THE NEXT TO DIE (21 page)

“Have you examined the registration records?” Dayle asked. “Did you talk to the desk clerk?”

Susan Linn let out a long sigh. “Yes, Dayle. He said those families registered here two days ago, and before that, the rooms were vacant. They haven’t had any police staying there either.”

“But that’s not true—”

“Ms. Sutton?” the nurse whispered. “Please, keep pumping your hand.”

Dayle nodded distractedly. “Listen, Susan,” she said into the phone. “That desk clerk must be lying. Maybe they paid him off. Can’t you check his bank accounts or something?”

“I’m sorry, Dayle. It’s a dead end here.”

“But I can prove…” Dayle hesitated. She had that list of license plate numbers. By tomorrow, Nick might have the credit card numbers, names, and addresses of those men. “Listen, Susan,” she said. “I didn’t send you on a wild-goose chase tonight. Give me a day or two at the most, and I’ll prove that this group was there….”

“Well, you call me when you come up with that proof, Dayle.”

She chose to ignore the slightly patronizing tone. “I will, Lieutenant.” Working one-handed, Dayle clicked off.

The nurse removed the needle, then pressed a cotton swab to Dayle’s arm. “Keep applying pressure there for a minute or two, Ms. Sutton,” she said. “Just lie still, and I’ll be back with some cookies and juice.”

Following her instructions, Dayle managed to smile. “Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you for donating, It’s a very nice thing you’re doing for your friend.”

“She was doing a nice thing for me,” Dayle whispered.

In her bloodstained clothes. Dayle sat alone in the hospital corridor, sipping her orange juice and eating a Chips Ahoy cookie. She looked like a little girl outside the school nurse’s office after falling down on the playground. She tried not to cry. She’d checked with Frank a while ago; Bonny’s sister had arrived, and was with him. Bonny was still in surgery.

Gazing down the hospital corridor, Dayle recognized Dennis in one of his Argyle sweaters. He carried a shopping bag, and walked alongside a tall, lean man with receding blond hair and a healthy tan. The man wore a sweatshirt, plaid shorts, and sandals, very casual. He looked about thirty-five years old.

Dennis winced at the dried blood on Dayle’s skirt and blouse. In the shopping bag, he had a change of clothes from her studio wardrobe. “Oh, boss, I was so sorry to hear about Hank,” he said.

Dayle nodded. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

“I brought you some new threads. I also brought you Ted Kovak. This is the man I was telling you about….”

She reached up and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Ted.” He smiled. “Sorry about my appearance. Dennis called and said you needed me immediately.” He casually lifted his sweatshirt to reveal a taut, hairy stomach and a gun in a shoulder holster. “So I just strapped this on and flew. Dennis has my list of references. If you don’t go with me, that’s fine. But while you decide, I’ll be happy to act as a temp.”

Dayle nodded cordially. Was that flash of stomach supposed to impress her? There was something about him she didn’t like. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Then again, maybe she just missed Hank, and wanted to make good her promise to dislike his replacement.

“Well, down to business,” Ted Kovak said. “Our boys in blue have this hospital sealed pretty tight. How soon do you want to go home?”

“Actually, once I get an update about my friend in surgery, I was going to call a cab.”

“Let me handle it,” Ted said calmly.

Dayle nodded. “Thanks.” She took the shopping bag full of clothes from Dennis, then retreated to the ladies’ room, and ducked into the last stall. Quickly, she peeled off her soiled clothes. The blood had already dried to a dark rust color. Down to her bra and panties, she stopped for a moment, lowered the toilet seat lid, sat down, and allowed herself to cry.

“Are you okay?” Dayle asked, sounding anxious on the other end of the line.

“I’m all right,” Sean said. “Don’t worry. I’m just getting ready to go home.”

She was alone in her office. The place was deathly quiet.

Two hours ago, when Dayle had called from the hospital with news of the shooting, Sean’s building had been buzzing with activity: music from the salon downstairs, phones ringing, people in the hallway, someone’s Xerox machine working overtime next door. Sean had had no reason to feel vulnerable. She’d only felt bad for Dayle and her friends.

While setting up her office computer, she’d periodically glanced out the window for what Dayle called the “rental mentals,” but saw nothing suspicious.

She hadn’t noticed how quiet the building had become until this second call from Dayle. Better news this time: her friend Bonny had made it through surgery all right; and Dayle wouldn’t have to be alone this evening. Her assistant had come to the hospital with a new bodyguard for her, and both of them were staying over at her place tonight.

“But I don’t like the idea of you all alone in that office,” she said. “And it’s getting late.”

“I know. I’m about to head out of here right now. Don’t worry, Dayle.”

“Well, thanks for being such a good friend. You were there for me this afternoon, and I really appreciate it. Be careful on that drive back to Malibu. Call me if you—oh, I still have your cellular…”

“I’ll survive without it for one night. You get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

After Sean hung up, she glanced out her office window at the street below. She didn’t see anyone sitting in a parked rental car. But that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t out there.

In the window’s reflection, she thought she saw a shadow pass behind her. Sean gasped. She grabbed a letter opener from her desk and crept out to the corridor. Her footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. No one. None of the other office lights were on.

“You’re creeping yourself out,” she muttered. “Quit it.”

Ducking back in the office, she quickly collected her coat and purse. The telephone rang. The sudden noise hit her like a jolt. She snatched up the receiver. “Yes, hello?”

Silence.

She didn’t need this right now. “Hello?” she said louder.

“Sean Olson?” The voice was raspy and guttural.

“Who’s calling?”

He cleared his throat. “This is Avery Cooper. I—I’d like to make an appointment to see you tomorrow. I need a good lawyer.”

“It’s kind of ironic. I might be defending him for murder, and in the movies, he’ll be playing a man I defended for murder.” Sean sighed. “I tell you, only in Hollywood.”

She hovered over her husband, shaving him and talking over the buzz of his cordless razor. Dan sat propped up in bed, a towel tucked under his chin. Sean was still in her bathrobe. “He said on the phone last night that Gary Worsht sang my praises. Plus he’s been reading up on the case—all my old clippings. His regular attorney is one of those smooth-talking entertainment lawyers, not at all qualified to handle a murder trial. Unfortunately, Mr. Cooper very quickly agreed when I suggested that perhaps, in a rape-murder case like this one, he was indeed better off represented by a woman rather than by a crew of high-priced, slick male lawyers. It bothered me, he saw an angle in that.”

Dan smiled, and mouthed the words: “You’re the one who suggested it.”

“Yeah, I know.” She chuckled. “But he didn’t have to be so quick to agree. Anyway, I have to admit, he came across as a real sweet guy on the phone, but his alibi is one for the birds. Really shaky. I just don’t know….”

She switched off the razor, then reached for the Old Spice aftershave—a present from Danny last Christmas. Sean shook some into her hand, then smoothed it over Dan’s face and neck. “Hold on, sweetie,” she said, pulling out a Kleenex. “You have a little glop in your eye here.” She dabbed it away. Dan joked to her and the kids about his “sleepy peas,” but he’d been a handsome and somewhat vain man before all this had started. She knew it killed him to have mucus around those once-beautiful eyes. The blinking reflex was just another part of his body shutting down.

“There now.” Sean tossed the crumpled Kleenex on the nightstand, then leaned back to look at him. “All finished.”

Sean read his lips: “This sounds like a high-profile case. Could make a lot of money, help you build up a reputation, a client base…”

“I know.” She sighed. “But it’ll keep me busy day and night. I’m away from you and the kids too much right now as it is.”

Dan’s eyes wrestled with hers. “This is about your future, honey,” he said, visibly straining to form the words. “It’s about your career. We owe money. I want you to be okay when I’m gone.”

Sean touched his cheek. “You know I hate that kind of talk.”

Those clear blue eyes were beautiful for a moment as he focused on her. His lips moved again. “So you can’t play nursemaid. If I leave this world knowing you’re building a future for you and the kids, that’s something I want, that’s something good.”

Sean felt herself tearing up, and she quickly hugged her husband. He smelled of the Old Spice aftershave, and she inhaled it, cherishing every breath.

So said the blurb in the entertainment section of
U.S.A. Today
. Avery tossed the dog-eared newspaper back on the security guard’s desk. “Thanks,” he muttered to the lanky, uniformed black man. Avery was sitting beside him in a folding chair outside Joanne’s hospital room. Her door was closed.

Most papers ran similar versions of yesterday’s incident. None of them mentioned the murder of Libby Stoddard. Avery figured the police would officially question him within the next day or two. He had an appointment with Sean Olson later this morning, but he couldn’t give the case much thought beyond that. He had enough on his mind with Joanne.

The hospital’s head psychiatrist, Dr. Wetherall, had mentioned possibly transferring Joanne to a sanitarium if her condition didn’t improve. He’d been in the room with her for the last half hour. The door finally opened, and Dr. Wetherall emerged. He was a wiry, handsome, balding man in his late forties. “She’ll see you, Avery,” he whispered. “Only a couple of minutes. Okay?”

Avery stepped into the room. Joanne lay very still, staring at him as he approached the bed. She was pale, and her unwashed hair had been brushed back. She must have bitten down on her lower lip too hard, because it was bleeding a little. “Hi, sweetheart,” Avery said.

She wiggled her hands to show the straps around her wrists. “Was this your idea?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“Of course not,” he replied. “They’re just worried you’ll hurt yourself.”

She sneered at him. “Yes, I’m a dangerous character.”

“Are you getting any rest at all?”

She said nothing. She gazed up at the ceiling.

“Joanne?”

“You know who I feel like right now?” she said at last. She sounded as if she were in a trance. “I feel like Natalie Wood in
Splendor in the Grass
. She just got crazier and crazier, and couldn’t help it. Remember how they finally had to send her away to that sanitarium? Actually, it looked nice, the art therapy classes, the sprawling lawns, people in rocking chairs…”

She turned and gave him an icy stare. “Why don’t you send me away to a place like that?”

Avery shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’m tired,” she said, closing her eyes. “You can go now.”

“Joanne—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” she screamed. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Dr. Wetherall hurried in, then he steered Avery toward the door. A nurse rushed in after them. Down the hall, Avery could still hear Joanne screaming.

Later, he sat in a stupor as Dr. Wetherall gave him a folder for Glenhaven Spa in Palm Springs. The doctor knew the facility, very private with a tranquil environment and a top-notch staff. He talked up the place as if it were a Shangri-la for nutcases. Dr. Wetherall said that it was
almost inhumane
to keep Joanne here, drugged and strapped to a hospital bed, when they could do so much for her at Glenhaven.

Avery wandered out of the doctor’s office, the folder under his arm. He hadn’t signed anything yet. He passed by the hospital’s newsstand gift shop, where the clerk was placing the new issue of
People
on the magazine rack. On the cover was a flattering photo of Joanne and him, wrapped in each other’s arms. They looked so healthy, decked out in jeans and crisp white T-shirts, standing in front of their pool. He was kissing Joanne on the cheek.
AVERY COOPER & JOANNE LANE
, said the caption.
HOLLYWOOD’S HAPPIEST & SEXIEST COUPLE
.

Sean heard a knock on the anteroom door. She put down the new issue of
People
, stashed it in her desk drawer, then sprang to her feet. “Come in!” she called. Her chestnut hair pinned back, she wore a burgundy suit with an ivory blouse—a chic, professional look. Guilty or innocent, Avery Cooper was her first potential client here, and she needed to make a good impression.

They met in the doorway. “Hi, I’m Avery,” he said, very somber as he shook her hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.” He wore a denim shirt and khakis. His black hair was a bit mussed. She noticed the scratch marks on his left cheek.

Sean only knew Avery Cooper’s public persona: the cute, happy-go-lucky guy next door. Considering the purpose of this visit, she’d figured “happy-go-lucky” wasn’t on today’s menu. But she hadn’t expected him to be so damned attractive. Or perhaps she was simply drawn to his sadness. Sean had to remind herself that he was the suspect in a murder-rape case.

She briskly pumped his hand. “Come in, sit down. Did you have a tough time finding the place?”

“No,” he said, settled on her sofa. “Though I thought you were kidding on the phone when you said your office was above a hair salon.”

She paused by her mini-fridge. “Are you sorry now that you didn’t go for a crew of high-priced, slick male lawyers?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Something to drink?” She opened the refrigerator door. “I have Evian, Evian, Diet Coke, Evian, Evian, just plain Coke, and Evian.”

“Evian, please.”

Sean poured Evian into two glasses, and handed him one. She sat down across from him in the easy chair. “So tell me your story, Mr. Cooper.”

“Call me Avery.” He tried to smile, but his eyes watered up, and his voice cracked. “I’ve never been in this type of trouble before. And my wife, she’s…” He trailed off, then wiped his eyes and took a sip of water. “Damn,” he muttered, looking down at the carpet. “I’m sorry. It might work better if you just started asking me questions.”

Sean’s heart broke for him. “Would you rather do this some other time?”

He waved the question away. “No, this is good. Really, I’m all right. Ask me whatever you want to know.”

Sean studied him, at the way he held back. “You—” She was about to say,
You remind me of my husband
. But she cleared her throat, and asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he said, straightening up.

She reached for a recorder on the coffee table. “Mind if I tape this?”

Avery shook his head. “No problem.”

Sean switched on the machine, then sat back. “I’ve thought about what you told me over the phone yesterday, Avery, and maybe you can explain a few things to me. First, can you think of anyone who might have seen you at that park—I mean, besides the woman who scratched you?”

“No. And I probably wouldn’t recognize her again. She wore these weird glasses. I’m afraid I didn’t catch a good look at her—um,
getaway
car either.”

“Did
she
drive off?”

“No, someone picked her up. I saw her duck into the passenger side.”

“On your way to this park, did you sense someone was following you?”

Avery sighed. “Not at the time. Everything was so muddled. That was the day Joanne had a miscarriage—”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” Sean interrupted gently. “Avery, one of the most damning pieces of evidence against you is that you received that scratch at just about the time Libby Stoddard was fighting and clawing her killer. Under her fingernails, they found skin tissue matching your blood type, and traces of a certain makeup they use backstage in NBC Burbank Studio B, where you’d filmed
The Tonight Show
earlier that day. Do you have any explanation for that?”

Frowning, he shrugged. “Only a vague, half-baked theory. To be honest, I’ve been so worried about my wife these last couple of days, I haven’t given much thought to anything else.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I understand. But I’m going to steer you back to my question earlier. Even if it’s ‘half-baked,’ I want to hear your theory about those scratch marks and the skin tissue under Libby’s nails.”

Avery leaned forward. “You’ll think I’m nuts, but I figure someone was following me, waiting to catch me alone. And—this is the crazy part—they must have been watching Libby too. They saw a chance to frame me for Libby’s murder. I think the woman in the park was sent there to scratch my face. I don’t know forensics, but is it possible they could have transferred my skin tissue from that woman’s fingernails to Libby’s?”

“I suppose.” Sean studied him with uncertainty. “But that would mean Libby was raped and murdered for the specific purpose of framing you.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Avery said. “For a while now, someone’s been trying very hard to make me look bad. They stole that home video, then distributed copies of the damn thing. At first, I blamed Libby. In fact, I told several people that I’d like to see her dead. If you were going to kill someone and frame me for it, Libby Stoddard was the perfect victim.”

“Let’s put the theories on hold for a minute,” Sean said. “Last night, on the phone with me, you said that you were hesitant about furnishing the police with a sperm sample. Why? If you’re really innocent of this rape-murder, a sperm sample would eliminate you as a suspect.”

“I know that,” Avery replied. “But I’m afraid my sample will somehow match with they’ve found.”

Sean slowly shook her head. “I can buy the skin tissue transferred from under one set of fingernails to another. But manufacturing this other piece of evidence requires some cooperation from you, Avery.”

“I know it sounds hokey and paranoid—”

“I’m sorry,” Sean interrupted. “But if these people want to destroy you, they’re sure going at it in a very roundabout way. They killed an innocent woman for the sole purpose of framing you for murder? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier just to kill you?”

“But it’s not about killing me. Hell, they’ve broken into my hotel room and my home. They could have gotten at me any time. No, these people want to bring me down, ruin my reputation, make me look horrible.”

“Why do you think they’re doing this?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I was in a TV movie a couple of months ago that ticked off a lot of people. Joanne and my commercials for gun control have made us a lot of enemies too.”

“So—you think the same group that’s after Dayle has targeted you?”

Avery squinted at her. “What are you talking about?

“You mean, you haven’t talked to Dayle Sutton?” Sean asked.

He shrugged. “We’ve exchanged e-mail about the movie—”

“Dayle hasn’t told you about these people who want to kill her? She hasn’t mentioned a possible conspiracy linking the deaths of Tony Katz, Leigh Simone, and Maggie McGuire?”

Avery slowly shook his head.

For a moment Sean studied that guileless expression on his handsome face. Somehow she knew he was a good, honest man. She’d felt the same way when she’d first set eyes on Dan. “You’re telling me the truth,” she said.

“Well, yes, of course,” he replied.

“You said a minute ago that the police would probably find a match if they tested your sperm alongside what they discovered in Libby. How do you think these—conspirators were able to pull that off?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, since I’m going to be your attorney, Avery, we’ll have to figure out an answer to that question.”