“Quite the opposite. She struck me as being a tough, singular young woman who delighted in not letting Zaitlin tell her what to do. Or anyone else. Except …”
“Yes?” He leaned forward licking his lips, greedy for more information.
“When I told her I thought she was a good actress, she let down her defenses for a moment and became a vulnerable young woman who needed to hear just how good she was.”
“I knew she wanted to act.” He sat back and pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I knew it! She was her father’s daughter.” Then he asked, matter-of-factly, “Describe how you found her body.”
I told him about conning the doorman to get into her condo. Looking out her window, seeing the garbage truck, and then the sun reflecting off the silver heel of her shoe. How I ran into the alley screaming for the sanitation workers to stop dumping the bin. As I talked he listened with an eerily distant expression, as if I were recounting a nightmare I’d had that didn’t relate to him.
When I finished he closed his eyes. “I bought her those shoes.” Tears ran down his sunken cheeks, and I felt both loathing and sympathy for him. Taking a white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at his face. “Why were you so intent on getting inside her condominium?”
“I was worried about her. She had left my name with the doorman. That meant she wanted to see me and go over her lines.”
“Once you got into her condo, why did you look out the window?” It was Heath.
“What?”
“Something must’ve prompted you to.”
“What else do you do with a window but look out of it? And I was vamping for time. The doorman couldn’t understand why I wasn’t leaving the urn, which was why he’d let me into her condo in the first place. I was trying to come up with a plausible answer. Then I saw the glint of her high heel.”
“So you didn’t see the actual murder scene?” Parson asked.
“No. I mean there was no blood or upset furniture in her condo, so I doubt she was killed there.”
“She wasn’t.” Heath removed a battered leather notepad from inside his jacket. It was stamped with a military insignia of some kind. “One of my contacts in LAPD told me that they think Jenny was murdered in her car, an Audi, while it was parked in the condo’s underground lot. They’ve impounded it.”
“What else did you learn?” Parson was now fixed on Heath.
“Do you want to discuss this in front of her?”
“Ms. Poole seems to know my daughter quite well. No reason she shouldn’t know more. It may help her memory.”
Heath shrugged and flipped his notebook open and read from his notes. “I was told she died of blunt-force trauma to the back of her skull.”
“How many times was she struck?” Parson asked sharply.
“Don’t know. They haven’t been able to start the forensics yet. Too much backlog of waiting cases. She may have been slammed against the passenger side of the car window. Or someone could have been hiding in the back seat, rose up, and struck her from behind.”
“You said passenger side?”
“Jenny wasn’t driving. The police have her car on the garage security tape coming in at 12:33 a.m. But a man is behind the wheel.”
“Can they identify him?” He sat forward.
“The images are shadowy,” Heath continued. “So far they can’t make an identification on the male. But it’s early yet. There is equipment that should be able to resolve the image well enough—and if the cops don’t have it, then you can afford to pay some company to do it for them.”
“There has to be a security tape of them stopping, of the man getting out of her car,” Parson said.
“Her parking space is out of range from the cameras.”
“Christ. What happened to the driver?” Parson snapped. “He had to leave the garage somehow.”
“About fifteen minutes after they drove in, there’s an image of a male wearing a hooded sweat shirt walking into camera range from where her car was parked. He ducked his head as if he realized he was being taped. There’s an exit door to the alley. You can leave through it without using a key, but it locks behind you automatically, so once you’re outside you can’t get back in unless you have a key. The door isn’t in camera range either.”
“Is he the same man who was driving?”
“At this point the police can’t say.”
“What about the plastic bags she was wrapped in? And how was she transferred from the garage to the …” he paused, then said, “Refuse area.”
“Nothing on that so far.”
Parson shifted his body toward me. “Do you know who my daughter was with the night of her murder?”
I remembered Ben Zaitlin had told me he was at the same club that night, but I wasn’t about to give Parson his name.
“No.”
He inhaled sharply, nostrils twitching. Leaping to his feet, he picked up the vase of red roses. And threw it over my head against the wall behind me. I ducked. He shifted his body and kicked the coffee table. It crashed into the empty chair next to me. I jumped up.
With one long stride, Heath stood between Parson and me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Heart pounding, I stood with glass shards around my feet. Facing Parson, Heath remained standing between us. He balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, shoulders tensed as if he were about to swing a punch. Doors slammed as Luis and the tattooed man bolted in from the back of the yacht and from the deck.
“Get outta here!” Parson barked at his guys.
Both vanished.
“Nobody withholds information from me.” Parson stared at me over Heath’s shoulder. His rage had turned his face a violent red and spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth.
“Hey man.” Heath held up his hands, palms toward Parson, his voice low and reasonable. “She has no reason not tell you what she knows. She’s here to help you. She’s the only one who cared enough about Jenny to make sure she was all right.”
Parson’s body trembled, then he collapsed back onto the sofa. Heath held his ground for a few more moments, turned, and moved toward me. I let out my breath as he kicked the pieces of the vase away from my feet. He went back to his place against the wall. I sat down.
With his long fingers, Parson wiped at the saliva on his lips. “Heath is right.” His voice was measured. “You were the only one who tried to help her, and I appreciate that. But that doesn’t mean you might not want to protect someone.”
I made sure my voice was firm when I spoke. I didn’t want to show this man any vulnerability. “I don’t know who killed your daughter. You must have enemies. Maybe they wanted to get back at you through her. Your portholes are draped … are you afraid someone might shoot you?”
“I find mourning in the brilliant sunlight unbearable,” Parson said.
I swallowed hard. I had felt the same when Colin died.
“Nobody I know, least of all my enemies, would dare to hurt Jenny. And if anyone is in danger, I would say it was you, Ms. Poole.”
“Why me?”
“Jenny’s body was meant to be pressed into a landfill, never to be seen again. But you found it. If I were her killer I’d be worried about what you knew or didn’t know, what you saw or didn’t see. You might suddenly remember some little thing I’d forgotten, some insignificant detail that could lead back to me.” He smiled grimly. “No, I’d have to take you out.”
Furious, I rose up out of the chair. “I’m tired of being threatened by you and your thugs. Let me go now or I’ll tell the police you held me here against my will.”
“In my world the police have little power.” Parson stroked his goatee. The bony pasha was back. “You remind me a lot of your mother.”
Christ, my mother again.
“‘No bullshit allowed,’ that’s what Nora would always
say when we were in bed together.”
Was there anybody she hadn’t had sex with? “I really don’t want to hear about your affair with my mother.”
“It was a long time ago. I thought since you were carrying her ashes, you must still love her.”
“Mr. Parson, I’m ready to leave. And you don’t want to keep the cops waiting.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Your husband, Colin, was a wonderful writer. I’m sorry he died.”
My mouth went dry. “So am I.”
“I have fond memories of talking to him about the creative mind.”
“You knew him?”
“You were newly married at the time. That would be, what? Eight, ten years ago? If I remember correctly you were on location finishing shooting your last movie. Too bad. You were becoming as good as your mother when you decided to quit. Colin and I had interesting discussions. He told me the creative mind could plot and deceive and dazzle just as brilliantly as the criminal mind, except that the criminal mind had no conscience. I disagreed with him on that point. I told him it was writers who had no conscience.” A thin dry laugh escaped his lips.
“How would my husband know you?” I didn’t bother to keep the contempt from my voice.
“I used to throw parties on this boat. Hollywood loves to rub shoulders with those of us who have, how shall I put it … a darker kind of star power.” Parson contemplated me. “It might be best for you and the memory of the ones you’ve loved to think of any names you’ve forgotten to give me.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Oh, and if asked by the police or anyone else, I want you to say you were willingly picked up by my limo driver as recorded by the media. You came here of your own volition to help a grieving father learn more about his daughter’s death.” He flashed me his skeletal grin. “If you think about it, the paparazzi were far more dangerous to you than I’ve been.”
“What could be so damaging to my husband? He’s dead, for God’s sake.” My voice broke.
“The last thing I want is for you to be hurt by the actions of one who has died.”
“Do you ever speak without it sounding like a threat?”
He waved a hand at Heath. “Drive her back to Malibu.”
“Your chauffeur isn’t taking me?” I said.
“Gerald is driving me to Montecito for my appointment with the detectives. Come and visit sometime. It’s high on a hill with sweeping views of the Channel Islands and the Pacific. Hollywood people are moving into the area in droves. Colin thought you’d love it there.” He stood, his thin body drooped. “I’m very tired. It’s been a trying day.” He walked softly in his velvet slippers to the door that Luis had used and left the salon.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yes, he is,” Heath said.
“I was referring to you.” I swept past him and out onto the deck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What’s your problem?” Heath called after me.
I was hurrying ahead on the boardwalk, weaving through the tourists and the locals. Gerald had returned my purse. I was searching through it when I stopped and whirled around. Heath came to a sudden halt.
“I’ll tell you what my problem is. I don’t like the way you treat women. You’ve done nothing but maul me …”
“Only because you wouldn’t listen to what I was saying.”
“Women don’t listen to me so I have to beat them up?”
His head snapped back. He adjusted his sunglasses. “Whoa, how’d we get to me beating up women? And what about you trying to drop a plate of food on my head?”
“What were you doing using an assumed name at Bella Casa?”
His smile slid sideways, and his head cocked. “Maybe seeing you naked in the swimming pool made me forget my real name.”
“Don’t try to charm me. My mother and I used to eat up guys like you and spit them out.”
“Vivid image. I’m not sure what to do with it.”
“Do you really want me to tell you?” I dug around in my purse some more. “Where is it?”
“What?”
“My cell. I need to call a taxi.” I tossed my hair out of my face.
“To take you back to Malibu?” His brow furrowed.
“There’s no way I’m getting into a car with you. And I’m going to give the taxi bill to Zaitlin. Where’s my cell!”
“It’s probably in Gerald’s jacket pocket. A precaution in case you grabbed your handbag from him and made a run for it. He must’ve forgotten to give it to you.”
I started back toward the yacht. He grabbed my arm, stopping me. “The gates are locked. You can’t get in, and I don’t have a key. What’s wrong with you? Do you always act like this?”
I shook my arm. “Let go.”
He released me. “I’ll see that your cell is returned to you.”
I suddenly felt helpless. A feeling I try to avoid at all times. Trying to compose myself, I breathed in the smell of burgers and fish ’n’ chips wafting through the salty air from the lunch shacks and restaurants. Fishing boats bobbed in their docks; metal rigging rattled and clinked against the masts. The ocean gleamed.
“Everything seems so damn normal, so beautiful. And it isn’t,” I said.
He drew his hand through his hair. “Look, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Of course you were frightened this morning, and I apologize for that. I told Parson and Zaitlin they should tell you where you were being taken. But Parson won out. Zaitlin went along with him.”
“You were just following orders.”
“If you want to put it that way. On the other hand, why are you constantly saying that I like to beat up women?”
“Don’t you?”
He pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head and shoved his face close to mine, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. “No. I have never hit a woman.” Then he added, “Except when I was forced to.”
“You are so full of it.” I turned away, but he pulled me back. “Get your hands off me.” I jerked free.
“If you would just stand still and be quiet a moment, I can explain.”
“All right, tell me about all the exceptions.”
“One of my clients had a girlfriend who was stalking him. She came at me with a knife. I decked her.” He rubbed the bump on his nose, staring out at the ocean.
“That’s it? That’s the exception?”
When he spoke next his expression was somber. “There was another time in Afghanistan.” His gaze shifted back to me but it was distant. “The woman had a baby in one arm, a hand grenade in the other.”
“And you decked her, too?”
“No. I shot her right between the eyes. Any other questions?” His face was as hard as stone.
“No.”
He slipped his glasses back down over his eyes, and we started walking again. Heath’s serious directness had hit a nerve, and I thought of Celia’s sudden anger last night. She had asked me to leave her house as if she wanted to get rid of me, as if she was purposely pushing me out of her life for good. And all of that happened after I’d told her the man named Ward was really Heath, and that he worked for Zaitlin. Had I caught her in a lie? Did she choose to end our friendship so she wouldn’t have to tell me the truth about who struck her? At the same time I couldn’t shake the feeling I needed to protect her. I didn’t want to tell Heath or anyone that it was Celia who accused him.
“What were you really doing at Bella Casa?” I asked.
“Would you believe I’m tired of renting? That I need a place to call my own?”
“A little big for one person, isn’t it?”
“You and your mother lived there. There were only two of you.”
“Movie stars always live in houses that are too big for them.”
“What makes you think I’m n
ot married with a couple of kids?”
“You’re a loner through and through.”
He adjusted his shoulders. “You’re right, I am.”
“And the assumed name?”
“Working on a case. That’s all I can say.”
“Did you know Celia Dario before she showed you the house?”
“No.”
“With all the work you do for Zaitlin, you had to know she was his mistress.”
“I did.”
“Is that why you used the assumed name?”
“I can’t tell you. Client privilege. Your turn. Tell me why you think I like to abuse women.”
“I might have been acting under a misconception. I’m not sure.”
“That’s it? That’s your only explanation?” His brows rose.
“Client privilege.”
Shaking his head, we continued to the car park in a moody silence. Soon Heath took out his keys and beeped open the doors to a brand-new silver-gray Mercedes convertible.
“Expensive car.”
“I have to blend in with my surroundings. Makes me look like an executive producer.”
He got into the Mercedes. I didn’t. In seconds the dark blue soft-top folded back into the rear of the car.
He looked up from behind the wheel, his head back, his black sunglasses staring at me, an arm draped casually over the passenger-side bucket seat. “My company has a small fleet of autos, all different models and years. Makes it easier to tail people. I had one of my employees drive it up here this morning. She went home by Amtrak.”
I looked down at him. “Parson and Zaitlin must pay you very well.”
“I don’t work for Parson. He’s not the kind of man you want to do business with. Aren’t you going to get in?”
“Put the top back up.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s afraid to get some wind in her hair.”
“I don’t want the two of us driving in a Mercedes convertible along the happy freeway of life looking like the perfect narcissistic couple in a car commercial. Especially when I’m an actress and not getting paid for it.”
He let out a deep warm laugh. The top curved up and into place.
City of Mirrors Page 8
