by Dianne Emley
“But you said you’d brought him into the firm for his … business acumen, I believe were the words you used.”
Scoville leveled a gaze at Kissick. “I don’t like your tone, and I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking. I came down here on the pretense that we were going to talk about Oliver Mercer and his girlfriend and where they went and who they knew and things like that. Now I’m feeling under attack. You think I had something to do with those murders. I’m thinking it was a big mistake to talk to you without my lawyer.”
Kissick appeared hurt and surprised by Scoville’s outburst. “Mark, I apologize if I came on too strong. Like Detective Vining said, these are routine questions. It’s just procedure.”
“Procedure my ass. I know how you cops operate. The fact that you’re coming after me shows you don’t have shit. You’re grasping at straws. You’d be happy to hang this thing on me and call it a day.”
Scoville wagged his index finger at Kissick and turned it on Vining to show that she was included. “I want you to understand one thing very clearly. I had nothing to do with those murders. And any insinuation that I did is simply ridiculous. It’s more than ridiculous. It’s stupid. You know what? I’ll take a lie-detector test right now. You think I’m hiding something? I have nothing to hide.” He crooked his fingers. “Bring it on.”
“Mark, you’re being so cooperative. Thank you.” Vining gave him her best gap-toothed smile, which she knew helped her look guileless. “I apologize for my overzealous partner.” She shot a you-bad-boy glare at Kissick, who took on a hangdog look. “I mean, we bust in on you while you were having a nice afternoon with your family. Thanks for helping us out.”
“I’m sorry I got so heated,” Scoville said. “This has been a bad day.”
“Yes, it has,” Vining agreed. “So let’s see about setting up that polygraph.” She looked at Kissick.
“I’ll do that.” Kissick left the room.
Alone with Scoville, Vining sensed that he was traveling to a dark place. She milked it. “These murders … my God.”
He blinked at her. “It was bad?”
“Worst I’ve seen, and I’ve been at this a while.”
“What happened to them?”
“Can’t talk about details, Mark. Let’s just say it was nightmare stuff.” She chewed her lip. “Both of them in the prime of their lives. Everything to live for.…”
“Oliver and I weren’t best friends, but live and let live. I’m sure he’d say the same about me. It’s awful. I still can’t believe it.”
“Your mind can’t help but go to their final moments on earth. The horror.”
Her suggestion seemed to implant scary images in Scoville’s mind. Shaking his head slightly, he fell quiet and frowned at his hands.
She went on. “And their loved ones getting that knock on the door that everyone dreads. Praying that it’s all a bad dream. Then the realization that there’s no waking up from this nightmare.”
Still shaking his head, he murmured a small, agonizing sound.
Kissick returned. “Polygraph is set up for tomorrow at nine.”
Slightly dazed, Scoville asked, “Here?”
“Yes. Go to the information desk in the lobby and ask for Detective Vining or myself.”
“All right.” Scoville started to get up.
Vining put out her hand. “Mark, just one last question.… Is there anyone you know who might want to harm Oliver or Lauren?”
Halfway out of his seat, he again sat, following the direction that Vining moved her hand. “No. No one.”
“Anyone who might want to harm you or your family?”
Scoville thoughtfully shook his head.
“Any clients, suppliers, competitors.…”
Scoville continued shaking his head.
“Husbands of women Mercer was involved with … women who Mercer spurned … men Lauren was involved with.…”
“No.”
“Anyone with a grudge, who felt Mercer or you did them wrong.…”
Scoville suddenly frowned and pulled himself straight. He stared at the table.
Vining and Kissick exchanged a glance.
Kissick asked, “Mark, did you think of something?”
Still frowning, Scoville wouldn’t look at them.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Mark,” Vining said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I … I just remembered that I promised to take my son somewhere. I’m late. I’ve gotta go. To answer your question, I don’t know anybody like that.” He stood. “Looks like we’re through.”
“Sure,” Kissick said. “We’d like to spend a few minutes chatting with your wife, if that’s okay.”
He avoided their eyes. “I just told you. We’ve gotta go.”
Vining began, “What if Detective Kissick drives you home and I’ll take your wife back to Hancock Park later?”
“What’s so important about talking to her? She barely knew Oliver and Lauren.”
“Again, it’s routine investigative procedure,” Vining said. “No one here has anything to hide, right?”
Scoville rubbed his hands together and shoved them into his pockets. “Right.”
Kissick came around the table closer to Scoville. “Mark, what’s troubling you?”
“I told you. My son’s waiting.”
“Where are you taking him?” Vining asked.
“You know, I’ve had enough. I’m outta here. But go ahead. Talk to Dena. Bring her home later. That’s great.”
“Good deal,” Kissick said. “ ’Cause it’s no problem for us.”
Scoville held up his hands as if to smooth everything out. “No problem for me either. No problem at all.”
FIVE
After Kissick left with Scoville, Vining walked Hale to the interview room, passing Detective Tony Ruiz and newly minted Detective Alex Caspers.
Caspers’s eyes bulged as he watched Hale pass by in a snug baby-blue velour jogging suit, his focus laser-like as he followed the rear view.
Shortly afterward, Vining came out to get Hale something to drink.
“Caspers, your mouth is hanging open.” She playfully pushed up the chin of the oversexed young detective.
“Damn,” he said as if in pain. “Let me say it one more time. Damn.”
Ruiz was less enthused. “Who’s she?” Hostility was Ruiz’s typical M.O. when it came to things Vining. They had a long history. His station moniker was Picachu, as he resembled the bald, rotund cartoon character. He had briefly trumped her, having assumed her desk in Homicide while she was absent for nearly a year taking Injured on Duty leave. Their boss, Sergeant Kendra Early, had since moved him to Assaults, where the energetic Caspers ran circles around him. And Vining was back at her old desk.
With the Mercer/Richards murders, Sergeant Early had brought in detectives from other desks under her control to assist Kissick and Vining, who were the only full-time homicide detectives. Vining would again have the pleasure of extended face time with Ruiz and Caspers. Vining found alpha male Caspers, who didn’t appreciate how wet behind the ears he was, easier to work with than Ruiz. What you saw was what you got. Ruiz, a nineteen-year veteran, was smoke and mirrors.
Vining said, “That’s Dena Hale, wife of Mercer’s business partner, Mark Scoville.”
“Isn’t she on TV?” Caspers looked at the wall of the interview room in which Hale was ensconced as if wishing he could see through it. The two-way glass was on an interior wall.
“Yeah? What show?” Ruiz asked with renewed interest. The fringe of hair around his bald pate still managed to litter his shoulders with dandruff.
“Hell in L.A.,” Vining joked.
Caspers scrunched his face and then grinned. “It’s Hello L.A. You’re bad.”
“Meow,” Ruiz said.
Vining was being catty. It was invigorating. “She looks good … for her age. She’s forty-three.”
Caspers’s eyes widened. “Forty-three? No way.”<
br />
At twenty-eight, he had myopia concerning females past thirty. With several colleges in Pasadena, a major hospital, innumerable shops, restaurants, and museums, and a vibrant night scene that drew young people from all over, there was no shortage of opportunities for Caspers and his buddies on the PPD to meet women. Caspers had not even been above dating crime victims, witnesses, E.R. room nurses, and, on at least one occasion, a woman he’d arrested. He protested that he’d collared her for petty theft, it was her first offense, and she had called him.
“Old enough to be your mother,” Vining taunted. It was a stretch, but let him do the math.
Ruiz snorted. “Caspers, like you would turn that down, if she gave you the time of day.”
“Like my father says, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.”
“Who’s that?” Vining took stock of a man sitting in the conference room.
He appeared to be in his thirties. His head was shaved. He wore glasses with heavy black frames, the color stark against his pallid skin. His fresh white dress shirt was tucked into beige slacks. His long neck protruded ostrich-like above his shirt collar. He was sitting erect in the chair, his hands flat on top of the table. Even though his appearance tended toward nerdish, he was tall and broad-shouldered and could be physically intimidating. He was staring into space, his lips set into a line beneath a dark brown toothbrush mustache.
“You mean Adolph,” Caspers joked, referring to Hitler’s infamous mustache.
“That’s Dillon Somerset,” Ruiz said. “The guy who was stalking Lauren Richards. Works as a computer consultant. A few months ago, he did a project for the museum where Lauren worked. Went out for lunch with her and the other office employees a couple of times. The museum’s director said he did a good job. Was always polite and on time. No problems.
“Lauren’s mother said he asked Lauren out once but she turned him down, saying she didn’t date because of her kids. Her mom said Somerset gave Lauren the willies because he was always staring at her. He’d leave little gifts on her desk. Wildflowers. Rocks. He’s big into backpacking in the wilderness. Once he brought her a chrome part from a car engine because he liked the shape of it. After he finished the job with the museum, he started hanging around Lauren’s house. He’d stand across the street, just watching. Leave things on her doorstep. When Lauren would head home after work, he’d be standing near her car.”
“Would he say anything to her?” Vining asked.
“Just ‘Hello, how’s your day?’ Like that.”
Vining understood how the innocuousness of Somerset’s actions made them as chilling as if he’d made an overt threat.
“Did she file a stay-away order?”
“Her mom said she was about to. A couple of weeks ago, Lauren and her dad approached Somerset. Her dad told him he was upsetting Lauren and her children. Somerset said he couldn’t understand how his being nice to her and watching out for her was a problem. Her dad got heated. Told him it was a big problem and he’d better knock it off.”
Vining shot an angry glance at Somerset in the conference room. “And?”
“Somerset started turning red from his neck all the way up to his scalp. All he said was, ‘Okay.’ ”
“Okay?”
“That’s it. Okay. He turned and walked away, holding his arms down by his sides, all rigid. Lauren didn’t see him after that and they figured it was over.”
“Any priors?” Vining inclined her head to look into the eyes of the shorter Ruiz and not at the top of his bald head.
“No.” Ruiz looked at Somerset in a way that was almost hungry, as if daring him to look up. The man had secrets, and Ruiz wanted them. “He’s a passive-aggressive fucker. You can smell it on him.”
Caspers made a gesture like he was breaking a twig in half. “Snap.”
“You said he’s a computer consultant,” Vining said. “Does he work for a company?”
“He did for a couple of years. The human resources person there said he resigned and won’t give me anything else without a warrant. Somerset dropped out of Caltech after studying there for about a year and a half. Never got his degree. Now he works out of his home. Lives in an apartment above the garage of his parents’ house in San Marino. His daddy owns a company in town that makes some medical technology something. Figures. The loser has a rich daddy supporting him.”
Ruiz, like many cops, had a chip on his shoulder regarding the Pasadena area’s many wealthy denizens. Pasadena and its neighbor, San Marino, had been a playground for the wealthy since the turn of the last century.
Vining didn’t fault Ruiz for his prejudice. She had her own, but also had the conceit that hers was well-earned.
“Did you hear about Mercer’s dog?” Caspers went on when Vining indicated she hadn’t. “Autopsy showed he’d ingested something that ate his guts out. Probably mixed with ground meat.”
“A Prestone patty,” Ruiz commented.
“Who would be that cruel to a dog?” Vining asked rhetorically. The human carnage was unbelievable, but the added offense to the animal pushed it over the top.
They fell silent, thinking of the poor dog eroding from the inside out.
“Planned it all out.” Ruiz narrowed his eyes at Somerset. “Every step of the way. Just like he was writing a computer program.”
“We haven’t eliminated Mercer’s business partner, Mark Scoville, as a suspect in a murder-for-hire plot,” Vining reminded him. “Scoville and his wife had three couples to their home last night for a dinner party that didn’t end until after eleven. With the TOD estimated between six and nine p.m. that puts him out of any of the wet work. But he got funny when we asked if he knew anyone who might want to do Mercer harm. He volunteered to take a polygraph.”
Ruiz raised bushy eyebrows. “Somerset refuses.”
“You should have heard him go on,” Caspers said. “It’s a matter of principle. The test is ridiculous. Inaccurate and unscientific. He won’t lower himself to participate in a carnival game. Says the fact that the results can’t be used in a trial proves his point.”
“Maybe not, but not participating makes you look guilty.” Ruiz had a gleam in his eye. He felt a rush from being within inches of snatching not just a bad guy, but a snarling, drooling monster.
“It’s one thing to know something. It’s another to prove it.” Vining stated the obvious to get Ruiz’s goat. It worked.
“Gee, Vining … ya think?” Ruiz took off, saying, “I’m getting coffee.”
Vining looked at Caspers. “Guess it’s up to you, Caspers. You want to help me interview Dena Hale?”
“Ch-yeah,” Caspers enthused.
“Remember, eyes on her face. Hands on the table.”
“Detective Vining.” Caspers feigned insult. “I am a professional.”
“A professional what?”
The young detective took a lot of grief from the more-seasoned detectives, but he was an easy target.
Caspers seemed genuinely put off by her ribbing.
Vining grabbed his arm and started toward the room where Hale waited. “Come on, friendly ghost. Let’s put the screws to Mrs. Hell in L.A.”
SIX
“Dena’s story jibed with her husband’s.” Vining used a lime wedge speared with a plastic toothpick to stir the foam of her blended margarita. “Except for one issue.”
“The separate bedrooms.” Kissick caught the bartender’s eye and pointed at his empty wineglass. He said, “Thanks, Paul,” when the bartender pulled the cork from an open bottle of cabernet and filled the glass until it was brimming.
It was well past the dinner hour at Monty’s. The venerable chophouse had been in the same location for sixty-five years. Off the beaten track from the relatively new phenomenon of Old Pasadena and its mostly chain restaurants and shops in restored historic buildings, Monty’s was a beloved locals’ joint. Sadly, developers had finally made the owners an offer they couldn’t refuse. The restaurant was due to be demolished to make way for a
n office building.
Vining’s cell phone, which she’d set on the bar, jangled musically. She picked it up. “Text message from Em. She’s with her dad and Kaitlyn and the boys in Santa Barbara.” She read it aloud. “All good. Major shopping today. Love you.”
She snapped her phone closed. “I miss her more than I want to admit.”
“Julie and I have been trading the boys back and forth for years. I still have a hard time when they leave.”
“Did I tell you that Em’s starting a new school?”
“No. Where?”
“The Coopersmith School of the Arts. It’s a magnet school that specializes in music and fine arts. It’s hard to get in. Emily is so excited.”
“That’s great.”
“She’s going to miss her old friends and I’ll have to drive her to and from school for the time being.”
“She’ll be driving before too long.”
“That’ll be something new to stress over.”
“Seems like only yesterday they were in diapers.”
Vining sighed and picked up her drink, which was still nearly full. After a pause, she began, “On another subject, how about Mark Scoville and Dena Hale? I don’t think they miss each other when they’re apart. Dena said the room at the left of the stairs is her salon. Keeps her clothes there so she doesn’t disturb her husband when she gets up before dawn to go to work. Mark said she sleeps there because of his snoring and because he likes to stay up late.”
“Maybe she was trying to preserve his dignity. Still, I sense trouble in the Tudor. I bet nothing’s happening between the sheets in either bedroom.”
“I bet Scoville sleeps in his parents’ old bedroom. He still has all their furnishings. Their clothes are probably still in the closets.” Vining looked disgusted. “That would send me down the hall to a separate bedroom.”
Kissick sipped his wine and glanced at a basketball game on one of the TVs suspended from the ceiling on either side of the bar. “What did she say about Mark’s business affairs?”
