A Death In Beverly Hills (5 page)

Chapter Ten

Steve spent another three hours reading reports and taking notes. So far the material in the files pretty much paralleled the details reported on the news. As he progressed it became increasingly apparent that Tom Travis was his own worst enemy. Not only had he failed to provide the cops with any other viable suspects or motives, but his personality pissed them off as well, a fact which he seemed incapable of grasping. And overshadowing it all was Kaitlen Berdue. Maybe she hadn't hurt Tom Travis as mortally as Monica Lewinsky had wounded Bill Clinton, maybe, but she was definitely a reef upon which his ship had disastrously run aground.

It had been barely two weeks after Marian Travis had disappeared when Simon Katz looked up to find Kaitlen Berdue standing in front of his desk.

* * *

"They said I should talk to you." The girl said softly in a breathy, whispering voice. Katz gave her a quick once over and then looked again. She was five feet five with coal black hair, pale gray eyes, pouty lips and breasts a man might get lost in. Were he any younger a girl like her could infect his nights and torture his days. Even now, just looking at her raised his pulse five or ten beats.

"I'm Detective Simon Katz. You are . . . ?"

"Kaitlen Berdue," she said with a Catholic school girls' smile and extended a slim hand. Katz took it and didn't want to let it go.

"Please take a seat." He gave her what he hoped was a fatherly smile and released her hand. "How can I help you, Ms. Berdue."

"Call me Kaitlen, please. It's about Tom Travis, well, about his wife, I guess."

"You have some information concerning her whereabouts?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I mean, I don't know where she is. I never met her. I'm here about Tom, Mr. Travis."

"You know him?"

"We were . . . involved." A quick frown painted her face.

"Romantically involved?"

"Yes." Her eyes flicked down and her cheeks went from alabaster to pink.

"When did this relationship begin?" Katz asked in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could manage.

"About ten months ago. I didn't know he was married, well, I mean I
knew
but he said it was just for show, that she was gay and that it was just a play marriage to keep her ex-husband from using the lesbian thing to get custody of her daughter. Tom said he was doing her a favor, you know, to help her keep her child. I believed him, until I read the stories in the papers. Is it true, what the paper said about his wife?"

Katz gave her a level stare and a tiny, almost regretful nod. "The father of Marian Travis' daughter died in a car crash a little less than a year before she married Tom, and as far as we know, she was not a lesbian."

"So he did lie to me. I'm such a stupe!"

"Uhh, no, Ms. Berdue." Katz wanted to take her hands in his but didn't. "It's not your fault. Tom Travis is a very convincing person. Remember, he's a professional actor."

"Men are always lying to me." Kaitlen sniffled and pulled a pink tissue from her bag.

"Don't blame yourself." Katz made a note on his pad. "When did your relationship with Mr. Travis end?"

"Uhh, well now, I guess. I can't continue seeing him after . . . this!"

Katz felt an excited shiver run up his spine. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Last night. We made a date for this weekend. He's, he
was
taking me to Cabo."

"So, he doesn't know that you know the real story about his wife?" Katz asked in almost a whisper.

"I didn't want to accuse him of anything until I was sure. You shouldn't believe everything they put in the papers," Kaitlen said with deep sincerity. "But now that I've talked to you . . . well, I'll have to break it off." Kaitlen sniffled then jammed the worn tissue back into her purse. "And I liked him so much! He was always nice to me, except when he had too much to drink, but he was getting better about that."

"Do you think you could get him to talk to you about his wife?" Katz asked gently.

"On the phone? Because I don't want to see him again, not after the way he lied to me and all."

"Sure, the phone would be good."

"Well, I guess so. Do you mean you want to tape record what we say?"

"Would that be okay with you?" Katz asked politely and held his breath.

"Well, sure! I mean what if he killed that poor woman? We have a responsibility to her, I mean as citizens and all, don't we?"

"Yes, Ms. Berdue, we absolutely do. I couldn't agree with you more." Katz wanted to leap over the desk and smother her with kisses but restrained himself. "If I could just get your contact information, then we can plan the call."

An hour later Furley wandered into the squad room. Kaitlen was having lunch in the deli across the street while Katz blocked out her script.

"What are you up to?" Furley asked, pointing at the pile of hand-printed pages. Katz gave him a wolfish grin. "Jesus, what canary did you swallow?"

"Guess who had a girlfriend?"

"Tom Travis? Is that a surprise?"

"I phrased that wrong. Guess who
has
a girlfriend?"

"He thinks she won't talk? He can't be that stupid."

"He thinks
she's
that stupid. He told her Marian was gay and she believed him. He thinks she still believes him. He thinks he's taking her to Mexico for the weekend."

"Were you able to convince her to help us?"

"She volunteered! She says it's her civic duty to help us find out what happened to that poor, poor woman."

"Son of a bitch!" Furley shouted and held out his hand for a high-five. "Damn! What's she like? Bimbo? Skank?"

"Hey! She's very, very sweet."

"Does that mean 'airhead'?"

"Listen up! She's a very nice, very decent young woman. And that's how you're going to treat her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Jeeze, Simon, I was just--"

"I mean it! You don't treat her right, I'll find a new partner who will. Got it?"

"Sure. I got it. As far as I'm concerned she's Mother Theresa."

"Good. She's due back here in a ten minutes. Help me script her call to Travis."

* * *

"What's this word?" Kaitlen asked, tapping Katz's notes.

"Hmmmm." Simon scratched out 'impetuous' and replaced it with 'silly.' Kaitlen read through the rest of the page.

"I don't know if I can do this," she said, frowning.

"It's really important." Furley gave her his best 'We need your help to catch the bad guys' stare.

"No, I mean, reading this. I can't keep it all straight. What if I lose my place or he says something I don't expect? I'm just not smart enough." Her lips pursed and she glanced down. "Couldn't I just talk to him and ask him about his wife?"

Furley and Katz exchanged a look then a shrug. "Sure, let's try that," Simon agreed.

Travis picked up his cell on the third ring.

"Hi, Tommy, it's me."

"Hey, baby, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. Tommy, have you told anybody about us, I mean, well, me?"

"Has somebody called you?" Travis asked, clearly concerned.

"No," Kaitlen said with a little tremor, "but with all the stuff in the papers I was wondering if I should worry about reporters or anything."

"No problem, Sweetie. I wouldn't let you get dragged into this. Nobody knows."

Furley and Katz exchanged another look.

"Have they found out anything, about, you know?"

"It's a mystery."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"Jeeze, I don't know. One minute she's here, the next she's gone."

"Has her ex called? Do you think he did it?"

"Could be. Who knows?"

"You said they had a terrible divorce, with her being gay and all. I was just thinking that maybe he did it and took the little girl. Is he violent? You said he was a big jerk."

"The biggest. Sure, he could have been behind it."

"But the police are after him, you know, investigating him, right? You told them about him?"

"Sure, he's their number one suspect, but don't tell that to anyone. It's kind of a secret between me and the cops."

"This is so sad, even if you weren't really, you know, married, her being gay and all. Do you miss her?"

"Sure, I miss her, in a way. She was a friend, I mean I married her to help her out with her custody fight. How many guys would do that?"

"Only you, Tommy. Do you think about her? What was the last thing she said to you?"

"Oh, Hell, I don't know."

"You're blocking, baby. We've talked about that. You've got to open up to your emotions, not block them out. Come on, what did she say?"

There was a long pause and Katz's eyes strayed to the cassette's revolving spools. Finally, Travis responded.

"Sweetie, you know I don't like this touchy-feely stuff."

"You can't fight Karma, Tommy."

"Okay, fine, the truth is, we had a fight."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"Oh, the same old crap. I wasn't supportive enough. I wasn't there for her. All the pregnancy stuff. She was still on me to be her coach, like her having another kid was my idea. We both knew the baby wasn't mine but she still wanted me to act like I was the daddy. It made me feel like a patsy."

"But you paid for the doctors and the artificial whatever it was they did to get her pregnant. That was a really nice thing. Didn't she appreciate that?"

"Hell, no. She didn't give a damn about me. The handwriting was on the wall. As soon as the kid was born she was going to divorce me and move in with her lesbian lover. That was always her plan. But," Travis sighed, "I agreed to it." Furley and Katz both rolled their eyes. "I told her I'd cover for the pregnancy and she could have her girl friend, so long as I could be with someone I loved. I guess I can't complain since that's how I got you."

Kaitlen's lips formed a little girl's smile.

"Oh, Tommy!"

"It's true, Sweetie. I can't wait to see you. The guy dropped off the ticket, right?"

"Oh, yeah, I got it, but, well, there's a little problem."

"Like what?"

"I'm afraid we'll be seen together."

"Don't worry, Sweetie, I'll protect you."

"That's not what I mean, silly. I mean, I'm worried about you."

"Me?"

"Well, sure. I mean, what if one of those awful photographers gets a picture of us together or they bribe the maid or the bellhop or something? I mean, the world doesn't know about Marian being gay and it not being your baby. Here she is like, disappeared, and pregnant and everybody's looking for her, and if they catch us together, how will that look? If they find out my name they're going to talk to my friends, my boss, it will all come out. They'll say terrible things about us."

"We'll be real careful. No one will see us."

"Silly, somebody's always watching, and that was before Marian disappeared. We can't take the chance."

"But, Katey, honey--"

"What if they come to my job? What if they put my picture in those terrible papers? 'Tommy Travis's Cheating Whore' that's what the headline will say. No, I can't, we can't."

"Sweetie, Katey, it--"

"No, Tommy, not until this is over." A sob caught in Kaitlen's throat. "I have to go. I'll call you." She clicked off the phone. "Was that okay?" Kaitlen asked Simon nervously.

"Okay?" Furley cut in. "It wasn't just 'okay.' It was perfect."

Kaitlen beamed.

Chapter Eleven

Steve got himself a beer and drank it slowly, enjoying every swallow. Around him the pile of boxes seemed to have multiplied. He was well into his second day of research and he felt as if he had barely scratched the surface. Behind the transcript of Kaitlen Berdue's first taped call with Travis was her background information. The next folder held a copy of the detectives' interview with Kaitlen's brother, Bobby Berdue.

* * *

They found Bobby Berdue in a little house in the north east corner of San Diego County. The road to Bobby's cottage was cracked asphalt that wound its way past brush-filled canyons and dust devil flats. Dotted along its path were broken-down gas stations, an evangelical church and a host of honky-tonk bars. Berdue lived in a sagging bungalow sheltered beneath two ancient black oaks. A Ford F150, headed out, sat at the back of the dirt drive. As he pulled close to the porch Furley caught the glint of a decaying Airstream trailer hidden behind the house.

"Welcome to Meth Country," Furley said glancing at the deserted highway and manzanita choked hills. "What do you think we'd find if we kicked in the door to that trailer?"

"I wouldn't want to be lightning any matches around it."

As Furley and Katz stepped from the Crown Vic a swirling gust pelted them with dust and broken leaves. Furley squinted and hurried for the door. Katz's limp was worse and in spite of not wanting to give his wife the satisfaction of having told him so, he had finally called the doctor a week ago. He was supposed to see the Sports Medicine specialist on Friday.
Shit
!, Katz thought,
Sports Medicine! It used to be the 'bone doctor', then it was the 'orthopedic surgeon', but people got frightened by the 'surgeon' part so now they called themselves 'Sports Medicine Specialists'
. Katz frowned against the ache in his knee and hobbled after Furley to the door.

There was no bell. Furley pounded on the jam with the side of his fist but the wind muffled the blows against the background of the plastic rattle of the oak tree's leaves.

"Mr. Berdue, LA Police Detectives!" Furley shouted, then pounded again. An icy gust cut through Katz's shirt. A tangle of gray clouds rapidly scudded east against an approaching wall of blue-black thunder heads blown in off the sea. Studded with tufts of mosquito grass, the rutted earth in front of the cottage flaked off at the touch of the wind. If they weren't out of here before the rain hit, Katz knew that the mud would be an inch deep up the sides of their shoes. Katz glanced at his black wingtips. Fifty bucks at Shoe World and it had taken him three weeks to break them in. Shit!

Scowling, Katz twisted the knob and pushed inside. "Police!" he shouted and angled forward to where he could see into the kitchen at the back of the house. A young Caucasian man sat at a dented, white-painted table, a can of beer in front of him.

"Mr. Berdue?" Katz called, watching the man's hands.

"Who wants to know?" Bobby asked then took a long swallow.

"LAPD. Didn't you hear us knocking?"

"Was that you? Thought it was the wind. What do you want?"

Furley and Katz carefully paced toward the kitchen, both keeping a careful watch left and right.

"You alone here?" Furley asked, his hand hovering nervously near his gun.

"You see anybody?"

"Are you alone here, sir?" he demanded, the 'sir' sounding like a curse.

"Sure." Berdue laughed and took another swig. "You want one?" He held up a gaily painted can, 'Milwaukee's Pride, Premium Lager.' Furley had seen the brand on sale at Costco at a case price that worked out to thirty-eight cents apiece.

"Thanks, but we're on the job."

Berdue took a final swallow, crushed it against the scared table, then grabbed fresh one from the fridge. Foam spurted onto the worn linoleum when he popped the tab.

"This about that Travis woman?" he asked then dipped his head to slurp the foam.

"Mind if we sit down?"

"Help yourself."

Furley and Katz grabbed chrome bent-pipe chairs and arranged them facing Bobby Berdue.

"Your sister told us she'd been seeing Tom Travis before his wife went missing. Did you ever meet Travis?"

"Why would he want to meet me? It's my sister he's poking." A sour grin twisted Berdue's lips.

"So, you never met him?"

"You playin' a game with me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's cut the crap. My sister's one of the 'good people.' When we were kids, it was always 'Don't do this, Bobby.' 'Don't do that, Bobby.'" Berdue's voice assumed a falsetto tone. "So, if you asked her if I ever met Tom Travis, she's told you that I did, once, when she was showing off her movie star boyfriend. You cops!"

Katz gave him a quizzical stare.

"You and your fucking games, always trying to get on top of people, catch them in something."

"Look, Bobby, is it okay if I call you 'Bobby'?"

Berdue shrugged.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot here," Katz continued. "Maybe me coming inside like I did was a mistake. We saw your truck and then when nobody answered the door, I got suspicious. Sorry. Occupational hazard. This is your house and I shouldn't have come in like that without an invitation. But we're here because your sister has been very helpful to us, and we're following up on what she told us. We're not looking at you for anything but we need some help on this lady's disappearance. Okay?"

Berdue stared at Katz for heartbeat, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, sorry. Like you said, I was a little pissed off, you coming in here like that." Berdue glanced at Furley then seemed to relax. "Let's forget it. Hey, you want that beer now, for real?"

"No--"

"Sure," Katz agreed. "It's a hell of a long way out here from LA." Katz nodded at Furley. "He's driving. I'm not." Berdue popped a fresh can and Katz took a swallow. "That hits the spot. Thanks." Simon put the can down and opened his notepad, paused, then flipped it closed. "What's your take on this guy, Travis?" Katz gave Berdue his 'just between us guys' stare.

"You want to know what I think of Tom Travis?" Katz shrugged. "Okay, okay, since you're asking, I think he's a prick!" Katz smiled broadly. "What?"

"Nothing, just that you and my partner here," Katz dipped his head in Furley's direction, "have the same opinion. That's just what Jack called him the first time he came in for an interview. A prick." Katz took a small sip of his beer. "Go on. I'm interested in what you've got to say."

Berdue gave Katz a quick smile then held up a finger and got himself another beer. "Thirsty work," he said. Katz smiled and took another pull from his own can. "Okay," Bobby continued, "Tom Travis. First off, my sister's a decent person. Sure, maybe she's not an Einstein, but she's got a good heart. Too soft-hearted, really. I've told her a million times, 'Katey, don't let people take advantage of you' but she never listens. She's always picking up strays and feeding them until they bite her. Then she meets Travis. Did she tell you how?"

Katz and Furley just stared.

"His wife comes into Katey's studio to sign up for a yoga class. One day Travis comes in for something or other, the wife forgot her sunglasses, whatever. While he's waiting for the class to be over he gets a look at Katey in that Spandex thing she wears at work -- well, Hell, you've seen her, right? Katey walks by and guys jump out of cars, fall out of trees. Next thing you know, he's coming by almost every day with one excuse or another. Then one day it's: 'My wife lost her cell, did she leave it here?' and he moves in for the kill. He thanks her for all the fine work she's doing for his wife and invites her out for a 'thank you' lunch. That's what he calls it. Takes her to La Belle in Beverly Hills. Then he walks her around the room. 'Oh, there's Anthony Hopkins. Hi, Tony. There's Julia Roberts. There's George Clooney. How's it goin', Georgie?' On the way back he gives her the story about his wife being gay. Give me a fucking break!"

"Did you tell her Travis's wife wasn't a lesbian?"

"How do I know which way she swings?"

"But if you thought he was using her. . . ."

Berdue gave a little shrug. "Truth is, I didn't find out about them goin' out until two or three months after it started. By then it was too late to try to break them up, not unless I had a good reason, which I didn't, no proof or nothing. I'm no private dick." Bobby took another swig of beer.

"And maybe you didn't want to break them up?" Katz asked softly.

Berdue frowned, then nodded. "Yeah, if we're bein' truthful here, maybe I didn't. I mean, the guy's a big star, lots of connections. Maybe he can do Katey some good. Get her a job at a studio or modeling stuff. I figure he's at least good for a nice birthday gift or something for her. Maybe he even falls for her, dumps his wife and marries her. She moves into the big time. Hey, it happens. At least that's what I thought before I got to know the jerk better." Angrily, Berdue finished his beer and rang the empty against the table.

"You know what the asshole gave her for Christmas? A purse! A fucking $200 leather purse from Macy's! Katey hates leather. She feels sorry for the fuckin' cows for God's sake! That's the kind of person she is, somebody who feels sorry for cows. Jeeze!" Berdue staggered to his feet, muttered, "Gotta see a man about a horse" and teetered from the room. Furley continued scribbling notes. A minute later a flush sounded and, walking more steadily, Berdue got himself another beer and slumped back into his chair.

"Sounds like a real tightwad," Katz said. "If I was a movie star and I was dating your sister I'd do a whole lot better than a purse." Berdue raised his beer in salute and pointed it at Katz's chest. "What's a thousand or two to a guy like Tom Travis?" Katz continued.

"You've got that right! Shit, with his money, he should've given her something good, you know, a diamond necklace or a Beemer or something. A fucking purse!" Berdue's head weaved in a small circle and he put down his beer.

"What did you talk about when you met Travis?"

"What a phony!" Berdue said and took another drink.

"In what way?"

"Look, you guys checked my record, right? You know I've seen the inside of a cell a few times, this and that. We're having dinner together, Katey, me and Travis, and he starts off, first thing, asks me what jail is like. Katey is all 'Tommy! What are doing?' but he just ignores her, like, 'Quiet, woman, we're talking man to man here.'"

"How'd he know about your record? Did Kaitlen tell him?"

"No way! She's in love with the guy. Last thing she's going to do is tell him her brother's a jail bird. I figure he had some detective check her out and then check me out."

"Was he upset that you had a record?"

"He thought it was cool, like a guy who fights bulls or races sports cars. What a load of crap. You ever know anybody who thought being locked up was cool?"

"What else did he say?

"He wanted to know what it was like, being in jail. Did I know any really bad guys? He said he might want to interview some hard guys to get tips for a movie, how to play a killer, how to play a cop who deals with killers. Then he asks me: 'If you wanted to hire a hit man, how would you do it? How much does it cost to get a guy knocked off?' All kinds a crap like that. It pissed me off, let me tell you. Here I am, sitting with my little sister and he's making me out to be some low-life scum. I mean, who does that to a guy he's just met?"

"What did you say?"

Berdue waved his hands. "What could I say? I wanted to punch his lights out, but Katey's sitting there so I went along with it. You gotta understand, he'd had a few drinks and I'd had a few drinks and I knew that if I said what I was thinking, we were gonna rock and roll right there, so, for Katey's sake, I kept it together, just went along with his shit, smiled and told him what he wanted to hear. Cheap bastard."

"He didn't pick up the bill?"

"Oh, sure, he picked up the bill. My steak was like fifteen bucks."

"So, it wasn't Spago's?"

"Marco's Rib House in Burbank. Mr. Movie Star."

"Did you ever talk to him again after that?"

Bobby paused and stared out the window at the gathering storm.

"Yeah, once," he said finally, his voice beginning to slur. A couple of rain drops spattered the glass. "It was around Thanksgiving and, bam, out of the blue he calls me. I guess Katey gave him my number. He's all friendly and says he's getting ready to do a cop movie or something and he really needs to talk to a hit man for background on his role. So I ask him, 'A real hit man?' and he says 'Yeah, a real stone cold killer, somebody with notches on his gun.' Notches on his gun? Man, who talks like that?"

"What'd you do?"

"What'd I do? I told him I'd ask around and get back to him."

"Did you?"

"Are you nuts? You think I want to tell some psycho killer that I'm going to give his name and phone number to a guy who's making a movie? That's not healthy conversation to have with those kinds of people. Shit, I learned that much in the joint."

"Did he ever call back?"

"Once. He left a message on my cell asking me to call him. I erased it. Then his wife went missing. I didn't hear from him again and he didn't get any calls from me."