Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (31 page)

She pulled herself back to the present, feeling only partial relief at the realization that the problems she faced now were not her own. She weighed her parking options and decided her best hope would be the lot behind the hospital, in the area reserved for the ER. But as soon as she rounded the building, she discovered more TV crews and equipment virtually blocking all ingress and egress. Uniformed hospital security guards were having little luck dispersing the
unwanted visitors.

Madeline found herself sandwiched between other hapless motorists when red and blue lights flashed in her rearview mirror. Within seconds, several patrolmen alighted from the squad cars and immediately descended on the satellite vans and their occupants, delivering warnings via loudspeaker against civil disobedience and creating a public hazard.

While the parking area off the emergency entrance was slowly and cumbersomely cleared, Madeline inched along with her fellow motorists, trying to come up with another plan for gaining access to the hospital without tipping off the press about her association with the high-profile family. She sorely missed her Audi with its stash of emergency goods, such as her all-purpose wig, hat and
nondescript raincoat.

After a ten-minute delay, she found herself moving again, though her parking options were not looking good. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a vehicle backing out of a space in the ER visitor parking. She pulled into the lot and put her blinker on to claim
the spot.

It had been an hour since she told Ross she’d be right over. The lapse of time weighed heavily on her mind; it wasn’t professional and they certainly couldn’t afford the luxury of wasting time. She grabbed her bag, and as inconspicuously as possible, squeezed through the horde of displaced reporters
and paparazzi.

She managed to climb the steps and traverse the freshly-cleared ambulance parking area without notice. She was approaching the automatic doors when she heard her name broadcasted by the shrill voice of Julia Cummings. She stepped up her pace and went inside without
looking back.

As she entered the newly remodeled Emergency Trauma Center, she was greeted by one of the volunteers on duty, which in itself was a marked improvement over the chaotic atmosphere of the old ER. As she stated her business there, she became aware of another familiar voice, equally if not more assertive than the local reporter’s. She glanced around and found Liz Sweet sitting off to the side by the hospitality table, giving someone on the other end of the line their
marching orders.

Liz became aware of Madeline’s presence and nodded her acknowledgment. Madeline turned her attention back to the volunteer and took the two proffered red and white stickers, one to place on her blouse and another to put on her dashboard so her car wouldn’t be towed. This last instruction created a problem
for her.

“One of the reporters outside knows me. She tried to get my attention when I came in. She already knows I’m working with the Alexanders. If I go out there now, it’s just going to create a bigger frenzy.” The petite volunteer, a woman in her late sixties, had more going on than just a
sweet disposition.

“Write down the make, model and license number of your car and I’ll see to it security doesn’t have it
towed away.”

“Thank you,” Madeline said, relieved. “Mrs. Alexander asked to see me. I’m working on her behalf,” she added, pulling out her identification. The volunteer examined it out of politeness, but it was clear by her demeanor that no one was going to have access to
the patient.

“Mrs. Alexander is going to be moved to a private room in the main building. Her doctor will then decide if she is up to seeing visitors,” the woman said. “Sorry I couldn’t be of
more help.”

“You’ve been very helpful, thank you.” Madeline restored her wallet to her handbag and walked toward Liz Sweet’s makeshift office. The fact that they were the only two people in the waiting area probably accounted for the lack of enforcement of the “no cell phone” sign. Liz ended the call as Madeline approached, a look of intense concentration on her face. Madeline took a seat next to her. Neither spoke as Liz made notes on
her computer.

“Thanks for the referral,” Liz said, her head still bent over her task.

“I’m glad you were able to take it on. I know you like these high-profile cases.” Liz looked up over her
reading glasses.

“Yes, I do. But I prefer the ones I have a chance of winning.”

Madeline had no comeback to that; yesterday Cherie’s case could be won on the grounds that the evidence was strictly circumstantial. Now it was going to take a lot of hard work and some much needed luck to keep Cherie from being convicted
of murder.

“So, how does the warrant
stand now?”

“As soon as she’s discharged, she’ll be taken into custody until she’s arraigned,”
Liz said.

“Did you see this coming during
questioning yesterday?”

“Yes and no. I figured since they didn’t bring anyone else in for formal questioning, Cherie was pretty much their prime suspect. But I certainly didn’t expect an arrest warrant so soon. Either they’re very confident with their evidence, and perhaps have something they’re holding close to their vest for the time being, or they’re getting a lot of pressure to put this case to bed, or all of the above. Regardless, Cherie’s actions didn’t do us any favors.”

Liz sat back against the chair, arms folded. She turned to Madeline, focusing the full power of her laser-sharp mind
on her.

“Tell me you’ve got some promising leads on another suspect,” Liz said. It wasn’t a plea; it was an order. Madeline smiled apologetically. “Nothing?” Liz
asked irritably.

“Nothing concrete,” Madeline hedged.

“Does that mean you’ve got someone in your sights?” Liz
grilled her.

“Yes. But that’s all I can say for the time being. My partner, Mike Delaney, is working that end of the equation right now. I’m here because Ross said Cherie asked for me on their way over. Who knows? Maybe she wants to confess…” Liz’s permanent frown sagged into
a scowl.

“But I still don’t think she killed Vivian,” Madeline added, earning herself closer scrutiny by the attorney.

Liz let out a disdainful snort, obviously not impressed with Madeline’s feelings regarding her client’s guilt or innocence.

“Ms. Dawkins?” the volunteer called out. “Mr. Alexander would like to speak to you. If you could follow me, I’ll take you upstairs.”

Madeline hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced down at the attorney, who wasn’t looking too happy about being left out of the confab.

“Let me know what your leads turn up,”
Liz said.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be the first
to know.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Madeline found Ross in the corridor outside Cherie’s room. She barely recognized him in his current condition. Like some men, Ross had sailed through two decades without showing his age. Today, however, was the catching up point. Whatever signposts of life he had managed to skirt had finally made their imprint on his features. One look into his eyes and Madeline could feel all the hours of missed sleep, all the tears that had fought their way out when no one was watching. Cherie might be the most likely candidate for a murder rap, but her husband bore the look of a
man condemned.

Though she thought he saw her advancing, it wasn’t until she was right next to him that his mind put the person and the place together. Even then, Ross flinched as she spoke
his name.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ross cleared his throat, embarrassed by being caught off guard. The events of the last two days had reduced him to raw nerves housed in a body and mind battered and deprived of the essential elements of survival: food, sleep and an understanding of what was happening
around him.

For one awful moment, Madeline thought the doctors had failed to keep Cherie alive. Then it hit her that Cherie’s death might bring a modicum of sanity to Ross’s life by eliminating the horror and disgrace of having a wife accused of killing his mother. But a quick glance at the bodies and the equipment monitoring Cherie’s vital statistics dismissed that fear.

It wasn’t until Ross shifted away from the entrance that Madeline became aware of the policeman standing sentry at Cherie’s door. It was another undeniable reminder that Cherie’s life had been forever altered, regardless of her guilt or innocence. A suicide attempt—especially one played out in the public arena—was something that would follow her around for the rest of
her life.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Madeline asked. Ross let out a sad wheeze as he shook
his head.

“I don’t remember. But it makes me sick to even think of food
right now.”

“How about some coffee?”

Ross held out his hand, which trembled from the amount of caffeine in
his system.

“Okay, let’s at least get you some herbal tea to calm the jitters,” Madeline said, motioning with her head for Ross to follow her to the cafeteria. He looked back into the room where his wife lay, pale and oblivious to those around her, before falling in step
with Madeline.

Madeline placed a porcelain teapot and a selection of decaffeinated teas in front of Ross, along with a cup, some fresh fruit and a scone. She set a cup of coffee and a cranberry muffin on her side of the table and returned the tray to the stack. When she came back to the table, Ross was ineptly trying to tear the cellophane wrapper off a teabag. Madeline resisted the urge to do it for him. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and peeled off a chunk
of muffin.

Ross gave up on the wrapper and tossed it aside. He leaned back against the booth, the muscles around his jaws pulsating with tension. As innocuously as possible, Madeline reached for the discarded teabag. She kept her eyes trained on Ross as she tore open the wrapper and placed the bag in
the teapot.

Soothed by Madeline’s calm demeanor, Ross let out a deep sigh and tackled the scone. For a moment, Madeline wasn’t sure if he meant to eat any of it or was merely intent on demolishing it. He finally popped a piece into his mouth and chewed listlessly before washing it down with a sip
of tea.

“I appreciate you sitting here with me,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. Madeline gave him a tight smile as she reached across the table to place her hand on his. It was a small gesture of support, one that made Ross choke up at the kindness
of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his hand to blot
his eyes.

“No need to apologize. You’ve been through hell.”

Ross laughed weakly. “I guess I’ve had an awfully big dose of reality served to me the last couple of days,” he said, then took another sip of his tea. He sat back, his eyes roving over his surroundings as his mind raced to catalog the various stages of loss and regret he had gone through in less than
two days.

“In the ambulance, it hit me that I’ve completely lost control over my life. I’ve had numerous nightmare situations over the years, but I’ve never felt like there was ever a problem I couldn’t eventually work through. Since I got the call Friday night, it’s as if I’ve become a passive participant in my own life. My mother’s dead, Cherie almost killed herself—and may very well have killed my mother—and now the studio is trying to take my film away from me. Not that I give a shit at this point.”

Ross grunted at the irony of his predicament. He sat back and rested his arm along the top of the booth, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular as his gaze
went inward.

“I realize now my whole adult life has always revolved around my career as a director. The three wives, the two kids—they’ve been ancillary to my world. It was never about marrying Linda or Stephanie or Cherie because of a deep love for them. It was always about how they fit into my world, how living with them would improve my life. That’s all. They’ve just been accessories to the fantastic Ross Alexander, man with the overgrown ego…”

Ross hid his face with his hands. Madeline watched as his chest heaved in and out. He let his hands drop, revealing the expression of a man bereft by his own actions.

“If Cherie did kill my mother, then I’m just as culpable as she is. I talked my mother into coming to live with us. She didn’t want to leave Casa Contento, but I convinced her it would be good for Cherie to have company when I was away on location. And I convinced Cherie she couldn’t come with me anymore because I didn’t want to leave my mother alone. It was totally self-serving and it probably caused a lot of resentment between them. I guess I never really bothered to check in to see how miserable the situation was. As long as I got what I wanted, I didn’t care.” Ross let out a huff of self-loathing. “Like I’m the only one
who matters…”

Madeline had kept her expression neutral while Ross punished himself. That he had confessed his shortcomings to her was no surprise; her clients often did. Whether it was due to the level of disclosure inherent to the process of investigations or event planning, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was her unbiased demeanor, or maybe it was their familiarity with her own very public downfall that inspired others to bare their souls without fear
of censure.

Ross smiled wanly and placed his hand on the table, inviting Madeline to take it in hers as she had done before. She took her cue and Ross clutched her hand so tightly it
almost hurt.

“All that coffee’s going right through me,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before he
excused himself.

Madeline sat back and let all the air seep out of her lungs as she reviewed where they stood in this case. She took a sip of her tepid coffee, which left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. She ate the rest of her muffin while checking her messages. There were two texts from Mike. She figured it would save time to just
call him.

“I’m at the hospital cafeteria with Ross. He’s gone to the restroom. I haven’t got much time—
any luck?”

“Not sure at this point, but I’ve definitely hit on some
interesting dirt.”

“Tell me quickly, before he
gets back.”

“Look, since you’ve got Ross’s ear, find out what you can about Helen’s son. I would wager Kris has a bit of a gambling problem, pardon
the pun.”

“Why do you
think that?”

“I decided to take a drive down to Port Hueneme. I’m sitting outside Kris’s rental right now,” Mike said, catching Madeline off guard.

“I hope Helen didn’t spot your car.”

“I got a rental. Besides, her car isn’
t here.”

“Maybe it’s in
the garage.”

“Trust me, Helen would not be spending time in a dump like this,” Mike said defensively. “If she was here at all, she’s not here now. I saw the kid get into his Trans Am ten minutes ago. Definitely in a hurry to
get somewhere.”

“So, what makes you suspect he has a
gambling problem?”

“Kris and his worthless buddies live across the street from a very sweet, very observant elderly woman.” Madeline caught sight of Ross as he reentered the café.

“Ross is coming back. What’d she
tell you?”

“That Kris came back from a few days’ stay at the hospital with a battered face and his arm in a sling. She’s noticed times when he seems flush with cash. Brand new fancy vehicles come and go. Rough looking bruisers showing up at all hours, and not for
social calls.”

“When was he in the hospital?”

“About a month ago,” Mike said. Madeline watched Ross as he zigzagged closer to their table, her
mind racing.

“Good work. I’ll see what I can find out,” she said, ending the call without waiting for a reply. Ross slid back onto the banquette, his gaze averted as though he was on the lookout for
the press.

“Ross, while we’ve got the chance, there are a few questions I need to ask you,” Madeline said once he had settled in across from her.

“Shoot.”

Madeline cleared her throat as she put her thoughts in order. “Helen’s been with you a long time, hasn’t she?”

Ross nodded slowly, the look on his face reverential. “She’s been my anchor. She’s seen me through three marriages and
two divorces.”

“She’s been your housekeeper for twenty years, is that right?”

Ross tilted his head while he worked the dates. “Yeah, right around twenty. She came to work for us while Linda and I were living in Brentwood. The girls must’ve been in their teens. That was probably three years before we
got divorced.”

“And Helen stayed
with you?”

“Went with me. Yeah, that was a big bone of contention with the first ex-Mrs. Alexander. She found Helen, trained her, and then I stole her away—according to Linda. The truth is, Helen begged me to take her with me. I wasn’t going to refuse. I was a bachelor for three years before Stephanie and I
got together.”

“And she followed you to Santa Barbara. That’s a devoted employee,” Madeline said, sweetening the statement with a smile.

“She knows I’d be lost without her. She asked for two days off to spend time with her son and I nearly lost it. The woman has hardly had a day to herself in a year and all I could think about is how am I going to function without her anticipating my every need. Especially in the middle of these crises. I’m lucky she didn’t walk out
on me.”

“From what I can tell, she’s completely devoted to you.” Ross’s eyes softened as she said this. “When did you and Stephanie move
up here?”

“It was in 2001. We’ve been in the Montecito house for twelve years—or rather, I’ve been there for twelve years. Helen and I have been there together. The wives changed,” he said with a
sad smirk.

“Has Helen always lived in the guesthouse?” Madeline asked, getting around to what she was really
interested in.

“Yes. She’s been there since day one. She and Kris,” Ross amended. Madeline detected a change in his tone at the mention of Helen’
s son.

“Does that mean she was a single mom?”
Ross nodded.

“She and her husband split up shortly before we moved
up here.”

“How old is Helen’
s son?”

“Twenty-two. Twenty-three? I can’t recall
right now.”

“So, he was lucky enough to attend Montecito Union,” she said, fishing.

“Actually, I paid for him to go to Crane,” Ross said, a little uncomfortably, Madeline thought.

She smiled appreciatively. “That was very generous of you.”

Ross ducked his head in a self-deprecating way. “Well, I pretty much treated him like a son…when I
was around.”

“He’s a very fortunate young man, then. Is he still in college?” Madeline asked. Ross became suddenly interested in his mangled scone. After a while, he gave up the pretense and leaned back against
the booth.

“Unfortunately, I think living in a Montecito mansion with a famous film director who treated him like a son whenever it suited him had a deleterious effect on Kris. I think he grew up confused about where he belonged. I loved the kid, I did—as much as I was able to love anyone, I suppose. But that fickle kind of caring is more of a curse than
a blessing.”

“He didn’t go to college,”
Madeline surmised.

“No. I did try to encourage him to go, but by that time he had discovered hedonistic pleasures, like surfing, partying all night, hanging out with trust fund babies who had more freedom than sense. He developed a cavalier attitude about money, and then…” Ross laughed humorlessly, “and then he no longer had access to all the comforts of living on the estate. How do you spoil a kid who isn’t even yours? I’ll tell you. You just play the rich uncle until the kid disappoints you, then you lose interest. It’s guaranteed to fuck up a boy’s mind. Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Everywhere I look in my life I see my failure to do the
right thing.”