Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (26 page)

“So, you think Cherie did
do it?”

“I didn’t say that either,”
Madeline hedged.

“Then, does that mean you’re more open-minded to the concept of it being someone other than the five?”

“Four—I didn’t do it. And yes, I’d say we can’t discount it. But I would limit that to people with a legitimate reason for being there. Even casting the net that wide makes my head hurt.” Madeline picked at what was left on her plate, more as a distraction than out of hunger. When that proved nonproductive, she turned to
her iPad.

“Hey, who is this?”

Mike lowered the tablet so he could see what Madeline was looking at. He still couldn’t make it out, so Madeline turned it around to give him a
better view.

“Oh…that’s Justin Oaks…army buddy of Usherwood. Remember, I hired that P.I. down in Simi Valley to follow up on the leads I found?” Mike handed the tablet back to Madeline who regarded the man in the
photos curiously.

“
This
is the guy? Well, I’d say he’s probably not the one who rearranged my furniture or fiddled with my brake lines.” Madeline flipped through all of the photos Mike had forwarded to her iPad. What they showed was a man so mentally and physically beaten down by war, loss and substance abuse, he was barely able to stagger down his front walk to the mailbox.

“I guess that leaves Usherwood doing his own dirty work…”
Madeline said.

“Don’t forget about his connection with Stewart Mitchell,” Mike reminded her.

“How could I?” Madeline said, her mind instantly flashing back to her interview with Mitchell at the police station three years earlier. His tipoff to Usherwood almost got
her killed.

“He would be a natural source for this kind of work, if Usherwood was unable to do
it himself.”

“You mean a contract on my life, with an appetizer of terror for starters?” Madeline asked, shifting uneasily in the booth. Somehow, having two parties working on her demise seemed doubly awful, which didn’t really make any sense since one was more than amply sufficient to do
the job.

“Yeah, something like that.” Mike gave her a sympathetic look. Sure, he too almost died in the attempt on her life, but that would’ve been collateral damage. It was Madeline’s car that lost its brakes; whoever sabotaged it wouldn’t have known she wasn’t the only one at risk. It had been dumb luck that had saved both
their lives.

“How do we even figure out if Mitchell is involved? He’s in the same line of work Usherwood was in before he was arrested. With his police background and connections, plus all the latest in surveillance and security technology, how can we even get near enough to him to find out if he’s involved or not?” Madeline
asked wearily.

“I had an idea for that,”
Mike said.

“
Tell me.”

“It wasn’t a very good one.” Madeline telegraphed that she wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. “It didn’t really
pan out.”

“Would you just spit it
out already?”

“I tried to hire someone to do some discreet snooping,” Mike
said nonchalantly.

“Oh, really? Who?” Mike cleared his throat, intentionally stalling, uncertain how she would react to
the answer.

“Barnett.”

“As in Russell Barnett?” she
asked incredulously.

“What’s wrong with that? He was good enough for
training us—”

“He was the only one who would’ve trained us, and that was because of the dirt we had
on him.”

“What are you saying, that he isn’t qualified to do some digging into Stewart Mitchell’s enterprise? That wouldn’t be a very good reflection on us, would it?” Mike asked testily. Madeline let out a
cynical snort.

“We are about as green as you can get for licensed P.I.s. And what we got out of our apprenticeship with Barnett was greatly enhanced by our naturally
superior intellects.”

“Barnett’s not stupid,”
Mike maintained.

“No, I wouldn’t say he was stupid, either. Burt trained him, which is the only thing the guy’s got going for him. Boy, I wish Burt was still around,” Madeline said wistfully, getting a catch in her throat.
He would be, if he hadn’t gotten tangled up in my mess,
she thought dispiritedly.

“What’d you say?” she asked, coming out of her dismal reverie.

“I said, I think Russell actually learned a lot working with us.” This observation got a smile out
of Madeline.

“You may be right there,” she conceded. “So, have you talked to him already?” Mike nodded. “Has he come up
with anything?”

“No,” Mike said sheepishly. “He suddenly remembered he had business outside the country.” Madeline laughed
out loud.

“Now, why am I not surprised?” she asked rhetorically, though she could hardly blame Barnett for fearing Usherwood. After she and Mike struck a deal with him to train them in lieu of handing him over to the D.A., they got him to cover his ass with the D.A. with testimony against Madeline’s ex. It had been the only way to keep Steven Ridley from using Barnett as his own bargaining chip. If there was one person with a bigger target on his back than Madeline, it was probably
Russell Barnett.

“I guess if I had any sense, I would’ve done the same thing,” Madeline grudgingly admitted. She tried to laugh for Mike’s benefit, but it came out more like
a wheeze.

Troubled anew by the predicament Madeline found herself in, Mike turned his gaze out the window to check on his car. He had parked it so he could keep an eye on it while they ate. The fact that it was on State Street also decreased the likelihood that anyone could tamper with it, but he wasn’t going to take
any chances.

“My butt’s getting sore,” Madeline said, squirming uncomfortably, trying to find a spot on the cushion that hadn’t been flattened by countless
other customers.

“Where to?” Mike asked, scooting his way out of
the booth.

“I’d like to go to the office. There’s really too much to try to assimilate without
the boards.”

“Sounds like a
good plan.”

“I should call Ross, let him know about Teresa before he learns it from the police. After all, he did hire us to dig into her past. Wouldn’t want him to think we didn’t do our job,” Madeline said, standing up with effort. As she bent over to pick up her bag, her cell
phone rang.

“It’s Ross,” she said, looking at Mike before she took the call. They both sank back into
the booth.

“Hello, Ross.”

“Madeline. I need
your help.”

“Sure. What
is it?”

“Can you
come over?”

“Now?”

“Yes. Please. I’m about to lose my
mind here.”

“We’ll be
right there.”

THIRTY-TWO

Now that the sheriff’s department wasn’t around to disperse them, the paparazzi were swarming outside the gates of the Alexander estate unfettered. Cameras flashed as eager reporters pressed themselves against the windows of Mike’s Mercedes. Two helicopters could be heard crisscrossing overhead. The guards, now armed, kept the gates closed until Madeline’s identity had been established and they were cleared
to enter.

“Oh, God—what a nightmare,” Madeline said, clearly shaken by the experience. It was no wonder Ross was on the brink of losing his sanity. Even the usually unflappable Mike seemed bothered by such an
unruly mob.

“Blood-sucking leaches,” he said as he eyed the swarm in his rearview mirror. He was able to pull up right in front of the steps, now that all the merrymaking of the day before had come to a premature end. He and Madeline eyed each other thoughtfully before they took the plunge.

“Something tells me we need to brace ourselves,” Mike said, as he stowed his sunglasses in his shirt pocket.

The front door opened as they climbed the steps. Elaine nodded somberly, then secured the door behind them and led the way to Ross. This time they found him on the upper terrace, facing the gardens, wrapped in a thick cashmere sweater despite the mild weather. A bottle of scotch and a half-filled glass sat in front of him. They didn’t realize he was on a call until his voice
suddenly erupted.

“For Chrissakes, Morrie, my mother was killed last night.” He paused as he listened to the party on the other end. “We wouldn’t be behind schedule and off budget if that
marginally
talented prima donna could learn her goddamned lines!”

Elaine looked as frightened as Dorothy confronting the Wizard of Oz. Apparently figuring she had done her duty, she fled, leaving Mike and Madeline in the awkward position of eavesdropping without meaning to.

Something finally tipped Ross off to their presence. He shifted around in his seat, still engaged in the
heated argument.

“Look, Morrie…Morrie…the undertakers are here…yeah, yeah…thanks, no, I know…Jesus. Yeah, tomorrow.” Ross pulled out the earbud and dropped it on the table next to his
cell phone.

“Sorry about that,” he said, standing up to greet them as he ran a hand through his uncombed hair. “Thanks for coming.” By the hollows under his eyes, it was obvious Ross was still running on alcohol and no sleep. He motioned for them to have
a seat.

“What can I get you? Helen!” he bellowed over his shoulder.

“Nothing, thank you. We’re fine,” Madeline said. Ross took in this information as though it had been given to him in a foreign language. His lips moved silently, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. He shook his head as her words
belatedly registered.

Elaine appeared at the doorway, hesitant but ready to take orders. Ross looked at her crossly. “Oh, I forgot,” he said, heaving a beleaguered sigh. “Never mind,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He sat brooding for a moment, apparently forgetting he
had company.

The inner turmoil that played out across his features was painful to watch. Both Mike and Madeline had each known the dark range of emotions Ross was experiencing. But recognizing it didn’t make it any easier to assuage.

“How can we be of help?” Madeline ventured.

Ross exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping to the empty glass in front of him. Mike watched Ross struggle over whether or not another drink would solve anything, resisting the impulse to intervene. Just because Mike was an alcoholic didn’t mean Ross was. But Mike also knew that alcohol could only postpone the suffering, never relieve it.

As if he had telepathically transmitted that message, Ross’s hand pulled away from the glass mid-reach. Ross took a deep breath and expelled it, hard enough that Mike could smell the liquor
on it.

“It’s Cherie,” Ross said at length. Madeline and Mike waited expectantly for
further elaboration.

“Is she okay?” Madeline
asked finally.

“I don’t know…” Ross said, shaking his head. At a loss for words again, he got up and began
to pace.

“Were you able to make contact with Liz Sweet?”

Ross looked at her for a second before answering. “Yes. Thanks. She’s great. She got to the station before Cherie cracked and said something stupid. But the thing is, Liz thinks—given what she learned by the questions they were asking Cherie—that they’re going to come back with a warrant for her arrest.” Though Madeline had been afraid this would happen, it made her stomach churn to find out the threat was a
real likelihood.

“What exactly did Liz learn?”
Madeline asked.

“That the…drapery cord used to…” Ross cleared his throat before continuing. “The cord was found in the bottom drawer of Cherie’s lingerie dresser.”

The sound of songbirds could be heard in the background as Madeline and Mike absorbed this news. Sharing this bulletin with them seemed to bring more life into Ross. His eyes looked more alert as he gauged
their reaction.

“Madeline, help me here…you’ve spent a whole year getting to know Cherie. Do you think she could’ve done this to my mother?” Madeline thought for a moment before shaking
her head.

“Truthfully, no, I don’t think so,” she admitted, realizing it herself for the first time. Ross’s body sagged with relief.

“Oh, thank Christ!” he said, throwing his head back as if directing his gratitude to the heavens. When he looked at Madeline again, he was
almost smiling.

“I have to tell you, Ross, if I didn’t know her better, I probably would think she had done it, based on how strangely she was behaving last night.”

Ross tensed again at hearing this. He lowered himself slowly to the chair, his eyes riveted to Madeline’s. “Strangely, how?”
he asked.

“Right before she went upstairs, she was ecstatic. The party was going perfectly. She was ‘feeling the love’ and practically floating on euphoria. I can’t honestly say how much of that was due to having a crowd of admirers singing her praises and how much was due to the substances floating in
her bloodstream.”

“What kind of substances?” Ross asked guardedly.
Madeline shrugged.

“Plenty of alcohol, for sure, and I strongly suspect cocaine. Look, I don’t want to prejudice you against your wife,” Madeline said as Ross pursed his lips and turned away, “but I think it’s important to know about her state of mind before her attorneys start painting a picture of her as prim and proper. Dozens of people saw her in that condition, and some probably contributed to it. You don’t want anyone testifying that they gave her drugs just prior to your mother’
s death.”

The mere idea of seeing his wife in court on murder charges impelled Ross to pour himself
another drink.

“But you still don’t think she did it?” he asked, his voice begging
for reassurance.

“No. Not even after seeing her in a totally abject state shortly after she went upstairs.”

Ross reached for his drink again. He slugged back half of what he had poured and inhaled deeply before he could confront what Madeline had said. “What do you mean by ‘abject?’”
he asked.

“She was such an emotional wreck, she couldn’t dress herself. She railed at you for not being there. I think it hit her she was turning forty, which can be really hard for some women. I think she had doubts about your marriage and
her future.”

Ross took this news rather calmly. He had spent most of the past twelve months away from home, living his life the way he wanted, following his love for creating films, hanging with his crowd, where his talents were revered. He had moved his mother into his home for mostly selfish reasons—so that she and Cherie would keep each other company while he was on location. He essentially tried to force a bond to grow between the two, but it had only made Cherie resentful and his
mother lonelier.

“And you don’t think she went from ecstatic to abject because she had just killed my mother?” he asked. Madeline shook her head. “Why?”

“I can see Cherie taking her frustrations out on Vivian, perhaps blaming her for coming between the two
of you—”

“That would be all the more reason to get my mother out of the way,”
Ross argued.

“True. But I don’t believe Cherie possessed the mental wherewithal to formulate a plan involving selecting the means and the weapon. Screaming, yelling, crying—sure, she was capable of theatrical venting. If Vivian had been hit in the head with a heavy object that was within Cherie’s reach, then I would strongly suspect her as the murderer,” Madeline said. Even though this reasoning seemed perfectly logical to her, she could tell Ross was having trouble
with it.

“The way Madeline explained it to me this morning,” Mike began, “removing one of the drapery cords without tipping off your mother, and somehow surprising her from behind would’ve been a difficult maneuver for Cherie if the two of them had
been quarrelling.”

“And you think they were quarrelling?” Ross
asked Madeline.

“I don’t think they had the opportunity. I think Cherie’s helium balloon of a high deflated once she encountered her reflection in the mirror. I don’t think she left her room before I
got there.”

“And you don’t think she went there first?”

“No. Frankly, I think your mother couldn’t have been further from Cherie’s thoughts. Besides, Teresa and Helen were both with your mother until they were seen on the back staircase at 9:11. Cherie would’ve had less than fifteen minutes between their departure and my arrival, and there was no way for her to know that
in advance.”

“I wish you could explain that to the police,” Ross said, still perplexed but not seeming as distraught as when they had first arrived. “Would it help if you talked to the detective in charge?” he
asked hopefully.

“What would help the most is finding a suspect that fit the crime better,” Mike said. “If we do a little digging of our own, we might be able to find someone with the means, opportunity, and motive. If Cherie looks like the best fit for the crime, then they’d be figuring the murder as a spur-of-the-moment rash act. What other motivation could they possibly come up with? Cherie doesn’t stand to inherit anything from her, does she?”

Ross shook his head to confirm. “But they could make the case she was jealous and resentful of having my mother in the house, especially when I was out of town so much of
the time.”

“And she was willing to wreck her big party in order to get rid of an unwanted houseguest?” Mike asked. “I was here last night for surveillance purposes, and I watched Cherie. She was in her glory. I would say she positively loved everyone last night, including your mother. She was feeling no pain, that’s for sure, but she was totally high on life. I seriously doubt she was nursing a grudge to the point of taking action when the party of the year was being held in
her honor.”

Mike’s words were very persuasive; Ross now looked fairly convinced of his wife’s innocence. Mike hoped Madeline’s instincts about the woman were correct. In any event, further investigation into the matter was certainly
in order.

“What you said earlier, about finding a more likely candidate—can you do that? Can you two run your own investigation? Or should I hire a bigger firm with more experience behind them?” Ross asked, thinking
out loud.

“That’s your call,” Mike said. “But there are certain advantages to engaging our services as opposed to seeking out another company. First, we’re here. We don’t have to acquaint ourselves with the events of last evening or the cast of characters. Second, we’re very low-profile, which, when you consider the crowd of reporters stationed outside your gates, is definitely a plus. And third, we’ve already gotten results on the matter you and your mother hired
us for.”

“The background check on Teresa…your mother’s companion…” Madeline said, trying to jog Ross’s memory.

“Oh, yes…of course,” he said hastily. “What did you find out?” Mike and Madeline both shifted uncomfortably in their seats before
Madeline spoke.

“We were able to locate her real address, which is nowhere near Isla Vista. We went to the house and spoke with the father of her child, who was very worried because Teresa did not come home last night.” Madeline could see Ross’s thought process play out on
his face.

“She didn’t go home last night?” he asked excitedly, as his mind jumped to some hopeful conclusion. “Do you think she could’ve killed my mother?” The P.I.s consulted each other
before answering.

“We seriously doubt it,” Mike said. “Right now, piecing together her last few hours is the sheriff’s department’s job.”

Ross regarded them uncomprehendingly. “So, they think she’s guilty?” Ross asked. The possibility of clearing his wife’s name with any other suspect completely renewed his spirits. It would solve one half of the nightmare scenario he was
now facing.

“We don’t know what they think at this point. But now they have two murders on their hands. Whether or not they’re connected remains to be seen,”
Mike said.

“Did I miss something?”
Ross asked.

“The body of your mother’s companion was discovered on Rattlesnake Trail early this morning. I was called in to identify her at the morgue,” Madeline
informed him.

Ross’s hopeful expression turned to one of pure shock. It took several seconds before he could successfully string
words together.

“I don’t understand this,” he said. “I wa…I thought I heard that Helen took her home
last night.”

“Helen took her to Isla Vista, where Teresa bailed out of the car at a stop sign. This is according to Helen. She also said she searched for the girl for twenty minutes before
returning here.”