City of Fire (42 page)

She gazed out the window as she mulled it over. A single question buried deep inside her. A question she would have
to come to terms with before she could confront anyone and resolve the problem for good.

Why did Rhodes do it? What possible motive could he have had to gun down her brother on a dark street in Hollywood?

The question was buried because she found the answer so disturbing. She couldn’t help thinking that the murder had something to do with her. Something to do with Rhodes and their attraction for each other. A relationship that had plenty of juice but never got off the ground. What she had always called
bad timing.

Her mind surfaced as they rolled past Candy Bellringer’s condominium. Unable to find a parking space in the endless line of cars, Novak made a U-turn and doubled back.

“And what about the DNA?” he said. “How did Rhodes plant Romeo’s semen on McKenna’s body?”

She had been thinking about it all morning. “It had to come from Nikki Brant.”

“But we were all there. All in the same room.”

“Rhodes laid out the crime scene tape. He was alone in the house for at least ten minutes.”

“More like fifteen,” Novak said, thinking it through as if for the first time. “He went in before you got there. When we pulled the covers, Romeo’s semen had been wiped off the sheets.”

Lena nodded. “We thought it was her husband, trying to clean things up. Instead, Rhodes saw an opportunity and took it.”

They looked at each other—Novak visibly shaken. When he turned back to the road, he spotted a fire hydrant and pulled over.

Like most condominiums in Los Angeles, this one was surrounded by a security fence and a “feel good” gate that stood about seven feet high. Novak approached the residents’ directory and grabbed the phone.

“I’m gonna guess she isn’t using the name Candy Bellringer,” he said. “What’s her unit number?”

“Six.”

“I count twenty-five. Everybody else is listed, but not six. All of sudden I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Why didn’t she call us back?”

Novak pressed the button and waited for an answer. Lena noted the blank tag on the console and looked through the gate. It was a modern building with slanted roofs that appeared well maintained. White stucco and glass with lots of ivy and palm trees. Each unit included a second floor.

“Nada,” Novak said. “Now I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.”

“What about a manager?”

He went back to the directory and found the manager assigned to unit 1. As he made the call, Lena turned back. Although the building appeared luxurious, an oppressive stillness was in the air. That feeling that went with a crime scene. When Novak hung up, she grabbed the top of the gate, swung her leg over, and dropped down on the other side to let her partner in. Then they hurried down the walkway, checking condo numbers. As they passed a fountain, she spotted unit 6 by the pool. Novak knocked on the door. When no one answered, Lena glanced back at the pool and noticed that the vacuum was out. The door to a utility room stood open with the light on.

“Maybe it’s the manager,” she said.

They stepped over to the utility room, but no one was there. Lena noted the pool supplies and strong smell of chlorine in the air. Turning back to the condo, she scanned the windows. There was a balcony on the second floor, probably opening to a master bedroom, but the slider was closed.

They hustled back to the door. Novak examined the lock.

“She’s a possible victim,” he said. “Our link to Romeo.”

“We’ve gotta go in,” she said.

He nodded with determination. Taking three steps back, he lowered his shoulder. Then he plowed forward and threw all his weight into the weakest point of the door. Lena heard the wood let out a sharp crack and watched the door burst open and smash against the wall. As they entered, she surveyed the damage. The lock had been a dead bolt. Novak hit
the door with such force that the jamb ripped away from the frame and cut the molding in two.

Lena took a quick whiff of air. Nothing was rotting. No decomposing bodies were here.

She moved into the kitchen, taking the room in quickly. She checked the fridge, the trash and garbage, and watched Novak examine what was left in the coffeepot for mold. When she moved to the sink, she found the basin dry.

“She hasn’t been away for very long,” she said. “But I don’t think her day started here. She left the house sometime yesterday and didn’t come home last night.”

“She’s a porn star and probably hooks on the side. For all we know, she spent the night working. Let’s check upstairs.”

They hurried up the steps and split up. Lena swept through the master bedroom, checking the bathroom and closets. In less than a minute, Novak was back.

“There’s a spare bedroom with a full bath,” he said. “She’s not here.”

Lena took another look around, this time searching for a magazine or piece of mail that might have the model’s real name on it. But everything has its place, and inside this condo, everything was in its place. It seemed so odd. She noticed a pile of books by the bed, a cane, and a knitting bag overflowing with yarn. There wasn’t a TV in the room. Since Burell’s murder they had interviewed most of his models and visited more than half in their homes. In each case, the places had a tacky, quick-and-dirty feel about them. But not here.

“You think we fucked up?” Novak asked. “Are we in the right condo?”

Lena turned to the closet, eyeballing the woman’s clothing and counting ten conservative business suits.

“Something’s fucked up, Lena. And we didn’t just walk in here. I broke the door down.”

“This is the right place,” she said.

He didn’t seem convinced and moved to the chest, yanking open the top drawer. Scarves, jewelry, and an old wallet that was empty. He pulled open the second drawer and found
T-shirts and tops. When he slid open the bottom drawer, he paused over the woman’s lingerie.

“Unfold it,” Lena said. “Let’s see it.”

Novak pulled out a nightgown. The fabric was cotton, the piece of clothing designed for comfort, not foreplay.

“Everything here is rated PG,” Novak said.

He tossed the nightgown back and slammed the drawer closed. Glancing underneath the bed, he pulled a gym bag out and fumbled with the zipper. When he finally got it open, his eyes lit up.

“She’s got a stash,” he said.

He turned the bag upside down, dumping its contents on the bed. Lena moved in for a closer look. There were several negligées with maybe a dozen G-strings and bras. Rifling through the clothing, she noted the garter belt and stockings. When she fished out a black wig, she turned to Novak.

“We’re in the right house,” she said.

She grabbed the gym bag and opened the side pocket. Inside, she found Candy Bellringer’s makeup, along with a vibrator and an ample supply of K-Y jelly. She spread the woman’s makeup out on the bed and studied the colors. They were severe. Racy. It didn’t take much to realize that the woman didn’t use this makeup when she wore a business suit and went to her day job.

“What is it?” Novak asked.

“She’s living a double life, and this is her mask and costume. She’s not a pro. She’s an amateur, trying to hide her identity. Maybe that’s why she never called us back. She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

“You mean like maybe everything’s copacetic. She spent the night banging some guy, then got out of bed and went to work. That’s bullshit.”

“I didn’t say that. All I’m saying is that she’s living two lives that don’t mix.”

Lena took the room in again, her eyes coming to rest on the antique table and chair by the window. There was a drawer underneath the lip of the tabletop.

She pulled the chair away and ripped open the drawer.
She saw the checkbook and stamps, a pen and several bills held together with paper clips. But what really caught her interest was the envelope on top: a paycheck.

Novak leaned in over her shoulder. As she tore the envelope open, she felt a sudden rush of adrenaline hit her body and shake it. When she pulled the check out, she heard her partner gasp and thought her heart might not be able to handle the load.

The check was made out to Harriet Wilson. She worked for the Dreggco Corporation. The same company that employed Nikki Brant’s husband, James.

LENA glanced at the sign by the door and winced as she entered the building with Novak.

They stepped into the lobby and found Milo Plashett, the biologist who owned the company, engaged in light, even giddy conversation with five men dressed in expensive suits. As they approached, the banter slowed down and the laughter died off. Lena knew with a single glance that the five men were attorneys. Even better, she could tell that the five attorneys read them as cops the moment she and Novak entered the room.

Plashett broke away from the pack. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We need a minute,” Novak said.

Plashett lowered his voice. “I don’t have a minute. The deal went through. We did the numbers yesterday, so if you’re looking for James, he’s not here and won’t be back until Monday. He’s up north burying his wife. The funeral’s today.”

“We’re not looking for Brant,” Novak said. “We’d like to speak with Harriet Wilson.”

A wave of concern rippled across Plashett’s face. “She’s sick.”

“She’s not here?”

He shook his head, then turned his short, robust body
toward the five attorneys. “Why don’t you guys go up to the conference room and grab a cup of coffee.”

One of the suits took a step forward. “Is everything okay, Milo?”

“Everything’s fine. I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

The attorneys crossed the lobby, eyeing them carefully with their tails raised. When they started up the steps, Plashett turned back.

“She told her supervisor that she wasn’t feeling well on Wednesday afternoon and left early. Yesterday, she called in sick. When she didn’t check in this morning, my assistant tried to call her but got a machine. We’re worried about her.”

Lena traded a quick look with Novak. All of a sudden nothing was copacetic.

“Let’s go back to the lab and talk to Marty,” Plashett said.

“Who’s Marty?” Novak asked.

“Martin Fellows runs the lab. Maybe she said something to him. It’s Friday. Actually, it’s her birthday. There’s a chance she took a long weekend.”

Lena watched her partner manage a tentative nod as she thought about Harriet Wilson’s long weekend. Her birthday.

She followed Plashett and Novak through a set of double doors. As they walked toward the rear of the building, she looked through the glass walls and counted three labs. Three sets of people in lab coats. She studied their faces, keeping Romeo’s physical description in mind. Nikki Brant had been murdered last Thursday night. Now Harriet Wilson had gone missing. Romeo worked here. She was certain that he did. When Plashett pushed the door open at the end of the hall and she entered yet another lab, the vibe was unmistakable.

Only one employee was in the vast room. A biologist munching on a fish taco at his desk. In spite of the full head of black hair, the aura had resilience and sprang back at her. She could feel its weight and density. She could almost touch it.

“Where’s Marty?” Plashett asked.

“At lunch,” the man said, awkwardly trying to swallow his food. “He just left. He’ll be back in an hour.”

Lena took in the room. The concrete walls were lined with equipment and workstations. While the glass ceiling rose to the roof and provided a rich ambient light, tungsten fixtures hung from the steel beams over three lab tables set in the middle of the room. To the right, three desks stood side-by-side with plenty of space in between. Behind the desks a set of glass doors opened to the greenhouse. Two technicians dressed in blue overalls were in the greenhouse working on what she guessed was the irrigation system.

“This is Tommy Tomoca,” Plashett said. “Tommy, these detectives are trying to find Harry.”

Lena picked up on the informality of the work setting as she watched Tomoca push his fish taco aside. When she tried to get a read on Novak, he had his game face on.

“Is she okay?” Tomoca blurted out.

“Probably,” Novak said. “But we’re not sure.”

Lena cleared her throat. “Her name came up in an unrelated matter. We think she might be able to help us. Did she say anything about taking her birthday off?”

Tomoca’s head rocked back and forth. “I thought she was sick.”

“Any chance you could show us around?”

Before Tomoca could answer, Plashett broke in. “Do whatever they say, Tommy. Give them whatever they want.” Plashett turned to Lena and Novak. “I wish I could stay, but we’re signing papers today. If you need me, just call. I can be down in two minutes.”

They thanked Plashett and watched him exit the lab. When Lena turned back to Tomoca, he was staring at the center desk.

“Is this where Harriet sits?”

He nodded, then started pointing around the room. “Her workstation is that one against the far wall. Mine’s the one you passed on the way in. Martin works at this one by the greenhouse door. A lab table goes with each workstation.”