Dial Emmy for Murder (12 page)

“One question. Why are all your disguises so unattractive? Don’t you have any with, say, a platinum blond wig and big boobs, maybe a miniskirt?” he asked with a sexy smile.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t!” I felt flustered again. Why did he do that to me? “Now, seriously, why are you ducking your boss? And how come you’re never with your partner?”

“Look,” he said, “I’m having some trouble at work, but it’s got nothing to do with you. I don’t like my boss, and I don’t get along with my partner. He and I have agreed to work on this case separately.”

“You’ve agreed?”

“Yes,” he said. “I got confirmation from him that yes, the fifth dead man was also an actor.”

“Wait, wait,” I said. “Let’s not get off this subject so fast.”

“What subject?”

“The subject of you and your partner and work—”

“Alex,” he said, starting to sound exasperated, “I had a life before I met you. You have to believe that this has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” I said. “So do you think this will work?” I gestured to my disguise, turned toward him and framed my face with my hands.

“You look . . . severe,” he said. “Like a librarian.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “And I have these.”

I took out a pair of large plastic-framed glasses and put them on.

“Okay,” he said, “nobody will recognize you in that getup.”

“How do we introduce me?”

“You’ll be my associate,” he said. “I’m not gonna to tell anyone that you’re a cop.”

“Okay, I see your point,” I said. “The last time I helped you solve a case, you called me your consultant. Am I being promoted or demoted?”

He looked at me blankly. “Just don’t speak. I ask all the questions.”

“What if I think of a question—?”

He cut me off with a look.

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll just sit quietly, take a few notes and look like an associate. Whatever the hell that is.”

We got up and started out the door. A little bitter but happy to be going along, I shut my mouth and followed him to the car, noticing what a nice butt he had.

Chapter 24

The families lived spread out over the greater Los Angeles area, starting with Aaron’s family in Hancock Park. I had no idea whether we could get all the questioning done in one day. In the car, Jakes reminded me of the names of the other three men who were killed. They were Kyle Hansen, Tom Nolan and Mason Stone. Mason Stone? It was hard for me to believe parents could be so cruel. That had to be a stage name. Or a porn name. Is that the same thing?

“How many interviews are we doing today?” I asked.

“We’re going to try to do the three in Southern California,” he said. “One of the others has family up in Northern California. Len is going to travel to do that one.”

“And the fifth?”

“Canada,” he said. “We’re going to do that one by phone. If we think it needs something more we’ll call the locals. If we’re still not satisfied, then Len or I will go up there.”

“So we only have three.”

“Yes,” he said, “and hopefully we’ll be able to get them all done today. But if not, we’ll finish up tomorrow. When do you have to go back to work?”

“Tomorrow. But I have a lot of dialogue. It will take me some time to learn all my lines.”

“It sounds kind of like homework.”

“It is! Just as tedious sometimes, too. I have a pretty decent memory, though, so it’s easier for me to memorize lines than for a lot of the other actors.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I bet you were good in school, right? Teacher’s pet, cheer-leader? Huh?”

“Well, yeah . . . I’ve been known to put on a skirt and sweater and grab a pom-pom. And yes, I was on the honor roll a couple of times. Why? You got something against smart cheerleaders?”

“Not at all. I just didn’t run in that crowd. In fact I tried to avoid school as much as possible.”

“Really? I would have pegged you as someone who was good at school.”

“I probably would have been. Too many distractions, though.”

“But you managed to get through,” I said. “High school? College?”

“College,” he said. “You have to have a degree to get into most police departments now. I managed to get my degree at night.”

“Degree?”

“Criminal justice,” he said. “A minor in law.”

“Did you want to be a lawyer?”

“Hell, no,” he said. “I just wanted to know what I was talking about.”

“And do you?”

He looked at me quickly and then put his eyes back on the road. “When it comes to my job,” he answered, “yes.”

So far neither of us had brought up what happened the night before. I assumed he was referring to that but I wasn’t completely sure. I really didn’t know how to even approach talking about it.

So I didn’t. I mean it was just a kiss, right?

“Do you have any theories?” I asked.

“About what?”

“Motives for these murders,” I said. “They can’t be isolated, right?”

“No,” he said. “We’re working on the assumption that the murders are connected.”

“So someone has it in for good-looking young actors.”

“Apparently.”

“Like whom?”

“You tell me,” he said. “Give me some possibilities . . . a theory.”

“Oh, okay.”

When I didn’t speak right away, he said, “You must have given it some thought before now.”

“Well, yes . . .”

“So?”

“Girlfriends?”

“More than one?”

“Sure,” I said. “What if all of the men went out with the same girl—or girls? Say two? Maybe three?”

“And these guys didn’t call again? The woman—or women—killed the bastards? Are females really that angry? Really?”

“Sometimes. Okay, maybe not,” I said.

“Well, somebody has to be pissed enough to kill them and string them up.”

“They were all . . . hanged?”

He risked another look at me and then back to the road. I noticed he was a very good driver.

“Do you really want to know all the details, Alex?” he asked. “All the . . . gory details?”

“What do you think?” I looked at him. “Just think of me the way you would Detective Davis.”

He flashed me a sexy grin and said, “Trust me, that ain’t gonna happen.”

Chapter 25

We were in the living room of a small house deep in the San Fernando Valley. It was a middle-class residential area where one of the young men, Tom Nolan, grew up.

Jakes told me he had not called ahead. He never liked to warn people that he was going to be questioning them, not even the family members of the deceased.

“You don’t suspect the families.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not in this case, but you never know what you can learn by surprising people.”

So we surprised Nolan’s mother, who let us in when Jakes showed her his ID. As planned, he introduced me as his “associate.” She didn’t ask any questions.

She showed us into the small, neat living room and said her husband was at work. She could call him if we wanted her to.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jakes said. “We just have some questions about Tom’s death. We’re sorry to intrude, but—”

“Have you taken over his case?” she asked. She sat on the sofa and rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly cold. She was as neat and well taken care of as the room. Not expensively dressed or made-up, but she apparently knew how to use her clothes and makeup to show herself off to her best advantage. Her hair was black as coal. I was sure it was dyed, but it was a good dye job, making her look younger than she was, which was probably early fifties. Her body showed she spent time at a gym.

“Yes, ma’am, we have,” Jakes said. “We believe that whoever killed Tom has also killed at least four other young men around the same age, so we’re consolidating all the cases.”

Her eyes widened. She looked from Jakes to me and then back. “You mean my son was killed by a serial killer?”

“We haven’t put a label to the killer yet, Mrs. Nolan,” he said.

“My name is Sadowski,” she said. “Tom changed his name to Nolan for his acting.”

“Sorry,” Jakes said. “Mrs. Sadowski, did Tom work much as an actor?”

“On and off,” she said. “He always told us when he was going to be in something. H-he hadn’t booked anything in a while.”

I stood and listened as Jakes continued to ask questions. Watching him only confirmed what I already suspected to be true—he was very good at his job. I guess last year, when he was questioning me, I was too busy to notice. He asked her things I knew he had the answers to, but they always seemed to set up another question he needed answered. He had a way with women, was very good putting them at ease, but I knew that much already, didn’t I?

“Mrs. Sadowski—” he started, but she stopped him.

“Just call me Margie, okay? It’s better than Missus. Makes me feel so . . . old.”

“Okay, Margie,” he said. “Did Tom ever tell you that he’d been threatened by anyone? Or did he have a fight with anyone?”

“I told the other detectives, Tom didn’t fight. He was . . . gentle. People liked him. I can’t think of anyone who’d do this to him. I’ve wracked my brain for just one reason.”

“And your husband?”

“He doesn’t know anything—he knows less about Tom than I do. They didn’t . . . get along. Not since Tom quit law school to act.”

“Your husband is a lawyer?”

“Yes,” she said. “Corporate. He has his own firm, a small one. He had dreams of Tom working with him. He’s very bitter—
was
very bitter—that it never happened.”

“What about you, Margie?”

“What do you mean?” She looked at me. I kept my librarian’s face blank.

“Are you bitter? About anything?”

“Well . . . yeah,” she said, looking at him like he was crazy. She hugged herself tighter. “I’m bitter about losing my son.”

“Do you have any other children?”

“No.” She looked in my direction again and this time spoke to me. “Do you have a cigarette? I’m trying to quit.” She wrung her hands and then shook them out. “Don’t know what to do with my hands.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t smoke.”

She looked at Jakes.

“Sorry.”

“It’s becoming such a nonsmoking world,” she complained.

Jakes asked a few more questions, thanked her and then asked for the address of her husband’s office. After that we left.

 

“You’re very good at this,” I said, in the car.

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your questions, remember?”

“I’ve been doing it for a long time.” He started the car.

“Are we going to see the husband now?”

“No,” he said. “We’ll go see Aaron Summers’s folks.”

“Why not the husband?”

“Because she’ll call him now and he’ll be waiting for us,” he answered. “I want to talk to him when he’s not expecting us.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

Chapter 26

Aaron Summers’s parents lived in a much more up-scale neighborhood than Tom Nolan’s, in an area adjacent to Hollywood called Hancock Park. Gorgeous homes built in the twenties and thirties. Unfortunately, it’s surrounded by a not so nice section of Hollywood. We had to wait at the front gate while Jakes identified himself and then drive up a circular driveway, where he parked behind a Lexus and a big yellow Hummer.

We were let in by a maid who walked us through the house and out back by a pool, where Mr. and Mrs. Summers were sitting, both in bathing suits.

“Detective . . . ,” the man said.

“Jakes.”

“And?” He looked at me. Were we going to get away with this again?

“My associate,” Jakes said.

The man waited, and when Jakes didn’t say anything else he asked, “What can we do for you and your associate, Detective Jakes?”

I looked at the woman I assumed was his wife. She had bleached blond hair, big dark glasses and fake boobs of the Pamela Anderson variety on a toned body barely covered by a bikini. Does everybody in LA live at the gym but me? Apparently so. She was about thirty. I suddenly realized this couldn’t be Aaron’s mother. Probably wife number two—or more.

Her husband was a direct contrast to her, about thirty years older. The black hair on his flabby chest and portly stomach was wet with perspiration, as was his bald dome.

I looked at Jakes. He was staring straight at Mr. Summers. I admired his dedication to duty and the fact that he wasn’t mesmerized by the double Ds.

“We’re here to talk to you about your son, Aaron,” Jakes said.

“Talk to his mother, not me.”

“Why not you?”

“He and I hadn’t talked for a long time before he . . . died.”

“He didn’t just die, Mr. Summers,” Jakes said. “Somebody killed him.”

“Same thing.”

“No,” Jakes said, “it’s not the same thing. Frankly, I’m a little disappointed by your attitude, Mr. Summers.”

“Well, I was very disappointed in Aaron,” the man said.

Was this the same situation as with Tom Nolan’s father? I wondered. Father disappointed in son’s choice of career? Did this happen with daughters, too? I thought about Sarah and wondered what she would decide to do for a career, and how I’d feel about it. Short of her taking up lap dancing, I doubted I’d have a problem with whatever she chose to do.

“You didn’t approve of his career?”

“That acting thing? That’s not a career,” the man said. “That’s a joke. You know how many parts he’s had in six years? Two. And a million auditions he never got called back for.”

“That’s the business,” Jakes said.

“It’s his mother’s fault,” Summers said. “She encouraged him.”

“When’s the last time you saw your son, Mr. Summers?” Jakes asked.