Dial Emmy for Murder (21 page)

“Well . . . I did have Jackson’s body almost fall on me. . . .”

“And that means you’re probably seeing Detective Jakes again.”

I wasn’t going to disrespect what I had had with Jakes by denying it. “Paul . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s not you, it’s m—”

“Whatever you say, please don’t give me that old line! Look, I need more from a woman and a relationship. The trouble is I love you, Alex. I’ve told you that many times. I don’t think you’ve said it to me more than twice and probably because you felt you had to.”

“I do care about you, Paul. You’re an amazing man.” I meant it, too. I was at a loss. I wanted to say something profound, but I felt paralyzed. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“I get it,” he said. “And you know what? It’s okay. We met shortly after your marriage ended. I guess I was rebound man.” He looked me square in the eyes and said, “I’m going to miss you, and almost worse than anything, I’m going to miss Sarah.” He stifled a sob and I felt myself welling up.

“I am so sorry, Paul. I don’t know why I couldn’t make it work for me with you.” I was tempted to reach out to him but thought that would be too much. “You’re probably right. If it’s not going to work for us, it’s better to end it now before Sarah gets too attached to you.”

“Yeah.” He looked down and composed himself before saying, “Look, just cuz we didn’t work out that way doesn’t mean, you know . . . I guess what I’m trying to say is if you need anything, call me. I know you too well. Please don’t do anything stupid, Alex, with this whole murder investigation business.”

“I’d say I won’t, but I don’t want to be a liar!” I was trying for a little levity. “Maybe, um, after some time has gone by, maybe you could come by and see Sarah? She loves you. I know it would mean a lot to her.”

I guess that was too much to hear because he just nodded his head and started down the walk. “You take care, Alex. I’ll call you.” He turned away and walked out of my life. I couldn’t help but be sad. Another one bites the dust. I stood there, stunned at how easy it had seemed but at the same time filled with remorse because I hadn’t had the courage to end it myself in a better way. To admit what was obvious from the first time I’d met Frank Jakes—that I was never in love with Paul, and that I was attracted to Jakes right from the beginning.

“Was that Paul?” my mother asked as I walked into the kitchen.

“Yes, it was.”

“He’s not staying for dinner?” She looked at me closely.

“No, Mom, he’s not,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“Not entirely. But I will be.”

She put her spoon down, came over and wrapped her arms around me. Even though I hadn’t been in love with Paul, it still felt like a loss. And I cried.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. After all, love isn’t for wimps.”

I laughed out loud and, wiping my eyes, said, “It sure as hell isn’t!”

Chapter 49

The next morning Jakes called as I was making breakfast for all of us.

“Can I come and pick you up?” he asked. “We got another one.”

I went cold. “Another what?”

“Body.”

“Oh, God.”

“The victim fits the description of the others,” he said. “No ID on him, though. I’d like to see if you know him from your soaps.”

I looked at my mother, who waved at me to go. Mother-daughter ESP at work.

“All right,” I said. “Pick me up.”

“Okay.”

“Wait! Did you get to talk to Nate last night?”

“I’ll tell you about that when I pick you up.”

I hung up.

“Go get dressed,” Mom said. “I’ll fix Sarah some breakfast, and she can stay home from surf camp today.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

I was waiting out front when Jakes pulled up. I had called into work to tell them I’d be unavoidably late. They would tape around me as much as they could. I hopped into the passenger seat and we were off.

He told me what happened while he was on stakeout the day before:

It was just after dark when a car pulled into the driveway and a young man got out and started for the front door. Jakes got out of his car and ran up behind him.

“Excuse me,” Jakes said, holding out his ID.

The younger man turned around and looked startled when he saw Jakes. “Who are you? Whaddya want?”

“Take it easy. My name’s Detective Jakes. I just want to talk to you. That is, if you’re Nate Russell?”

“I am,” he said. He looked behind him at the house, maybe checking to see if anyone was coming out. “Can we talk out here? I don’t want to worry my mom. She gets kind of jumpy.”

Jakes didn’t think he’d ever met a less jumpy woman than Adrienne Russell, but he kept it to himself.

Jakes knew he couldn’t ask Nate Russell to account for his whereabouts on the five dates that the men had been killed. Civilians didn’t normally keep track of their comings and goings that closely. But he could ask him where he was when Jackson was killed, and then again when Henri Marceau was killed.

“And what were those days?” Nate asked.

Jakes repeated them. “Come on, Nate,” he added. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

“Well, I’d say I was either at an audition or at work.”

“Gotta be more specific than that, Nate.”

“I can’t—”

“Maybe if we go downtown you’ll be able to remember more,” Jakes said, grabbing his arm.

“No!” he shouted, just as the light went on next to the front door and Adrienne Russell appeared.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Jakes said. “I was just asking your son some questions he can’t seem to answer.”

“He’s arresting me, Ma!”

“I’m not arresting him,” Jakes said. “I’m taking him in for questioning.”

“What questions are you asking him?” she demanded. “I’m sure I can help.”

“I doubt it, ma’am,” Jakes said. “You couldn’t tell me where he was today. How are you going to tell me where he was on the days of the murders?”

“I told him, Ma, I was either at an audition or at work,” Nate yelled, still trying to pull free from Jakes’s hold.

“Let him go!” she said. “I can give you the answers.”

“Can you?” Jakes reluctantly released Nate’s arm.

“It’s all in my book,” she said. “Nate, go to my room and get my book off my dresser.”

“Your book?”

“Yes,” she said, “the appointment book I keep all your auditions in.”

“Oh, that book.”

Nate went into the house. . . .

 

“Oh, Jakes.” I closed my eyes.

“I know,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. I think he was ashamed to look at me. “I screwed up big-time.”

“Did you look—”

“I looked for him,” he said. “He obviously ducked out the back door.”

“What about the mother?”

“She kept me busy out front. I guess I could’ve arrested her,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I put a man on her,” he said. “She’s all Nate has. If he tries to contact her or if she tries to meet him, we’ll know.”

“And that book she was talking about?”

“There was no book.”

“Wait,” I said. “This murder we’re going to now . . . how could she be involved if she’s being watched?”

“She’s either in the clear on this one,” he said, “or she got it done before I put a tail on her. Which means she had to have had it planned a while to pull it off in that short a time.”

“But that’s only if this murder is the same as the others, right?”

“Right.”

“Have you been there yet?”

“No,” he said. “I got the call and immediately I called you.”

“What about your partner?”

“He’s going to meet me there.”

“What if it’s not connected?” I asked.

“I hope it is,” he said. “It’ll give us something fresh to work on.”

“Wow, that’s . . . terrible,” I said, “but so . . . true.”

Chapter 50

As we pulled up to the crime scene, I asked, “Was your man in front of my house last night?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know I had a visitor last night.”

“I heard,” he said. “I assumed it was Paul.”

“It was.”

He put his hand over mine, a gesture that I found both touching and comforting.

“Was it hard for you?”

“Actually, no,” I said. “I mean, I was expecting a soap opera-esque breakup, but he made it very easy—easier than I deserved.”

“Don’t think about it,” he said. “It’s over. Now we have to move on.”

He looked past me out the window at the house that was surrounded by both cops and yellow crime scene tape.

“Let’s go then,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt.

 

I could tell by the look Detective Davis gave Jakes that he didn’t approve of my presence.

“We got a young man named Ben Tillman,” Davis said. “He was an actor.”

“Is he the same type as the others?” Jakes asked.

“Yup.” Finally Davis couldn’t contain himself. “Why is she here?”

“If the deceased is connected to soap operas, Alex will know,” Jakes told him.

Davis grudgingly looked at me. “Hello, Ms. Peterson.”

“Detective.”

“He’s in here.”

David led us into the house, into a high-ceilinged living room that had wooden beams. The young man was hanging by the neck from one of the beams.

“Can we cut him down?” a man from the crime lab asked.

“Give me a minute,” Jakes said. “Alex? Why don’t you wait outside?”

“I—I’m fine,” I said. “You asked me to come.” I didn’t want him to think I was weak.

“Okay,” he said.

He surveyed the room, taking it all in, and walked around a bit, hardly looking at the body. Me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the poor man. His eyes were closed, his swollen tongue protruded from his mouth, but there was no blood.

Jakes now looked around, searching for something or someone in particular. “Doc?”

An older man wearing a white coat came forward. I guessed he was the medical examiner.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” Jakes asked, looking up at the dead man.

“You mean the tongue?”

“Am I right that if he hanged himself, his neck would have broken? There’d be no reason for the tongue to be out like that.”

“You’re right,” the doctor said. “That’s a high beam. If he’d done this himself, his neck would’ve broken. The tongue hanging out is an indication that he suffocated.”

“If he hanged himself,” I asked, “where’s the chair or stool he would’ve had to stand on?”

“She’s right,” Jakes said. “Whatever he climbed on to get up there would still be around.”

The floor beneath him was bare.

“Murder,” Jakes said. “Nice call, Alex.”

I felt queasy but proud.

“I’ll know more after I cut him down,” the ME said.

“What are you waiting for?” Jakes asked.

The ME turned to his men and said, “Cut him down!”

Jakes came over to me. “Do you know him?” he asked.

“It’s hard to say with his tongue protruding like that,” I said. “He certainly resembles Jackson and the others. What are the differences from the other cases?”

“If this is his home . . . ,” he said, looking over at Davis, who nodded, “then he was killed where he lives. None of the others were.”

He meant none of the other actors. Henri was killed at home.

“I see.”

“Do you want to wait outside?”

“No,” I said, “I’d like to get a closer look at him, and then I’ll step outside.”

“Okay.”

I watched as it took three men to cut the young man down, but eventually they had him lying on the floor. I moved closer. His tongue was still disfiguring his face, making it hard to see what he truly looked like. I was about to bend over when a voice called out sharply, “What is she doing here?”

I turned my head and saw Jakes’s boss standing in the doorway, looking furious.

“Captain Carpenter—” Jakes started.

“Officer,” she snapped at a nearby uniformed cop, “please escort Ms. Peterson from the premises.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And I mean behind the crime scene tape!”

“Yes, si—uh, Captain.”

“Now wait a minute,” Jakes said. “This is my crime scene—”

“That may be true, Detective,” the captain said, “but I believe I still outrank you.”

I was escorted away without her ever speaking directly to me and without my being able to say anything to Jakes.

Chapter 51

I wasn’t sure where to go. Should I leave the scene completely? Or just stay away from the house? Should I go home? Go to work? How would I do either? Get a ride from someone? Take the bus?

I decided to wait for Jakes in the front seat of his car. It took hours. I didn’t have his keys so I couldn’t turn on the air-conditioning or crack the windows. I had to sit with the passenger door open so I wouldn’t suffocate. With the door open, I could hear shouting from inside the house.