Sooner or Later (29 page)

Maya laughed, linking her arm in his. “Call me Maya, Mr. Piatowsky.”

“Pete,” he said, dazzled, walking with her into the house.

Florita was waiting in the hall with the baby perched on her hip. “Señor Piatowsky, welcome,” she said, grabbing the fishing rods in her free hand. “You like some hot coffee? Iced tea, maybe?”

Accompanied by three attentive women, Piatowsky wafted into the sitting room and sank onto the sofa. He figured life didn’t get much better than this.

Dan saw there were three messages on the machine. The first was from Johannsen saying that a warrant had been issued in Santa Monica, to search Ellie’s house.

He closed his eyes, stunned. They were really serious.

The second was from an attorney, Marcus Winkler, who said Michael Majors had asked him to get in touch, with reference to Ellie Parrish Duveen. He left a Santa Barbara number.

The third was just a long silence, then a cutoff. Wondering who it had been, Dan dialed Winkler’s number. He told him quickly what was going down, and about the search warrant, then arranged to meet at three that afternoon at his offices on Anapamu Street. He went to tell the others the bad news.

“They’re searching my home?” Ellie felt that clutch of fear at her heart again. “But why? I mean, they can’t be serious about this. How could anybody think, think that …”

Maya plopped onto the sofa, next to her, took her hand. “It’ll be all right,” she said, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it would.

Piatowsky rearranged the thinning blond hair over his scalp, glancing at Dan. “It’s just a logical move on their part,” he reassured them. “A cop has to check out every angle, Ellie. You are just one of several lines they must be pursuing.” He hoped he was right, but there was no point in scaring the hell out of the poor woman, she’d already been through enough without this.

Dan told them about Winkler, and they agreed they would all go into Santa Barbara for the meeting.

“For moral support,” Maya said, hugging Ellie.

Ellie wondered how it had all come down to this. Instead of trying to cope with her grief, and shock, she was being forced to think about her own survival. Her anxious eyes met Dan’s and he smiled reassuringly at her.

“Winkler’s going to sort it all out, don’t worry,” he said, hoping he was right.

B
UCK PUNCHED
D
AN
’
S NUMBER OUT AGAIN, CLAMPING
the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. It was the goddamn answering machine again. He slammed the receiver down. Wherever Cassidy was, though, he knew Ellie must be with him. He took a slug from the second bottle of bourbon, feeling it fizz through his veins like rocket fuel. He was tanked up again, powered, ready for action. But there was no action.

He stared at the TV screen, waiting for the next news bulletin. He needed to know what was going on. If the cops were searching Ellie’s house, they must think she did it. He bellowed with laughter at the thought. How ironic, the doting granddaughter as the murderer.

There it was, at last.

“The Santa Barbara police are still searching for the killer of Charlotte Parrish, society doyenne, at her Montecito mansion two nights ago. We understand that her granddaughter, who found the body, was taken in for questioning, but was not detained.”

Buck set the bottle down on the table, suddenly sober.
His Ellie. They were questioning her … they might put her in prison, then he would never have her….

He strode into the bathroom, turned the shower onto cold and stood under it for a long time, until his head felt crystal clear. He dried off, dressed quickly in a blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt, chinos and sneakers.

He put the Glock automatic in the brown paper bag from the liquor store, then took the elevator down to the basement garage. Stashing the bag with the gun on the backseat of the BMW, he drove out of there and along Sunset heading west toward the freeway.
He had to find her. He had to see Ellie.

W
INKLER WAS TALL AND THIN, WITH A SHOCK OF BLACK
curls and intelligent brown eyes that assessed them in seconds as they filed into his office.

Dan made the introductions. There was no need to explain the circumstances, but he did fill him in on the details.

Winkler turned and looked Ellie in the eye. “And did you kill your grandmother, Ellie?”

Her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she stared dumbly at him, too shocked to reply.

“Of course she didn’t.” Maya was on her feet, fierce as a mother cat protecting her kitten. “How dare you ask her such a question? Can’t you tell, just by looking at her, that she’s not capable of such a thing?” She stamped round the office, arms folded, chin sticking out, ready to do battle if necessary.

“You’ll appreciate that, as a defending attorney, it’s a question I have to ask my client.” Winkler was smooth, understanding. “And yes, I believe I can tell that Ellie is
innocent, but it’s also my job to prove that to other people.”

“To the cops,” Maya said flatly.

He nodded. “At the moment they don’t have much to go on, except supplying a motive. As we haven’t yet received the results of the autopsy, I don’t know precisely how both women were killed. I called the coroner’s office, and they expect to have that information later today.”

Ellie turned cold inside, thinking of Miss Lottie and Maria on marble mortuary slabs. She wished to God it were all over and she could bury them decently and return their dignity to them.

“Meanwhile, they will not be questioning you again unless I am present. And, unless something incriminating turns up in forensics, or the autopsy, or they prove you owned the gun, they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“How long before I can have Miss Lottie back?” She was thinking of the funeral.

“Probably early next week. I think you could safely make funeral arrangements for, let’s say, Thursday. Barring anything unforeseen, of course.” His shrewd eyes met hers again, then he smiled. “And I don’t anticipate that, Ellie.”

They said goodbye, and filed out of the office.

“He’s a good guy.” Dan liked a man who knew his job.

“Smart, on the ball, tough,” Piatowsky agreed. “Just what you need.”

“Feeling better?” Dan squeezed Ellie’s hand, and saw her smile. It gave him a buzz, even if it was a pale shadow of her normal ear-to-ear sparkling grin.

Ellie turned to Maya. “You should go home, get on with your life. What about Greg? He must be missing you?” She didn’t want to be a burden.

“Bull. You think I’m quitting now? Greg can wait. I’m going to help with the funeral arrangements, make sure it’s all wonderful, the way it should be, for Miss Lottie.” Maya was fiercely loyal to her friends.

The peace of the countryside wrapped itself soothingly around them as they drove up the road leading to the ranch. Leafy vines stretched into infinity on either side, horses grazed in lush meadows and a pair of hawks hung motionless in the clear blue sky.

“What’s really disturbing is the missing photo.” Dan broke through the peace barrier, bringing them coldly back to reality. “It just doesn’t fit with the rest of the robbery-with-violence scenario. Nor with a murder by a killer who left a signature. I keep asking myself exactly why the killer would take it. And I come up with only one answer. It has to be someone who knows Ellie.”

Her mind went blank. “You mean I
know
the killer?”

Warning bells were ringing loud and clear in Dan’s head. “It’s like we have four different things going in this crime scene. A robbery, two different-style murders, and a thief who steals a woman’s picture.” He took the bend in the narrow lane, then swerved quickly to the side to avoid the black BMW convertible driving too fast the other way.

“Fucking idiot.” He glanced apologetically over his shoulder at the two women. “Excuse me.”

“That’s okay. I often use that expression about other drivers myself.” Maya stared out the back window but the car was already gone. “Obviously, the idiot didn’t appreciate the beauty of the countryside the way we do.” Looking up the hill to the house, she thought how good a place it felt. She was glad Ellie had Dan, and the ranch to hide out in until she could face the world again.

Farther down the road, Buck squealed to a stop,
threw the car into reverse, backed into the narrow entry to a gated field, and spun back the way he’d come.

The Ford was winding through the vineyard toward the little house on top of the hill. He slowed down to watch, but they were too far away and he couldn’t see Ellie. Frustrated, he slammed his foot down and took off again, swerving round the bends in the róad, not caring who might be coming. The voice in his head was talking to him again, nagging him, urging him on….
You’re omnipotent. You can do anything, have any woman…. You have the power of life or death…. Only you …

Tires squealing, he swung the car round again, heading back to L.A.

T
HE SCENT OF
F
LORITA
’
S COOKING DRIFTED FROM THE
kitchen and Ellie sniffed appreciatively, thinking about her cate, and how remote it seemed, as though she hadn’t seen it in months. She sank onto the old porch swing, worrying about Chan and Terry, Jake and the kid.

“They’re okay,” Maya said, catching her train of thought, just the way she always did. “I called Chan, they understand. I said you’d take care of them when you got back.”

Ellie nodded her thanks. She heard the phone ringing and Dan disappeared inside to answer it.

He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Stirling Cabernet, and Florita carrying a tin tray painted with pink roses, with glasses and a plate of homemade salsa, a bowl of still-warm, freshly made corn chips, and a slab of Manchego cheese.

Piatowsky perked up. Somewhere along the way, food seemed to have been forgotten and he was still working on New York time. Leaning against the porch rail, he took the glass of red wine Dan offered, sipped it and
looked surprised. He was no connoisseur, but it tasted great to him. “Okay,” he said, giving them the benefit of his little boy grin. “There’s a hint of blackcurrant and pepper. Round and flavorful.”

Dan laughed. “You got it right, even fooling around. By the way, that was Winkler on the phone with the results of the autopsy.” He felt Ellie’s eyes on him. He didn’t want to have to say it, but she had to know the details. He gave the good news first. “There was no rape, but Maria was killed with three shots to the chest and stomach from a range of eight or ten feet. Miss Lottie was strangled, manually, with great force. Her neck was broken.” He saw the pain in Ellie’s eyes. “She probably died very quickly, if it’s any comfort.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“Ballistics identify the ammo?” Piatowsky took a slug of the cabernet. Things were certainly hotting up around here.

Dan nodded. “Winkler told me they were fired from a Glock 27 automatic pistol.”

Piatowsky took a corn chip and clipped it in the fresh tomato salsa, wincing as he bit into a piece of fiery green chili. “So, what’s next?”

Dan lifted his shoulders, looking blank. “Beats me. Winkler says they have no evidence. We don’t have the DNA results yet, but right now there’s nothing to go on except supposition. And both you and I know you need more than guesswork to hang a case on.”

“Does that mean we can get on with our lives now?” Ellie had never realized the blessedness of the routine of day-to-day living, until it had disappeared.

“We sure can.”

It was as though a weight were suddenly lifted from her shoulders. She took a sip of the wine. “This is too
good to be yours, Cassidy,” she said with a flash of her old grin.

“Try me next year, kid. It’ll be burgeoning.”

Looking at the two of them smiling at each other, Piatowsky thought maybe this vacation wouldn’t be too bad after all.

J
OHANNSEN AND
M
ULLINS WERE SITTING IN THE BLACK
unmarked Crown Victoria, parked in the driveway at Journey’s End. Giant gray clouds were sweeping across the mountains and huge raindrops splattered suddenly across the windshield, blurring their view of the officers with German shepherd tracker dogs, who were combing every inch of the grounds, searching for the Glock, or the knife, or for tracks, or any other clue the killer might have left.

Lightning illuminated the drenched gardens and thunder exploded overhead as though the god Thor himself were striking monsters in the skies with his giant hammer. Johannsen thought gloomily that the rain would take care of any scent the dogs might have found, plus erase any tracks. So far, the guys had come up with zero. He could see them now, running for safety out of the trees. Shit. This case should have been cut-and-dried. How come he was getting nowhere?

The phone beeped. He picked it up before the second ring. “Johannsen.”

“Good morning, sir. This is Detective Pete Piatowsky, NYPD.”

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

On the other end of the line, Piatowsky thought he sounded weary. He grinned, he knew that feeling only too well. “I know my department has been in touch, sir, about the prostitute murdered near Times Square. The killing was very similar to the one you have here, in Montecito. Manual strangulation with mutilation.”

“Avery particular mutilation.” Johannsen had spoken not only to the New York police department, but also with L.A. and the FBI. Everybody was getting in on his act. He thought wearily they were all beating up the wrong path; he believed he had the killers and the motive.

“I’m in Santa Barbara now, Detective, I’d like to get together with you, discuss the similarities in the cases.”

Johannsen had already discussed, endlessly. He sighed as he said, “1 can be back in my office at noon.”

“I’ll see you then, sir.”

Piatowsky grinned at Dan as he dialed the New York precinct number. “Yeah, George, it’s Piatowsky here. I’m on my way to see the detective in charge of the Montecito signature killing, see if it ties in with ours and the L.A. hooker. Yep, I’ll let you know what develops. And no, I don’t think the detective believes it’s the same guy, but I’m sure as hell gonna find out.” He listened, grinning. “Yeah, you could call it a busman’s holiday … but life’s like that. I’m always where the action is. Yeah, I’ll give Cassidy your best.” He looked out the window at the clouds pressing on the hilltops. “Guess what? It’s fuckin’ raining.”