“Claire, this is official police business. I can’t discuss this case with you.” His eyes gleamed, full of mischief.
“Look, I came to dinner, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t know it would be so horrible for you,” Collier said, smirking.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He waved her off with his hand. “Nothing like shutting a man down to turn him on. But anything I tell you puts my career in jeopardy. I could lose my job.”
“Never. You’d only be an unnamed source. Don’t you think I subscribe to the journalistic code of ethics?”
“Good one, Travers. A tabloid reporter with ethics? Ha!” He burst out laughing.
“Yeah, well at least I’m always obviously good for a chuckle. Ready for some more brewski?”
“Hey, are you trying to loosen my lips?”
“Whatever it takes.” Claire smiled, knowing she’d get her information before the night was over. Their platters of fish and chips were set down in front of them while they ordered another pitcher. Nothing like fried fish and French fries to make a girl’s stomach happy. Claire poured malt vinegar over her fries and dug in, while Collier continued his flirtatious banter over the upbeat Irish melodies playing on the jukebox.
“I’ll tell you what it’ll take.”
“Are you sexually harassing me, Detective?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” He filled their mugs.
“Because if you are, you could be getting into some really hot water.”
“Threat? Or would that be like bath water?” He held up the mug, ready to toast the meal.
“Call it whatever you like.”
“All right, since you wanna play hardball, sleep with me.” He set the mug back down.
She knew that, although he was joking with her, he was also serious. “Overt sexual harassment.”
“I’m honest.”
“I like you, Collier, I really do. You’re cute, funny, and, oh yeah, what is the word I’m looking for? You know, the one that’s synonymous with commitment? Married, that’s it.”
“Claire, I’m separated.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she cracked a joke. “Better yet. I’m the rebound girl until you and wifey figure things out and hook back up. Sorry, not interested. The gal in the middle never has much fun.”
“It wouldn’t be like that. You’ve caught my eye for some time now, and you know I’ve never crossed the line. Oh sure, I flirt, but who wouldn’t? You’re a beautiful lady. But I’ve always been faithful to my wife. She left seven months ago for a stay-at-home type. We’ve had some problems over the last few years. I don’t really want to get into it. I suppose I haven’t had the balls to admit I’ve been traded in for the new, improved model. I’m only now beginning to tell people.”
Claire studied his face. She heard him try to swallow back his shame. The strength it took for him to confront this demon made her fidget. Claire had heard from a couple of other cops that Collier and his wife had lost a teenage daughter a few years back. She’d never asked how the girl died, but was sure her death also had something to with their break up. It was difficult for couples to recover from that type of loss and see eye to eye again. She wasn’t good at intimate conversations, so she didn’t bring it up. Vulnerability was something she found unattractive and weak, but on Collier it wore well, and stirred her. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“So, spend the night?”
Claire slugged him softly on the shoulder. They laughed and finished their second pitcher before she mentioned the Kiley murder. “Do you think Helena did it? Or did she hire somebody?”
“Not gonna let up, are you?”
“What did you expect?”
When Collier slurred his words, Claire figured she had him right where she wanted him. “Want my opinion?”
“You know I do.”
“I think that Helena Shea is probably guilty in some capacity. She had plenty of motive to kill Leeza Kiley, and she had the means to make it happen. Do I actually think that she did it herself? Hardly. A man had to have done it for her. A lot of brute force was involved in that strangling. The bruising was severe. If Ms. Shea had done it herself, she probably would’ve gotten shot. I also think she hired someone to torch that rehab place she was building. Ms. Shea’s bank accounts aren’t as filled up as they used to be thanks to all the cash she’s been putting into that place. There’s a huge policy on it. Maybe she decided to back out, get her cash back, and let the government take care of the druggies. Maybe her do-gooder thing was simply an act. Now, I don’t think she knew that girl was gonna be in the place when it went to embers, but if I can hang her on that one too, I will.”
“Why do you hate her so much?”
“Why do you?”
“I don’t.”
“You could have fooled me with your sleazy stories.”
“My stories aren’t sleazy, and I’m only doing my job.”
“Me, too.”
“I think there’s more to it.”
“Nope. It’s a job, like yours is a job.”
“Whatever. Let me ask you, if she couldn’t have strangled Leeza herself, why’d you haul her in?”
“The DA and I are pals. I explained to Rogers that Ms. Shea had to be in on it in some way. We figured that by giving her a taste of prison grub versus that gourmet stuff she’s used to, letting her try an orange jumpsuit on for size and showing her what it’s like being intimidated by some hard cons hungry for a pretty piece of ass—we might just get her lips flapping. But she’s tough, and she’s gotten lawyered up with a high priced attorney. She’s not talking one bit.” He motioned for the waitress, pointing to the empty pitcher. “I’m thinking they definitely hired a pro. They’ve both got enough money to do something like that. But I knew going for Kiley wasn’t the answer. She could break under pressure. He wouldn’t, and then he might just hang the whole department out to dry. I don’t think Kiley had anything to do with the fire either—only her. Another thing that ties her in is that drapery chord—very stupid on her part.”
“But couldn’t that all be a setup? I overheard some guys talking about a frame-up job. Helena Shea must’ve made a few enemies in her time. Not to mention that if she’s behind the arson at her place, why now? She sets a fire and then murders her archenemy? I know the model stereotype says they’re not exactly geniuses, but how stupid could she be?”
“I’ve seen dumber. Anything’s possible, but I gotta go with what’s in here.” Collier pointed to his gut. “And I know that no one could’ve hated Leeza Kiley more than Helena Shea. After all the grief that siren caused her last year? I never thought we’d hear the end of that story.”
“Apparently we haven’t.”
“Hell, no. It’s hot again, and that’s why you need me—to give you the insides. I know that Leeza’s murder wasn’t a random attack. Now all I have to do is dot my i’s and cross my t’s, and you watch, it’ll all come together.”
“It’s that easy, is it?”
“Sure is,” Collier replied, his smugness growing with every gulp of brew.
“Wish I had your confidence,” Claire said. Although Claire had never been a Helena Shea fan, she hadn’t been her enemy either. She’d been the lucky messenger who caught a great story that had incidentally earned her some decent cash and given her some notoriety in the tabloid pages. It had even prompted some interest from a big media gun into Claire doing her own thirty-minute magazine show weeknights on one of the networks. She was still negotiating that. If anything, she had to be grateful to Helena. Without her juicy life to exploit, Claire wouldn’t have climbed the career ladder as quickly as she had.
“So tell me, what did Leeza want with you? What was your dinner date all about the other night?” Collier asked, leaning in closer to her.
Claire paused for a moment, deciding how to handle this. She knew that she couldn’t keep information from the police. But this was more personal, wasn’t it? Fancying herself as an amateur sleuth, she didn’t want to reveal everything to Collier just yet. She wasn’t convinced of Helena Shea’s guilt. By telling him about the confrontation Helena had with Leeza a few days before Leeza was murdered, she would definitely be dumping fuel on his investigative fire.
“I’m sure it’s not news to you that Leeza was nothing less than a drama queen. She wanted to talk about her upcoming spread in
Playboy
. She was quite proud that at thirty-eight she’d gotten the centerfold. The scandal was partially responsible for her getting that spread. Leeza always knew how to work the angles.”
“Scandal or not, she
was
pretty damn hot. I’m nearing fifty, and she was one of the best-looking women I’d ever seen. Reminded me of Melanie Griffith. It was a bitch seeing her dead like that. So, nothing else you need to tell me about the dinner?” His eyebrows rose skeptically.
“That was it. I left her at the restaurant to flirt with all the men wanting to get into her pants. The next thing I hear, she’s dead.” Claire could feel the alcohol going to her head, but poured another for each of them anyway.
“All right, Nancy Drew, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. But you’d better expect me to have a few more questions if I find out you’re keeping anything from me.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide, Hardy Boy. What do you say we down another, and you tell me your woes?” Claire knew she might regret the evening, but with her beer goggles on, Collier was beginning to look a little like Elvis, for whom she had a certain fondness. Besides, he was sweet, lonely, and she was sure he held the key to unlocking this story. What could be the harm in having one more, anyway?
****
The harm turned out to be that a half-dozen beers and one persuasive detective found Claire’s leg draped over Collier’s—at five in the morning. With breath that would embarrass a dragon, Claire pulled the sheet around her as she got up quietly and made her way to the bathroom in hopes of finding an extra toothbrush. The sight of the one-bedroom bachelor pad—not to mention the stench coming from something rotting in the kitchen—confirmed to her that Collier and his wife had indeed split. No extra toothbrush meant that Collier hadn’t entertained any other overnight guests recently. Feeling ashamed by the evening’s events, she dressed quickly and quietly snuck out of Collier’s bachelor pad before he could lift his head.
An hour later, after stopping by her home for a shower and her usual two-cup-caffeine-jumpstart, she headed to her office at
The Scene
. She rolled her car window down, letting her wet hair dry in the morning air. It was also an attempt to shake the pounding headache that reminded her of her poor judgment in last night’s escapade. How could she have let it happen?
Oh, but Collier was really, really cute—well, last night he was, anyway. Ugh, cute schmute, you schmuck! You crossed
way
over the line between professionalism and sheer stupidity!
All day at work she tried hard to shake off the memories of the night before. She left early—a rarity for her, especially at the beginning of a big story—taking the work home with her. One of her hobbies was developing her own photographs, and she’d told the tech that she’d do these herself, hoping she’d gotten that shot of Helena looking directly at her. That shot, she was certain, would make its way onto the front pages of millions of newspapers.
Her answering machine blinked obnoxiously as she walked in, signaling what Claire figured was inevitable: another call from Collier. He’d left messages that ranged from courteous and professional to nasty and obscene. On the last two, he’d sounded quite perturbed.
As she started to play back the messages, the phone rang again. She decided it wouldn’t do her any good to avoid Collier; in all likelihood it would make things more difficult. “Hello?”
“Busy day?”
Claire heard disrespect tinged with anger in his voice. “Actually it was. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you. It’s just I’ve . . .”
“No worries, Claire. I thought that maybe you really liked me. Maybe, hell, who knows? But I see that pumping information is your deal. And I mean that literally. You truly are the all-American-career girl.”
“No, Collier, that’s not what it was about, I swear.”
“You broads are all the same. Don’t bother.”
Claire could tell that he’d had a few. She also realized that she’d better handle this situation with care. Otherwise, last night’s poor decision could have severe consequences. She did need Collier for the information he could give. He’d given her the inside scoop on several stories in the past concerning the jet set and their criminal side.
“Come on, David. I did enjoy being with you. And I like you. It was just kind of weird. We’ve been friends for so long. And I was busy today. I’m sorry I left so early this morning. I guess I didn’t know how to face you.”
A long pause on the other end; Claire could hear voices and laughter in the background. “All right, so maybe it was a bit weird. But nice weird, huh?”
“Definitely.”
“Well, do you think maybe you could meet me tonight?”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got to finish my article.” He didn’t reply. “What about tomorrow for lunch?” That was safe.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Great.” Claire mustered all the enthusiasm she could, then hung up with a sigh. She went into her hall bathroom, which she’d turned into a darkroom. Visitors rarely stopped by, so she could keep it set up. Like a frustrated child, she purposely banged her head several times against the wall, repeating, “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Forget about it for now, and handle it tomorrow. Forget it,” she said staring at the painting on the wall facing her—a Picasso replica.