Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (24 page)

I knew by the way that Shannon had pronounced the word “Jew” that I should be completely offended, however the only emotion I could manage was horror. When I didn’t respond right away Shannon made a show of looking at her watch. “I am sorry, but I really must get to that meeting.”

“Right, I’ll…I’ll be hearing from you later then? About talking with DC Smooth?”

“I said I’ll be in touch.”

I nodded and walked numbly from her office. It felt like it took me an hour to get from there to my rental car. All my instincts had been wrong. I had shared a cab with him, spent the day with him, kissed him, hell, I had almost made love to him…just a few hours after he had chopped Barbie up with a hatchet.

I squeezed the keys into my palm until they made an indentation. How could I have been so stupid? I had been dating a serial killer. Not Dena, me. This went way beyond the standard “I went out with him twelve times before I found out he had a wife” faux pas. How could I have been so completely deceived? Dena knew and she hadn’t even met him. My horror started to melt into something else—total rage. Fuck him. He thought he had me fooled? Well guess what, I was five steps ahead of him. I jammed the key into the ignition and took off in search of a Starbucks. I was going to find the evidence I needed, hand it over to the police, and beat the living shit out of him before they had a chance to haul his sorry ass to his private cell on death row.

I parked the car and called Shannon’s mother on my cell as I got in line to order my Frappuccino. As predicted I got her voice mail. I cleared my throat before the beep. “Hi, my name is Sophie Katz, I’m a…an acquaintance of your daughter’s and I was a business associate of your husband’s. Shannon gave me your number. I was hoping that we could talk for just a few minutes. There are just a few things I need to ask you.” I left all my phone numbers and hung up. Hopefully my evasiveness would pique her curiosity enough to call back. Next, I speed-dialed Dena.

“Guilty Pleasures, how can we make you smile?”

“Dena, it’s me.”

“Sophie. How’s Hell? Or do you prefer to call it L.A.?”

“Funny, it doesn’t look like Hell, in fact it looks a lot like a Starbucks.”

“They have Starbucks in Hell, they only serve decaf.”

I winced. “I think Dante’s
Inferno
would be preferable. But I didn’t call to discuss my addiction, I wanted you to know that Jason’s off the hook.”

“Yeah, I heard. I
told
you it wasn’t him.”

“What do you mean you heard? Wait a minute.” I brought the phone away from my ear just long enough to place an order. “Okay, I’m back, explain yourself.”

“First off, he was at a job orientation when Barbie was killed, and he has a solid alibi for the evening Tolsky was killed, I’ve verified all of it. Oh, and as far as I can tell he’s never been to New York. Secondly I talked to Barbie’s parents again. All of Mark’s shit is hitting the fan. You know I saw that bastard in front of the store a few weeks ago but I didn’t know who he was. I wish Barbie had seen him, then maybe…” Dena coughed in a failed attempt to disguise the tremor that had colored her last words. “So here’s the deal—Mark was a chief player in a major Vegas drug ring,” she continued, her voice back to its original strength. “All the celebrity addicts purchased their happy juice from this guy. Maybe not directly every time, but his hand was always in the pie in one way or another.”

“Uh-huh, so how is this relevant?”

“How is this relevant? Sophie, it was
him.
JJ Money was a known addict. He went to Vegas all the time, and I’m sure Tolsky made a few trips, or if not, you better believe some of his buddies did. He had a major in with both guys. He’s your stalker and he’s gonna get fried for it. How’s that for justice?”

I collected my drink from the counter and took a long sip of whipped cream. “So you think Mark is our psycho because he might have dealt drugs to JJ Money and Tolsky, presuming, of course, that Tolsky has ever even been to Vegas, which is a pretty big presumption considering it’s based on absolutely
nothing.
”

“Oh, excuse me, amateur sleuth extraordinaire. Do you have a better suspect?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.” I closed my eyes. I wasn’t ready to verbalize it. That would make it too real.

“Sophie, you there?”

“Anatoly. Anatoly and Tolsky were friends. I know it for a fact.”

“Oh, shit, Sophie.”

I moved the brownie bits around in my cup. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Are you going to tell the police?”

“Tell them what, exactly?”

“Right, we’ve been over this. So how are we going to collect evidence?”

“I got two leads from Tolsky’s daughter that I think are worth following up on. The first involves researching one of Tolsky’s extracurricular activities. He was having an affair with a woman who most likely lives in San Francisco.”

The line was quiet for a moment or two. Finally I heard what I assumed was Dena sucking air in through her teeth. “So…you think Anatoly might be a…woman?”

The corners of my mouth began to shake, threatening the frown I had been wearing since I had spoken with Shannon. “No! I think that there’s a chance that Anatoly knows the woman Tolsky’s been dating, and maybe she knows me and that’s how he decided to make me his next target, or maybe the two of them are working together. That’s what we have to find out. But Anatoly’s a man—that fact doesn’t require further investigation.”

“And you know this because you checked, right?”

“Dena.”

“Because I’ve seen some pretty convincing transvestites, Sophie. And some of the hard-core lesbians can give a whole new definition to ‘butch.’ I remember this one person came into the shop and, I swear…she was a member of that group Dykes on Bikes and… Oh, fuck, didn’t you say Anatoly drove a Harley? Do you think—”

“No, Dena, he’s not a dyke on a bike.” The woman at the next table gave me a funny look; I turned my chair away from her and continued in a hushed tone. “He’s a male. He was born a male, he grew up as a male and he is now just one big male.”

“How big? Are we talking cucumber or zucchini?”

“Dena, I really need you to focus here, okay? We are not talking about sex. We are talking about murder.”

“Well, actually, we’re talking about
Sex, Drugs
and
Murder.
You are the one who came up with the title.”

“Dena.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I just thought it might help to lighten things up a bit. So we have to figure out what Frisco chick was giving it up for Tolsky. What else?”

“DC Smooth is featured in an upcoming Tolsky production.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I read something about that. They filmed one of his scenes between court appearances.”

“Really? God, that is so weird. I mean, who are these people that they can be tried for murder one minute and then be putting makeup on to prep for their film debut the next? That is just not normal….”

“Sophie?

“Yeah?”

“Focus.”

“Cute.” I rested my elbows on the faux pine table. “Okay, Shannon said that she would try to set up a telephone interview with DC for me.”

“My, my, aren’t we the little criminal social climber. Who’s next, Manson?”

“Hey, at this rate you never know. Anyway, those are the only two bits of information that Shannon gave me that might possibly lead me to some sort of tangible evidence. If it doesn’t work, if I turn up nothing…”

“It’ll work. We know who the killer is, we know his strategy, it’s just a matter of time till we nail him.”

“Time is the one thing we haven’t—”

“We’re going to get him, Sophie.”

I slurped up the last remnants of my Frappuccino. I believed her. What choice did I have? “I have four hours before my flight leaves—what should I do?”

“Why don’t you try to contact Tolsky’s wife? Maybe she knows who the other woman is.”

“Tried that. She’s presently missing in action.”

“Then try to relax and do some L.A. stuff. Go get yourself a drive-through Botox injection or something. Nothing will cheer a girl up like getting her face paralyzed.”

I laughed out loud, causing a few of my fellow caffeine addicts to turn and look. “I love you, Dena. No matter how down I am you always find a way to get me up.”

“You have no idea how many men have told me the exact same thing.”

I giggled and leaned back in my chair. A sophisticated but anorexicly thin older woman walked through the door and got in line. She had tastefully dyed white-blond hair that she had shaped into a stylish shoulder-length cut, and her skin was unnaturally youthful. She looked incredibly familiar.

“Sophie, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s just that this woman walked in and I know I’ve seen her before but I can’t place her.”

“Not all that surprising considering your location. She’s probably some struggling actress who landed a bit part on one episode of
Melrose Place.
”

“No, she’s not really giving off a starlet kind of vibe….” I watched the woman pat her perfect hair…and then it hit me. “Dena, I know her because I’ve seen her picture in the paper. It’s Mrs. Tolsky!”

“Wait. Sophie, are you sure? L.A.’s a big place and it would be a pretty big coincidence if Mrs. Tolsky walked into the same café that you’re in just when you were hoping to talk to her.”

“I know it’s a miracle, but I swear to God that’s her!” I slapped my hand against the table as Mrs. Tolsky approached the register. “That is why I love Starbucks. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or what social world you’re from, chances are you will still eventually end up at a Starbucks in order to revel in the taste sensation provided by the Frappuccino. It is the great equalizer of our time.”

“I’m serious, Sophie, you need to find yourself a twelve-step program.”

“Yeah, whatever, Dena. I gotta go.”

I hung up the phone and walked up to the bar where Mrs. Tolsky was now awaiting her drink.

“Mrs. Tolsky?”

The woman looked me up and down. “Do I know you?”

“No…no, but I just left a message on your cell phone….”

Mrs. Tolsky angled her body away from me. “I’m sorry but I don’t have time for this right now. I have to pick up my drink and go.”

“Oh, this won’t take long. I just think that maybe if we took few minutes to talk we could help each other make sense of what happened to your husband. I…I know how difficult it is to lose a loved one and it must be awful to think that someone you cared for took his own life, but I think that your daughter may be right about it not being a suicide.”

A barista announced the arrival of a nonfat sugar-free vanilla latte, and Mrs. Tolsky snatched it up. She held it in front of her as if it could serve as some kind of barrier between me and her. “I believe your voice message indicated that you spoke to my daughter. Is that correct?”

“Yes, and…”

“Did she seem like a person whose opinion you could trust?”

I hesitated. There was nothing about Shannon that I trusted, but then again, I didn’t trust walking skeletons who ordered nonfat sugar-free lattes either.

Mrs. Tolsky took my silence as a reply. “There you have it. Now, if you’ll excuse me I must get to my appointment.” She turned her back on me and stormed out of the café.

I ran out to the parking lot in hot pursuit. “Mrs. Tolsky, wait, just give me two minutes.”

“We have nothing to discuss,” she replied as she slipped into her Mercedes. “Please refrain from making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Okay, just one minute, then!” I raised my voice as she slammed the door and started the engine. “I’ll even buy you a Frappuccino! It’s low-fat and everything!”

But Mrs. Tolsky just put the car into gear and drove away. “Gosh,” I whispered to myself, “I can’t imagine which of her parents Shannon takes after.”

The rest of my stay in L.A. turned out to be completely unproductive. I tried Mrs. Tolsky’s cell a few more times, to no avail. I drove by the Tolskys’ residence in hopes that I might see her or her car in the driveway. I didn’t quite anticipate that the driveway would be the length of Route 66. Louis XIV would have been green with envy.

By the time I got back to San Francisco the only thing I wanted to investigate was my bed. I was a little nervous about the idea of spending the night alone in my apartment when a former member of the Russian and Israeli armies might be trying to kill me, but at least I knew who he was now. And he knew I knew; the knife thing hadn’t been real subtle. So he would have to proceed more carefully going forward. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d abandon his project and move on to someone else. Stephen King, perhaps. He was pretty violent.

I took a cab from the airport. No long searches for the elusive parking spot tonight. Now I could just step out right in front of my door, crawl upstairs and…I squinted my eyes to make out who was sitting on the front steps as the cab approached. It was a woman. As we got closer I could see Mary Ann’s curly brown hair. What the hell was she thinking, sitting out there alone like that? I quickly paid the driver and got out to meet her. “Mary Ann, this is not safe—”

She jumped to her feet and grabbed both my hands. “I did the research on JJ Money. Want to hear?”

No, I wanted to sleep. I looked up at the windows to my place and then back to Mary Ann. She was beginning to cut off the circulation in my fingers. “Okay, come up and tell me.”

I led her in, threw some food at Mr. Katz and collapsed on the love seat. Meanwhile Mary Ann was doing some kind of agitated little dance in the middle of my living room. Whatever she had discovered must have been big. I sat up a little straighter.

“So, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Three weeks before JJ Money was killed, his car was vandalized in an upscale parking garage.”

“They have upscale parking garages in New York?”

“Somebody painted something that looked like a gang insignia on his driver’s side door. Have you ever seen the video for
On Top?
”

“Only the video they keep showing on the news. You know, where they show the guy bleeding in the alley the way JJ Money later was bleeding himself after he was shot.”