Authors: Faye Kellerman
“Yes, tennis players. Mainly because tennis attracts wannabes and hangers-on. And that’s what she likes. Men who hang on to her…admire her…think she’s something
special
. Because growing up, though she was the pretty one, I was the
special
one. Little did she know I would have loved to change places with her, to have nothing expected of me except to smile. Ah, well, seems as if nobody is ever happy with his or her lot in life.”
“So you two have never been close?”
“Never. Our father did an excellent job of programming us to hate each other.” Garrison lit another cigarette. “He boxed us into categories.”
He started ticking off on his fingers.
“Jeanine’s pretty, I’m average-looking. Jeanine’s smart, I’m brilliant. Jeanine’s social, I’m shy and snobbish. Jeanine’s caring, I’m distant and cold. Jeanine’s organized, I’m in constant disarray.”
He laughed.
“At least I was always my own person. Jeanine was always dependent on my father’s good graces for her fun. Of course now, with my parents gone, she’s independent. Maybe now she’ll finally do something with her life besides leech off others’ talents.”
He smiled wickedly.
“But probably not.”
Sipping coffee, Decker
flipped through the morning papers at four in the afternoon.
The Valley Voice
still had Estelle’s as one of its hot items—a side column analysis on Harlan Manz. But the
Times
had relegated it to the back: a Hollywood tribute to Walter Skinner.
The one article that did grab his interest was found on page three of the sports section. More specifically, a photograph of Jeanine Garrison standing at the side of a handsome man dressed in tennis whites. A handsomely carved face. High forehead, a prominent chin. Clipped, curly hair, penetrating eyes, and a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow.
He was also confined to a wheelchair.
Jeanine’s hand resting on his shoulder.
Wade Anthony.
Both of them looking like models. Gorgeous but grave. A small caption underneath the snapshot. Their names. Their purpose. A wheelchair tennis tournament for victims’ rights. A round-robin affair with stars promising to attend or lend support. But it was Wade Anthony who was the true star—a top ten seeded player in wheelchair tennis. He promised a big draw for a very important cause.
Decker stared at the photo, then broke into laughter.
At least it was for charity.
The knock distracted his attention. Decker looked up, told Gaynor to come in. He showed Farrell the photograph.
“This ditty was
my
idea.”
“And then she slams you. A real sweetheart.”
Gaynor sat down.
“Jeanine for victims’ rights. Kinda like O.J. hosting a charity for domestic violence.” He paused. “Come to think of it, O. J.
did
host a charity for domestic violence. What’s this world coming to?”
At that moment, Marge and Oliver walked into his office. Decker looked up. “Someone call a meeting?”
Gaynor said, “I took the liberty.”
Oliver pulled up a chair. “Figured it’s a good time to recap, right before the weekend.”
“Recap what? Jeanine’s harassment?” Decker showed Oliver the newspaper.
“Ah shit!” He threw up his hands. “Now we’ll
never
get to her!”
Marge read the caption. “So
this
is why the mayor put the vise on Strapp’s balls.”
Webster and Martinez came in. Oliver tossed Bert the newspaper. “Take a look at that.”
“Ker-rist!” Martinez said.
Webster read over Bert’s shoulder. “Fuck it. We’ll find a way.”
“She’s makin’ it harder and harder,” Oliver said. “And I ain’t talking about my shlong.”
Webster turned to Oliver. “Whaddaya think’ bout David Garrison?”
“He smokes a lot.”
“Talk about his sister?” Marge asked.
“Yeah. He hates her.”
“You think it’s genuine?” Webster asked.
“I’d say it was the real article,” Oliver answered. “What about you?”
“My take as well.”
“So you don’t see brother in cahoots with sister?” Marge asked.
“Unless the guy’s doing a right fine job of playacting,” Webster said. “I think he really despises her.”
“I agree,” Oliver said. “Resents her Queen Bee status
as Daddy’s favorite.” He hesitated. “He said something that was kinda telling.”
“What?” Webster asked.
“He said once he stopped being the family scapegoat, his father began to see Jeanine in a different light. Said Dad was growing tired of Jeanine’s tantrums, getting sick of paying for her parties.” Oliver turned to Decker. “Remember we were talking about a motivation for Jeanine popping her parents. That she wasn’t independently wealthy. I’m beginning to like that theory.”
“Why?” Decker asked.
“The mother…Linda Garrison…she had hinted to David that all was not well between Pop and Daughter. Maybe Jeanine became homicidally resentful.”
“Yeah, it sounds pretty,” Decker said. “Too pretty. Remember that David’s a former druggie and ex-convict. A notoriously dishonest combination. He could be setting her up.”
Marge said, “How do we get to either one of them?”
“Forget about them,” Decker said. “We’re going after the phantom killer. I’ve spoken to some people, come up with a crude profile of who this ghost might be.”
Decker summarized Cindy’s findings. If Harlan was recruited from Greenvale, someone like him might also have been recruited from Greenvale as the number two killer. The guy might be similar to Harlan but possibly younger—angry, impressionable, unstable, grandiose in his thinking, a big one for blaming life, and in a one-down position from Jeanine.
Martinez said, “So this is all we have to go on?”
Gaynor raised his hand. “I think I might be able to help you out here.”
All eyes turned to him.
“I just happened to get hold of some reservations books from Greenvale—”
Decker exploded. “Farrell, why didn’t you
say
something when we began?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Gaynor shrugged.
“When my boss talks, I listen. Maybe this old dog can learn something new.”
Oliver glared at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“How do you come up with these tidbits?” In a mocking voice, Oliver said, “‘I just happened to get hold—’”
“The seniors grapevine. Good place to make connections. Old people love to talk. And to help out. And there are quite a few old people at Greenvale—”
“How’d you get through the door?” Marge asked.
“My wife’s sister’s brother-in-law is a member. Elwood Halstead. Nice guy. Made his money in plastics, has this big mart—”
“Farrell, we don’t need the details,” Marge said.
Gaynor smiled benignly. “Suit yourself. Anyway, I asked El for an invitation; he took me out to lunch. I try to maintain good relationships with the family.”
Oliver hit his forehead with disbelief. “Bully for you.”
“It got me somewhere, didn’t it?” Gaynor retorted.
Oliver said, “I don’t know that yet because I haven’t
heard
where it got—”
Decker said, “Stop squabbling.” He looked pointedly at Gaynor. “Farrell, I’ve got to get out of here in an hour.”
“No problem, Loo.” Gaynor said. “Anyway, while I was there, I took a massage. Good for the old muscles. The masseur was my age, had been working at Greenvale from the beginning.” He paused. “But he didn’t remember Hart Mansfield.”
The room was quiet.
“And…” Decker prodded.
“Oh…sorry, lost my train of thought.” Gaynor cleared his throat. “Anyway, he was…cooperative. And I sort of helped myself to the older reservations books. Some of them went years back. Anyway, Jeanine takes a weekly massage with a woman named Jane. Has been taking it for at least four years.”
Martinez said, “Did this Jane act suspicious or anything?”
“Anyone can point a gun. But no, there’s nothing suspicious about her.”
A pause.
“So?” Webster asked.
“So nothing,” Gaynor said. “I crossed Jane off the list. Jeanine had also made other appointments—with the restaurant, with the beauty shop, hair salon, aromatherapy, makeovers and nails…Jeanine’s really into her nails.”
Again, there was silence.
Gaynor said, “All of it looks perfectly normal—”
“Will you please speed it—” Oliver interrupted.
“I’m getting to it, all right?” Once again, Farrell cleared his throat. “Well, like I said, the bad news is that nothing looks suspicious. Because most of her cosmetic and therapeutic appointments were with women—”
Webster said, “Like you said, anyone can point a gun.”
“That would be interesting,” Marge said. “Jeanine working on a woman and a man at the same time.”
“I think we’re really
jumping
the gun,” Martinez said. “Not only are we assuming she’s involved—which is still an if—we have her sexual proclivities mapped out.”
“No, her massage appointments really didn’t pique my interest,” Farrell said. “Not like her court appointments.”
“Court appointments?” Webster asked. “Is she being sued?”
“No, not legal court appointments. I couldn’t find any of those—”
“Farrell, spit it
out
!” Decker said.
“Her reservations for the tennis court. She’s been playing with the same partner for the last six months.”
Again, all eyes drifted to Gaynor’s face. Farrell was quiet.
“And…” Decker waved him to continue.
“A gentleman by the name of Sean Amos.”
Decker clenched his teeth. “Who is…”
“A very rich boy.”
“Boy?” Marge said. “How old?”
“Sixteen…oh, wait.” Farrell scanned his notes. “Just turned seventeen.”
Oliver clapped his hands with joy. “Statutory rape here we come.”
“Won’t wash,” Marge said. “Kid’s too old.”
“But this isn’t peer sex,” Martinez said. “Jeanine’s twenty-eight.”
“How do we know they were even having sex?” Martinez said.
“You have eyes, Bert,” Oliver said. “You’ve seen Jeanine.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“What does the kid look like?” Oliver asked.
Farrell said, “The reservations books didn’t have pictures, Scott. But I did ask a couple of discreet questions about the family.” Again he faced Oliver. “Through the seniors grapevine.”
Decker opened his pad. “Go.”
“The father’s name is Lamar Amos. He’s sixty-two. From Texas oil. Owns a chemical processing plant in Long Beach.”
“And he lives in the West Valley?” Martinez made a face. “That’s almost fifty miles away.”
“No, he doesn’t live in the West Valley. He lives in Palos Verdes Peninsula with his twenty-two-year-old fourth wife, Amber.”
“Then who is Sean’s mother?” Decker asked.
“Lily Amos. She’s forty, lives in West Valley Estates. She’s the one who’s a member.”
Decker thought about Cindy’s profile…a club member, maybe even a teenager not big on impulse control. “You find out where he goes to school?”
“Of course. Westbridge Prep—”
“Love those spiffy blue blazers,” Oliver said. “Should I have a chat with the lad?”
“On what basis?” Marge said. “That he plays tennis with Jeanine Garrison? She files something ridiculous on the Loo, she’s going to file police harassment if we start questioning her underage tennis partner.”
Decker said, “Farrell, how long has Mrs. Amos been living in her current house?”
Gaynor rummaged through his notes. “Six years. Member of the club for five.”
“Good. So she has established a routine. Kid’s not going anywhere over the weekend. We start fresh on Monday.” Decker turned to Webster. “I’ll need someone who talks in Ivy League language. Can you pull it off?”
Webster answered, “Tell me your approach, Loo.”
“Sean’s a tennis player, right?” Decker said. “His mom was a member when Harlan was an instructor there two years ago. So let’s assume Sean has been taking lessons for a while. Let’s also assume that maybe…just
maybe
…he remembers a summer tennis teacher named Hart Mansfield.”
Oliver said, “So we ask Sean about
Harlan
, not about Garrison.”
“Exactly,” Decker said. “Ask Sean about Harlan Manz/Hart Mansfield. You know teenagers. Love to be the center of attention. Even if Sean has only had a glimpse of Harlan, he’ll play it to the hilt.”
Webster said, “What kind of questions, Loo?”
“Does he remember Manz, remember anything weird about him, ever remember him being angry…any kind of bullshit? Let’s just get the kid
talking
.”
“And if he brings up Jeanine on his own?” Webster asked.
Decker waited a beat. “If Sean happens to mention Jeanine casually. Says something like…‘You know you should be asking my tennis partner these questions. Because she’s played longer than I have.’ Then maybe his tennis games with Jeanine are just that. Simple tennis games with a partner.”
“And if he doesn’t say that, Loo?” Marge asked.
Decker shrugged.
Webster said, “Can I ask him about his tennis partners without mentioning names?”
“Too pointed,” Martinez said.
“I agree,” Decker said. “First priority is to protect you people. Last thing I want is for Jeanine to slap Tom with a police harassment suit.”
Oliver said, “Then what’s the purpose of interviewing Sean in the first place?”
Decker said, “Jeanine didn’t pull the trigger, Scotty. I told you we’re going after the phantom, number two shooter—if he exists.”
Martinez said, “Loo, even if Sean was screwing her, it doesn’t mean he was involved in Estelle’s.”
Decker grinned. “No. But if they
are
having sex, it does show Jeanine’s character. And that’s good news for me in case she presses charges.”
Before Decker could make it out the door, Strapp called him into his chambers, closed the door to his office. No preamble. Just straight talk. “We heard from Jeanine’s lawyer again. She says you’re harassing her brother—”
“That’s ridiculous. They hate each other. According to David, they’re not even in contact.”
“That’s what
he’s
telling
you
to your face. Behind your back may be another story.”
“Captain, is David Garrison complaining about harassment?”
Strapp shook his head no.
Decker spread out his arms as if to say, so there you have it.
Strapp said, “She thinks you’re putting your men up to it. All part of your plan to get revenge.”
Decker reminded himself to speak slowly. “Of course, I’ve assigned David to my people. We both agreed on that. I’m running an
investigation
.”
“Yeah, but from her point of view—”
“Her point of view is bullshit. She’s trying to stifle the investigation.”
“Yes, it is beginning to seem that way.”
Decker said nothing, feeling a little calmer. “You know, I had a team tail on her almost the entire day. I know that Jeanine didn’t visit David. And she didn’t call him—”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m thorough, sir. Just got off the horn with the phone company. No calls logged between them.”
Strapp was silent.
“She must have had someone watching his apartment. Saw Oliver go inside…” Decker shook his head in awe.
“She really is one hell of an organizer.”
Strapp said, “Do you have anything concrete on David Garrison?”