Kiss of Death (17 page)

“Hey, did Desiree have an affair with Carrington?” Carey's running with the jealousy motivation.

“She says no,” Sloan replies. “But it's possible she was lying. Mind you, Carrington didn't include Desiree on his list.”

We're silent for a while.

Carey taps his pen on his notebook. “If the crime scene was staged, maybe the person trying to throw us off the scent is Desiree.”

“But the autopsy showed that the jugular had been under stress,” I point out, “so someone definitely drained or sucked blood from that neck wound. I guess someone who knew of her recent involvement in the Goth community could stage the murder,” I concede.

“Like Desiree.” Carey raises his pointer finger. “Happen to know her shoe size?”

“No.”

Carey moves on. “Or maybe the killer was stalking Sherry. Saw her go to the clubs.”

“Which leaves us wide-open for another of the professor's women.” Sloan rests her elbows on the table and clasps her hands. “This woman finds out he's moved on to Sherry and follows her. And she had the good sense to plan the murder, to look for a scapegoat.”

Mmm…interesting. This scenario could actually fit with my dream and Sloan's idea that the vampire angle might be staged. Sherry goes to the state park to live out her fantasy of being a donor and someone's watching her. Then she meets Todd, and sometime between 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. her stalker nabs her and decides to stage it like the scene they observed earlier. They take Sherry back to the park and kill her.

While it is one possible interpretation, it's much more contrived than the obvious—the bite wound was the cause of death via blood loss.

I voice my reservations. “If someone was trying to frame a vampire, that person would have been planning it for a while. Jealousy's generally a crime of passion…spontaneous. The person acts on their jealous rage in the moment.”

“
Some
people would have the foresight to plan it.” Sloan takes her glasses off. “Move it from a spontaneous act to premeditated murder. Correct? Or to take advantage of an opportunity if it arose.”

True. It's not like that scenario's all that rare. It's just more common that jealousy leads to impulsive acts. Whether it's keying the ex's car or making prank calls, it's temper driven…for most people. “You're right, Sloan. While most people fuelled by jealousy would act impulsively, not everybody would. But if we're talking about one of these women—” I point to the list “—it's more likely to be an older woman than one of the professor's
college crushes. I don't see an eighteen- to twenty-year-old thinking through the consequences to that extent.”

“Are most of the women students?” Carey asks.

“Most of them, yes. But there's also his wife—” Sloan digs out her copy of the list and puts her reading glasses back on “—a coworker and someone he met at a conference in Indiana, but that woman's based in L.A. I'll get Carey and a couple of others to work on this list.”

“Okay.” I still want to focus on the vampire angle, but I can see that Sloan's right—we do need to explore the possibility the crime was more personal. “I must admit, I wouldn't mind meeting the wife…seeing her reaction.”

Sloan nods. “I know what you mean.” She turns to Carey. “According to Carrington they have an open relationship. But maybe she reached her breaking point. A list like this would drive me to drink, if not murder.” Sloan holds up the list and then looks at me. “You wanna pay the wife a visit before Fischer?”

“Sure.”

We're silent for a bit before Sloan says, “We should also consider a murder-for-hire scenario. Maybe one of these women paid someone to kill Sherry and stage it like a vampire attack.”

“Will do.” Carey nods at the list.

Mmm…it's a long shot, but it's also another possibility that would tie in with the evidence
and
my vision. Plus it would keep Ward in the all-clear.

“What about Damien Winters?” I ask. “We need to find out more about him, ideally interview him, but I want to keep clear in case I meet him as Veronica.” I decide not to share the fact that I've already made a tentative arrangement to meet him.

Sloan presses her lips together. “Okay, I'll get to him in the next twenty-four hours. Either with Carey or solo.”

I know he probably won't be Sloan's first priority, but at least he's on her list.

We spend several minutes going over Sherry's credit card transactions, but nothing stands out. The last transaction was from a gas station at 9:12 p.m. on Saturday night. So obviously she got gas before she went out. Nothing on the grid for her after that.

 

Carrington lives in Manhattan Beach, only a few streets from the beachfront and extravagant properties worth ten million plus. It was shortly after 4:30 p.m. by the time we left the station, so we hit the worst of the southbound traffic on the 405. Nearly two hours later we made the exit. I also used the time to make the phone call I'd been avoiding all day—Darren. When I told him I was on my way to question two more people and then would be going to a party at Ward's house as Veronica, I got silence. Then again, he knew I was in the car with Sloan, so it was probably his only option. Who knows what sort of reception I'll get tonight.

I try not to think about Darren waiting for me at home as we drive through the strip of shops on Manhattan Beach Boulevard to 11th Place. At the property's fence line is a sign for Carrington Designs, which points alongside the driveway toward a side entrance, and another placard that reads Change Your Home, Change Your Life.

Once we open the gate, the layout of the residence becomes obvious. The property's granny flat has been converted into Erica Carrington's studio. To the right is the main house, ahead of us the swimming pool, and on the far side glassed doors. We head for the studio and, as we approach, a woman opens the sliding glass door.

Mrs. Carrington is impeccably dressed and groomed. Dark hair is swept into a French roll and kept in check with a diamante slide. Likewise, two matching clips collect the stray hairs on either side, pinning them loosely onto her head just above her ears. She wears fitted beige
pants and a tunic-style short-sleeved top in a beautiful shade of purple that highlights her bronzed skin. She's slim, attractive and in her mid-thirties—probably five to ten years younger than her husband.

“Agent Anderson?” She looks between Sloan and me.

“Yes, that's right.” Once I'm close enough, I hold out my hand. “I'm Agent Anderson and this is Detective Sloan from the LAPD.”

Sloan shakes her hand, too.

“Please come in.”

While the outside is simple red brick, the inside is a testament to Mrs. Carrington's design skills. She's opened up what was probably once the living space and bedroom of the second residence into one room and installed downlights and a modern chandelier as a centerpiece. In one corner sits a glass coffee table with three black leather armchairs around it. The chairs are small and modern, with round edges and a sleek design. A large, high table sits in the middle of the room, with fabric and paint swatches organized into several groups. To the left of the table is a small desk, computer and filing cabinet, but the area is sparse, with no papers or apparent activity around it. Either she always keeps her work space this neat or my call gave her enough time to tidy up.

The walls are painted a beautiful shade of lilac, except for one wall, which is white. I notice a ceiling-mounted projector is aimed at this area, so no doubt she uses this wall to give client presentations. I guess a white wall is classier than a projection screen.

She leads the way to the armchairs. “Terrible news about that poor girl.”

“Sherry Taylor.” I take a seat in one of the chairs Erica Carrington motions toward.

“Yes. Sherry Taylor.”

“Had you ever met her, Mrs. Carrington?” I ask.

“No. I rarely meet Jeffrey's students. Never really.”

Even though Carrington told me their relationship is open, I still hesitate, wondering how best to phrase my next line of questioning. My hesitation is answered by Sloan.

“We understand you and your husband have an open relationship?”

“That's correct.” Her face remains impassive as she takes the chair opposite us.

“Were you aware that your husband was seeing Sherry Taylor?” Sloan also sits down.

“Not until a few hours ago. We never discuss what we do outside the marriage. That's part of our agreement. But Jeffrey thought you might contact me.”

“Yes,” I say. “We spoke to him this afternoon.”

She nods. “He rang me straight after. Told me that one of his students had been murdered and that he'd seen her a few times sexually.”

“How do you feel about this arrangement, Mrs. Carrington?” Sloan asks.

She shrugs. “Fine. We've been married for twelve years, and our relationship has been open for the past eight or so.”

“And do you…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “Do you also engage in extramarital relationships?”

“On occasion, yes. But Jeffrey's job exposes him to a large pool of eager and willing partners…mine does not. Most of my clients are couples.”

“I see.”

“Does it bother you?” Sloan asks. “That he has so many affairs.”

“I don't really think about it, to be honest, Detective. Perhaps if I thought about it more, it would. But I accept our relationship as it is and I'm happy. Jeffrey and I have our time together but also have our independence.”

I'm finding it hard to read Mrs. Carrington. Part of
me feels that she must be emotionally affected on some level.

“Come on, Mrs. Carrington.” Sloan fixes her in a level stare. “You're honestly trying to tell us you never feel even the slightest twinge of jealousy?”

“No.”

“You've never once discussed making your relationship exclusive again?” Sloan's voice is brisk.

“Not really, no.”

“Not really?”

“About five years ago I did run into Jeffrey with one of his…students. And I was surprised to discover that not only did I feel awkward, I was a little jealous.”

“You were concerned he might like this other woman more than you?”

“Not at all. I wasn't jealous of
her
…I was jealous of her twenty-year-old body. Jeffrey and I discussed my feelings and, although he assured me I had nothing to worry about, I took the opportunity to get a bit of work done. A boob lift and a face-lift to be precise. I could run circles around Jeffrey's girls in every area…except the effects of an extra ten to twenty years.”

“You must have felt threatened by his interest in younger women if you felt you needed to look younger yourself, Mrs. Carrington,” I point out.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Seeing her made me realize I wanted my twenty-year-old body with my thirty-eight-year-old mind, that's all.” She smiles. “I know I don't look twenty, but I don't look forty-three, either.”

She certainly doesn't.

“If I saw my husband with another woman…” Sloan shakes her head. “I'd be doing a little bit more than making a plastic-surgery appointment.”

Mrs. Carrington smiles. “We're all different, Detective.”

“
Come on,
Mrs. Carrington.” Sloan raises her voice.
“You must have felt angry toward your husband or his women.”

“No.”

Sloan leans in. “If my husband was sleeping with another woman I'd want to kill him…or the other woman.”

“Like I said, Detective, we're all different.” Another smile. “Anything else?”

She's certainly very calm.

I take over. “Has your husband been behaving differently in the past few weeks, Mrs. Carrington?”

“Nope. Same old Jeffrey.”

“You haven't noticed anything unusual about him or his routines?”

“No.” She crosses her legs, still calm, like we're chatting about the weather.

“And what were you doing on Saturday night, Mrs. Carrington?”

“I worked here in the studio for a few hours in the afternoon until about six, and then Jeffrey and I cooked dinner together.”

“What about after dinner?” Sloan asks.

“We watched a movie on TV.”

“What movie?”

“
American Beauty
. It was on AMC and Jeffrey does love that film.” She gives us a playful smile. “For obvious reasons, I expect.”

There's an awkward silence before Sloan asks her what time they went to bed.

“About midnight, I'd say.” She gives us another easy smile.

Sloan returns the smile, but it's forced. “One more thing, Mrs. Carrington. We got a hold of Sherry Taylor's phone records today and she'd rung this number…a lot.”

“The hang-ups?” Mrs. Carrington puts two and two together.

“They were all very short, yes.”

“We've been getting a few hang-ups over the past couple of weeks. I guess that explains it.”

“So you weren't aware it was Sherry Taylor?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Thought it must have been kids.”

“Pretty persistent kids,” Sloan says. “You had ten calls in one night. Surely it must have crossed your mind that it was one of your husband's…
friends
.”

Mrs. Carrington ignores the dig. “You sure it was ten? That does sound very high.” She pauses. “Jeffrey assures me he's careful in his choices and I trust his judgment. It didn't occur to me that the caller could have been linked to him.”

Sloan shakes her head. “Come on, Mrs. Carrington. We're talking about young women, fresh out of school. How careful can he be?”

She pauses. “Perhaps you're right.” She says it, but still doesn't seem particularly perturbed.

After a few moments of silence, I say, “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Carrington.”