That suited me just fine. I wasn’t about to follow her inside the house, where she may have access to a weapon. I also had no plans to chase her down if she decided to run. I’d leave that to the cops.
“I think it’s better if we take separate cars,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the driveway.”
She nodded and hurried out, closing the door behind her. I looked around for my purse before remembering that I’d left it outside on the patio table. I was about to leave when I heard a rough scraping sound coming from somewhere outside. I pushed on the door. It wouldn’t open. I pushed harder. Nothing.
“Cissy, are you still out there? The door is stuck.”
Silence. I threw the full force of my weight against the door. It didn’t budge. That’s when I realized it wasn’t stuck. It was locked. I wondered how loud I’d have to scream to be heard by Nanny Poppins. Pretty loud, I guessed, but it was worth a try. I started pounding and shouting. No one came.
All the windows were nailed shut. There was no telephone in the room. My cell phone was in my purse outside. I checked the laptop, hoping for an Internet connection so I could e-mail for help, but evidently Cissy hadn’t yet entered the age of wireless.
I suddenly realized why Moses Green thought Cissy was guilty: She was guilty. I felt like such a fool. Worse yet, I was trapped inside a cabana, with a killer outside holding the key. That’s when I felt the first twinge of panic.
-30-
i put my ear against the locked door of Cissy Brice’s cabana, listening for sounds, like the sounds of somebody coming to rescue me. I didn’t hear anything like that, but a moment later I did hear her voice. It sounded frazzled.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“No, I’m not frigging all right. Unlock this damn door, okay?”
“Please don’t be mad at me, Tuckie.”
“This isn’t helping your cause. Let me out of here. We’ll go to the police.”
“I’m not ready yet.”
“Then when?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Look, give yourself up. I’ll help you find a lawyer.”
“Lawyer? You’re talking like you think I’m guilty. I told you, I didn’t kill Evan.”
“Then why did you lie to the police when the truth would have worked just as well?”
“It’s a long story.”
It felt stupid trying to talk through a piece of wood. Both of us had to shout to be heard. I pushed on the door again to see if she’d had second thoughts and unlocked it. No such luck.
“Don’t bullshit me, Cissy. I want to know what you were doing at Evan’s apartment the night he was killed.”
The silence went on so long, I began to wonder if she’d walked away and left me trapped inside the cabana.
Finally, she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you the truth, but you’re not going to like it.” There was another long pause before she went on. “I knew Monique was pregnant. I confronted Evan about it on Friday. He said he’d just learned about the baby, too. He felt ashamed of himself and sad for the girl. He said he hadn’t decided what to do about it yet. Well, I told him what he was going to do about it—nothing. He said it wasn’t that simple. That made me really mad. Like I said, we fought all weekend. On Sunday he walked out on me.”
“I got the impression from Evan that he was committed to you and Dara.”
“I thought so, too. That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about how horrible it would be for Dara if she lost her daddy. After I got to Mom’s, I finally realized that instead of making him want to stay with us, I was pushing him away. When Mom fell asleep, I took her Mercedes and drove to Venice to beg Evan to come home. By the time I got there, he was already dead.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t call the police.”
“I was going to, I swear. Then I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. That’s when I knew he was leaving me for good. I was devastated. I couldn’t face telling the police and my daughter that Evan had chosen the mother of his illegitimate child over me. All I wanted to do was to get out of that place.”
“Did you ever stop to consider maybe he just forgot to put the ring on that morning?”
“No, you don’t understand. Evan stopped wearing it years ago when things got bad between us. Last week he put it on again and promised this time he’d leave it on. He was wearing it when he left the house that day.”
“Where is it now?”
She paused. “The ring? I don’t know.”
“It hasn’t turned up in his things?”
Her tone was hesitant. “No, but I didn’t worry about that. It wasn’t valuable like it had diamonds in it or anything.”
“The police told me nothing was taken from the apartment. What if the ring was stolen? Maybe it was a burglary gone bad after all.”
“I don’t think so. He was still wearing his Rolex. If the killer didn’t take an expensive watch, why would he take some cheap old ring?”
I didn’t want to tell her, but the police might construe the theft as a sign: After Cissy had killed her husband, she took the ring to symbolize that the relationship was over—for good. I wondered if it was one of the objects named in the search warrant.
“The value of the ring doesn’t matter,” I said. “What’s important is that it might be a clue. You have to tell the police what it looks like, if it’s inscribed, anything that distinguishes it from other conventional wedding bands.”
“Oh, come on, Tuckie. Evan was never conventional. You know that. First of all, he didn’t even want to wear a wedding ring. I bugged him about it so much, he finally agreed, but he never liked anything I picked out.”
“But he got one eventually.”
“Sure, eventually. A few months before our wedding, we were on our way to Scottsdale to visit my grandparents. We stopped in some Podunk town in Arizona to have lunch. There was a pawnshop across the street from the diner. The ring was in the window. The owner told us he bought it from some old Indian who made it himself. He called it a dead pawn, because the guy never came back to claim it. Evan loved that. He made up a story about the Indian being a shaman or a cowboy poet, something cool like that. He thought the ring was some kind of omen for our marriage. I was mad at him, because he paid eighty bucks cash for the thing. I thought that was stupid, because one of the stones was broken.”
My mouth felt dry as my thoughts jumped from omen to Arizona to Indian—maybe Navajo—to broken stone and finally to the ring I’d seen on Brenda Boyd’s finger. Somehow I already knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway.
“What did the ring look like?”
Not surprisingly, she told me it was a hand-wrought turquoise ring with one square, blue-green gemstone flanked by two smaller, bluer ovals, all set in a silver band. The center stone was chipped. Evan may have been right about one thing. Perhaps the ring had been an omen—a bad one. Maybe I’d been wrong about everything.
“Cissy, open this door. We have to call the police.”
“I told you, I didn’t kill Evan.” Her tone was loud and strident.
“Fine, but you have to tell them about the ring.”
“No. They’ll take Dara away from me. I’m innocent. Why can’t you believe me?”
“Stop screaming. I do believe you. Just open the door.”
A few moments later I heard barking. It sounded like Muldoon. He must have gotten bored waiting in the car.
From the other side of the door I heard Cissy yell, “Get away!”
“Don’t panic. It’s just my dog.”
“He’s barking at me.”
“I can hear that. Stop bellowing. He doesn’t like loud noises.”
“What’s wrong with his eyes? They look weird.”
“He’s wearing goggles so he doesn’t— Oh, never mind. Just let me out of here.”
“I don’t like dogs.”
“Then open the door. I’ll calm him down.”
“I don’t know . . .”
> “Damn it, Cissy! I’m trying to help you.”
“Okay, okay.”
A moment later the padlock rattled. The next thing I saw was Muldoon, nudging the door open. He stopped briefly to lift his leg near an antique tractor on the bottom shelf of the étagère. Then he buried his nose in a patch of carpet, trying to identify the source of an old smell. I had to admit that the goggles made him look like a fluffy white larva from some killer-insect movie.
Cissy stood at the threshold, looking pale. We stared at each other for a long time, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, she said, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“I don’t—yet.”
“I’m sorry I locked the door, Tuckie, but it’s been a really bad day.”
Mine hadn’t been that great, either.
I spent the next few minutes trying to persuade her to speak with the police. That turned out to be a hard sell. In the end she agreed to let me call my lawyer, Sheldon Greenblatt. Shelly doesn’t handle criminal defense work, but he transferred me to one of his associates who did. After listening to the facts, the woman agreed to accompany Cissy on an interview with Detective Moses Green. Meanwhile, the attorney told her not to discuss the situation with anyone. I guess that included me.
When Muldoon and I got back to the car, I adjusted his goggles and headed for a showdown with Brenda Boyd.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER I knocked on Brenda’s door but got no response. The Volvo was parked in a sweet spot in front of her building, which meant she was probably still in the neighborhood. Maybe she was out kicking ass and taking names. I was trying to think of where else to look when I remembered the metal detector I’d seen in her apartment. Maybe she was out searching for treasure.
Muldoon and I headed toward the beach, crossing a wide bike path and a patch of grass dotted with palm trees. The moment I stepped off the lawn, the sand began seeping into my shoes and abrading my heels. Muldoon was accustomed to running barefoot, so he went ahead, looking for something to sniff at.
I spotted Brenda strolling near the water about fifty feet away from me. She was wearing a pair of beige shorts and a pink tank top. Covering her ears was a headset, which was connected to the metal detector’s battery pack. With wide zigzag motions, she swept the doughnut-shaped end of the detector over the sand. Occasionally, she’d stoop to inspect something she’d found, before dropping it into a plastic grocery bag that hung from one of the belt loops on her shorts.
My calf muscles strained as I maneuvered through the sand toward her, stopping a couple of feet away. The turquoise ring was no longer on her finger. I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, startled. She pulled the headset off and draped it around her neck like a horse collar.
“How’s the fishing today?” I said.
Brenda shrugged. “Not bad. You nail Asshole yet for the damage to your car?”
“No, but I found out his name. Gilbert Ruiz. His sister lives across the street. Maybe you know her.”
“What kind of car does she drive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask me again when you do.” She started to put the headset back on her ears.
“Brenda, I didn’t tell you this before. That guy across the street who was murdered, he was a friend of mine. He had a daughter. All she knows right now is that her father isn’t coming home. Someday I’d like her to know that his killer got what he deserved.”
I thought that would appeal to her sense of vigilante justice, but all she said was: “So Tom had a kid. Big deal. Lots of us have them. I don’t see why I should worry about some rich kid getting justice when the rest of us get nothing but a bum deal.”
Brenda definitely had an agenda. I wondered what events in her life had shaped her attitude.
“When I was at your place the other day,” I said, “you were wearing a turquoise ring.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It’s mine. I got it fair and square.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but I need to know how you got it and where. I think it was my friend’s wedding ring. The killer may have stolen it.”
On the word “wedding,” a light flickered briefly in Brenda’s eyes and then faded. “I don’t know anything.”
“Please, I need your help. You’d be doing the right thing.”
Brenda rolled her eyes and put the headset back on. There was nothing more I could do. If she didn’t want to talk to me, I couldn’t make her. I rounded up Muldoon and was about to head back toward the bike path when Brenda called out to me.
“I’m not talking to no cops. The lazy-ass pricks. You can’t even get them to write a parking ticket anymore. They say it’s the DOT’s job, but that’s a bunch of bull. I wrote a letter to the chief to complain. Now they’re watching every move I make.”
Brenda seemed a tad paranoid, so I didn’t want to mess with her fragile psyche by lying to her.
“Look, the police will have to interview you, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re not hassled.”
Her eyes darted back and forth as though she were watching a tennis match or thinking deep thoughts. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I believe you, Brenda. Did somebody give you the ring?”
She shook her head.
“You found it, then. Where? In the sand, with your metal detector?”
“In there.” She pointed toward a round garbage can, which was a stone’s throw from her balcony. Apparently, in addition to all her other talents, Brenda was also a Dumpster diver.
“When?”
“Right after Asshole threw it there.”
I felt a surge of adrenaline. “Are you talking about Gilbert Ruiz?”
“If you say so.”
“Tell me what happened.”
In drips and dribbles, guesses and nods, I was able to pry the following information from her: Shortly after one-thirty a.m. the night Evan was murdered, Brenda was out on her lanai. She saw Gilbert Ruiz, aka Asshole, come out of the lobby of Evan’s apartment building. He walked toward the garbage can and threw something inside that clinked against the metal sides. Then he headed toward the beach. A few minutes later he returned. His shirt was off, and his pants looked wet, as if he’d gone for a swim. That made her suspicious. A few minutes later, he got into his car, wet clothes and all, and drove away. After he was gone, she took a flashlight and searched through the trash can until she discovered the ring, covered with what appeared to be gunk from the garbage. She cleaned it up and decided it was a keeper.
It was unfortunate that Brenda Boyd had washed away Gilbert Ruiz’s fingerprints, but bloodstains were more difficult to remove. Hopefully, there were still traces of Evan’s DNA or that of his killer in the cracks of that broken turquoise gemstone.
Charley Tate told me that taking large amounts of dextromethorphan, found in over-the-counter cold remedies, could lead to murder. Gilbert Ruiz was hooked on the stuff. I wondered if Monique’s hotheaded brother had been high on cough syrup when he killed Evan Brice.
Gilbert could have taken Monique’s key that night to gain access to the apartment. Maybe he was ready to graduate from robo-tripping to real drugs and hoped that Evan would be his source. Perhaps he was just angry about his sister’s pregnancy. Whatever the case, he went to Evan’s place to confront him and lost control of the conversation. He killed Evan and took his wedding ring as some kind of trophy. When he got outside, he had second thoughts. The ring was evidence that could lead the police directly to his doorstep, so he discarded it in the trash can in front of Brenda Boyd’s apartment. Too bad for Gilbert that she had seen him do it.
What I didn’t know was if Monique had been an accessory to the murder. Detective Green told me he’d verified her alibi, presumably with her aunt, Estela Sandoval. But the aunt may have lied.
Perhaps I didn’t know the whole story, but I had enough credible speculation to interest Detective Green. I was about to call the number for Pacific detectives when my cell phone rang.
-31-
i pr
essed “Talk” on my cell phone dial pad and heard the frantic voice of Rose Miller. “I’m so glad you answered. I thought you said you were coming right back, but maybe I got it wrong. My memory isn’t that good anymore.”
“Your memory is fine, Rose. I forgot. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I’m out of my heart pills. The pharmacy can’t deliver until tomorrow, and Monique isn’t home.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Brenda Boyd pick up her metal detector and hurry through the sand toward her apartment.
“I’m just outside your building,” I told Rose. “I’ll be right there.”
She must have been waiting with her hand poised above the knob, because she immediately opened the door when I knocked. She was holding two neatly pressed twenty-dollar bills, probably from that white envelope of hers, and a piece of paper on which she’d written the pharmacy’s address.
“Getting old is for the birds,” she said. “You’re a burden to everybody. Most of my relatives were dead by this age. Makes me feel like I’ve been overlooked. You don’t have a cholesterol problem, do you?”
“Nope, not yet.”
“Good. Hope your luck holds out. Mine didn’t. Too many brown-and-serve sausages, I guess. Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you. My daughter says I inconvenience people. She wants me to move to a retirement home in Scottsdale, but I can’t stand the heat.”
“I’d miss you if you left.”
“Thank you, Tucker. I’d miss you, too.”
I didn’t want to drag Muldoon to the pharmacy, so I asked Rose to entertain him until I got back. On the way to pick up the meds, I called the Pacific homicide unit to tell Moses Green what I’d learned about Gilbert Ruiz. He wasn’t at his desk, so I left an urgent message for him to contact me. I’d just picked up the prescription and was heading back to my car when my cell phone rang. It was Green, calling me back.
Cover Your Assets Page 24
