Authors: Chris Frank,Skip Press
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #mystery, #Hard-Boiled
Jim and Lisa had spent the last two hours searching the Web for any articles written about the three victims, looking for anything that might link them together, as the killer had. So far, the only thing they had in common was that each was successful in his or her chosen field. Paul Artridge was a gay defense attorney who took unwinnable high profile cases and won them. When someone called an attorney a shark they might as well have called him an Artridge. The man was a champion of gay rights and was politically very active. He was a fundraiser yet not a philanthropist, unlike Janette McDermott. Janette had achieved the point of financial independence where giving back not only felt good, it got her headlines. Her work with the Pacific tortoise resulted in them no longer being on the verge of extinction. It earned her the moniker “Turtle Dove” which she proudly displayed as her personalized license plate. She was on the Board of Directors at St. Ignatius Loyola Church in Pasadena. The same St. Ignatius Loyola Church that was rocked by accusations of priestly improprieties with the altar boys in the early nineties but was successfully defended by, who else, Paul Anthony Artridge.
Was that it? Was this guy pissed that he was a molestation victim and Artridge cheated him out of money?
Where did that put La Pense? There was nothing to link the French chef to the others. No record that she was defended by Artridge, no record that she had ever been to St. Ignatius Loyola Church in Pasadena. No record that Janette McDermott had sold her a house.
Was it the fact they were all rich?
That really narrowed the field
, Jim thought cynically,
to probably about 200 million Americans jealous of the well to do
.
No, there was nothing specific to string them together, but there had to be. It was probably right under their noses, but it remained out of reach. Jim leaned back in his chair and began gently stroking Lisa’s hair when the cell phone rang.
“Jovian,” he answered. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Yes, I do. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone.
Lisa looked over to Jim.
“Captain Jones?”
Jim wasn’t surprised by anything that Lisa said.
“I told you the first day I met you that you were one sharp cookie, Ms. Klein.”
“Thank you, Officer Jovian. That means a lot.”
“I’ve got to go see the Captain,” Jim said as he stood to make his exit.
“What are you going to do?” asked Lisa.
“Maybe I’ll start by wishing him a good morning.”
Day 3: 12:01 p.m.
He was not a fan of television; he did, however, enjoy the written word. He obtained copies of the
L.A. Times
and the
Daily News
to check out the latest reviews of his opus. It gave him great satisfaction. He was a star; his work was everywhere. Adjectives such as brutal, heinous, and horrific flew off the pages at him, like roses thrown at the prima ballerina. No one had connected the clues yet, at least not in the rags. Who knew where the police were and frankly, who cared? When that day came they would see his genius and it would be a race to the finish.
Day 3: 12:15 p.m.
Jim made it to Parker Center in record time. He was prepared for anything the Captain could throw at him. He opened the door to Jones’ outer office and let himself in.
“Yes?” Mary asked.
“Jim Jovian for Captain Jones.”
“Go right in, he’s waiting.”
Jim nodded an acknowledgment and opened the door to the inner sanctum. The office looked like a gale storm had hit it, with files, loose papers, and photos scattered everywhere. He could not believe that this was the same office that he had been in the day before, which had been immaculate.
“Captain.”
“Sit down.”
Jim looked around but for the life of him could not find a place to sit.
Captain Jones was not in the mood for games.
“Clear off a chair and sit the fuck down.”
Jim did as he was told.
“There’s some bad shit going down right now, Jovian, bad shit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That thing you found carved on the tree…’
“The ‘one’?”
“Yes, the goddamn ‘one’. Well, it meant something.”
“I thought so, sir.”
“You don’t look surprised.”
“No, sir. Not after the killer put the ‘two’ in the turtle cage and the ‘three’ in the powdered sugar.”
Captain Jones sat back in his chair and touched the five fingers of his right hand to their equivalents on his left and brought the assembly to his lips. He sat in silence for a brief moment, then opened the top right drawer of his hand-carved desk and pulled out Jim’s badge and gun. He slid them across the table and Jim picked them up.
“As of right now, you are reinstated.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any fucking idea why?”
“I don’t think it’s because of my dry sense of humor, sir.”
“Tell me what you think, because frankly I don’t know whether to reinstate you or put you in jail.”
“I’m a good cop, Captain. If I could find out so much about the killer when I don’t even have a badge then, as a citizen, I may be a problem for the police force. You want to reinstate me, so that you can watch me, so that, as a police officer, I do not leak to the media anything to jeopardize this investigation or put the department in a bad light. I would also like to believe that you think that I can help catch this asshole. Am I right, sir?”
Captain Jones neither agreed nor disagreed, but he chuckled a little.
“I’m moving you downtown to homicide. Mary will give you all the information about your new assignment and pay schedule.”
Jim wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing.
“Pay schedule, sir?”
“I’m promoting you to detective. Now get the fuck out of my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
Officer Jim Jovian of the West Covina Police department stood, left his boss and stepped into a whole new world.
Day 3: 4:17 p.m.
He thought there was a certain amount of poetic justice in making Target the site of his purchase. There seemed to be no limit to the variety of wares offered at this one-stop shopping superstore. He passed the children’s clothes, the microwave ovens, and garden supplies before reaching the pet section. He weighed his various options before settling on the bamboo cage; it was light and would be very easy to use. Alice would love it. If he was going to improvise, he was going to do so with style.
Day 3: 5:12 p.m.
Gordon Ring loved to gamble. Living in Los Angeles made quick getaways to Las Vegas all the easier. Not much planning had to go into a trip, just the urge to make some cash, or in Gordon’s case, lose it. His Southwest flight returned to Los Angeles International Airport eight minutes late, dispersing its passengers at Gate 3A. Gordon was one of the last to exit, as he had forgotten to print his boarding pass early. As a consequence of the Southwest open seating policy, Gordon found himself in the rear of the airplane, wedged between a balding man with fat shoulders and someone who looked like a retired biker. Gordon did not feel much like complaining; while growing up in Chicago, he had never dreamed of doing Christmas in Vegas. It had been a blast. A buddy he waited tables with at Pecca, the hot new Italian place on La Brea, knew a guy who comped them some rooms at the Venetian. Gordon had moved to L.A. less than a year before, looking for his big break. He had been to Vegas many times, but never like this, as a high roller. This trip was different; they met chicks, ate great food, got laid and cleaned up at the tables; Gordon pocketed a cool $2270 from the roulette wheel. He wished that he could have stayed longer, but work called and he was not about to compromise his job. A couple of grand was good but certainly not enough to change his lifestyle. He also had an audition lined up for a horror flick the day after tomorrow and he wanted to practice his frightened look in the mirror. Gordon Ring did not know that he had already landed the role.
Day 3: 10:00 p.m.
There was much to admire about the new lady newscaster; it added some extra spice to his delight at seeing himself mentioned on TV.
“I’m Stacy Davenport and here’s what’s happening in our world tonight. The culinary world was shocked today with the death of one of its rising stars. Audrey La Pense, the chef owner of La Pense restaurant in Los Angeles, was found murdered this morning at her home in Santa Monica. This is the third brutal murder in three days in Southern California; our own Gisele An is in Santa Monica. Gisele…”
The lady reporter was standing outside the La Pense home.
“Thank you, Stacy. Another day and another gruesome death has occurred in Los Angeles. Top French chef Audrey La Pense was found dead in her home in Santa Monica early this morning, according to the police, the victim of foul play…”
The anchor lady was pretty, but the reporter transfixed him. He watched her tell the story with rapt attention; the way she moved her mouth, the way she held her head and kept her composure. She really was the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. He was dying to meet her; perhaps she would return the favor.
Day 3: 11:15 p.m.
They were naked, on their backs, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep after the events of the day. The celebratory dinner at the Palm was fine; the food, good, the wine, expensive. They talked about the case but the conversation was filled with words neither of them wanted to say. When Jim was a civilian, they had shared their thoughts freely, like comrades in arms. That would be changing now. Jim was back on the police inside now, privy to data they both knew he could not share. She was still a television producer whose job it was to get that information. She was excited that he got the promotion and, whether he deserved it or not, they both knew that it could very clearly be a political maneuver to keep sensitive case facts under wraps.
Lisa had no idea where this would take their relationship. Though she said nothing about it, internally she felt as if she was already in retreat.
Jim sensed this in their sex. Life had seemed brighter earlier in the day, when he was jobless and facing an inquisition from his superiors. Since relationships were not static but dynamic in nature, he always let circumstances run their course. Still, he felt that there might be enough between them to make this work. He would make the effort to do everything possible to keep them together for as long as he could. He prayed that Lisa would do the same.
Chapter Six: The Best Laid Plans
Day 4: 7: 20 a.m.
The next morning, Jim made the coffee while Lisa watched the news on television. There had been no more murders, thank the Lord. He didn’t start his shift until 9:00 a.m. and now that he was on the inside, there would probably be an enormous amount of information to get a handle on. He was remarkably ambivalent about his new position. Jim knew that he was a good cop, but he never had ambitions to advance in the department. He also never thought that he would be in a relationship again, but there she stood. Lisa had definitely gotten under his skin. He poured them each a cup of Moroccan blend and turned to bring Lisa hers, only to find her standing directly behind him. It took cat-like reflexes to stop him from spilling the hot brew on his “System of a Down” T-shirt that she was wearing. She took the cup with both hands, sipped it, and leaned against the sink. He took a similar position, inches away.
She tossed the opening volley.
“No murders last night.”
“I know, that’s good.”
“Do you think he’s done?”
Jim shook his head.
“I wish. His pattern always seems to be, commit the murder relatively soon after midnight and then move on. It’s almost as if the day itself was important. If he commits the murder early, it gives him enough time to commit the next one. I would love to think that he was done but…”
Lisa filled in the blanks.
“He’s still got the whole day.”
Jim checked his watch. He wasn’t used to having someone finish all his sentences.
“There’s eighteen hours left.”
They drank their coffee in silence as the KVTM morning news team began airing a video of some confused ex-Mousketeer trying to break into her own home in Malibu. Lisa noticed Jim appeared to be deep in thought.
Lisa broke the silence.
“Maybe he didn’t change. Maybe he has committed the fourth murder, but we haven’t found the body yet.”
Jim shook his head.
“I thought of that. He wants them found; otherwise La Pense would still be in her foyer. You said Milt heard that there was an anonymous tip that brought the cops to the house. It had to be him. He wanted the cops to find the body so that he could keep his streak alive and in chronological order. What I can’t figure out is why?”