Sullivan's Justice (11 page)

Neil’s eyelids flickered in fear. He grabbed hold of his sister’s forearm. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I didn’t kill her. Besides, I’m certain she’s been dead a long time. Her body was stiff and cold . . . so cold.” He placed his palms over his face, then slapped them down on the top of the table. “I was in LA most of the day. I wasn’t even here. How could the police accuse me of killing her?”

“Stay calm,” Carolyn told him. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You have to do exactly what I say, though. Don’t answer any questions or make any spontaneous statements.”

They linked eyes; then Carolyn went to speak to Hank. Mary had gone outside where the coroner, Charley Young, was examining the body. “Tell me what you have, Hank.”

He held up a plastic evidence bag containing the syringe. “We found this in the master-bathroom sink. Is your brother a diabetic?”

“No,” Carolyn answered, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Is there anything in there?”

“Looks like it,” Hank told her, pointing at a small amount of yellowish liquid located at the bottom of the syringe. “Won’t know what it is, of course, until the lab processes it.”

“What about time of death?”

“Charley’s pretty sure the victim’s been in the water for at least four hours. Your brother claims he was in love with the woman. Is that true?”

Carolyn felt bad. Neil had been calling her a lot lately. Because of her work, she’d been lucky to exchange a few words with him. When she’d come home that evening around eight, John and Rebecca said they hadn’t seen or heard from him. He’d promised to stop by and look at Rebecca’s drawings. He was flaky, but he seldom went back on his word.

She looked up at the detective. “They only recently started seeing each other. Neil cared a great deal for her, though. Have you notified her family?”

He skipped over her question. “Charley found only one injection site on her left arm. We’ll know more when he gets the body to the morgue. The rain isn’t helping us much. Whatever evidence there is outside will more than likely be worthless.”

“Did you find any signs of a forced entry?”

“Not yet,” he said, pausing and staring at her. “Are you sick or something? You’re really pale.”

Damn men, Carolyn thought, how did he expect her to look under the circumstances? “I didn’t have time to put on my makeup. You want to talk about my appearance or the crime? Were there any prints on the doors or windows?”

“Nope,” Hank said. “Whoever did this is a tidy person. Most of the prints we lifted, outside of the victim’s, are probably your brother’s. I don’t know any killer in the world who would leave that many fingerprints. Did he have a housekeeper?”

“Yes,” Carolyn said. “I’m not sure which day she works. Can I have a few minutes alone with him?”

Hank frowned, moving his feet around on the marble entry. “The victim’s father, Stanley Caplin, thinks your brother’s a drug dealer. He claims he personally witnessed him using narcotics. The narcs say there’s some potent smack floating around. Two junkies have overdosed in the past week. Maybe he gave his girlfriend some killer heroin.”

Hank looked as if he were about to collapse. The stress must be getting to him, she thought, or he would never have made such an inflammatory statement about Neil. He might have been teasing, though. Individuals who dealt with death on a regular basis frequently used humor as a way to cope. Either that, or he was trying to test her reaction.

Carolyn knew Laurel’s parents. Ventura wasn’t that big and they’d all gone to the same schools. “The man’s lying,” she snapped. “Neil doesn’t use drugs, let alone sell them. He’s a successful artist.” She raised her arm toward the row of large canvases mounted on the walls. She could understand why some people didn’t appreciate contemporary art. Her brother, however, had been trained in the classical style of painting and his work was renowned. “His paintings usually sell for between ten and twenty thousand. A few years ago, one of them went for fifty.”

“I thought those were prints like they sell at those museum stores.” Hank gazed at the lifelike physiques, the exquisite draping in the folds of fabric, the detailed backgrounds.

“When did Caplin say he saw Neil using drugs?”

“I didn’t ask,” the detective told her. “The guy just learned that his daughter was dead.” He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “I’ll give you ten minutes, Carolyn. I need to get your brother out of here, one way or the other. I just sent one of my men over to pick up the parents so they can identify the body.”

“Why put them through that?” she asked, running her hands through her wet hair. “Neil has already identified her. I know Laurel, if you need a second ID. Anyway, this is supposed to be a crime scene.”

“Don’t you have any sympathy for these people?”

“Of course I do,” she answered, a chastised expression on her face. “I’ll talk to Neil in the garage.” She started to walk away, then stopped. “Whatever happens, try to remember that this is my brother.”

“If he’s innocent, he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Cut the crap, okay?” Carolyn shot back. “I know how the system works. Neil was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s not your murderer.”

 

 

 

 

 

N
eil was leaning against the wall in the open garage. One of the officers had brought him a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt they’d found in the laundry room.

While the crime scene technicians went about their job of collecting evidence inside the residence, Carolyn drilled Neil. She asked him if he’d seen Laurel earlier.

“That’s what I’m concerned about,” he said, lowering his head. “She came here and we had lunch. I asked her to marry me.”

“Did she accept?”

He swallowed hard. “No.”

“For your own good, don’t ever repeat that,” his sister said in a hushed voice. “If you do, you’ll give the police a motive.”

“I understand,” Neil said, sniffing. “We got into a big fight. You know how I hate rejection. She said she could explain everything, but I was too bent out of shape to listen. Th-that . . . was the last time I saw her alive.”

Now she understood his comment about messing up. Although he kept it under control most of the time, Neil had a temper and had been known to fly off the handle. They’d had a fight, that’s all. He’d probably said things he regretted, things he didn’t really mean. “You left her in the house? Alone?”

“I didn’t think she would kill herself.”

“Where did you go?”

“I drove around for about an hour, then I decided to go to Melody’s. I didn’t expect Laurel to be here when I got home. I thought she’d call a friend to come and get her.”

Carolyn stared at his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his movements were jerky, almost manic. “Are you taking your medicine?”

“I don’t need lithium,” Neil said, slapping his arms against his thighs. “You know I can’t paint when I take that shit. How many sleeping pills are
you
taking? Are you going to accidentally overdose again, like you did last summer? Stop trying to run my life, Carolyn. You’ve got enough problems with your own.”

She started to react, then stopped herself. When the criticism was deserved, she had no right to protest. She’d once walked in on a probationer in the middle of a cocaine buy and ended up wrenching her neck trying to arrest him. The doctor had prescribed a muscle relaxant called Soma. She had mistakenly thought the drug was nothing more than a big aspirin. Unable to lift her head one morning, she’d popped a handful of the pills in her mouth. Within fifteen minutes, she was out cold on the living-room floor. Her son, John, had called an ambulance. Fifteen minutes later, she was in cardiac arrest. If her heart had stopped anywhere outside of the emergency room, she would have been dead.

Neil’s chest was expanding and contracting. Carolyn moved closer, placing her hand in the center of his back. “Try to relax,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right. All you have to do is help me figure out what happened. Why did you go to Melody’s? I thought you were going to break it off with her.”

“Laurel didn’t want me. You’re too busy to talk to me. I thought driving a few hours in a rainstorm to break up with Melody would be the perfect ending to my miserable day.” He saw the look on her face. “Don’t worry, it’s over. All she wanted me for was sex. I’m never going to see her again.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

Neil’s eyes glistened with tears. “Laurel’s dead. Why do you keep talking about Melody?”

“Nothing you or I can do will bring Laurel back, Neil,” Carolyn told him. “Whether you realize it or not, the police may charge you with murder. How long were you with Melody? Did you go out somewhere? Were the two of you with other people? We need to establish your whereabouts at the time of the crime.”

Neil turned toward the door leading into the house. He hated confrontations. In most instances, he simply walked away. That’s probably what he’d done to Laurel, Carolyn thought. “Listen to me!” she shouted, a line of perspiration breaking out on her forehead. “You’re going to be questioned. I need to know where we stand. We have to decide whether we should hire an attorney.”

Neil returned to where she was standing. “I left for LA around three this afternoon.”

Carolyn placed her hands on her hips. “I’m trying to find out if anyone other than Melody can substantiate your alibi. Did you go out to dinner?”

“No,” he said. “We stayed at her place in Brentwood. I left around nine or a few minutes earlier.”

Carolyn had seen Melody Asher on numerous occasions. The woman had even spent Thanksgiving with them. Neil had been crazy about her in the beginning, boasting that she had the face and body of an angel. Although she was somewhat flashy for Ventura, with her blond hair, designer clothes, and fancy Porsche, Melody had come across as a nice young woman who genuinely cared about her brother. Until a month ago, Carolyn had thought she was a former fashion model trying to break into acting. When Neil informed her that his girlfriend was worth over fifty million, she had been flabbergasted. From that point on, she felt uncomfortable around Melody. Their lifestyles were dramatically different. Melody was only twenty-seven. Carolyn couldn’t fathom what it would be like to be young, beautiful, and outrageously wealthy.

Women had always flocked to her brother. At thirty-two, Neil was a handsome and enthralling man. In many ways, Melody and Neil had made a good pair. Her brother was talented and charming. He was also playful and boyish. Things had changed recently. The art market had grown stale, causing Neil to experience a bout of insecurity. The typical artist, he knew nothing about money, other than how to spend it. She had a feeling that before everything was over, the Ferrari parked next to them in the garage would be history.

Carolyn was afraid for him. She didn’t like the way things were shaping up. “Did Melody know you were seeing Laurel?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Why would I tell her something like that?”

Hank Sawyer and Officer Cutter entered the garage. “We need to talk to him, Carolyn,” the detective said, a solemn look on his face. “We can either do it here or at the station.”

“Give us five more minutes, Hank.” She took a deep breath. She was used to dealing with criminals. The idea that her brother might one day be a suspect in a homicide had never crossed her mind. Because of Christmas, the case would be in limbo for several days. They had to use the time to their advantage. The jilted lover would make a viable suspect, but from what Neil had said, Melody knew nothing about his relationship with Laurel.

Now that she knew he had proposed to Laurel and she’d refused him, her brother fell into the same category. The other possibility might hurt him more than being charged with murder. Laurel could have found out about Melody. That could be the reason she turned down his marriage proposal. She might have done the same thing, though, even if she hadn’t known. It was too soon in their relationship and Laurel may not have recovered from her divorce. She turned to Hank. “You have to rule out suicide.”

“It’s impossible to kill yourself, then dive into a swimming pool.”

Carolyn felt the hairs prick on the back of her neck. Stay calm, she told herself. Think rationally. “You found a syringe, right? Maybe Laurel overdosed on narcotics and someone dumped her in the pool to make it look like a drowning.”

“Depends on what’s in the syringe,” Hank told her, his eyes fixed on Neil.

He was trying to get inside Neil’s head, Carolyn realized. She’d been surprised when he hadn’t tossed both of them out rather than take a chance they might contaminate the crime scene. He’d gone even further by discussing the circumstances of a murder with a person who could turn out to be a suspect. He was shrewd and Neil was naive. Sawyer wanted to watch Neil, hear him talk, see how he responded. Two could play the same game. She needed to find out if Hank thought they had a case against her brother.

“Laurel wasn’t on drugs,” Neil said, his face flushing. “She was a schoolteacher, for Christ’s sake. Don’t ruin her reputation.”

“People aren’t always who you think they are, know what I mean?”

“What about her ex-husband?” Neil suggested. “He was a marine or something.”

“Navy,” Hank said. “He’s a lieutenant commander. Mr. Caplin said he was on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic.”

Carolyn opened her mouth to say something.

Hank cut her off. “Don’t worry, we’ll verify his whereabouts through the proper channels.”

“Neil has security cameras in every room,” she said excitedly. “You may have the murderer on tape.”

“We checked,” the detective said. “Nothing there but a vacant house.” He turned to Neil. “Was something wrong with the security system?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “The tape recorder started making this weird sound, so I turned it off.”