Expert Witness (13 page)

“Punishment or revenge,” Josie whispered to herself. Then she raised her voice. “What do you think, Erika? Have you done anything bad enough to be punished liked this?”

But Josie was speaking to the dark. Erika Gardener slept on as easily as if she were in her own bed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

Erika Gardener’s House, Hollywood Hills

Erika Gardener liked things clean and sharp and colorful. The couch was leather and colored the deepest of purples, the walls were white, the pillows yellow and green and sapphire blue. A huge print hung on one wall; an entertainment center with state of the art sound system was in a corner. Wall-to-wall built-in shelves behind the couch were filled with books.  Erika Gardener had lined them up neatly by height. The books on the square, squat coffee table were about travel and fashion. The rest of the tabletop was peppered with pottery.  There was a beautiful rug on the hardwood floor, a low-slung chair and an antique set of stacking tables. Atop those tables were fresh flowers: roses that were still opening, and drinking up clear water. She’d been there within the last twenty-four hours, if the assumption was that she had arranged the flowers.

The woman had good taste and enough money to reasonably indulge it. Archer glanced toward the sparkling kitchen. A dining area sported another glass top table on a metal pedestal, and chairs upholstered in purple. The walls were white. There was a grouping of black and white photos in silver frames with red mats. He wandered toward the photos. Most were of foreign destinations, and some showed an attractive woman who Archer took to be Erika Gardener. His eyes scanned the photos – twenty or so in all – only to be drawn to one where she was dressed in an evening gown at an event that was obviously important to her. She had an impressive chest. Suddenly, Archer pivoted. His nerves spiked. Daniel was by his side and standing too close.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Assuming that’s her,” Archer said quietly.

“It is,” Daniel answered.

“Yeah, she cleans up nice,” Archer said off-handedly. She was very pretty, but beautiful? Archer didn’t think so, but his touch-point was Josie. Josie with her height, her athletic body, her finely sculpted face and startlingly intelligent eyes, was beautiful. “I guess you don’t forget someone who looks like that. Did she interview you?”

“I thought we knew each other well.” Daniel laughed softly as if the experience had been enormously satisfying and disappointing at the same time.

“Lucky you.”

Archer moved away. He took the short hallway alone. There were three open doors. If anyone were there, Archer would turn in his investigator’s license and check himself into an old folk’s home. Erika’s place was not only empty it felt like no one was coming back.

He took a quick look in the first room. A den. Same good taste as the living room but softened by comfort things: a television, a crocheted afghan, and fuzzy slippers by the couch. He doubted Erika Gardener spent her evenings crocheting, so the afghan had to be a gift. Mom? Grandmother? If so, there might be someone who would have seen her recently.

In the guest room there was a bed and a dresser. This room was not as well thought out as the other rooms. Erika Gardener didn’t have many guests, or at least not many who spent the night in this room.  There was a bed and a chest of drawers, an old printer, a treadmill and a couple of baskets that seemed to have had a purpose at one time or another. He looked at the junk for a few minutes, and then poked his head into the small, attached bathroom.

At the end of the hall was the master bedroom.  Erika slept on a very expensive mattress set atop a black lacquer platform. Six down pillows were stacked neatly at the head of the bed; a down comforter was folded at the foot, European style.  An original oil of a naked woman – and a none-too-pretty one at that – hung over the bed.

 Archer holstered his gun as he looked into the bathroom. No 1950s bungalow had a claw-footed tub that looked quite like the one Ms. Gardener soaked in, but she had done a nice job restoring the original pink and black deco tile. There were bath oils and candles near the tub.

Archer retraced his steps to the framed pictures on the dresser.  These pictures showed her as a little girl with her parents and another of her as a teenager sitting by a river. Young had been right. She was beautiful and had been since birth, but when she was young she wore it easily. In the bedside table drawer was a vibrator and birth control pills. She wasn’t a hermit or a prude. There would be a man – probably more than one – in her life. If there were only one, there would have been a third picture in the bedroom. Archer opened the closet. The clothing wasn’t overly expensive and almost all of it casual. He touched a fancy dress. The one she had worn in the picture in the dining room. It was long and backless and purple. He started to close the closet, but paused and touched that gown again. He didn’t know why he was drawn to it, only that he was. Finally, he shut the doors. Time was flying.

Knowing now that nobody was in the house, Archer went back to the den. Daniel Young watched him from down the hall then followed him.

Erika worked in the den. Magazines were strewn about:
Bloomberg, U.S. News
and
People
. Archer stood near the computer on the desk. He fired it up. It was locked and he wouldn’t waste time looking for a way in. With one finger he pushed around some papers. There was a coffee cup beside it all. Archer picked up the cup, Young looked at the papers.

“She’s been working.”

Archer glanced at the papers. “She’s been editing for someone, this isn’t her name.”

“Pseudonym,” Young murmured, as he read the work.

“How do you know? Could be she was helping someone out.”

“I know it’s hers. She has a very distinct style.”

Archer half listened. He picked up the cup and sniffed the cold dark liquid in the bottom. He lost interest and put it back down.

There was no sign of a struggle in any of these rooms. Then again, Josie’s car didn’t exactly throw up any clues as to her whereabouts.  Archer left the den light on and went into the hall. He had taken one step into the living room when suddenly he saw a dark flash out of the corner of his eye. He crouched fast and drew his gun smoothly only to hold up.

“Oh, my God.” Daniel threw himself away from Archer and against the wall. Archer stood up, fighting the urge to laugh.

“Cat, Daniel. I think you’re safe.”

Archer left that behind for Daniel to chew on as he followed the skittish animal into the kitchen and finally to the back door. The cat wanted out, and it wanted food. He reached down and picked it up. There was meat on its bones. Archer dropped the cat and opened the door. He found a can of food, opened it, and put it in the dish. He put the can in the trash, and that’s when he saw the wine glasses. Archer dug them out: the bowls were dry, but there was a ring of red wine in each of them.  One was cracked. It was probably nothing, but he took them out of the trash, wrapped them in a towel, and went to find Daniel. The man was sitting on the sofa. He stayed silent while Archer put the towel near the door.

“Anything in here?” Archer asked.

“No. Not even a message on her machine,” Daniel answered.

“Then if she’s missing, she was probably taken sometime this afternoon after she picked up her messages.”

“You can’t say that,” Daniel scoffed. “Maybe there weren’t any.”

“Women who look like her have messages,” Archer noted. “And a reporter has people calling her with ideas, information, deadlines. The mail has been picked up. It came today. It’s on the table. I’ll find out when it was dropped.”

Daniel’s head swiveled as if he was looking at each of the things Archer pointed out. For a moment he considered the floor and then raised his head.

“What’s in the towel?”

“Wine glasses,” Archer answered.

“Why are you taking them?”

“Two glasses in the trash is kind of weird, especially when only one is broken. Maybe they can tell us something. Fingerprints. We can swab the inside for DNA in case we get someone to match it against.”

“If you think those glasses are evidence of something, you shouldn’t tamper with them,” Daniel said. “Imagine if Josie Bates is dead, and you have contaminated evidence that would have proved who her killer was. Some lawyer as good as her would have a field day.”

“I don’t want to hear that again, Young. Don’t even think it,” Archer said.

“What?”

“That Josie is dead,” Archer lashed out. “Why in the hell are you thinking about trying the guy who killed her? Why aren’t you thinking of things that will help us find her alive?”

“Because I’m practical, and you’re emotional.”

Daniel stood up and stomped to the front door. He took the towel and went into the kitchen. Archer heard the can lid open and the careful tinkle of glass. When Daniel returned he was empty handed but full of things to say.

“I’m not assuming anything, Archer, I am simply anticipating all outcomes. If there is the slightest possibility that Ms. Bates and Erika are dead, I will not let you hobble the actual investigation before it starts. It’s time we called someone with real authority.”

“Who would you suggest?” Archer challenged. “You think LAPD is going to be any more responsive than Hermosa was? These are grown women. You don’t know shit about how the system works, you only think you do.”

Archer turned on his heel, determined to get those glasses if for no other reason than to knock Daniel Young down a peg. Daniel grabbed him. Archer spun. The two men faced off. Surprisingly, Daniel Young didn’t back down. He lowered his voice as he tried to tame the situation.

“The police will listen now.  We have the same list found in two cars, Ms. Bates has now been gone over twenty-four hours, and Erika isn’t here. What more do we need?”

“How about some evidence that something has happened to either one of them?” Archer said tightly. “The list can’t be construed as threatening. Josie isn’t around, but you are. I can make a case for Josie being in trouble because I know her habits. What are we going to tell anyone about this lady, huh? The cops are going to laugh at you when you tell them you want to file a missing persons on a woman you haven’t seen in ten years.”  Archer threw his arms out wide. “Are we going to say we’re concerned because her house is too neat? We don’t know if she goes out for a late dinner every night. She may be screwing her boyfriend’s brains out at his place.”

“That’s crude.” Daniel’s face flooded with color. Archer almost laughed. He never would have taken Young for a stuffed shirt.

“That’s life,” Archer snapped.  “Here’s reality, Young. The most we’d get from the cops are questions about why we’re trespassing.”

“Alright then.” Daniel’s jaw set. “Since we’re already trespassing, let’s finish the job.”

Daniel stormed past Archer, out the back, across the small yard, and up to the one car garage with Archer on his heels.  He paused as if he expected Archer to do the heavy lifting.

“Go for it.”

Archer let his eyes rest on the heavy door. It was freshly painted but as old as the hills and heavy as a boulder. Erika Gardener must have some guns on her to open that thing every day. When Daniel continued to hesitate, Archer goaded him.

“If she can do it, I bet you can.”

The doctor took hold of the handle and yanked. Archer was about to help when Young gave it one more heave and lifted the thing smoothly. The ancient springs creaked. The door fell into place. Young stepped back and rubbed his hands together to clean off the dust. Archer took a step forward, and the two men stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they looked at the yellow VW bug inside. When Archer made a move toward it, Daniel put his arm out to block him.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Don’t leave your prints.”

“You’re right. I’d hate to get to court and have someone tear apart my testimony because I made a simple mistake,” Daniel drawled.

The garage was neat but not fastidiously kept. Erika Gardener had the same stuff in her garage as everyone else did: storage boxes, old paint, yard tools. The structure was original, the wood frame was pocked by termites and dry rot, and the rafters were laced with spider webs. The car was clean and had been washed recently. That was something Erika Gardener had in common with Josie: they both took care of their cars like babies.

Archer flipped a switch. The bare bulb gave off a dim light that turned Daniel Young’s tan to yellow and his blond hair almost dark. Grabbing a couple of rags, Archer tossed one Daniel’s way before going to the trunk. Daniel opened the driver side door.

“Got it,” Daniel said. He was still hunched over as he extricated himself from the small car. Archer looked up. Daniel was holding what appeared to be a Xerox of the list that was making the rounds. “Erika’s name has a line through it.”

Archer nodded. He looked in the trunk. A bunch of empty water bottles nestled against a pile of cloth grocery bags. Erika Gardener was a schizoid environmentalist.  There was another bag way in the back. Archer grabbed it. Inside were workout clothes, a make-up bag and a couple of envelopes. It looked as if she had taken the mail as she was running out to the gym. The car door slammed and Daniel came around the back.