Beware Beware (7 page)

“This, mostly.” I picked up my half-empty cup of sludge coffee and shook it from side to side. A few brown drops fell thickly on the table. “Man the desk. Sometimes I get to do stakeouts, stuff like that.”

“Were you working when you were at The Roosevelt?” Her tone was steely now, as if she were overcompensating for her display of fond feelings.

I thought about the last couple of weeks and wondered, with disgusted amazement, how it had come to this. I was working when I was at The Roosevelt, but I went beyond strict duty when I walked into that room.

Detective Sanchez was sniffing, but I could tell she knew nothing about my assignment, and I doubted she knew a thing about Daphne. She suspected, correctly, that I had information she might want for herself, but I wasn't about to oblige her. Sitting there, in that interrogation room, I saw the stubborn lines of my allegiance. Daphne was my client, and on top of that, she was my friend. Detective Sanchez was just a police officer asking after her business, and I saw no reason to involve her.

I plopped an elbow on the table and rested a cheek on a fist. “Hey, do I need to answer these questions?”

Sanchez turned back to Redding, who stopped his pacing behind her. “Technically, no,” he piped up. “But this is an important investigation, and we would appreciate your cooperation.”

“I'm happy to cooperate, but I'd rather leave my work out of this. You guys called me in to talk about Jamie.”

Sanchez leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at me. “What were you doing at The Roosevelt?”

“I was having a drink.”

“What is your relation to Jamie Landon?”

“I just met the guy.”

“Funny.” The way she said that word, like it wasn't funny at all, made something slip in my chest. “Jamie said you were his friend.”

I cursed in my head. I should have asked Jamie what he'd told the police. “I did just meet the guy.”

“But you consider each other friends.”

“Maybe we do. Maybe we're friends.” I smiled broadly, and she gave me a tight smirk in response. “Look—am I in trouble here? Do you want me to help you or not?”

“How do you know Mr. Landon?”

“I barely know him. I'll swear to it in front of any court.”

“Why were you with him?”

“That is my business.” I cracked my knuckles, as long as I was annoying her. “I don't mean to be difficult, Detective Sanchez. I want to help, honestly. But if you ask me any more about my business, I'll be leaving.”

She sighed, running her palm across the gelled tips of her hair. “At about what time yesterday did you first see Jamie Landon?”

The interview lasted for half an hour, and I told no more half-truths. I thought, by the end, that Detective Sanchez had even taken a liking to me.

Then she walked me out of the station and put a hand on my shoulder, a hard grip that felt almost wonderful. “There's a lot of heat on this case, Juniper Song. If you have anything else to report, I guarantee you'll hack it up, one way or another.”

“If you talk to Arturo, tell him I did good, will you?”

She chuckled. “I'll let him know you were a pain in my ass.”

*   *   *

I met Chaz for lunch at a diner near Sunset Junction, one of those brand-new restaurants designed to look eighty years old, with muted orange vinyl seats and vintage ads boasting twenty-five-cent coffee. I called him, my adrenalin running high on my way home from the station, and he took the opportunity to show me his magnanimity. “I'll buy you pancakes and we'll talk, okay? Tall stack of pancakes, butter and syrup. That should cheer you up.”

I wanted to talk to him and I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd eaten, so here we were, Chaz scowling at my salad while he drowned three Frisbee-sized pancakes in a storm of maple syrup.

“So, girl detective, you can't handle one stinking cokehead boyfriend case by yourself?” He put a smile in his voice so I'd know he was joking, but I knew he hated to think about work on the weekend. He had a wife and two kids at home, and he liked doing dad things like taking his kids to the park and embarrassing everyone.

“Joe Tilley, Chaz. A straight-up Hollywood death scandal. Some easy assignment.”

“So what, it's not a suicide?”

“The way they questioned me? I don't think they're going with suicide, at least not yet.”

“Murder, huh? Jesus. Some luck. Why are they looking at Jamie?”

“They didn't exactly fill me in, but my guess is wrong place, wrong time, right?”

“Let me make sure I have this straight: Tilley bled to death in his hotel bathtub after some big drug party. Is that basically correct?”

“Yeah, his wrists were slashed.”

He nodded, frowning slightly, telegraphing deep thoughts.

“I'll tell you why they're after Jamie,” he said.

“Why?”

“If I had to guess? They probably have shit beans in the way of hard physical evidence. Think about it.”

“Any party guest could've smeared DNA all over the penthouse at any time for any reason.”

“Right. And I'd be surprised if they found a murder weapon with usable fingerprints or anything like that.”

“I didn't see a weapon near the tub. I was thinking it was probably in the water.”

“And it would've been easy enough to wipe prints before dropping it in. Not too suspicious.”

“So you think they have squat, so they're just going after Jamie because he was there?”

He shrugged. “It sounds weak when you put it that way, but what else are they supposed to do? This is a high-profile case. Academy Award for Murder of the Year.”

“That's not good for Jamie. I mean, shit, it isn't good for me either. Detective Sanchez thinks I'm holding out on her.”

“Well, you did hold out on her.”

“Was I wrong?”

“No, you're within your rights there, but—” He laughed. “This Jamie kid might be their primary suspect, but they must have a file on you now.”

I rummaged a fork through my salad, which was looking pale and unappetizing. “Shit.”

“I know
I
would.”

I looked up at him, searched his broad face for some easy answer. “So what do you think I should do?”

“Be ready.” Deadpan, heavy and enunciated, like he was giving me advice of immense practical importance.

“Okay, something more concrete, maybe.” I resisted an urge to roll my eyes. “Come on, Chazzie. Help me out here. I'm looking to you for your wisdom and experience. Regale me.”

I laid it on thick and he smiled, lips glazed with syrup. “Call Daphne. Explain your situation, and Jamie's, too.”

“And tell her what, I need to talk to the cops about her? You want me to give a client's name to the police?”

“She needs to know there's pressure. If this is a murder investigation, you can't just lie to the cops.” His face darkened, a scowl hitting his sticky lips. “And if this is a murder investigation, Daphne Freamon should probably be investigated.”

I set down a forkful of wilting salad. “How's that?”

Chaz gave me a look that said he knew I was playing dumb. “Come on. This girl sends you on some endless quest and suddenly there's a dead body? Tell me what's not suspicious about that.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Sure. A dozen of them, probably. I'm not saying she had anything to do with it. But good God, the police would be interested in talking to her.”

I nodded slowly. The logic was sound, if upsetting. “You're probably right. But is it our job to make sure that happens?”

“I trained you in PI ethics, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Good. Art would kill me if I hadn't.” He wiped mock sweat off his sweaty brow. “So you tell me, then.”

“Client confidentiality—I don't have to tell the police shit.”

“That's right. But I'd call Daphne. As soon as you finish that sad little salad.”

 

Five

Daphne called me first, late in the afternoon.

“I've been trying to get in touch with you,” I told her before she could get in a word. “Where've you been?”

“On a flight to L.A. Sorry, I should've told you, but I left in a hurry.”

“Oh.” I felt an inappropriate rush of pleasant surprise, as if she were just an old friend. “You're in town?”

“Yeah. Just got in. It's been a hectic day.”

“Yeah, I believe you. Jesus Christ.”

“Jamie told me you had to talk to the police. I'm sorry I got you into this.”

“Look, uh,” I clicked my back teeth. “They asked what I was doing there with him.”

“What did you tell them?” she asked after a pause.

“Nothing, but they know I work for a PI, and they gathered that I was there on an assignment.”

“You must not have mentioned me. I haven't been contacted.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I appreciate that. I mean I'd rather not get tangled up in all this if I can avoid it.”

“Understandable. But one of the cops, she seemed to think I was hiding something. She might be in touch again.” I waited, hoping she'd make things easy for me.

“I don't like cops.” She spoke softly but with emphasis. “If there's a way to avoid it, I'd rather not have to deal with them.”

It was clear enough to both of us that I had wanted and expected her to yield, and there was a moment of tense silence as we worked out the disagreement in our goals.

“Yeah of course, but—” I said, keeping my tone non-confrontational.

“Please, Song,” she cut in. Her voice was a little stronger now, but still even, unaggressive.

“Well, she shouldn't have much more use for me anyway. It was a pretty thorough interview, otherwise,” I said, dropping the subject. “So I guess Jamie and I are friends now, huh? That's a weird turn of events.”

She managed a cynical chuckle.

“So I guess I'm not chasing him around town anymore.”

“Guess not,” she said. “Are you glad?”

“Well, I am sorry that it turned out the way it did.” I paused. “Did he tell you that yes, he's been using crazy amounts of cocaine and that yes, he's been slinging a little while he's at it?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “But what the fuck do I do, dump him now?”

Jamie's face popped up in my head, terrified and sickly and vulnerable. “I guess he probably needs you now, more than ever.”

She groaned. “God, though, really, fuck that guy. He gets so high he doesn't even notice a man dying five feet away? And now I'm supposed to stand by him?”

“It's not a great situation.”

“So here's my choice—do I want to be a doormat or a coldhearted bitch? There's nothing in between.”

“It's not fair. I'll agree with you there.”

“What would you rather be?”

“Me?” I laughed. “I'd choose coldhearted bitch. But, you know, I'm basically a cat lady without a cat.”

“I guess I'm not quite cold enough. I feel too sorry for him to leave.”

“So you're sticking with him, then?”

“For now, anyway. He also says this thing with Joe was a real wake-up call. I mean, I believe that.”

“So,” I said, feeling slightly hopeful. “That's that then, huh? You got your answers. Was my performance to your satisfaction?”

She sucked in air and said, “Oh, Song. You must know I still need you.”

“I was hoping…” I offered. “He's really in trouble, then, isn't he.”

“Song, they think he killed Joe.”

“That is trouble.”

“Will you help him?” Something in me responded to the plea in her voice—the powerful human instinct to help a friend in need.

“How do you want me to do that?”

“Find out what happened in that hotel room.”

*   *   *

I arranged to meet Daphne and Jamie at the Lindley & Flores office at seven o'clock. I got there a little earlier, readied the paperwork, and cleared some room on Chaz's desk. I decided to hold the meeting in his office instead of between my desk and the overstuffed green corduroy sofa Chaz had gotten for free from his sister.

I called Chaz to ask what I should do, and he told me to hold this first meeting without him. Daphne had asked for me specifically, and Chaz trusted me to take good notes so he could catch up later. He sounded busy on the phone. He was at his sister's for his niece's birthday.

I paced the office when I ran out of little tasks to keep my hands busy. I was running at high speed, with dread and anticipation prodding me in equal measure. Despite the circumstances, I was excited to meet Daphne.

At five minutes to seven, there was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, I took a startled step back.

Daphne Freamon was a bona-fide model-grade knock-out. She was about my height in heels, and she looked right at me with wide, clear brown eyes set deep between heavy black lashes. Her cheekbones were high and so well defined they nearly pointed. The swelling pout of her lips softened their effect, and all her features resolved in a round, angelic face the size of my palm. Curly black hair formed a halo fanning out to her ears, which glinted with gold button earrings. She wore a fir green sweater dress that followed the dizzying curves of an athletic body. Her dark, burnished brown skin shimmered like stretched satin.

It took me a second to see Jamie behind her, and when I did, he looked incongruous with his beautiful girlfriend. Jamie might have been handsome most of the time, but today he looked tired and haggard, like he'd surrendered five pounds since I'd seen him only a day before. His cheeks had a hollow look, giving his face the contours of a dented melon.

Daphne spoke first, and her voice made her instantly familiar. “Song, it's good to finally meet you.”

“You, too.” I gave her my hand and she gave me a hug. “Though it would've been better if you'd had no reason to come.”