The Cheater

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “I personally think it’s female, but some of my lab partners believe it’s male. There’s no matching voice prints on file. Anyway, I’ll e-mail you the report.”

  “Okay,” Weir said, standing after Mary told her what Rollins had said. “We’re making some progress. The meeting is at three. Let’s see if we can’t bring something to the table. Get your hands on the credit card statements for the other two victims. See if you can find any oddball charges. Also, call your buddies in Ventura and get them out to that house in Thousand Oaks. Were there any other phone lines leading into that place?”

  “Not that we know of,” Mary said, uncertain if they’d even checked. “You think this is the headquarters for an alibi club?”

  “Possibly, but maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree with these alibi clubs. They’re morally reprehensible, but we’re not here to save souls.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Mary argued. “No one believed me when I said eBay would turn into a hotbed of criminal activity. Crooks can unload stolen merchandize without ever leaving their home. It’s a global pawnshop. The same holds true of thieves and robbers. They steal boats, cars, diamonds, you name it, and they don’t even have to expose their real identity. They just take over someone else’s eBay account.”

  “Why are we talking about eBay?” Weir said, perplexed.

  “Because the alibi clubs are worse, and I’m certain our victims are using them. Don’t you think it’s too big of a coincidence that all three victims left their wives neatly typed itineraries?”

  “These are professional men. Businessmen use itineraries.”

  “Itineraries that are flat-out lies?” Mary said, her voice elevating. “These alibi and philanderers’ clubs are self-perpetuating leviathans that may have cost a lot more than three men their lives. The people who use them are scum, understand? This is far worse than simply having an affair, or some married guy picking up a chick in the bar and banging her. What they’re doing is organized, contrived. What’s the difference between second- and first-degree murder?”

  “Premeditation.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Most affairs are planned,” Weir said. “If they weren’t, the people having them would get caught.”

  Mary shook her head in frustration. “You don’t understand the point I’m trying to make. The killer has no guilt. How sorry do you feel for a person who slugs down a fifth of bourbon, then decides to go swimming and drowns? How about gangsters who shoot their foot off while they’re playing around with their new gun? She’s not going to stop. There’s no telling how many men she’s killed that we don’t know about, or how many she’ll kill in the future. She’s not like Jeffrey Dahmer, who was stark-raving insane and tried to turn his victims into zombies so they could be his sex slaves. This is a female Ted Bundy. Bundy may have confessed to killing thirty people, but you and I both know he probably killed up to a hundred.”

  “This is good,” Weir told her. “Be sure to bring it up at the meeting.”

  “It’s a woman,” Mary insisted. “Forget about the tape and what was said about the father having sex with another woman, then abandoning his child on a highway. If it was a man, he might grow up bitter, even turn out to be a violent offender. He’d understand the male sex drive, though, that a penis is like a heat-seeking missile.”

  “You got a lot of enjoyment out of one of those heat-seeking missiles,” Weir said, returning to her desk. “But you’re not psychologically impaired. Guess what, I agree with you. Now get in touch with the authorities in Thousand Oaks, and then work on the credit card bills.”

  Bulldog McIntyre’s massive frame filled up the doorway. “You guys making any progress?”

  Mary started to answer, but Weir spoke up as she was tapping the keys on her computer. “We’ll let you know at the meeting. How about you?”

  He had a smug smile on his face. “You girls are nice to have around, but it takes a man to get the job done.”

  Weir finished what she was doing and leveled a finger at him. “Make another sexist remark like that and you’ll no longer be an FBI agent. Now get your ass out of here so we can work.”

  “You’ll be eating crow, Weir. I’m going to catch this maniac.”

  Weir shot him a look that would drop an elephant. “Oh, yeah? Then you better hurry. You’ve got some big competition. Stevens is beginning to shine.”

  McIntyre rubbed his chin. “Is that right?”

  “Why are you still here? Didn’t I ask you to leave five minutes ago?”

  McIntyre threw his palms in the air. “What are you going to do, shoot me? I’m leaving, okay?”

  Once McIntyre left, Mary walked over and closed the door so no one else would be tempted to interrupt them. “I thought we worked as a team.”

  “We do,” Weir told her, leaning back in her chair. “A little competition is healthy. In case you didn’t get the drift from what I told Bulldog, Adams made the right decision in bringing you on board.”

  Mary’s spirits soared. She was making headway on the case, had a new boyfriend, and her coworkers were beginning to respect her. What more could she ask for? The killer’s head on a stick would be nice.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1

  VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

  Lily couldn’t get Anne out of her mind.

  After calling in sick, she’d stayed in bed until ten o’clock that morning, wondering what it would be like to make love to Anne. She might finally be able to have sex without it reminding her of the rapes. No more men hovering over her, no sweaty masculine bodies. People would think she and Anne were just friends. They could go shopping together, see movies, dine out at nice restaurants. Maybe one day they might even open a law practice together. Being a judge didn’t pay enough, not for the amount of stress and responsibility it carried.

  No, no, no, she kept screaming inside her mind. She had a daughter to consider. Maybe after she got through the divorce, she could put her life back together, even meet a decent man, someone like Chris Rendell. But how could she ever trust him? How could she trust any man again?

  Still in her nightgown, Lily went to the closet for her purse and pulled out the piece of paper with Anne’s number on it. She walked back to the bedroom and picked up the phone, then realized she had unplugged it so she wouldn’t have to talk to Bryce. Her cell phone was in the charger in the bathroom. She unplugged it and punched in the numbers, then quickly hung up.

  She decided to take a Jacuzzi, hoping it would relax her and give her time to sort through things. Maybe Anne would call her, she thought, filling the tub with hot water. Then she wouldn’t be the one making the first move. Letting her nightgown slide to the floor, she studied her image in the mirror. Anne’s body was perfect, and she was young, whereas Lily was a middle-aged woman. Why would Anne want to be with her? Her breasts were beginning to sag, her stomach was lined with stretch marks, her back was a disaster. In a few years, she would probably have to undergo surgery. She got up close and plucked out a gray hair. There were dozens of them. Her once-vibrant red hair was fading. There were lines around her eyes and lips. She could jump on the plastic surgery bandwagon. Why not? Everyone else did it.

  Climbing into the tub, she leaned back and stretched out her long legs. A few minutes later, she got out and grabbed her cell phone off the counter, then jumped back in. She’d dialed Anne’s number so fast, the message indicator hadn’t had time to register. She saw now that she had three messages. Her finger trembled as she depressed the button to call her voice mail, hoping one of the messages was from Anne. The first message was from Tessa. She deleted it without listening. The next was from Bryce.

  “Thanks for being there when I needed you,” he said angrily. “I paid a fortune for a shit-faced attorney here in Vegas. The judge set bail at twenty thousand dollars because I’m out of state. Maybe if I’d had my wife here, a judge, they would have released me on my own recognizance. I can’t get the bank to wire the money until Monday. B
ecause of you, I have to spend another three nights in this miserable hellhole. And just so you know, I’m divorcing you.” He stopped speaking and then shouted, “I’m your fucking husband, Lily. I thought, of all people, you would believe me. Instead, you believed a lying little slut who’s probably after my money.”

  Lily deleted his call. Good, she thought. He’d saved her the trouble of getting an attorney. Hearing him talk to her like a dog after he’d tried to rape Anne eliminated any chance she might reconsider ending their marriage.

  She would have to move out. The only question was when. The fact that Bryce had been charged with a crime, combined with her position and the fact that she was in trial, would hopefully buy her some time.

  Getting out and drying off, she put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then went to the library and plopped down in Bryce’s father’s lounge chair. Colored beams of light were streaking in through the stained-glass windows. Before she knew it, she was sobbing. She loved this house, and she’d worked so hard decorating it and planning the remodeling. Her husband was a spoiled, perverted, alcoholic bastard. She hoped he rotted in hell, but then, she was convinced that was her final destination and she never wanted to see his stupid face again. Bryce might be a sinner, but he wasn’t a murderer and hypocrite like herself. He would probably go to purgatory, if such a place existed.

  Lily’s thoughts returned to Anne. The Catholic church believed it was okay to be gay as long as a person didn’t act on it, which she thought was ridiculous, particularly in light of the recent scandals involving pedophile priests. She also speculated that many priests were homosexual. Everyone deserved to be loved. What difference did it make if it was a man or a woman? If fewer people procreated, the planet would be better off.

  On the other hand, if she started something, it wouldn’t be fair to Anne. Their kiss had been a novelty, a new experience at a time when Lily had been desperately in need of a distraction. She was merely trying to grab on to someone so she wouldn’t have to face her demons alone.

  Lily decided she would rent the smallest apartment she could find, maybe in a family building where it was crowded and noisy. Wandering aimlessly from room to room in the big house, she looked lovingly at the antique furniture she had painstakingly restored. All of it belonged to Bryce. Most of the furniture she’d had in her home in Santa Barbara had either been sold or given away. Bryce didn’t deserve these things. If it were up to him, he would have sold them long ago.

  In the formal living room, she stared at a framed picture of Bryce’s mother and father. Everyone said they were a wonderful couple, deeply in love. How had they produced such a jerk for a son?

  Lily ended up in the kitchen. Gabby had slept at her feet the night before, and had been following her around whimpering. She realized she had forgotten to feed her, and poured some food into her bowl. She would have to get a place that accepted pets.

  Lily fixed herself a bowl of cereal, eating it standing up at the counter. Her eyes rested on a silver bowl where she kept business cards, coupons she never used, and other stuff she didn’t know what to do with. She dropped her spoon and picked up the card with Chris Rendell’s number on it. Plugging the main line back in, she called him, expecting to get his answering machine.

  “Lily?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “Caller ID,” he said. “Where have you been for the last ten years? Forget that, it’s great to hear from you. I’m sitting here trying to figure out something to do. Want to go to lunch?”

  “Sure,” Lily said eagerly. “It’ll take me about thirty minutes to get ready.”

  “Do you like the Biltmore in Santa Barbara?”

  “It’s one of my favorite places, but don’t you have to be back?”

  “My calendar is open for the rest of the afternoon. Can I pick you up or do you want to meet somewhere?”

  “Come to the house.” Lily gave him the address and hung up. Another man was the answer, the quicker the better. She raced upstairs to get dressed and put on her makeup.

  Lily and Chris had a delicious lunch on the patio at the Biltmore, which overlooked the ocean. The nicest thing about Santa Barbara was you could dress up. Most places in California were casual, and spending every day in a black robe had gotten old quick. She wore a blue silk pants suit, one of the few new pieces of clothing she’d purchased since her appointment to the bench. The top was strapless, fashioned along the lines of a bustier. She fingered her pearls as they drove back to Ventura in Rendell’s Volkswagen. He was happy and enjoying himself.

  The wine, the walk on the beach, the glorious day—Lily started talking and almost never stopped. Having a handsome, attentive man with her made her feel like a new woman. She told him about the situation with Bryce because she didn’t want the day to end. Letting him come to the house had sent him a signal regarding her marriage, but she wanted it perfectly clear.

  “Are you sure you’re not going to take him back?”

  “Heavens, no,” Lily said, adamant. “Some things are unforgivable.”

  Chris was tactful enough to move on to other topics. They chatted about various cases and people around the courthouse. He told her a funny story, and she burst out laughing. Before she knew it, he was pulling into her driveway. “Is it okay for me to park here? I want to walk you to the door.”

  “You can park on the lawn, for all I care. This is Bryce’s house, not mine. I’m headed for an apartment.”

  When they reached the front door, an awkward moment occurred. Lily wanted to invite him in, but she didn’t want to appear overly eager.

  “I really had a good time today,” he said, shuffling his feet around. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say that.”

  “Me, too,” she said. “I miss Santa Barbara. My house there wasn’t as big as this one because of the price of real estate, but it was nice. I had a beautiful rose garden.”

  “Would it be all right if I came in to use the bathroom?”

  Tactful way to get your foot in the door, Lily thought. “Of course.”

  When they stepped inside, she directed him to the powder room, then kicked her shoes off and took a seat on the sofa in the den. Gabby jumped into her lap, but she shooed her away.

  Formal living rooms were a waste, Lily decided. No one ever used them. She’d eventually buy another house once she got through the divorce and analyzed her finances. Unfortunately, she hadn’t made much money on the property in Santa Barbara. Bryce had pushed her to lower the price so she could move in with him. What did he care? He had his father’s millions at his disposal.

  As astronomical as the real estate prices were in Santa Barbara, a person had to sit on a property for years to make a significant profit. There was another phenomenon at play in one of the country’s most desirable cities. All the real estate agents for the area resided in Santa Barbara, and many of them were investors. Either that or they made deals on the side. If you were an outsider, which included anyone who hadn’t resided there for at least two decades, you were considered fair game. The realtors would try to keep your property from selling until you became desperate and lowered the price to a ridiculous level. The cottage she had owned had since been torn down and a five-million-dollar home erected. New money moving into town didn’t care about rose gardens or the kind of elaborate landscaping that had made Santa Barbara famous. All they were interested in was square footage.

  “You look cozy,” Chris said, appearing beside her on the sofa. When Gabby jumped in his lap, he picked her up like an infant. “Who’s your little friend here? She’s a beauty. What kind of dog is this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “An Italian greyhound.” She took Gabby from him, and deposited her outside in the yard. “She’s not supposed to jump on people like that.”

  “I don’t mind, Lily. I love dogs.”

  “Not everyone feels the same. Anyway, I forgot where we left off in the car.”

  He stared at her, his arms li
mp at his sides. “Do you know how beautiful you look with the light behind you? You look like you have a golden halo. Come, sit down beside me. I want to smell your hair.”

  As soon as Lily sat down, he nuzzled his head in her hair, then kissed her on the mouth. “If I’m going too fast . . .”

  “No, I want you.”

  He pushed her back onto the sofa, but they were both too tall, and their arms and legs got tangled up. Lily said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Chris stood and unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off and dropping it on the floor. His chest was tan and muscular, his face flushed with excitement. He kissed her again, pulling her tight against his body. She must have drunk too much wine, as she felt dizzy and almost tripped over her own feet. When she stepped back, she realized he had undone the snaps on the back of her top. It had a built-in bra, so she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She held it together with her hands.