Fallen Angels (8 page)

He straightened his back just slightly, and she knew she’d hit the testosterone target dead center. Working around mostly men for so many years, she’d discovered the one certain way to get a guy’s attention was to question his manhood.

“I need some time by myself.”

Josie finished the glass of wine. “I’m tired,” she said. She wasn’t, but wanted to go home. If they were going to have a real conversation, she needed him sober enough to figure out what he wanted to say and then remember he said it. Also, it was important to look in his eyes, but he was carefully avoiding that. Jake wasn’t a good liar. They both knew it. She figured that’s why he wasn’t telling her anything. A lie wouldn’t work, and the truth might hurt. In her experience, the statement “I need some time by myself” was a euphemism for, “I want to try somebody else. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be back.” She got up to leave, and he didn’t move to stop her.

It was a difficult walk back to the house. A few blocks seemed like miles, and the San Gabriel Valley had turned cold. There were people on the street—distracting activity around her. She checked her Blackberry. No messages.

As Josie walked up the sidewalk toward the house, it was dark—but she could see there were two cars in her driveway. The city car was parked safely in the garage. She got closer and could make out David’s jeep beside the Porsche. Her first thought was wondering why David had been home more in the last two days than in the last two months, and immediately she felt guilty. A mother should be happy to see her son and she was, but David’s companionship frequently came not only with his dirty laundry but with conditions.

When he was a boy, David was closer to her, but as he got older Jake was his confidant and mentor. She was never certain what was going on in her son’s life—what was real, or what he wanted her to believe so she wouldn’t ask too many prying questions. She was a cop and maybe not as gullible as Jake or most of the other mothers, but lately she was resigned to ignoring his deceptions, knowing inevitably the truth would surface. Otherwise, she feared their relationship might become a series of nasty interrogations. Tonight she wasn’t certain she could play his games. Her nerves were already on overload.

She found him rummaging in the refrigerator. When she said “Hi” he straightened up and hit his head on the top shelf.

“You alright,” she said, trying to touch the back of his neck. “Kind of jumpy, aren’t you?”

He moved away. “I’m fine. You scared me. I didn’t expect you home.”

“Where did you expect me?”

“With Dad. What happened?” He pulled the butter dish out and closed the refrigerator door.

Great, she thought. They’ve already talked about it. Well, she wasn’t going to discuss her marriage problems with her son.

“You staying? Want me to make you something to eat?”

“What happened with Dad?” David asked again, taking a loaf of bread from the counter.

She sat at the breakfast table and watched him. He buttered four slices and started devouring the bread. Josie always marveled at how much food her son could consume and never gain a pound. Obviously, he got his metabolism from her. He was skinny but ate enough to keep three people alive.

“I’m guessing you already know,” she said with a tight smile.

“Male menopause.”

“Possibly.” She watched him butter and eat his fifth slice of bread. “I can make you a steak or heat up some soup. You don’t have to eat like a prisoner.”

“I told him he was a shit if he left you.”

“He’s . . . confused,” she said, not wanting to have this conversation.

“You don’t quit on people you’re supposed to love.”

Who is this guy, she thought staring at her son, this tall, goodlooking young man who was coming to her defense. At times, she wasn’t certain David even liked her anymore, but here he was on one of the weirder nights of her life taking her side, defending her instead of his father.

“Thanks,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll work things out. You wanna stay tonight?”

“Can’t,” he said, standing, brushing crumbs off his Levi’s, and leaving a mess on the table.

Josie couldn’t explain why, but the question popped into her mind, so she asked, “Did you know Misty Skylar?”

“She’s my agent. How do you know her?”

Josie rubbed her temples. It was the wrong answer. “I met her in an alley this afternoon. She’s dead.”

The color faded from David’s face. He pulled out the chair and sat. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered. “What the hell’s going on?”

“How long have you had an agent?” Her son’s proximity to two murder victims was pushing things way beyond coincidence.

“Cory introduced us a few weeks ago. She caught my set and liked the sound. We signed with her that night and that’s the only time I’ve ever spoken to her.”

“Did you know she was Hillary’s agent?”

“No . . . well, maybe yes. I don’t know. What difference does that make?”

He was upset and becoming emotional. Josie didn’t like what she was seeing. Supposedly, he hardly knew the dead woman, but he was behaving as if he’d lost a close friend.

She’d been a cop long enough to know when someone, even if he was her son, wasn’t responding the way he should.

But almost as quickly as David’s distress appeared, it vanished. He got up and walked around her to the door.

“Is it okay if I tell Cory?” he asked, before leaving. “So he doesn’t hear it on the news or the street.”

Josie didn’t care. She was more concerned about her son’s odd behavior and his connection to these people.

“Can I make a suggestion? Actually, it’s more than a suggestion,” she said before he could get away. He stopped and shrugged. She said in her captain voice, “Stay away from Cory Goldman until this investigation is over.”

“Sorry, Mom, not gonna happen, I’m not Dad. I don’t quit on people,” he responded and was gone before she could object.

Josie cleaned up the kitchen and sat alone in the den. She turned down the lights and poured herself a full glass of wine, the last of a really good Cabernet she had started a few nights ago. She flipped the switch on the CD player, and the disc was one of Jake’s, a Glen Miller big band classic, good drinking music.

She finished the wine, stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. Her intention was to relax and try not to panic about the avalanche of events coming perilously close to smothering her family.

FIVE

S
he woke up on the couch at five a.m. with a stiff neck and a headache. When she went upstairs to take a shower, Josie noticed that Jake’s bedroom closet was nearly empty. All of his favorite suits and shoes and his workout bag were gone. Somehow he’d managed to pack his belongings and get out without her knowing when or how it happened. The big surprise this morning was that his departure didn’t devastate as much as sadden her. He’d left the closet door open probably to be certain she’d realize he was gone. She closed it.

The hot shower fixed her neck and coffee cleared her head. Josie needed to work. Running her division was the one thing that kept her sane. She was always in control there and knew how to make things happen.

It was so early she beat most of the rush-hour traffic and made good time driving to Hollywood. She got off the 101 Freeway at Cahuenga and made the quick jog onto Wilcox. She stopped at the light on Yucca, and was pleased to see the street was fairly clean with no sign of the homeless encampments that occasionally popped up during the night. The faded blue wall of the Palms was visible to her right. When the light turned green, she made a turn in that direction. She hadn’t been to this location for a while and was curious to see if the infamous Palms had changed. The three-story building with the painted-over graffiti, chipped stucco and peeling wood trim looked exactly like it did fifteen years ago when she’d worked the Narcotics division. The front yard was cement with a couple of untrimmed ugly bushes in a patch of dirt near the front door. A brick planter with dead flowers and thriving weeds was under the first floor windows.

There were several loose bricks in the planter where dime dealers kept their stash. Everyone knew that was where they hid the plastic baggies, but they still did it and always got arrested. This was where Hillary allegedly bought her drugs, an unlikely hangout for the rich movie star but an easy place to score. Josie knew Fricke thought of the Palms as an easy mark for catching heroin users. It wasn’t inconceivable that the two could’ve crossed paths here.

It was quiet now. When the sun came up, most drug dealers and users were just getting to bed. She drove around the block toward the station and had to admit arresting criminals was a lot more satisfying than some of the things she was expected to do as a captain, but she figured an important function of her job was insulating her officers from all the noise and official nonsense that blew down and around them. Until somebody proved to her that Fricke was involved in this mess she was determined to protect him.

Behan was waiting in her office when she arrived. He appeared rested and wore a clean shirt and dress pants.

Josie guessed the widow had agreed to be his next bride, so she asked, “Did you and the unfortunate woman set a date?”

“Vegas, this weekend.”

“Do you even have any pension left to give this person after the divorce?”

“She’s never gonna divorce me. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll treat her like a queen, and she’ll support me for the rest of my life.”

“There’s a name for men who do that,” Josie said, opening her wardrobe closet and taking a clean uniform out of the plastic bag.

“Bad news; Mouse is gone,” Behan said, ignoring her comment.

“Gone as in left town, or she’s dead kind of gone?”

“Don’t know. Her stuff’s not in her room at the Palms.”

“Did Fricke work last night?” Josie asked, feeling a little guilty for thinking what she was thinking.

“Yeah, but he and his partner had a ton of arrests. They were tied up all night. I’m guessing she got cold feet and split.”

“Maybe,” Josie said. She was still preoccupied thinking about her son’s proximity to both murder victims, but she didn’t want to say anything to Behan. Eventually, he’d interview David, and all of that would come out. It made her uneasy to discuss her son’s involvement because she didn’t want Behan to think he had to treat David any differently than any other witness; but then she knew she’d be really annoyed if he didn’t. It was complicated.

“My guys are gonna do another interview with the two porn stars that were at Hillary’s going-away-permanently party . . . see if they can remember anything about anything.” Behan looked embarrassed and hesitated a few seconds before asking, “You got time to go up to that party house with me today?”

She was fighting the wire hanger, attempting to pin the silver captain bars on the collar of her uniform. “Why can’t Ibarra go?” she asked, knowing Behan did everything he could to stay away from his lieutenant, but she was too busy to keep filling in for her subordinate.

“The owner’s back and he’s pissed about the pieces of movie star brain all over his expensive wall. He’s some rich, big-shot attorney and the mayor’s bud. Chief Bright wants me to go up there and smooth his feathers which ain’t exactly my area of expertise, and I know it’s not Ibarra’s.”

“I’ve got to be at a Rotary Lunch in about half an hour . . . 1400 hours okay?”

“Perfect, thanks boss,” Behan said with a big relieved grin.

“Get out. I’ve got to change.”

He bounced off the couch and for the first time in months, the big redhead looked completely sober. Maybe wedding the widow wasn’t such a bad plan, Josie thought, but knew this was how it always started with Behan’s marriages—euphoria followed by a slow but inevitable descent into alcoholic misery. For his sake, she hoped this time it would be different.

The monthly Rotary Lunch was always held in an expensive restaurant off Hollywood Boulevard. Josie wasn’t a member, but usually got invited by one of the business people in the city.

She exchanged greetings with a number of the small business owners and with Harry Walsh, the head deputy city attorney assigned to the Hollywood court. Harry was a sharp, philosophical lawyer who could quote Plato and Justice Scalia with equal authority. Josie got along with him because he hated criminals as much as she did, and unlike a lot of city attorneys actually tried to find ways to put bad guys in jail.