Flipping Out (19 page)

'According
to his calendar, he expected Nora to be around for a while,' I said.

'Of
course he would write that in,' Terry said. 'The guy took all those criminology
courses. He's not stupid. But just for the heck of it, check out today's entry.
See if it says, Go
to 611 South Cherokee, kill
Marisol.'

There
were no entries for Saturday or Sunday. But Monday morning got my attention. It
said
Call Mike Lomax
and had my office number written below it.

'I
wonder what he was going to call about,' I said.

'I
have no idea,' Terry said. 'But I'll go out on a limb and take a guess that it
wasn't fashion advice.'

We
spent another two hours going over the apartment. It was basically benign. Most
murderers aren't like the madmen portrayed by Hollywood, who cover their walls
with newspaper clippings of their kills. Real murderers are not that blatantly
obvious, so not finding anything incriminating came as no surprise.

We
were just about ready to take Sorensen's computer and bring it back to Muller
when my cell rang. It was Jessica Keating.

'We
just went over Sorensen's car,' she said. 'It was parked outside the house and
the keys were in his pocket.'

'Did
you find anything?'

'A
gun case, complete with a box of .22 shells and some gun-cleaning equipment.'

'I'm
glad,' I said. 'Because there's no gun paraphernalia in the apartment. We
figured he had to keep it hidden somewhere.'

'He
had it tucked away in the wheel well under the jack,' she said. 'You want to
know what else we found inside the case?'

'The
way you're asking, I think I definitely do.'

'Three
plastic baggies, each with a lock of hair,' Jessica said. 'I haven't done a DNA
on them, but under a microscope they would appear to belong to Jo Drabyak,
Julia Knoll, and Nora Bannister.'

'Good
job,' I said. 'Did you find anything else?'

'What
more could you ask for?'

'Well,
in a perfect world,' I said, 'it would really help if he left us a written
report explaining why he killed all those women. Preferably neatly typed -
something that Terry and I could drop off at the mayor's office.'

'I
guess the siege is officially over,' Terry said as we pulled into his driveway
at 7:00 p.m. 'No more cute cops in squad cars parked outside the house. Sarah
will be devastated.'

'Emily,
on the other hand, will be thrilled,' I said.

'Let's
not tell her till she's thirty. It couldn't hurt to keep her locked up for a
while longer.'

The
house was quiet. Diana was working late at the hospital. Marilyn was lying on
the sofa reading a book. Jett was curled up next to her head. Neither of them
looked up.

'Where
are the girls?' Terry said.

'Out
enjoying their newfound freedom,' Marilyn said. 'I didn't even know Emily knew
the word
emancipation,
but she used it a dozen times this afternoon. I called Rebecca at school and
told her it was over.' She hesitated, it is over, isn't it?'

'Everything
but the paperwork,' Terry said.

Marilyn
sat up on the sofa. Jett perked up. Marilyn on the move usually meant food. The
dog was poised for a trip to the kitchen.

'Sit.
Stay,' Marilyn said.

'You
talking to me?' Terry said.

Marilyn
ignored him. 'I still can't believe Martin would murder someone,' she said.
'Especially Nora. She loved him. She took such good care of him.'

'Apparently
not good enough. You ever get a hint that he was angry enough to kill her?'

'Kill
her? No. But I knew he had a beef. When I first joined the LA Flippers, I was over
at Nora's house. She was on a conference call, so I just hung around and talked
to Martin. Sort of a getting-to-know-you conversation.'

'And
what did you get to know?' Terry asked.

'According
to Martin, the
House to Die For
series was all his idea. Nora loved it, and immediately decided that Julia
should be a partner. Of course, Julia was totally inept, so Nora brought
Marisol in. Eventually, she added me and Jo, but Martin never got his piece of
the pie. As far as Nora was concerned, pitching ideas was part of his job.'

'So
Martin came up with this gold mine of an idea, Nora took on four partners, and
he got nothing?' I said.

'Not
nothing,' Marilyn said. 'But not much. I think she gave him a Christmas bonus.
A trip to Hawaii.'

'And
she tagged along,' Terry said.

'Of
course,' Marilyn said. 'She wasn't going to let him go off by himself. They
were...you know.'

'So
he has the big idea. She cuts other people in on the action, and all Martin
gets is a ticket to bang Nora on Waikiki Beach. Talk about a motive,' Terry
said. 'No wonder he killed the others along with Nora. He must have hated
everyone in the group.'

'Thank
you for reminding me, Terry,' Marilyn said. 'Because I haven't thought about
the fact that I was next for at least two minutes.'

'Sorry.'
He sat down next to her. 'What are you reading?'

'Murder at 611
South Cherokee.'
She closed it, so we could see the cover. 'I read the advance copy six months
ago, but this has the acknowledgment page. She mentions me and all the other
partners, and she thanks you, Mike, Charlie, and Wendy Burns for helping her
get all the cop stuff right.'

'Well,
we got the cop stuff wrong this time,' Terry said. 'We suspected Martin, but we
didn't go after him fast enough.'

Marilyn
put a hand on his knee. 'Are you upset that Tony will get all the credit for
solving the case?'

'No.
I'm upset that we didn't solve it before Tony's wife got killed.'

Jett
sat up and barked. Marilyn jumped.

The
front door opened, it's only us,' Emily yelled.

She
and Sarah came into the living room. They each gave Terry a quick kiss. 'How
you doing, Mom?' Emily said.

'I'm
in shock,' Marilyn said. 'What are you doing home so early?'

'The
mall is boring.'

'And
the guy she has the hots for was hanging with another girl,' Sarah said.

'I
do not have the hots for him,' Emily yelled.

'For
the record,' Terry said, 'you're too young to have the hots for anyone.'

'This
is embarrassing,' Emily said. 'I'm going to my room.'

'I
don't get it,' Marilyn said. 'Last night you called out half the cops in LA
because you were tired of being stuck in the house. Now that you're free to go,
you're not going anywhere.'

'It's
my call,' Emily said, tossing one hand in the air. 'And that, Mother, is the
beauty of emancipation.'

The
next morning we were on the 101 headed for Cedars- Sinai to talk to Tony
Dominguez. Terry was in a pissy mood.

'You
haven't said a word since we left the house,' I said. 'What's your problem?'

'I
was just wondering if we can find a Hallmark store open on a Sunday morning,'
he said. 'I'd like to get Tony one of those Sorry If My Lousy Police Work
Caused the Death of Your Wife cards.'

'It's
probably in the section next to the Your Wife Should Have Taken Us Up on Our
Offer of Police Protection cards. Lighten up on yourself. Marisol called her
own shots. What's done is done. Let's just talk to Tony and wrap this up. You
OK with that?'

'I'm
fine,' he said, sounding anything but.

'As
long as we're at Cedars,' I said, 'we should stop in and talk to Charlie and
get his take on Martin Sorensen.'

'How
about your contractor with the nail in his dick? Isn't he in the hospital too?
Why don't we pop by Good Samaritan and spread some cheer his way? We can make a
day of it.'

'My
contractor,' I said. 'We've been so crazy, I forgot all about it.' I dug into
my jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.

'What's
that?'

'Liz
Corrado, our lawyer, has been talking with Hal Hooper,' I said. 'He flat out
refuses to give us back the advance we gave him.'

'On
what grounds?'

'On
the grounds that he's an asshole. He said his injuries won't slow him down that
much.'

'I
thought his leg was broken and he couldn't work for eight weeks.'

'Yeah,
well, he changed his tune when we asked for a refund. He said he would pick up
where he left off in a few days.'

'By
pick up where he left off, does he mean keep the money and not show up?' Terry
said.

'Right,
and by a few days, he means when hell freezes over. So, Liz is threatening to
sue. She sent me a draft of a letter she's working on.'

'I
got a good opening for you,' Terry said. 'How about, "Dear Dickwad, we
don't mean to be
hard on
you, but we really need to
nail this
down."'

'Hard
on. Nail down,' I said. 'Liz is a little more artful.'

'I'll
be the judge of that. Read on.'

I
unfolded the piece of paper. 'Dear Mr Hooper. My client's roof was supposed to
be finished two weeks ago, but with your recent unfortunate injury, it is
apparent that
it will be a long time before you can get it up.'

Terry
laughed out loud.

'Unless
you return my client's advance payment of seven thousand dollars within
forty-eight hours of receipt of this letter, we will proceed with litigation.'

'That's
not a believable threat,' Terry said. 'These contractors get sued eight days a
week. Lawsuits don't scare them, because it would cost you more in legal
expenses than you can win in court. He knows you'll never go through with it.'

I
smiled. 'Don't bet on it. Listen to this. "My client is determined to see
this through, no matter what the legal costs. We intend to subpoena your
medical records, and while a jury may be sympathetic to a man who mistook his
genitalia for a roofing shingle, you are at risk of your little private matter
becoming public fodder for the media.'"

Terry
slammed his palm on the steering wheel. 'Little private matter. If I weren't
doing eighty, I'd get up and give Liz Corrado a standing ovation. That's the
kind of twisted thinking that restores my faith in our legal system. Kudos on
finding a lawyer who uses her powers for good instead of evil.'

He
had a smile on his face all the way into Cedars.

We
parked at the South Tower and took an elevator to the seventh floor. When
Charlie Knoll checked into the hospital with chest pains, they put him in a double
room. But when hero cop Tony Dominguez took a bullet protecting the citizens of
our fair city, he was gratefully bedded down in a private suite usually
reserved for the rich and celebrated.

The
mahogany-panelled hallway leading to Tony's room looked more like a European
hotel than a hospital. We knocked on Tony's door.

'Come
in.'

It
was one of those rooms that most patients will never see, or even dream of.
More wood-panelled walls, antique furniture, and a muted Persian rug that
definitely had not come from Carpet City. The Old World feel was offset by
twenty-first-century amenities like a high def plasma TV and a home theatre
system. Tony was sitting in a leather armchair, wearing a dark blue silky robe.
His left arm was in a sling.

There
was a second chair and a second man. He was in his mid-sixties, silver-haired,
impeccably dressed, and noticeably handsome. He looked like a Hollywood star.
In a way, he was.

'Guys,
thanks for coming,' Tony said. 'This is my friend, my mentor, and most
important, my shrink, Ford Jameson.'

Dr
Ford Jameson, legendary psychiatrist to the rich and crazy, smiled, stood up,
and shook our hands. He was tall and trim, with the kind of warm, caring eyes
you want in a TV dad, or a therapist you're going to trust with your innermost
secrets.

'Nice
to finally meet you,' I said. 'Tony's told us a lot about you.'

'The
question is,' Terry said, 'has he told you a lot about us?'

The
doc laughed. 'I can't break doctor-patient confidentiality,' he said, 'but I'll
go out on a limb and say that based on what I've heard about you, Detective
Biggs, I wouldn't want to go up against you in a poker game.'

We
all laughed at that one, then the room grew uncomfortably quiet, and I was
reminded that this was as much a condolence call to a friend as it was a police
investigation.

'Tony,'
I said, breaking the silence, 'we can't tell you how sorry we feel about
Marisol.'