve had with these actor sorts, as you put it, then?”

  “Good heavens, no. It’s an ongoing battle. And you’ll forgive me for saying this, but you don’t seem to do much about it at all. Or when you arrive they turn down the noise, and in so doing make me look like an old fool.”

  “Who are the others who live in this community. We know of Anna Ancher who you complained about last night. But who are the other three that you’ve had difficulty with?”

  I wanted to bite into my strudel. Roberts didn’t seem to mind me talking. He was too busy stuffing his face with bear claw. The best I could do was sip my coffee.

  “Well, the first one who moved in shortly after we gated this part of Woodland Hills was Kyle Labecki. He’s nice though. A gay man who kee
ps to himself. He’s an actor who goes by the name of Kyle Lawrence.”

  I nodded. I knew the name. He was close to Fitch’s age if I remembered correctly. Had been a leading man twenty years ago and very successful before coming out of the closet. That didn’t help his career, but he seemed to have found a second boost to his career, playing older British villains.

  “And does he live by himself?”

  “Oh no, he has a partner, Gary Verukin. They’ve been together since shortly after he moved in here. But they’re not a problem. In fact, I’m sure that Kyle is quite happy that I take issue with the noise problems in this area. You see, he’s right next to Anna Ancher.”

  I nodded.

  “And the other two?”

  Fitch rolled her eyes.

  “They’re just as bad as Ms. Ancher. There’s Ashlee Toseland who goes by the stage name of Ashlee Tollard. She lives on the right just as you come in through the gates, and across the way from her is Marissa Jonak. The three of them are young and carefree. Too carefree in my mind if you want to know the truth. All sorts of people coming and going at all sorts of hours from their homes.”

  I lifted my strudel to take a bite, but Fitch had stopped talking. I put it back down on my plate.

  “Who’s the worse of them then?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The three of them are as bad as each other I suppose. Last night it was Anna Ancher, but if it’s not her then either Jonak or Tollard are having some sort of soirée, if you can call it that.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and Fitch mirrored me.

  “If I may, why are the police here now that the party is over?”

  “Ms. Ancher was found dead,” I said.

  “Really, what happened?”

  Fitch didn’t seem one bit upset about it.

  “We can’t say any more than that, Maria, as it is an ongoing investigation. But you don’t seem particularly surprised or upset about it.”

  “That’s because I am neither, Anthony,” said Fitch. “It’s a shame I suppose that someone that young be cut down in the prime of their life, but the way she lived it, how could I be surprised?”

  “How did she live it?”

  “Well, she had all sorts of incorrigibles over there, didn’t she? Lots of gangsters, African American gangsters. You can tell by their chains around their necks and their dark glasses they wore at night. Just out looking for trouble.”