Lanyon, Josh - Adrien English 04 - Death of a Pirate King (9 page)

He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to make sense to me.”

I assumed it had to make sense to someone, though. I had to
wonder about Jake assigning someone like Alonzo to this high-profile case. The
guy was a moron. So did that mean Jake put him in charge because Alonzo would
be easy to control if the evidence pointed in a direction Jake didn’t like? It
was a cynical thought, but apparently I was a lot more cynical these days.

I said, “Okay, well, let me ask you
why
, if I didn’t want to bring attention to myself, would I break
the glass I used and throw it in the trash? I can’t think of a better way to
draw police attention to the fact that Jones was murdered than that.”

“You were trying to destroy evidence.”

“But if you hadn’t found the broken glass you would probably
never have suspected Jones’s death wasn’t natural. Given his age and weight,
you’d probably have accepted that he died of a heart attack. Wasn’t finding the
broken glass the first tip-off?”

“No way. We suspected homicide right off the bat.”

I didn’t know if that was true or not. I said, trying to keep
my patience, “But why wouldn’t I just wipe my fingerprints off the glass? Why
go to the trouble of breaking it and throwing it outside -- and
leave my fingerprints
on it? It brought
attention to the crime.”

His tone and expression were patronizing. “You’re thinking of
all this after the fact. At the time of the murder you panicked and tried to
destroy the evidence.”

“I panicked? I thought I premeditated this crime?”

He eyed me without favor.

“According to you, I’m an old pro at murder investigations.”

He said, “Yeah, and I’ll tell you straight out, I don’t care what
the lieutenant says, there’s something hinky about a guy like you involved in
three separate homicide cases.”

My heart was starting to lose its rhythm, that uncomfortable
fluttering filling up my chest, closing off my throat. I took a deep breath.
Then another. I needed Alonzo to go away.

“I didn’t know Porter Jones,” I said, sitting on the edge of
my desk. “What the hell is my motive?”

“We put these other pieces together; the motive will fall
into line.”

I’d heard Jake say similar things often enough, so I sort of
understood where he was coming from. Taking into account that Alonzo was an
idiot.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that because none of those pieces
fit,” I got out. “Are you arresting me? Because I’ve said everything I have to
say, and I’m calling my lawyer.”

He looked suddenly alert, and I wondered if I had been taking
him a little too seriously. “It’s my experience, Mr. English, that innocent
people don’t start yelling for their lawyers immediately.”

“Have you been watching
The
Closer
again?” I inquired nastily. It was all I could do to keep my voice
and hands steady. “This isn’t
immediately
.
You obviously think I had something to do with Jones’s death, and I’ll be
frank. I don’t have time or energy for this bullshit.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then snapped his notebook
shut. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. English.”

After the door closed, I dialed a number I had never thought
to dial again.

* * * * *

“Are you thinking of hiring someone for the bookstore?”
Natalie asked me later that afternoon.

I was on my laptop finding out what I could about Porter
Jones. Not that I’m an expert -- regardless of what Detective Alonzo thought --
but in my experience, the more thoroughly you understood the victim, the better
the chances of narrowing down the suspects. All I knew about Porter Jones was
that he had bankrolled a number of successful movies -- several of them
starring Paul Kane -- and that he liked deep-sea fishing for marlin. And that
going on
The Newlywed Game
with Ally
would not have been a moneymaker for him.

I looked up from a couple of blurry photos of Porter at
Hollywood functions and concentrated on Natalie. Her voice had that high,
slightly shaky top note I associate with impending disaster of the feminine
variety.

“Sorry?”

“I saw that postcard,” she said. Her chin was raised -- I
guess at the idea she had been reading my mail -- and, yes, her voice was
definitely wobbling.

“Which postcard?” I asked warily.

“The postcard from That Boy.”

Ah.
That Boy
was
how Lisa referred to Angus. I said, “Well, we need more help, right? That’s
what you’ve been telling me.”

“I’ve been telling you that you should hire
Warren
.”

“Nat, I’m not going to hire Warren.”

“Why not?”

I opened my mouth to tell her exactly why not, but as I
stared at her too-bright blue eyes and the way her chin was quivering, I
chickened out.

“Because…because I promised Angus when he left that he could
have his job back.”

“Adrien, he was involved in a
murder
.”

“But he was very good at alphabetizing.”

“Adrien! It’s not funny.”

I bit my lip. “I know. Angus fell in with the wrong crowd,
but he’s not one of the bad guys. And I think he deserves -- needs -- a second
chance.”

She stared at me, her breasts rising and falling in
agitation. “You’re too trusting, Adrien. Of all the wrong people.”

My cell phone rang.

“I have to take this,” I said. I didn’t care if it was the
Los Angeles Times
with a Very Special
Offer. I intended to take it.

“Fine,” she clipped, and stalked out.

I checked the number on my cell phone. Guy.

“Hey,” I said.

“Why don’t we go away this weekend?” Guy said. “Just you and
me. Los Cabos is only a two-hour flight. I could book a hotel at one of the
resorts. Somewhere on the beach. Somewhere romantic.”

“I…” The call waiting beeps went off. I glanced at the caller
ID display and my heart skipped a beat -- but I was pretty sure that had to do
with the various strains of the day.

I clicked the incoming call. “Hang on,” I said. I clicked
back to Guy. “Can I put you on hold for a sec?” I asked.

“I’ve got class in five minutes,” he said. “We’ll talk
tonight, lover. Take it easy this afternoon, right?”

“Right,” I said, and clicked off.

“I’m back,” I told Jake.

“You sure are,” he said. “What the hell did you say to
Alonzo? He’s now convinced you’re our perp.”

I’d had time to cool down from the morning, but the sound of
Jake’s voice sent my heart into that jittery and unpredictable rhythm. I was
beginning to think he was hazardous to my health. Certainly to my mental
health.

I said shortly, “I threatened to call my lawyer.”

Silence. Jake said, “What did he say that rattled you?”

“You mean besides implying I’m a serial killer?”

I had the mixed pleasure of knowing he was struck speechless.

“I just…lost my temper,” I admitted. “I’m tired of being
suspected of murder. This is the second -- no, third -- time.”

Even I could hear the tension in my voice. Jake said slowly,
“I see.” Then he threw me entirely by asking, “Has something else happened?
Because this doesn’t sound like you.”

“How the hell would you know what sounds like me?”

“I know you don’t panic easily. If you did, I wouldn’t have
agreed to this plan of Paul’s.”

“Yeah, well that’s a mystery in itself, isn’t it?”

Aggravatingly, he didn’t answer. What was with him? If this
was what marriage had done to him, he might as well have got a lobotomy.

I said, “He told me the toxicology report identified
digitoxin as the poison used to trigger Jones’s coronary, and he told me that
traces of it were found on the broken glass with my fingerprints.”

“Which we were expecting.”

W
e
? Him and me or LAPD? I wasn’t sure.

“I seem to be his only suspect.”

“Listen,” Jake said. “You know how this works. He’s giving
Paul and the Beaton-Jones broad the same star treatment. You didn’t kill Jones,
right?”

“No. Jake --”

“Right?”

“Right.”

“So relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He laughed. “It is?”

Well, maybe he had a point there. For the first time it
occurred to me how precarious Jake’s own position was -- or at least, given his
paranoia, how precarious it might feel to him. I asked, “Why does Alonzo
suspect Paul Kane?”

“He doesn’t like fags. He doesn’t like Hollywood types. And
he hated Paul’s last movie. Oh, and Paul mixed the fatal cocktail.”

“I feel much better.”

He asked, “Who are you planning on talking to next?”

I said, and I wasn’t exactly sure why, “I’m not sure. I need
to talk to Guy. He doesn’t know I’m deliberately involving myself in this
investigation. I don’t think he’s going to be too thrilled when he finds out.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jake said drily. “How is Captain Crunch?”

“He’s fine. He’s back teaching at UCLA.”

“So I heard. Because no college education is complete without
a course in Applied Hokum.”

“It can’t be all Police Science and SS Interrogation
Techniques.”

“Speaking of which, remember to let me know before you talk
to anyone -- assuming you decide to continue.”

“Roger wilco.”

He sighed and rang off.

* * * * *

“Maybe one of us should learn to cook,” I said as Guy dished
out teriyaki salmon, vegetable roll, and tofu salad from Japon Bistro.

“You don’t eat enough to make it worth either of our time.”
He opened the fridge. “Mineral water?”

I sighed. “I guess.”

His smile was sympathetic as he poured lemon-flavored mineral
water into a goblet. “How’d your tests go, luv?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t see Dr. Cardigan until next week.”

He sat down across from me and said, “Did you think about
going away for the weekend?”

“Er…yeah.” I sipped my mineral water. “The thing is --”

“I was thinking of Palmilla Resort,” he said. “It’s right on
the ocean. Right between San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas. Every room has a
patio and an ocean view. They’ve got two infinity edge swimming pools, a spa,
restaurants -- and a wedding chapel.”

I dropped one of my chopsticks. “Guy…”

“All right.” His smile was rueful. “Don’t panic. I’m not going
to push you into anything, but we need this time together, Adrien. You need
this time. We can lie in the sun and swim and sleep late and fuck like minks…”

“I’d…like to,” I said, constrained. “But this isn’t a good
time.”

He kept smiling, but I could see the effort. “I know exactly
what you’re going to say. You’re going to say you can’t leave when you’ve
already been out of commission for a couple of weeks, and with the renovations
going on next door. But we’re only talking about a weekend. I think Natalie can
handle things for two -- two and a half -- days.”

I said, “I’m a suspect in a murder investigation. How’s it
going to look if I suddenly pull an O.J. and run for the border?”

“No one could seriously believe you’re a suspect in this
bloke’s death. You didn’t even know the man.”

“But I
am
a
suspect, and that’s why…”

“Why what?” he inquired, when I paused.

“Paul Kane asked if I would -- just informally -- talk to a
few people.”

I met Guy’s gaze. His eyes were just the color of green when
surf hits rock. “What exactly does that mean: ‘informally talk to a few
people’? You mean he’s asked you to…
investigat
e
?”

“Nothing that formal,” I assured him hastily. “I’m just going
to ask a few casual questions. This is apparently a very close-knit and
closedmouthed group, and the idea is that they might open up more readily with
someone like me.”

“Someone like you? A complete outsider?”

“But Kane is sort of vouching for me.”

Guy put his chopsticks down and folded his arms. “That
asshole Riordan would never go for that.”

I said very carefully, “Well, surprisingly, he seems open to
the idea provided I keep him updated on anything I learn.”

Guy stared at me as though I’d offered him a bite of my
blowfish. “You’re joking.”

I shook my head.

“There’s no way that sonofabitch would be okay with that.”

“
Gu
y
!”

He waited, brows knitted, angry.

I swallowed my first response, made an effort to relax my
grip on the stem of my glass. Of course Guy hated Jake -- and my instinctive
desire to defend him was just an old bad habit I hadn’t quite managed to break
myself of.

“Nothing. Look, I don’t know. I don’t know if this is just
Jake’s way of pacifying a media darling like Paul Kane or if he really thinks I
might be of help.” I shrugged. “Maybe he’s learned a few things.”

“Maybe he has. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

He seemed to be pushing me toward confrontation, and that was
unlike him. “Come on, Guy,” I protested.

“Even if you were well enough to take something like this on
--”

“Oh, for chrissake!”

He was staring at me with a look I hadn’t seen on his face
for a long time -- two years, to be exact. “You
enjoy
this, don’t you? I never understood that before.”

“I don’t enjoy it. I’m a suspect, Guy. I can’t just sit here
and --”

“Why not? That’s what normal people do. They let the police
and the trained investigators deal with this kind of thing.”

He was perfectly right. That
was
what normal people did.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” I said at last.

“Well, we can add that to the list of all the other things
you don’t want to do with me. Like getting married -- or even going away for
the weekend.”

“Guy…” I didn’t know what to say to him. This outburst was so
out of character, and I knew I was at least partly to blame. He already felt
that I kept him at a distance, and my unwillingness to commit, to take our
relationship to the next level exacerbated the situation -- and now this: the
return of Jake and everything he represented -- probably the things Guy liked
least about me.