A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (21 page)

“
Congratulations, Jessica. You’re taking on a lot, though: divorce, a new job, Chester Davis as a client and reopening the investigation into Kelly’s death.”

“I know, it seems like a lot to me, too. The agreement I signed makes me an associate at the law firm on a contingent basis. The salary we negotiated for the interim is not chump change, but it’s a good deal for them, and I’m grateful to have a place to hang my hat. A hat that’s been in mothballs for several years, I should add. Paul Worthington has offered to provide mentoring. There will be lots of folks scrutinizing what I do before anybody signs off on anything
. That kind of support is not easy to come by for junior associates these days. So, mostly, I’m not alone in any of this, except maybe the divorce part.”

“You’re not alone there either, Jessica. Consider me your post-divorce tour guide, mentor, whatever you prefer to call it. There were times I was sure I wasn’t going to make it that first year. More than once, I thought about just dropping the kids off on Mary’s door step and making a run for it.”

“I
did
run away. At least I don’t have two kids depending on me to stay sane!”

“Yeah, and the whole time they’re nudging you closer to the edge. Look, what is it you wanted to ask me about Jerry Reynolds?”

“I already talked to Paul Worthington about using Jerry’s services once he’s back in town from vacationing in Hawaii with Tommy. When he and Tommy come to the house on Friday, I’d like to take Jerry aside and bring him up to speed, deploy him as fast as I can. The dilemma, of course, is what to do about Tommy. It’s not a good idea, and maybe not even possible, to keep Tommy in the dark for long. What should we do, Frank?”

“That
is
a little tricky, Jessica. It puts Jerry in a tough spot to hide things from Tommy. That doesn’t sound so good, especially after talking about how painful it is to find out someone you trust isn’t being open. If we tell Tommy, we sort of pass that burden along to him, because we’re not ready to go to his parents with any of this.”

“Not yet. We should give it another few days at least. Maybe see what Dick Tatum is able to work out with the D.A. If Art and his team start back to work on this in earnest, they’ll have to go back to Sammy and Monica at some point and ask questions again. I’d rather they hear what’s coming from you or your dad. I don’t know. Maybe we can figure this out tomorrow night.”

“Good plan. Let’s sleep on it. Things may be clearer to one or both of us in the morning, who knows?”

“Yeah, I’ll know more once I’ve gone through the old case file. Probably more than I want to know...” Jessica said, letting her voice trail off as she signed for their dinner, charging it to her room. They headed out of the restaurant together, and paused before parting ways.

“Thanks again for dinner, Jessica, and for the conversation. I am so glad I’m not dealing with these new revelations about Kelly on my own.”

“
As tough as all of this is, I’d rather know the truth than live a deluded life.”

“Me too, that’s something else we have in common. Good night, Jessica.” With that, Frank Fontana swept Jessica into his arms for an embrace that left her lightheaded. She did not make any m
ove to break free, relishing the warmth and comfort of human contact. Surely there was nothing magic about a year.

CHAPTER 15

The contradictions in Jessica’s life hit her right between t
he eyes as she pulled on a swimsuit for a morning workout in the pool downstairs. Surrounded by luxury and comfort, she was engulfed by pleasant thoughts about dinner the night before with Frank. Nevertheless, she fought to stave off anxiety and dread. Those feelings whined and nipped, begging for her attention like a puppy shut up alone in a room.

“Not yet. I need coffee and a swim first,” she muttered to herself, as she donned a robe and flip-flops and padded down the stairs, opting to skip the elevator. When she hit the lobby, she could smell coffee coming from the Mission Inn restaurant. A quick conversation got her a cup of coffee to go, with a shot of espresso added to mimic the extra oomph she ex
tracted from coffee beans with her press pot at home.

The pool was nearly empty at this hour. Heated, it was warmer than her dad’s pool in Brentwood. She quickly established a smooth rhythm, propelling through laps as she thought about the day ahead. A to-do list formed in her mind, growing longer with each lap.

She needed to check her voicemail and email to see if Paul Worthington had heard anything from the Van der Woerts. She was plenty conflicted about news from him. If they said no, or even had reservations, it would be a setback. On the other hand, if they said yes, she was going to have to ramp up her efforts on their behalf, and soon. So, the good news is you have a client and the bad news is you have a client. Not having them as clients would definitely be worse. She and Paul hadn’t talked about what that might mean for her new job, but it couldn’t be good.

She also needed to run the address Frank had given her, mapping her route to his house in order to arrive on time for the family picnic. Under the circumstances, dinner with Uncle Don and Aun
t Evelyn was another source of anxiety rippling through her. Should she bring something? She hadn’t even thought to ask. It was Frank’s fault for getting her all shaken up with that hug. There was a cupcake store on the hotel premises. All she needed was more cupcakes, but they might go over well with the kids. A bottle of wine would be good, too, if someplace nearby carried something decent. She tried to remember what Uncle Don and Aunt Evelyn liked to drink, with no luck.

The big task that loomed was reviewing Kelly’s file. She had promised Frank she’d go through it. Staying on top of the investigation about to get underway meant organizing a file her own. Starting with a list of individuals to locate and interview. Who knew what that would entail so many years after Kelly’s death?

The swim did what it was supposed to do, both relaxed and energized Jessica to face the day. She had planned to have breakfast in her room, ordering from room service so it could be prepared while she showered and dressed. But the clanking of dishes and chatter of voices called to her from the restaurant. She preferred to be around people this morning. Poring over Kelly’s police file in her room did not sit well. Breakfast with happy, normal people won out over the prospect of facing, alone, the havoc wrought by her childhood friend’s encounter with a long-haired misanthrope and his minions.

In a short time, Jessica was sitting on the beautiful patio at the Mission Inn restaurant with breakfast selections from their wellness menu in front of her. More coffee, an egg white omelet with mushrooms and other veggies, accompanied by fresh fruit set her on the right track. It was a virtuous breakfast following a decent workout. The waiter also spoke to the manager who arranged for a box of cupcakes and a couple bottles of good wine to be sent to her room. She would not show up at Frank’s house empty-handed.

Waiting for her breakfast to arrive, Jessica checked, but there was nothing from Paul. It was a holiday after all. Even Paul Worthington and his firm might let things coast a little for the Fourth of July. The Van der Woerts were thoughtful people who weren’t likely to make judgments about important decisions rashly. Still, they were the ones who had been urging Paul Worthington’s firm to get things moving. Maybe things hadn’t gone so well after all. What had she done wrong? Had she said something to put them off? “Stop!” she commanded her hyper-vigilant mind, scanning the environment for something to justify the dread that hovered.

Jessica soon had plenty of reason to be more than a little anxious. The photos from the crime scene were shocking. She fled the confines of the restaurant where the aroma of food made it impossible for her roiling stomach to settle down. What had she been thinking, taking such horrific images into a public place where some poor unsuspecting passerby might have glimpsed them? Up a flight of stairs, Jessica found an outdoor patio area with an elaborate fountain that made pleasant gurgling sounds. She sought courage in the blue skies above her and the delicate floral beauty of the small plaza in which she sat. So much for being around people, the babble of the water would have to soothe her as she pushed on through the carnage documented in Kelly’s file.

The way Kelly’s body was found, Jessica was more certain than ever that Chester Davis had witnessed her death. The horrific photo made her more determined than ever to find who had done such a thing, accident or murder. Someone
had
hit Kelly hard enough to throw her clear of the car causing her to land with sufficient force to snap her neck, twisting her head in a grotesque way.

Kelly Fontana had been dead about 10-12 hours when her body was discovered around 7:00 a.
m. on Monday morning, January 11, 1999. That too fit what Chester Davis said he witnessed the night before about the timing of Kelly’s desperate dash into the hotel parking lot. According to the coroner, death would have been immediate. Jessica was enraged by the succinct conclusion. Immediate! What about the moments of terror before she was killed by that snap of her neck? And where had she been for days? What had she gone through before that frantic escape? Why was she being chased? Kelly was running from someone, and that someone would pay along with whoever had actually hit her.

The coroner noted contusions and abrasions on the lower left side of Kelly’s body. Bones in her left leg and her pelvis were broken in several places, indicating she had been facing the car when it hit her, also horribly consistent with the story Chet Davis told. Although Chet said she moved to get out of the way, the driver still managed to slam into her. There was a blow to her forehead consistent with those sustained when a pedestrian hits the hood or windshield of a car before being thrown clear.

The photos of Kelly at the crime scene also left no doubt about the fact that Kelly had needle marks on her arms. There was no way to tell how old they were from the photos, and nothing was said about that in the Coroner’s report. Jessica didn’t know enough about IV drug use to recognize scarring if it was there. Mostly it just looked like a lot of bruising on her arms, although she could see puncture marks too. She closed her eyes and recalled Kelly as she had been New Year’s Eve, before she started drinking that night. Laughing, bright and beautiful, she had no marks or bruising anywhere on her arms. Of course addicts chose other sites to hide their use. There was nothing in the coroner’s report regarding needles marks elsewhere on Kelly’s body, surely they would have checked. Jessica made a note to ask.

Jessica’s blood boiled as she read on. There was bruising on Kelly’s right wrist indicating that she might have been restrained at some point prior to her death. Those bruises were several days old at the time of her death. Traces of seminal fluid were also found in Kelly’s body indicating sexual activity had occurred in the days before her death. There was no evidence indicative of rape
, as specified in graphic detail. Her stomach was empty. Kelly had not eaten in the hours before her death, or may have vomited up what she ate. Small amounts of gastric fluids were found in her hair and on her skin.

She could see how Art concluded that Kelly, party girl and addict, had been on one hell of a bender during the last days of he
r life. Even the evidence of restraints on her arms could have been construed as an artifact of consensual sex, albeit on the kinkier side of things. Without Chester Davis coming forward to cry foul, it would have been hard to make a case that her death was more than a tragic accident. Had the possibility of foul play even crossed anyone’s mind? Jessica made another note.

The autopsy report and toxicology screen told the same story. Kelly, the addict, had taken a lot of drugs in the days leading up to her death. Both heroin and fentanyl were found in her system along with THC, benzodiazepine as well as traces of two substances Jessica had not heard of before: lamotrigine and risperidone. The last item on
the list gave Jessica a jolt: chloral hydrate. She
had
heard of that before.

It was the key ing
redient in the infamous Mickey Finn, as in “being slipped a Mickey.” Like that scene in the Maltese Falcon where Joel Cairo knocks private eye, Philip Marlowe, on his ass by giving him a drink laced with the stuff. The technique was, supposedly, invented by Chicago saloon owner, Mickey Finn, who spiked patrons’ drinks before robbing and dumping them outside his establishment. Even the inimitable James Bond was a victim of such a ploy, his beloved vodka adulterated by the stuff. In her head she could hear Sean Connery uttering the words “choral hydrate,” as he passed out.

Bernadette, of all people, had recently brought up the subject of chloral hydrate. They were talking about Jim and the skank he was running around with
, who was regarded by some in Hollywood as a rising star. Jessica had made a snide comment about the woman having about as much talent as Anna Nicole Smith with “most of it residing in her double-Ds.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead, Jessica. It’s disrespectful.” Bernadette had said.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the dead. I’m trying to disrespect the living. Anna Nicole Smith wasn’t exactly a pillar of the community, I might add.”

“Dios mio, Jessica,” Bernadette said, crossing herself. “The poor woman died in a terrible accident. Let her rest in peace. Too much prescriptions a
nd chloroform to help her sleep. You oughta be blaming the doctors who gave it to her.”

“The doctors didn’t give her chloroform, Bernadette. What are you talking about?”

“I read it in one of these magazines. They were talking about it again after Michael Jackson died.”

“That
wasn’t chloroform, Bernadette. Propofol killed Michael Jackson...” Jessica was about to give up hope that she could sort this out. What was she doing arguing about something Bernadette found in a tabloid anyway?

“Here it is, right here. ‘High amounts of chloral hydrate metabo
lites were found in her system.”

“Do you mean chloral hydrate?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Bernadette was getting annoyed and held out the magazine. “Read it for yourself.”

She could have pointed out that Bernadette had said chloroform not chloral hydrate but that wouldn’t have mattered so she let it slide. Jessica had glanced at the article in the magazine Bernadette held out for her. Sure enough, Anna Nicole Smith had been taking chloral hydrate to help her sleep. At the time it was just one more on a long list of ingredients in a drug cocktail that killed the buxom blond. Who knew the drug was still being used as a sleep aid? Jessica hadn’t really cared, until now.

Why would Kelly have that drug in her system? Could it have been prescribed as a sleep aid? Why not Halcion or Ambien? Weren’t they available by the end of the 90s? Of course that begged the question about why Anna Nicole Smith was using it as a sleep aid when she could get anything she wanted. Jessica put it on the list of questions she was forming, this one for Laura, along with questions about all the other substances found in Kelly’s system. Of course, that meant getting Laura in on what was going on, saddling her with more bad news about someone close. Someone close who turned up murdered, like her poor dead husband.

Jessica gulped as she came upon the traffic collision report. Uncle Don’s signature jumped out at her. He and other investigators at the scene asserted that there were no skid marks. No indication that the car had tried to stop or otherwise made an effort to avoid hitting Kelly. The report also concluded that there were no apparent hazards or obstacles in the area that would have prevented a driver from seeing a pedestrian in time to stop. Don Fontana had even gone back to the area to check on lighting at the presumed time of death, somewhere between eight and midnight. He concluded there was adequate lighting in the area for a driver, under normal circumstances, to have seen a pedestrian.

As Jessica had presumed, paint chips were found on the ground nearby along with fragments of chrome and glass from a headlamp. The chrome and glass shards provided no helpful information but a paint data query run on the paint bits revealed the car that hit Kelly was a midnight blue, 1999 S class Mercedes sedan. That certainly fit Chet’s notion that the car that hit her was a big, new, four-door sedan. The accident report also suggested the car was travelling at about 35-40 miles per hour when it made contact with “the pedestrian”. That fact set Jessica’s teeth on edge. It was hard to imagine a car going that fast in a parking lot, unless, as Chet claimed, the driver was intentionally trying to run someone down.

The small amount of paint collected from Kelly’s clothes and wounds matched those found at what investigators determined to be the point of impact. Kelly’s case file also contained information about other evidence retrieved at the scene, including that hypodermic found near her body. It had her fingerprints all over it, but also contained a partial print from an unknown person. The investigators ran the print through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System—AFIS—but produced no match.