Authors: Faye Kellerman
Decker said, “No, I think she’s just a greedy woman out to get an inheritance.”
“I agree with Detective Webster’s assessment. That the phantom killer would be a young guy, someone she could psychologically and sexually manipulate. Maybe even a
teenage boy in her sexual thrall. Teenagers are very high on the impulse scale.” Cindy made a face. “I wonder how she coordinated it all.”
Decker sipped coffee. “I’m probably over-psychologizing. Maybe she’s actually…dare I say it?…innocent.”
Cindy thought a moment. “Except she did react very strongly…accusing you of sexual harassment. That’s typical of people who kill for inheritance. They view themselves as victims, think everyone’s out to get
them
, standing in the way of what
rightfully
belongs to them.
Or
she could just be a nutcase. Able to maintain on the outside, but fragile once you peel off that protective layer.”
“What else can you tell me about Mr. Phantom Murderer other than that he’s likely to be young?”
“Well, like I said, most people aren’t too original. If she recruited someone from her club first time out, she could have gone back to the club for number two. Maybe another tennis teacher or a bartender or the pool maintenance man or a waiter at the restaurant.”
She thought a moment.
“If you want me to probe further, I can call up my professor tomorrow. See if he’ll let me use their computers.”
“Is this the professor who told you to join the FBI?”
“The very same one. Actually, he’s a nice guy. We dated, you know.”
This time, Decker paused before he spoke. “No, I didn’t. Then it’s over?”
“Yes. But we’re still friends. I’m sure he’ll let me hook into his data banks with my modem. I’ll input the information and see if it jibes with anything. I’ll also try to pull up profiles of femme fatales who’ve convinced men to kill for them. There’re lots of those around. I can work from a much bigger sample size…a bigger pool of people.”
She thought a moment.
“I don’t recall a case where a woman used two men at the same time for the same murder. But there’s always a first.”
“You’ve been very helpful Cindy. Thanks.”
“For you, I’d do anything.”
Decker felt a warm glow in his heart. He kissed Cindy’s forehead. “You look tired. You
are
going to sleep here tonight, correct?”
Cindy checked her watch. “Yeah, it is a little late. I’ll bunk down in Hannah’s room. Baby’s rooms always smell so sweet.”
Decker looked into his daughter’s eyes. “You take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.” She studied her father. “Your color’s better, Dad. You look happier. Must be my positive influence.”
“That—and the fact that I’m finally getting something back from all that tuition.”
Cindy whacked him. Just like Rina.
Why were women always hitting him?
Must say something about their own helplessness. Or maybe something about dominance needs.
Even Jeanine. She had hit him, too. Only in her case, she had hit him where it hurt.
All dressed up
with nowhere to go. But it didn’t matter much. With stakeouts, image was everything. Dark suit, striped silk tie, white shirt, and a bulging briefcase with a gold clasp. The ensemble stated that Webster
belonged
. Because even without looking at the directory, he instinctively knew that Jeanine Garrison’s building had to contain law offices.
He rode the elevators, a portable CD player stowed in his pocket, earphones indiscernibly tucked into his outer canal. Chopin. Piano études. They didn’t get in the way. In his breast pocket was a Dictaphone, which he used instead of a notepad. Less conspicuous. Because lawyers did lots of dictation. He kept watch over who punched Jeanine’s floor, who entered her office.
She didn’t have many visitors. The mailman, the Federal Express guy, the UPS lady. Someone brought up coffee—cappuccino from a local coffee bar. When he wasn’t riding in elevators, he loitered in the bathroom, listening to the rolls and frills of keyboard exercises. Time passed. Ten-thirty. He went back to the unmarked; Marge was already waiting for him. Within a minute, he had reviewed his two hours for her: Jeanine had come in around nine. She wore a red jacket with black trim over a black skirt and high heels. Great-looking legs. Great-looking ass.
“Her face wasn’t too bad, either,” Webster said. “The kind of woman who’d produce some interesting fantasies.
If
she wasn’t so crazy.” He shook his head. “I reckon therein lies the rub.”
Marge said, “Were you in the building?”
“Whole time.”
“How’d you go unnoticed?”
“Just the anynomous West Valley lawyer.”
Marge studied her clothing—black rayon pants, white blouse, black bomber jacket. She tapped her foot. “I’ll stand out if I go in like I am.”
“Agreed.”
“Any ideas?”
“Uh, I hate to say this but…”
“What?”
“There’s a weight-loss clinic up there—”
Marge hit him.
“Lots of ladies going in and out.”
“And I’ll just blend in perfectly, huh?”
“There’s also a gym.” He winked. “You can go for the burn, babe.”
“What got into you?”
“Just cutting loose.” He clicked off his CD, threw his tissue paper-stuffed briefcase in the back of his unmarked. “Glad to get rid of that thing.”
Marge frowned. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of sweats on you?”
“In the trunk of my car. Might bag on you a bit, but now’s not the time for vanity.” He retrieved the gym clothes, smelled the fabric. “It’s livable.”
She took the sweats. “Thanks. Watch the car door while I change?”
“Be glad to, sugar.”
“And don’t get so familiar with me.”
Webster grinned. “Anything you say. I never argue with a lady. ’Specially if she’s toting a gun.”
Martinez was waiting in the parking lot, a smirk on his face. “How many calories a day did they put you on?”
“Yuck, yuck, yuck.” She wiped her sweat-soaked forehead. “First, they weighed me in, then I got counseled by
some yahoo thin person. Then they sent me over to the gym for a free introductory workout. Step aerobics on this stool thing. On, off, on, off, on, off. Talk about going nowhere. And all I’m gonna show for it is a monster-size charley horse tomorrow.”
“Get a chance to work at all?”
“For your information, I took a stool near the window, could see the office the entire time. Very quiet place. Nobody in, nobody out. I wonder what she does all day? Probably preens in the mirror.”
“Or tortures men.” Martinez shrugged. “Well, I brought a good costume.” He reached into a bag, pulled out a janitor’s uniform. “No spee…inglaze.”
“Except what are you going to clean, Bert? You don’t have keys to the office.”
Martinez held up a finger, opened the trunk of the car. Out came a vacuum cleaner. “Tommy said the halls were carpeted.”
Marge laughed. “But what are you going to do if she suddenly takes off in her car? You can’t follow her unnoticed, lugging a vacuum cleaner.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. See, that’s why I put a locator under the chassis of her car.”
“That’s illegal.”
“I suppose it is.”
Marge covered her face. “Are we breaking every rule in the book?”
“Nah, we got a few left.”
“Good luck.” Marge gave him a wave. “Off to testify.”
“Which case?”
“
Tobias
versus
State
.”
“Mr. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’”
“Wait till the judge gets through with him.” Marge grinned. “He’ll give Tobias something to
really
be sorry about.”
“So Jeanine has total control over David’s trust money?” Decker asked.
Gaynor said, “Well, she can’t commit fraud or embezzle.
Things like that would jump out if she were ever sued. But there are subtle things she can do to siphon off David’s portion into hers.”
“Like?”
“As trustee of the fund and executrix of the will, she can take modest up-front fees for managing the cash. And she’s allowed to invest the remaining portion of his inheritance in whatever she wants.”
“That’s a lot of leeway. There have to be some restrictions, Farrell.”
“Anything she wants, Loo. As long as she’s not reckless. She is liable if she goes beyond what’s considered standard investment practices. But that’s still miles of rope. She can get to him in a number of ways.”
“Such as?”
“Something simple…like tying up his money. Ironically, all the safe and sound investments are
long-term
. Things like munis and T-bonds.”
“There’s a secondary market for them.”
“Yeah, but historically bonds drop over the long run. They’re terrible for quick cash. And in the trust, there is a proviso for that.”
“Quick cash proviso?”
“It’s called a one-time emergency dispersal. Works like this. If David needs instant money, he can go to his sister. At her discretion, she can grant him his request if it is determined that it is a true emergency.”
“Who determines that?”
“There’s room for debate here.”
“He could say it’s an emergency, but she could say no?”
“Exactly.”
“And then they’d take it to court?”
“Yes.” Farrell coughed. “Anyway, if she were so inclined, she could give David a one-time payout of a percentage of his own money based on the fund’s assets at the time. Now here’s where a borderline ripoff could occur.”
“Okay.”
“Jeanine could claim that his assets are tied up with no liquid money. But…”
Gaynor held up a finger.
“Being a kind, caring sister, she could do him a favor. She could buy out a portion of his investment at current market value. Now if David’s bonds happen to be lower than face value…which is usually the case with long-term bonds…then Jeanine gets a break.”
“Still she’s stuck with discounted bonds.”
“Thing is, she can afford to do market timing. Either wait it out or sell if there’s a sudden drop in interest rates. Because she controls her inheritance. She doesn’t tie up
her
assets in long-term bonds.”
“So she buys his money at a fraction of its worth.”
“Exactly.”
“And if David protests?”
“If Jeanine used standard prudent care when investing, he wouldn’t have a case. Municipal bonds and T-bonds are definitely standard prudent care.” Gaynor frowned. “If I were David, I wouldn’t feel too secure. If Jeanine murdered her parents, I don’t think she’d hesitate at murdering her brother if he got in her way.”
“Except that it would start to look mighty suspicious.” Decker thought a moment. “Of course, David could always meet with an accident in the form of a drug OD.”
Gaynor said, “Carry that one step further…if Jeanine worked quickly, before the initial cash dispersal from the trust, his cash inheritance would probably go to her.”
They were quiet.
Gaynor said, “We could tell him our thoughts.”
Decker said, “But then if he goes ahead and tells Jeanine…that makes us liable for slander.”
Gaynor said, “Not to mention setting us up for an invasion of privacy. I sort of skirted some legality here.”
Decker thought a moment. “Still, we should talk to David again. Send Webster over there and see if he can slip it in subtly. Better yet, I’ll send Scott to talk to him.”
Gaynor laughed. “Scott? I thought I used the word subtle.”
Decker laughed, too. “Oliver’s interview could give us a different perspective, Farrell. Besides, maybe a second
interview would jog his memory about other things.”
“I suppose Scott couldn’t hurt too much.” Gaynor gave out a friendly chuckle. “And just maybe, he’ll even help.”
So much smoke that the window view sat behind a jaundiced cloud of nicotine. The guy had downed enough cigarettes to put R. J. Reynolds in the black. Even so, Oliver liked David Garrison, his matter-of-fact manner when it came to his inheritance. He expected nothing. Anything he got out of it would constitute gravy.
“Generous brother,” Oliver said.
“Practical brother,” Garrison retorted.
Today he was dressed in a black silk tee and baggy black chinos. On his feet were suede loafers without socks. He sat on his sofa, legs crossed, arms crossed, puffing away. On the coffee table was an empty highball glass.
“Sure I can’t get you anything?” Garrison asked Oliver.
“Nothing, thanks.”
“Murine for your red eyes?” Garrison smiled, smashed out the cigarette in a mountain of butts. “Terrible vice.”
“I know,” Oliver said. “Pisses people off like you wouldn’t believe.” He grinned. “Don’t you love it?”
David broke into unrestrained laughter. “One of my true pleasures. Irritating people.” He regarded Oliver. “Obviously one of your pleasures as well. Is that why you became a cop?”
“One of the reasons.”
“And another?”
“I do like putting scum in jail.”
“Ah! So you
are
noble.”
“Tarnished nobility…impoverished as well.”
Garrison smiled, then turned contemplative. “One interview with the cops…now I would assess that as police standard practice. But
two
interviews?”
“We’re thorough.”
“No, you’re redundant. I have two questions. Why are the police so interested in my inheritance? And…are you asking Jeanine these same questions?”
Oliver played with the knot in his tie. Today, he chose
to wear a brown glen-plaid sport jacket over a white shirt and khakis. “I take it you haven’t had much contact with your sister since the funeral?”
“My contact with her has been through her lawyers.”
“You don’t get along with your sister?”
“No, although we’re not openly at war. We each just pretend the other doesn’t exist. Now that my parents are…gone…” He sighed. “It just makes everything that much easier.”
Oliver said, “No reason to have contact with her.”
“Exactly.” Garrison lit another cigarette. “You know, the fact that I’m smoking is a very good sign. It means I’m waxing productive.”
“Congratulations.”
Garrison sat back, inhaled, then exhaled a billowing cloud of tar. “Yes, a very good sign. I’ve actually taken a job. F/X for an upcoming Van Grek movie. Sort of a remake of
The Blob
. I saw the original just to get a feel for what had been done.” He laughed. “It’s ludicrous from a technical standpoint, but it has its moments. When that shit suddenly pours from the projection room into the movie theater…well, it took me aback.”
Oliver smiled. “Scared the bejesus out of me when I was little.”
“Yes, I can completely understand that.” Garrison smoked in silence, his thoughts far away. “All these computer graphics…” He shook his head. “The guy next to me has been working on one story-board frame for
three
months. Van Grek’s upper torso melting into a flaming sea of lava-crusted furniture.” He looked at Oliver. “I wonder if the end result won’t be so dazzling that it will cease to be scary.”
Oliver was quiet.
Garrison smiled. “Ah, well. Silly musings. You never answered my first question. Why are you interested in my inheritance?”
His attitude was so nonchalant, Oliver couldn’t help but wonder if Jeanine had gotten to him…offered him immediate bucks to keep a low profile.
“Insurance companies,” Oliver lied.
“Pardon?”
“It’s really absurd to waste police time with it,” Oliver said. “But LAPD has been on the hot seat for so long. Anyway, seems insurance companies have had lots of requests for payouts.”
“Of course,” Garrison said. “People
died
at Estelle’s.”
“Well, they’re doing lots of probing.” Oliver sat up, talked to Garrison as if he were confiding in him. “They just want to make sure that Estelle’s is what it is. You know—a crazy murderer gone berserk. That it wasn’t a planned thing for someone to collect money.”
“But the guy committed suicide.”
“It’s nutty to me, too. But I’m just doing my job, making sure that the police don’t overlook anything.”
“Did my parents even have life insurance?”
“I thought maybe you’d know.”
“I don’t. I was shocked when I heard I stood to inherit money…a lot of money.”
“Do you know how much?”
“Something around a million dollars. I tell you I was
floored
.” Garrison thought a moment. “Actually, I think I ceased being the scapegoat once Dad saw that Jeanine was less than perfect.”
Oliver paused. “In what way?”
Garrison laughed. “Well, the girl was completely overindulged. Always had to be center stage. I do believe even Dad was growing weary of her tantrums, her incessant demands for him to fund her charities.”
“He told you this?”
“No. But Mom…hinted all was not perfect between Dad and Jeanine.” He sighed. “Still, he set Jeanine up as Queen Bee. You want to know about our finances, talk to her.”
“She’s kind of difficult to reach.”
“Yes, she does surround herself with worker bees…drones, as well.”
“Lots of boyfriends?”
“Pu-leeze.”
“Tennis players?”
“Are you asking a rhetorical question?”
Oliver shrugged.