Sooner or Later (30 page)

Dan could hear the guffaw of laughter on the other end of the line as Piatowsky put down the phone and
said, plaintively, “I thought it never rained in southern California.”

“You’ve been listening to too much Beach Boys. We’re meeting Johannsen then?”

“I’m
meeting Johannsen.
You
are a civilian, Cassidy. And also a suspect.” The phone rang and he picked it up. “Yeah,” he said, sounding surprised.

Dan waited for him to say who it was,
but
Piatowsky was pacing the floor, the phone tucked under his chin.

“Yeah,” he said again. And, “No kidding. Okay, will do.”

He put down the phone again and looked at Dan.

“So?” Dan threw his arms out in a question.

“There’s been another woman killed. In L.A. again. A hooker. Manual strangulation with mutilation. She was dumped in a canal in Venice Beach.”

“Well, I guess that lets Ellie and me off the hook. This time we do have an alibi.”

“Sure.” Piatowsky nodded but he wasn’t convinced. “Unless it’s not the same killer.”

“Another copycat?” It wasn’t unusual, Dan knew, when a particularly gruesome murder hit the headlines.

Piatowsky shrugged on the old black leather bomber jacket he hadn’t seriously expected to have to wear in sunshineland. “Let’s go, fella. I’ve got an appointment with your destiny.”

Johannsen was sitting, legs apart, leaning across his desk with his horn-rims perched on the end of his wide nose, studying the information on the new killing when Piatowsky was announced.

He glanced up, assessing his visitor, the way he knew Piatowsky was also assessing him. He guessed Piatowsky had him pegged for a small-town cop—Santa Barbara’s population was ninety thousand—and had cast himself in
the role of the all-wise all-knowing New York big-time detective. Well, he was wrong. He’d been there, done that.

The casters on the old gray fabric swivel chair squealed as he pushed it back, stood and shook hands. “Detective Piatowsky.” He waved to a chair opposite the desk. “Have a seat. Coffee?”

The uniformed officer waited by the door for an answer.

“Thanks, but no.” Piatowsky had been through enough caffeine to jump-start a cadaver already that morning. He worked better that way, and besides Florita’s coffee was a hell of a lot better than police brew. Antagonism filtered across the desk toward him and he smiled cheerfully. He couldn’t blame Johannsen, it was never good having other cops muscle in on your investigation.

“I heard there’s been another murder?” He shook a Lucky from the crumpled pack and lit up. It was the first cigarette he’d had since arriving at Running Horse and he was a pack-and-a-half-a-day guy. There was just something about the atmosphere in a precinct house, the electric-sharp vibes of murder and mayhem, that triggered his nicotine need. Coughing, he wafted away the smoke as the detective pushed a metal ashtray across the table.

Johannsen read from the sheet of paper in front of him. “A hooker, Caucasian, blond hair, five two, by the name of Rita Lampert. She worked the clubs, the dives off Hollywood Boulevard, was well known to the police. The body was found in Venice Beach, in a canal at five-thirty this morning by a jogger. She’d been clubbed around the head, then strangled, and her face disfigured.”

“The same as Charlotte Parrish?”

He nodded. “But not the same as Maria Novales.”
Piatowsky raised his brows in a question and Johannsen added, “Novales was the housekeeper. She was shot and she was not mutilated.”

“You have a theory about that?”

Johannsen nodded again. “I think the mutilation of Mrs. Parrish was a deliberate attempt by the perpetrator to throw us off the scent. He wanted us to believe it was the signature killer.” He shrugged his bulky shoulders. “And no, I don’t believe it’s the same man.”

“You still working on the possibility that Ellie Parrish Duveen had something to do with it?”

“I am. Probably with the help of an accomplice. Though I admit, we don’t have any hard evidence as yet. A search of Miss Duveen’s home revealed nothing. Forensics says that black fibers found at the crime scene were wool, possibly from a sweater, or a ski mask. They’re pursuing it further. The weapon used was a Glock 27 automatic pistol.” He hesitated. There was one other piece of evidence that he was reluctant to talk about yet because it might prove his case. Or it might just shoot his theory all to hell. He decided against telling the New York cop about it. He shrugged, spreading his hands, palms up. “That’s about it.”

“Thanks for your cooperation.” Piatowsky stood and they shook hands.

“Why not leave me your number,” Johannsen said, smiling now, “so I can be in touch, keep you informed. Are you staying in Santa Barbara?” He was about to recommend a nice little motel he knew, keep the cooperation and friendship thing going.

“Didn’t ? tell you?” Piatowsky ran a hand through the blond hairs that barely covered his scalp. “I’m at Running Horse Ranch with Dan Cassidy. He’s an old buddy
of mine. We were partners for five years, out there on the streets together.”

He gave him his best little boy smile, but Johannsen’s smile had slipped from his face as though it had never been.

E
LLIE WAS ON THE PHONE, ATTEMPTING TO PICK UP THE
pieces of her life and reconstruct it in a different framework. Michael Majors was telling her that, apart from a generous bequest to Maria that was no longer relevant, she was the sole heir to the estate.

“I can’t advise you strongly enough to put the house on the market right away. Of course, keep what furniture and objects you want, but remember, the antiques will fetch a good price. And even though the house is unwieldy, and especially now that it’s …” He’d been going to say “tainted.” “Especially now that it’s
difficult
, the land is valuable and it should sell without too much trouble. As you know, there’s not much left in Montecito, especially in a prime location like this.”

“I can’t sell it. Not yet.” It was too soon to let go of her past and the memories.

“I understand, but give it some thought, Ellie. And when you decide, I’ll take care of it for you.”

Ellie put down the phone thinking that everyone was taking care of something for her. She had to get a grip.
“Pull up her socks,” as Gran would have said. She’d always been a take-charge sort of person, now she had to take charge of her own life again.

Dan had already handled everything with the funeral home and arranged for them to ship Maria’s remains to her family in Guadalajara, after the medical examiner released the body.

Miss Lottie’s funeral was set; all they needed was a definite date. There was nothing more to be done. Except wait and see if they were going to arrest her for the murder of her grandmother. The idea was so ridiculous, she wanted to laugh. Except it wasn’t amusing, it was tragic.

Carrying her bag down the stairs, Maya saw Ellie standing by the phone in the hall, staring at it as though it were a strange, unknown object. She wondered, uneasily, whether it was safe to leave her yet, but she had a meeting with a producer interested in her new idea.

“What happened?” She crossed the hall in a couple of strides and dumped her bag on the floor. “You okay?”

“It was just Gran’s attorney telling me I’ve inherited Journey’s End and asking if I’d put it on the market right away.”

“You can’t do that yet.” Maya didn’t need to be told.

The telephone rang again and Ellie picked it up. “Running Horse Ranch.” There was silence on the line and she said again, “Hello, Running Horse?” There was still no reply, yet she knew someone was there. Her eyes met Maya’s as she slammed down the phone.

“Who was that?”

Ellie shivered. “I don’t know.”

It rang again and this time Maya grabbed it. “Who the hell is this?” she snapped. Her face turned pink. “Oh, excuse me, I thought it was someone else. Yes,
she’s here. Hold on, please.” She handed the phone to Ellie.

Ellie’s heart sank as she recognized Johannsen’s voice. “Yes, Detective Johannsen. Thank you, yes. And thank you for letting me know.”

She was silent, listening to the detective, and Maya wiggled her eyebrows questioningly at her.

“My shoe size? Yes, it’s ten. Quite large for a woman, I agree, it’s always been the bane of my life.” She listened again. “Reebok Walkers DMX? Yes, I have those. White with a blue line. No, no reflective bands.”

She was listening again and Maya screwed up her eyes impatiently. Why did he want to know about her Reeboks?

“Thanks, Detective Johannsen. I’ll have him call you when he gets in.” She put down the phone.

Maya was dancing with impatience. “What was all that about?”

“The coroner has released Miss Lottie and Maria. The funeral can go ahead for Thursday.”

There was a quiet resignation in her voice and impulsively Maya hugged her. “I’m sorry, baby, but it’ll be better after it’s over. Then Miss Lottie and Maria will be at peace.”

Ellie knew she was right and she wished she could feel comforted, or relieved, or pained. Anything. Because she still didn’t feel a thing. She might as well be dead too.

“What was that about the Reeboks?”

She jolted back to reality. “They found a print on the balcony … mud and blood … they say it was made by a Reebok Walker and they wanted to know my size.”

“You mean he thought you were standing out there on the balcony in your Reeboks after killing your grandmother?
Hah.”
Maya expressed her contempt for the police department in one short word.

“Someone was out there,” Ellie said quietly. “I saw his foot. It was a black shoe with reflective panels that glowed when the lamp caught them.”

“Do they know what size?”

She shrugged. “If they do, they’re not telling me.”

“It’s all nonsense.” Maya slung her black leather overnight bag over her shoulder. “I’m on my way, Ell. I’ll be back tomorrow to help with the arrangements.”

“Whatever would I do without you?” Ellie was clinging on to her. It was pitiful, Maya thought, that a strong woman had been reduced to this by someone’s crazy barbaric act.

“You’re doing great, Ell, just great. After the funeral, you’re going to feel much better. And then they’ll find the killer, and the score will be settled. You wait, I promise you, that’s what will happen.”

Ellie walked out onto the porch to wave goodbye. She told herself of course that was what would happen. The police would find the killer and lock him up. Her life would go on and become “normal” again. After the funeral.

I
T WAS EVENING, AND THE NEW STORM DISAPPEARED AS
quickly as it had come. The hot sun sparkled on the grass and the hillside steamed like a minivolcano about to erupt. Ellie was sitting with Piatowsky on the bank of the reedy pond in back of the house, holding a fishing line, listening to the noisy flock of starlings perched in the willow tree that swept yellow-green fronds into the dark, still water.

“You sure there’s fish in here?” Piatowsky reeled in his line and inspected the bait. It had not been touched.

“There’s supposed to be carp.”

“Anybody ever seen one?” He glanced suspiciously at her and she laughed. It: lit up her whole face and he suddenly saw her beauty. It wasn’t just regular features and a smooth complexion, though hers were regular enough and her freckles only added another dimension, it was something that came from inside her. It showed in her eyes, her smile, the soft mellowness of her voice. Ellie lit up like a megawatt lamp when she smiled.

“Not me,” she replied. “But Dan swears it.”

“Huh!” His snort was derisive. “By the way, you should do that more often.” She looked expectantly at him. “Smile, I mean.”

Ellie reached out and put her hand over his. “I really have ruined your vacation, haven’t I?”

He stood and cast the line into the pond again, then sank back down beside her on the warm grassy bank. “Not much could spoil this place. I think my old partner got himself a little bit of paradise right here, in California.”

“Sometimes I think that too.” Clasping her arms round her knees, she rested her chin on them, gazing wistfully at the line bobbing on the water. “But then I remember, I’m a city girl now and I’ve got a business to run, employees … customers. I have to get back there, after the funeral,” she added.

Miss Lottie and Maria were to be buried on the same day, though in different countries. Ellie had had Majors send a check to Maria’s family that would more than pay for a magnificent High Mass and a marble angel to guard her forever. Later, when the estate was probated, she would send the amount Miss Lottie had left Maria in her will, to be distributed among her brothers and sisters.

She pointed to the water. “Your line’s pulling …”

Leaping to his feet, Piatowsky reeled it in. He stared disgustedly at it, he’d snagged an old boot. “So much for Huck Finn,” he said glumly.

“Good thing it’s not a size twelve Reebok Walker.” Dan plumped down beside Ellie and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“What d’ya mean?” Piatowsky was all ears.

“Johannsen kept quiet about it until he knew the size. Our man on the balcony wore size twelves. That lets out Ellie and me. And it also proves someone was out there.”

“So Johannsen’s gonna have to come up with a new
suspect?” Piatowsky grinned happily. “I told him he was on the wrong tack, but ya know—cops?” He lifted his shoulders in a “who can tell, they’re all crazy anyway” gesture.

“Feel better?” Dan could see from the expression in Ellie’s eyes that at least he’d been able to remove one burden from her shoulders.

For a minute Ellie allowed herself to wonder what she would do without him, then she steeled herself again. “
Fm pulling up my socks. Gran,”
she said mentally.
“I can handle this, I can cope.”
She had to go on, she had to make her business a success so Miss Lottie would be proud of her, and then she could be proud of herself. Work was all that counted now.

She squeezed Dan’s hand. He was a true friend. “A lot better,” she agreed.

He liked what he heard in her voice, it was as though she’d gotten her spirit back. And he was relieved that, at least for now, Johannsen was off her back. But he knew it wasn’t finished yet.