Insidious (31 page)

As they escorted Veronica out of the conference room, Sherlock said, “Have you seen Rob Rasmussen since Tuesday night at the mansion?”

“No, why?”

“Just curious. What did you think of him?”

“Well, I have to say I have fond memories of the boy, but I don’t know the man yet. He’s got those unmistakable Rasmussen good looks. From what Venus tells me, he’s turned into a model citizen, a good businessman. But I think he’ll have to convince the rest of them, though. Tuesday night he was obviously on his best behavior, wanting everybody happy he was back.” She sighed. “He’s not at all like Alexander, thank goodness.”

Veronica paused, looked up at Savich. “I know you and Alexander don’t get along, but do you think he’s guilty of trying to murder his own grandmother?”

He only smiled. “Thanks again for coming, Veronica.”

54

CENTURY CITY

LOS ANGELES

FRIDAY MORNING

When they stepped off the elevator at the Culver Building an hour and a half later, Markham’s assistant showed them into his office without a word. Markham rose slowly from behind his desk. He said something to a man seated in front of his desk and the man left quickly, not meeting their eyes.

“Forgive Bobby, he doesn’t like cops. I find accountants rarely do. His brother’s in prison for embezzlement.” He eyed them. “So why are you here again? I’ve already cooperated with answering your questions, more than I needed to. So why am I still in your loop?” He laid his fist against the top of his desk.

Cam said, “We’re here to tell you that Gloria Swanson was attacked last night in her home in Santa Monica.”

Markham looked like he’d been shot. He stared at them, not speaking, obviously shaken.

“She’s all right,” Daniel said. “She saved herself. One of our people called some of the actresses we were worried might be possible targets. Gloria bought a gun and when the Serial came, she shot at him but didn’t hit him. Unfortunately, he’s still at large.”

Cam stepped forward. “Mr. Markham, are you all right? Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, no, thank you. She’s really all right?”

“Yes, she’s quite safe,” Daniel said. “Can you tell us where you were last night, say around one a.m.?”

Markham stared blankly at Daniel as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. He moistened his mouth with his tongue. “You think I could have— You’re crazy. I was at home, asleep, with my wife, in our bed. I left the house at eight o’clock this morning.”

Cam said, “You never mentioned the lead role in
The Crown Prince
was about to go to Connie Morrissey before she was murdered. The same role you then gave to Deborah Connelly. The role she was playing when she was murdered on Tuesday night. You didn’t think that fact would interest us? You didn’t think our knowing that was important?”

He stared at Cam. “What? No, of course that was true, but I was in shock about Deborah’s death and I didn’t think of it.” He looked back and forth between them, both of them hard-faced with not a bit of give. “Really, it didn’t occur to me at the time. I’m not lying and besides, what difference does it make?”

“Where were you Tuesday night, sir?”

“Tuesday night?”

“The night Deborah was murdered.”

“I was at the studio, studying rushes from
The Crown Prince
. We ran really late that night. Then I went home.”

“How long after Connie was murdered did you offer Deborah her role in
The Crown Prince
?”

“I don’t remember, a week, maybe, I don’t know. Casting contacted me, I think, cleared Ms. Connelly, and that’s why that madman Doc murdered her. I’m sure he fought her tooth and nail about it. Maybe she had enough and wanted to leave him. I know she was
over-the-top happy when she was by herself filming in Italy those two weeks. I’ll bet seeing him again, listening to him grill her, accuse her of sleeping with other actors—”

He ground down, shut his mouth.

Cam said immediately, “You’re sleeping with Gloria and that’s why you helped her get the lead in
Hard Line
, right?”

He stiffened. “This Gloria Swanson will be as famous as the first one and that role will be her springboard. She’s as talented as Connie was. She deserves the role in
Hard Line
. She’ll be excellent. Sleeping with her has nothing to do with it.”

“But it didn’t hurt she was sleeping with you, right? Like Connie Morrissey was sleeping with you? And now Gloria was almost murdered like Connie was, if she hadn’t been smart. Help us out here, Mr. Markham. Make us understand. What does that say to you?”

“I don’t know! Do you hear me, I don’t understand any of this. You should do your job instead of badgering me—” He broke off and licked his lips again. “Did Gloria tell you we were sleeping together?”

“No, she didn’t,” Cam said. “As I recall, she said you would prefer she didn’t say. But of course you were, just as you were sleeping with Connie.”

“I have a family and I don’t want my wife involved in any of this. We have an understanding, but that includes keeping our private lives out of the press. It would ruin things for me.”

Cam wanted to punch him, but she steamed ahead, ignoring his last remark. “Did you have another secret? Like sleeping with Deborah? Is that why you gave her Connie’s role in
The Crown Prince
?”

“No!” He fidgeted with a pen on his desk, then said, his voice sullen, “I saw her audition, realized she was born to play the role. Look, I didn’t pay people to give roles to Connie or Gloria. The truth is, I did get Gloria the audition for the detective role on
Hard Line
because I know she’s gutsy, savvy, and I know she’ll nail the part, give the show
more depth, more complexity. It was in my best interest. She shined at the audition, as I knew she would. She earned that role.”

“And how about the actress who will replace Deborah Connelly in
The Crown Prince
? Is she currently on standby?”

“Of course not. That’s insulting.”

Cam leaned in. “How many actresses have been special to you, Mr. Markham? Any of the other victims?”

“I appreciate beautiful and talented women. They appreciate my influence. I wouldn’t hurt any of them. It’s that Doc character you should be looking at.”

Daniel said, “Is that why you hired a private investigator, Gus Hampton, to find proof Dr. Mark Richards murdered Deborah Connelly? Because you didn’t believe we would look at him closely? Why are you so convinced Doc murdered Deborah?”

Markham gave them a disgusted look. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a cigar, clipped it, fondled it between his fingers, and finally lit it. “My hiring Hampton wasn’t a secret. I hired him because I concluded that you’re fools. I’ve told you over and over about Doc and what he’s like, but you’ve latched on to me instead.”

Daniel said, “Why do you care so much? Why are you spending so much money to prove Dr. Richards guilty of murdering his girlfriend?”

Markham slashed his hand through the air, sending ashes flying from the cigar. “She might have been his girlfriend, but she was starring in my movie, the movie Connie was going to do. He did it, I know he did, because I saw them together and you didn’t! Connie and Deborah were friends, I told you that, and Doc couldn’t stand Connie because she stood with Deborah against him when he belittled her. He was rabid about her quitting her acting career, I saw it when they were together, and so did Connie.” He was panting, beside himself. “I couldn’t save either of them. They’re both gone because of that monster!”

The room was silent except for his hoarse breathing. Markham drew himself up. “Richards is a monster. There is no doubt in my mind he murdered Deborah. I’ll spend whatever it takes to prove it if you don’t.”

And he turned his back on them.

55

SANTA MONICA POLICE DEPARTMENT

333 OLYMPIC DRIVE

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

The Santa Monica police station was all modern angles and glass, with a pool and fountain outside, but inside, it was all cop shop, with suspects and victims leaking anger or misery, detectives on their cell phones or computers, their voices in constant conversation. After introducing Cam and Daniel to the police chief, Jacqueline Seabrooks, Arturo stopped by his desk to pick up his laptop, then took them to a conference room on the second floor. They saw through the two-way mirror that the room held a solid new table, a floor of shiny clean linoleum. Even the chairs looked comfortable.

Doc was the only one in the room. He was seated at the middle of the table, staring back at them although they knew he couldn’t see them. He was wearing khakis, a short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt, and Tevas on his long tanned feet. His fingers were beating a light tattoo on the tabletop, clearly a habit he didn’t even realize he was doing. He looked lost, defeated, still deadened with grief. They watched him drop his head into his hands.

Daniel said, “It looks to me like Doc’s at the bottom of a well of grief. I’ve never known anyone good enough to fake that.”

Cam felt the familiar surge of pity for him, closed it down. She
fairly itched to run the interview, but remembered Dillon’s words about letting local cops take the lead whenever possible. Let them shine when you can, the FBI will make a friend forever. And since Arturo had been the one to break Doc’s alibi, she sucked it up. “Arturo, I’ve dealt with Doc only as a victim, and this has to be hard-edged. You interview him, and Daniel and I will stay outside and watch.”

He gave her a surprised look, slowly nodded. “If he killed Deborah Connelly, he might also have tried to kill Gloria last night, would have, too, if she wasn’t smarter than he is. Have I ever got a surprise for him. I’ll check the recorder’s on.” Arturo cracked his knuckles, and strode into the conference room, like a bull charging a red cape.

He nodded to Doc, calmly pulled out a chair and sat down. He didn’t say a word, only studied him. Doc slowly raised his head, stared at him out of a face that looked sick and pale, that looked a decade older than when Arturo had seen him the day after Deborah had died. He didn’t look like he cared about anything around him, didn’t care he was sitting in a police station. He was only filling space, waiting. Arturo felt a moment of uncertainty, quashed it. Maybe he was misreading him, maybe what he was seeing was depression and regret for killing Deborah. Facts were facts. The guy had lied, pure and simple, no reason for it unless he’d killed her, sliced her neck open, trying to copy the Serial. He continued to study him.

Finally, Arturo saw a flick of fear on Doc’s face at his continued silence. About time. Good, he was ready to go.

Arturo smiled. “Dr. Richards, thank you for coming to the station. You understand that our conversation today will be recorded? It’s standard policy, for your protection as well as ours.”

Doc waved his hand. There was misery in his voice when he spoke. “Of course, of course, anything to help find Deborah’s murderer. That monster is still out there.”

“
Not for much longer,” Arturo said, voice smooth and calm. “Trust me on that.” He leaned forward, saw Doc’s lips were dry and cracked. “Let’s start again with where you were the night Deborah was murdered.”

Doc reared back in his chair. “I already told you I was working at the hospital that night. I’ve told everyone who’s asked me. The little boy I operated on earlier that day—Phoenix Taylor—he needed close attention. His parents were sleeping by the bed, they were upset, and so I spoke to them frequently, reassuring them. I had other duties as well, other patients to look in on.”

Arturo said easily, “I know what you’ve told us, Doctor, but I want you to try to remember all the details. You weren’t with the Taylor boy all night long, were you? Didn’t you take bathroom breaks, get some sleep?”

“Yes, of course I did. Coffee can keep you awake only so long—” He paused, frowned. “You can’t really nap on the floor, with all the machines beeping, all the lights and noise, so I remember now, I did go to the doctors’ on-call room to catch a nap. I was exhausted, so I excused myself. I was gone for less than an hour. No longer, I know that.”

“Sure, I can understand you needed a break, some rest. How do you know you weren’t gone for longer than an hour?”

Doc shrugged. “I’m lucky if I get to sleep that long when I’m on duty. But I wasn’t officially on call Monday night, so I set an alarm.”

“Nice nap, Doctor?”

“Yes. And while I was sleeping . . .” His voice died away. He cleared his throat. “It was only a few hours before I found Deborah.”

Arturo said, “Before we go any further, Doctor, there’s a video you should see.” He punched a key and Nurse Anna Simpson appeared on the screen. “Do you know this woman?”

“Yes, that’s Anna. Why are you—”

“Listen to her statement, Doctor.” Mrs. Anna Simpson looked square in her forties, a seasoned nurse, her voice firm and no-nonsense. She was asked to give her name, her length of service at the hospital, and to say in her own words what happened that night. “Monday was my final night shift for four weeks. I remember it was a little before midnight, a tough time if some of the patients can’t sleep. Not as bad as 2:00 a.m. when—” She stopped, shook her head at herself. “In any case, one of Dr. Richards’s patients, Joan Thomas, was asking for a sedative, and she hadn’t been scheduled for one, so I needed a doctor to okay it. I knew Dr. Richards was at the hospital that night even though he wasn’t on call because he’d operated that afternoon on a young boy, Phoenix Taylor. The parents were upset, not Phoenix—he was doing fine—but Dr. Richards stayed. He’s like that, conscientious, always willing to spend time with a patient’s parents if they need him to.

“I checked the floor but couldn’t find him and he didn’t answer his page. One of the nurses said she’d seen him going toward the doctors’ on-call room. I checked. There was only one intern in there, Dr. Lyons, snoring like a bull. I’m very sure Dr. Richards wasn’t there. I called his cell, but it went to voice mail. I had to leave a message. I didn’t call him again because Dr. Lyons came around and okayed the patient’s sedative.