One Hot Target

by Diane Pershing

  “Hey,” JR said with an embarrassed shrug. “The man served his country.”

  He was about to go on to correct the impression that he was Carmen’s boyfriend, when she popped in instead with, “Isn’t JR the very best? I mean, how many lawyers do you know who donate their time like he does?”

  “Not too many,” Mac concurred. “But there are some. Which is why I’m not one hundred percent prejudiced against the breed.”

  “Just ninety-eight percent,” JR countered wryly.

  “Something like that.” Mac favored them with a small, cynical cop smile, then went on. “Okay, now, let’s get down to business.” He took a document from a wire basket and handed it to Carmen. “We have witness statements but, frankly, they don’t add up to much. You were the closest to the actual murder. This is the statement you gave us yesterday. Would you mind looking it over, seeing if there’s anything you want to add?”

  As Carmen was perusing the statement, JR asked Mac, “Have you made any progress?”

  He paused before saying, “I don’t generally talk about open cases to civilians.” After another moment’s hesitation, he went on. “But in your case, I’ll make an exception.” He shrugged. “Which doesn’t amount to much because we’ve got nothing. We’ve got eyewitnesses, all with a slightly different version of what Ms. Coyle, here, says. A body rushing by, all in black, bill pulled down over face, dark hair, maybe, or no hair.”

  He shrugged again. “After that, we’ve got one sure it was a woman, two positive it was a man, one saying it was a young man—late teens—another sure it was an older guy. Height anywhere from five-six to six feet. One thought there was a letter on the cap, but couldn’t remember the letter—another sure there wasn’t. Even if we could bring in a suspect or two, we won’t be able to put together a lineup.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “The gun, a twenty-two caliber, and the silencer were found in a garbage bin a block from the mall, no fingerprints.”

  Carmen glanced up from her reading. “What was her name? The woman who died?”

  “Can’t let that out yet. Her husband is in the Marines, serving in Iraq, and we haven’t been able to reach him.”

  “So, she was married,” she said sadly. “Her poor husband. Did she have kids?”

  “No.”

  “Well, at least…”

  Instead of finishing her sentence, she went back to studying the report while the two men watched her. After a moment or two she raised her head again. “I’d say the running figure was shorter rather than taller, but apart from that…” She raised then lowered a shoulder. “It all happened so fast.”

  “How short?” Mac asked.

  “Closer to my height—five-seven or -eight.”

  He made a note. “Well, that’s something, anyway. Did you notice the victim earlier? I mean, did you see her while you were shopping, you know, looking through the racks?”

  “No.”

  “So you wouldn’t have noticed if she seemed nervous, like someone was following her, anything like that?”

  “No, again. Sorry.”

  “How long had you been in the dressing room?”

  “I guess five minutes or so. I had tried on one suit and I hated it, and tried on another and then I called JR and complained.” She looked over at him with a quick smile of apology, then told Mac, “Five to seven minutes.”

  He nodded. “The victim must have been there about the same amount of time. She’d tried on two items. Did you hear her go into the dressing room?”

  “No. I didn’t even know anyone was next door until I heard the sound. The gunshot. Well, more of a gun pop.”

  JR had a question of his own he wanted to ask. “Do you think it was done by a professional?”

  “Most likely,” Mac answered. “But we have no idea why. The vic, well, we’ve talked to her sister and there is no reason anyone can think of for the attack on her. Married a year. Quiet. Didn’t screw around. Churchgoing. Worked for the county. Nothing controversial. We’re digging some more—maybe the husband’ll know something. There has to be a reason for a hit.”

  “A hit?” Carmen asked. “You mean like murder for hire?”

  “It was done by a pro, I’m pretty sure. Nothing spur of the moment. Carefully planned. Must have followed her into the store, didn’t want to take a chance in the crowd, waited ’til she was in the dressing room, followed her, got her there. And after that, from what we can tell, the shooter walked quickly through the store, down the escalator, and was gone, all before we were even called in.” He frowned and blew out an impatient breath. “Can you think of anything else, anything at all?”

  All of this talk about the woman’s murder was making Carmen feel kind of sad and fragile again, but she wanted to help as much as she could, so she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Something had occurred to her yesterday while she sat on the floor outside the dressing room. What was it? She tried and tried, but it wouldn’t come up. Maybe if she didn’t think about it, it would surface.

  She opened her eyes and shook her head apologetically. “Sorry.”

  Mac stood, indicating the interview was over. “Well, thanks for your help,” he said, shaking first her hand, then JR’s. “If you think of anything else, you know where to reach me.”

  Outside in the autumn sunshine, as cars whizzed by on Santa Monica Boulevard, Carmen drew in a large breath and let it out, wishing she could shake the sad feeling. “Oh, JR,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s awful the way one little thing can alter everything else. You know?” She gazed up at her friend, feeling quite emotional as she tried to explain. “You’re walking along the street and minding your own business and all of a sudden you decide to turn a corner and everything’s different then. Your whole life is different. I mean, I hate that I chose that dressing room, that I was next door to that poor woman. I hate that the poor woman died. I hate that I couldn’t save her. I hate that it happened at all,” she finished sadly, “and that’s the truth.”

  “Yeah.” JR’s blue-eyed gaze behind gold rims was sympathetic. “And I hate that I can’t fix it for you.”

  “You can’t.” She poked her index finger into his chest. “And you shouldn’t, anyway,” she said, trying to lighten up. “I have to fix myself, remember? Before I become ‘pathetic’?”

  He raised his gaze to the heavens. “Are you ever going to let me forget what I said?”

  “Nope,” she replied. “It was a life-altering moment and needs to be commemorated. So, can I buy you breakfast?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I have to be in court in half an hour.”

  “Oh. Darn. I wanted to take you out. To thank you.”

  “I ate early, while you were sleeping. And with what money?”

  “I have money,” she said, suddenly feeling a little defensive. “Well, some. That’s why I sold my car. I had to have something to live on until I get work and can pay Mom and Shannon back.”

  “What if you need your car to get to work?”

  “There’s such a thing as taking the bus.” She smiled. “We common folk do it all the time, you know.”

  He didn’t want to play. “I do know that. I also know L.A. is not known for her superior mass transit system. What if you have to spend hours waiting for a connection? What if you have to come home late at night?” He shook his head, obviously disapproving of yet one more of Carmen’s decisions, one more time thinking her a fool.

  She felt herself bristling. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have sold her car before thinking through her options, but she didn’t really want to hear a lecture at the moment, especially not from JR. Not today.

  In fact, she was getting a little tired of being lectured.

  “Look,” she said, still defensive and now irritated also, “go on to court, okay? Thanks for being with me this morning,” she added, then walked off.

  He caught up to her. “Where are you headed? I can drop you off.”

  “I’m going to the storefront, then
home. Shannon insists on seeing me, to make sure I’m okay. It’s out of your way.”

  “It’s not out of my way. The courthouse is right near there.” He took her elbow. “Come on.”

  Like JR, Shannon Coyle was a successful lawyer employed by a large, prestigious L.A. firm. But the Coyle children had been raised with an awareness of the haves and the have-nots. They’d been taught to give back to the community, and to always look out for those less fortunate. So a few months ago, after she’d received her share of a huge multimillion-dollar settlement against a chemical firm that had been dumping toxins into the Pacific Ocean, Shannon had decided to honor the lesson of their childhood. She’d pleaded with, bullied and coerced a couple of other lawyer friends—JR being one—to donate a few hours a week each, and had set up shop in a small, shabby storefront on Pacific Avenue in Venice, open mornings only for now. Here, the homeless, the disenfranchised, those unable to work the legal system to right injustice, were welcomed and counseled and sometimes even helped.

  It was here, at the storefront, that Carmen had been ordered by her older sister to show up. The minute JR ushered Carmen through the door, Shannon came barreling out of the single rear office, arms thrown wide. Even though she was shorter than Carmen by at least seven inches, she hugged her younger sister with enough intensity to more than make up for her lack of height. JR watched as Carmen closed her eyes and let Shannon embrace her with all the ferocity of a mamma bear.

  They had little in common physically. Shannon was not only short, she was also just a bit plump, with dark brown hair. Carmen was tall and lean and blond. They had the same eyes, though, the Coyle eyes. A warm, rich brown, with a fringe of long lashes and perfectly arched eyebrows. And they’d always been as close as two sisters could be. Over the years, JR had marveled at their bond. He’d been an only child. A lonely child.

  Shannon pulled away and studied Carmen’s face. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Shan.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure.”

  The receptionist, a round, middle-aged Latina named Guadalupe Delgado—Lupe—who ran the place with a gentle but iron fist, stood in front of her desk now, waiting for Shannon to release her sister, so she, too, could draw Carmen into a warm, loving hug.

  JR was always amazed at how much touching the Coyles and their friends engaged in. His own home had been more formal. Touching was brief, and for special times only. Meeting the Coyle sisters all those years ago, had opened up all kinds of new worlds to him.

  Lupe smelled like warm cinnamon, Carmen thought, reveling in her embrace. And walnuts. She must have been baking this morning.

  She loved Lupe like an aunt, but just last week, she’d been too embarrassed to face her. Lupe was her landlady, and it had been the older woman’s visit, informing Carmen that the rent was three months overdue, that had begun the whole nightmare of cleaning up after Tio. But the rent was paid now, Lupe had told her not to worry anymore, and they were back to being close friends, thank heaven.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” she heard JR say. “I don’t mean to interrupt the lovefest, but I’m off.”

  Carmen withdrew from Lupe’s warm hug, but avoided looking at him as she mumbled, “Thanks again for everything.”

  “When will we see you again, JR?” Lupe asked, then walked over to her desk and peered at the appointment book lying open on it. “You’re on Wednesday mornings, right? So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Correct. Hey, Carm, take care of yourself, okay?”

  She knew he was looking right at her, but she still felt kind of, well, unsettled after their brief flare-up outside the West L.A. police headquarters. “I’ll do my best,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.

  He waited a moment more—probably for her to turn around, to tell him everything between them was okay, which she pointedly did not do because she had no idea how things were between them—before walking out the door.

  After he did, she turned to watch him go.

  His suit really did fit him well, Carmen couldn’t help observing. Even though he was over six feet, you couldn’t call JR a big man; he’d been a skinny kid and was still kind of lean. But she’d seen him in workout clothing and bathing trunks, and he had a nicely muscled body, with long runner’s legs. Of course, you couldn’t really see the body in the suit today; what you saw was his elegance, that born-to-a-life-of-privilege ease of movement that came so naturally to him.

  And why, she wondered, was she, out of nowhere, thinking about JR’s body? Hadn’t she, just seconds ago, been kind of pissed off at him?

  “He’s one of the good guys, isn’t he?” Shannon remarked.

  Startled out of her reverie, Carmen looked to her left. Her sister was standing there, arms crossed, also checking out JR. “Sure is,” she had to agree. “He’s about the best friend a girl could have.”

  “That he is.”

  “And he’s always been there for me. I’m going to make it up to him—all the years of him taking care of me. I’m going to change all that.”

  Shannon turned and gazed up at her, head cocked to one side, reminding Carmen, as she always had, of a busy, intelligent bird. “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “By—” she shrugged “—you know, not needing him so much. By acting like a grown-up.”

  Shannon raised an eyebrow. “A grown-up? My, my.” She returned her gaze to JR, just as he was getting into his Lexus. “I wonder how he’ll take that?”

  “He’ll be relieved, of course.”

  “Really?”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “It’s a two-way street, you know, this caretaker business. There’s the caretaker and the one being taken care of. Both get something out of it. If you decide to change the rules, I wonder how JR will react?”

  “He’ll love it, trust me,” Carmen said earnestly. “It’s time, Shannon. He told me so himself. It’s obvious he considers me nothing but a pain in the butt.”

  Frowning, Shannon studied her sister for a couple of silent moments before saying skeptically, “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think, you truly think, that JR, our JR, considers you nothing but a pain in the butt? Do you honestly not know?”

  “Not know what?” Again, her lots-smaller-but-two-years-older sister stared at her, head cocked to the other side now. “Not know what?” Carmen repeated.

  Shaking her head, Shannon walked back toward her office, muttering, “Never mind.”

  Carmen followed her. “What?”

  “Hey, if you don’t know, it’s not up to me to tell you.”

  “Shan, I think I may have to strangle you. Now tell me. What are you talking about? What don’t I know?”

  Shannon stopped inside her office, motioned Carmen in, then closed the door behind them. She stared at her and seemed to be considering something for a moment or two before finally throwing up her hands. “For God’s sake, the man’s in love with you.”

  Her sister’s shocking statement made Carmen’s mouth drop open. Now it was her turn to stare, which she did for several speechless moments before shaking her head, first slowly, then more rapidly. “No, he’s not.”

  “Yes, he is. Has been for years.”

  “No, no.” Carmen couldn’t seem to stop shaking her head. She needed to push away the entire concept, push it far, far away…even as a tiny voice in the back of her mind was whispering that this wasn’t really news, was it?

  She ordered the voice to shut up. “Not possible.”

  “Why?” Shannon stood, hands on hips, one knowing eyebrow arched.

  Mind reeling, Carmen walked over to the small window that faced the street and peered out. JR was just driving away. “Well, because he’s never said anything.”

  She whirled around and faced her sister. “And, I mean, why would he be in love with me? The idea is absolutely—” she fought to find the right word “—ludicrous! He can have anyone, college graduates, sophisticated Ph.D.s wit
h two-hundred-dollar haircuts. Remember Sarah? And that…what was her name? Eloise? He could have them, women like them. Has had them. What in the world would he want with me?”

  Shannon’s expression as she listened to Carmen’s sputtered protests was an all-too-familiar combination of impatience and compassion. Each of her family members had looked at her in the same way over the years. “Stop it, Carmen. Don’t do that to yourself,” she said firmly. “Don’t put yourself down. When are you going to get that you are every bit as valuable as ten Sarahs and fifteen Eloises?”

  She jutted her chin out. “I’m not putting myself down, I’m just stating the truth. JR and I are way too different for him to feel that way about me. And for me to feel that way about him. End of discussion.”

  Feeling defensive, not for the first time this morning, and deeply uncomfortable with this entire discussion, she stalked over to the small table that stood against the far wall, studied the African violet she’d given Shannon as an office-warming gift, then picked off some of the brown leaves.

  She stuck her finger in the soil. “This needs water,” she snapped, perhaps a bit more harshly than the situation warranted. “And better light.”

  She hurried over to the bottled-water stand, filled a paper cup, walked back to the plant, sprinkled a few drops on the leaves and poured the rest of the liquid on the soil.

  This had been another of her jobs—tending plants at a huge local nursery, a job she’d really liked but had to quit because the manager kept rubbing himself up against her and wouldn’t stop, even when she told him to. And, yeah, she should have filed some kind of harassment complaint, but, hey, it was too much trouble. Carmen hated trouble.

  “You should get some more plants in here,” she told Shannon. “The place needs cheering up.”

  “Fine. Tell Lupe what kind we should get.”

  “I’ll do it for you.”

  “Even better. You go get some plants for us and I’ll reimburse you.”

  “No, you won’t,” Carmen said firmly. “I owe you money.”

  “And I told you you don’t have to pay me back.”