G'Day USA (9 page)

‘
I’d rather not put it on until the last minute.’

‘
Oh, honey, you don’t need to wear it. I just need to see it. To see the color, specifically.’

‘
It’s red.’

‘
Red?’ She smiled. ‘Would that be carnation? Cardinal? Cerise? Amaranth? I need my eyeballs on it. Takes just a minute and I’ll have it locked in my head. You go grab it and I’ll get the stuff ready in the studio. And you need to think about what you’d like done to your hair. Go. I’ll be waiting.’

I said a force of nature, right?

I showed her the dress. She gently lifted it out of the box and held it against my skin at my chest, my arms and my face.

‘
This is a beautiful dress. Interesting counterpoint between your tan and this color. I hardly need to do anything. It’s almost embarrassing charging you. Almost. But not quite.’ She handed the dress back. ‘Spectacular. You’re going to be beautiful. You already
are
beautiful. So I have a big challenge. Put it down over there and sit.’

She had a setup identical to the one she had on set and, like on set, I zoned out to my surroundings. She asked a few questions about what I wanted to do with my hair. I resisted telling her to cut it all off, even though the maintenance of it was becoming a huge time-waster.

When the hair was finished (thin braids along the sides tied back in a cluster - very Topanga Canyon-ish) she spun the chair around to get my attention.

‘
Are you thirsty? I’d ask if you’re hungry but that dress is going to be snug enough without any more food.’

‘
Not really, why?’

‘
Nothing touches your lips after I’m finished. Not until
after
the media
after
the premiere. Understand?’

‘
Yeah, yeah. I understand. Apply the paint.’

‘
I
am
an artist. Sit still.’

Fifteen minutes or so later - it’s difficult to judge time when you’re sitting in a chair with your eyes closed while a woman paints your face - she stepped back.

‘
Beautiful.’ She turned the chair to face the lit mirror. ‘What do you think?’

I opened my eyes. I looked like I had a fresh summer tan, a beach glow that looked real. ‘How do you do that? It doesn’t look like I’m wearing makeup, but I know I am. It’s like you Photoshopped my actual face.’ I moved a hand toward my cheek and had it slapped down faster than a Sergio Leone gunfight.

‘
No. Do not touch. Do whatever you want later tonight but right now, do not touch.’ She held out a hand and helped me out of the chair. ‘Have a fantastic night tonight. You’re going to be fine. The movie is going to do great and one day soon I’ll be pointing at you on TV and telling my grandkids “I used to make up her face”. Go have a bunch of fun and don’t forget the dress. I’m too short and fat for it. And red doesn’t look good on me.’

I thanked her, was rebuffed when I tried to kiss her on the cheek and laughed as she scolded me for forgetting already. Now it was home and change and hope Marty wasn’t in a prankster mood with the limo.

From Glendale back to my apartment was about thirty minutes. Marty would be showing up in a bit over an hour. Cutting it close. I pushed it a little on the I-10 and was edging Culver City when my phone rang.

‘
Ellie speaking.’

‘
Hi, Ell. Cathy here. I got your message. Wow. The premiere’s tonight?’

‘
Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. The tickets will be there. Can you make it?’

‘
I’d really love to, but we’re in Branson.’

‘
Missouri?’

‘
I don’t think there’s another one. We’re flying in late tonight. Back in LA in the morning. We need to catch up. It’s been too long.’

‘
It has. Still with dip shit?’

‘
Come on, Ellie. Bernie made a mistake. He apologized a hundred times. Let him be, okay? When are you free to come by for a barbecue? Just like old times. Eat a little food, get a little drunk, have a lot of fun.’

I thought about my schedule. ‘Not trying to blow you off, Cath, but I’m completely booked with publicity gigs all over the US for the next two - almost three - weeks. It’s “g’day LA” tonight and “g’day USA” for the rest of the month. If it’s any consolation, I’m not going to be having any fun doing it.’

‘
Right. Flying first class, best suites, pampered like a princess.’ She chuckled. ‘I’d hate it too.’

‘
Oh, you know what I mean. No time is mine. It’s like a three-week long choreographed play with no intermissions. Tons o’ fun. Hey, you want to come along? I could use a friend by my side.’

‘
Shit, that would be awesome, but no. Rehearsals start next Monday at the Los Angeles Shakespeare Theatre. You know, the one in Topanga Canyon. I’m Beatrice in
Much Ado
and Bernie is stage managing. You’ll have to come see it. It runs for a couple of months.’

‘
Yup. I can see you as a Beatrice, never shutting up. Suits you.’ I swung on to the PCH. Two minutes to home. ‘Listen, Cath I really miss hanging with you. Damn shame you can’t make it. We could play sisters again. We had them convinced before.’

‘
We’re almost identical twins, except I’ve got about twenty pounds on you.‘ Cathy paused. ‘What a shame. Our lives are too busy.’

‘
I bet you wouldn’t want to change anything.’

‘
You’re right. I’ve got to take it while it’s being handed to me. I’ve got to get going Ellie. We’ll catch up soon.’

She hung up before I could reply. I really missed her. It had been too long. But I had to shake it off. Marty and his ride would be by in far too little time, and I had a movie to go see.

Tonight would be an event which would alter the course of my life.

Chapter Eight

Perkins leaned back in his chair, scratching his head. ‘Dog-show, this is troubling me.’

Sampson dropped the magazine he was reading. ‘Something is always troubling you, Perk. What this time?’

The Sergeant slid the ME’s file on his desk. ‘Time of death narrowed down to closer to 8:00pm.’

‘
Yeah, I read that.’

‘
Make any sense to you? The cook at the restaurant told me the order for breakfast was placed just after he arrived, a bit after 6:00 p.m.’

‘
Got that too. Where’s the conspiracy this time?’

‘
Why would someone bother killing themselves less than two hours after pre-ordering a breakfast for the next morning?’

Sampson shrugged. ‘Who knows? Manic-depressive ordered food in a manic state then slipped to a deep depression.’

‘
Seems pretty pat.’ He lifted an evidence bag. ‘And what about this? Pretty pansy gun for a man his size. His finger would barely fit the trigger guard.’

‘
And it’s cheap and the guy didn’t have much money. Anything on the serial number?’

‘
Shit. Knew I forgot something.’ Perkins turned on his computer. He held up an earring in another plastic evidence bag. ‘And this. Lady’s earring found on the bathroom floor.’

‘
He had a guest. Prints will be in sometime later today. Maybe tomorrow. Look, Perk. This is your case. I’ve got other things to do. I only stopped by the house on the call because I was just around the corner. If you don’t think it’s a suicide, by all means investigate it. It’s got all the markers, but you need to be satisfied.’

‘
I want to bounce some ideas off you once in a while.’

Sampson pulled on his suit jacket. ‘Sure thing. I’m heading out for a coffee. Want one?’

‘
We’ve got a machine here. I’m good.’

‘
That dog piss? I’ll bring you something.’

Perkins absent-mindedly waved him off. ‘Yeah, thanks. Whatever.’ He returned his focus to the files. He made a mistake before, assuming a murder was suicide. It defined his attitude after that. Never assume. Never guess. Always dig as deep as possible, and one inch more.

Something didn’t smell right with this one.

‘
What the fuck is it with this?’ He made notes in his ever-present pad. ‘Timing is all wrong. A guy doesn’t order food then kill himself. Out of character. And the gun. Too small.’ His computer prompted for login credentials. He looked to the back page of his notebook and entered the user name and password. Following the instructions in his book he navigated to the firearms database.

He lifted the gun out of the evidence bag and tried to read the serial number. ‘Dammit. Fucking eyes are going.’ He put the handgun to one side for the moment and concentrated on the ME’s report.

The entry angle of the gunshot, according to the report, matched the expected angle of a right-handed person shooting himself in the side of the head. Powder burns on the skin around the entry wound showed the barrel was either contacting the skin, or was very, very close. He flipped the page, scanned through the rest of the examination and sat back in his chair. ‘No powder on the hand. I wonder.’

He called the ME’s office.

‘
Morgue. What?’

‘
What?’

‘
What. What do you want? What can I help you with? What the fuck is it now, Perkins?’

‘
Hey, Gerry. Good to hear your voice. I’ve got a question about the Bart Sweeney report.’

‘
The suicide?’

‘
Maybe a suicide. I can see some inconsistencies. Things which could maybe point the case away from suicide and right into the foul play pile.’

‘
Oh for God’s sake. Sometimes suicide is just suicide.’

‘
Follow me here. Stippling at the entry wound.’

‘
You can still read.
Bueno
. I’d say lightly pressed to the skull when he pulled the trigger.’

‘
Okay, fine. I accept your expertise in the matter.’

‘
That all?’

‘
Not by half. So where was the GSR on the hand? You don’t mention it.’

The silence on the phone spoke volumes. ‘Wait.’

‘
I’m waiting. You missed that?’

‘
Yeah, I did. Good point.’

‘
Any chance it could have come off after soaking in the tub for twelve hours?’

Ben snorted. ‘No, pops. It takes a pretty good scrubbing to remove it. Highly unlikely. This is peculiar. What was the handgun?’

‘
Ruger LCP. Small girl’s gun. Very narrow, very light. At the angle he’d have to hold it I’d expect to see a little bruising in the thumb webbing.’ Perkins flipped the pages in the report. ‘Don’t see anything about it in here either.’ He dropped the handset in the cradle, stood and called across the room. ‘Stanfield, come with me.’

‘
Fantastic. Need to get out. What’s on?’

‘
Canvassing.’

‘
For what, exactly?’

‘
Sweeney’s death. Need to see if anyone saw anything there last night at 8:00 or so. Time’s wasting.’

‘
Not again. It was a suicide. He shot himself in the head, in the tub. It was pretty fucking clear, Perks. Ka-
pow
in the skull.’

‘
No GSR on his hand.’

‘
Twelve hours in the tub, maybe?’

‘
ME says no. Doesn’t scan. Need to talk to some of the neighbors.’

‘
There were fingerprints on the bottles picked up, right? Should talk to the owners of them, too.’

Perkins walked out to the front steps of the Devonshire Street squad room. ‘Warm and sunny. As usually. Those prints will be on my desk by 5:00 I’m told. We’ve got time to knock on a couple of doors before then.’

‘
So suicide’s completely off the table?’

‘
Until I can prove conclusively it’s not murder.’

T
he Killer stood in his apartment, too hyped to sit. One down. ‘So many more to go.’ He did a little soft-shoe shuffle step and turned on the TV. ‘Five hundred and twenty-three channels and not one is doing local news?’ He left it on a local cable channel and checked his watch. Almost 5:00 p.m. He paced. Waiting was the hardest part. And the best part. Building the anticipation, savoring the rush. The play was unfolding exactly as he wanted. First the suicide. It had to look like a suicide, but not too convincingly.

He stopped the pacing and frowned. It had to be discovered for what it was. Or for what he wanted it to be. It had to. He picked up his phone and thought. There might be a way to ensure that.

P
erkins and Stanfield left the last house on their canvas. A couple of people mentioned visitors earlier in the night, around 4:00 or 5:00, but the three visitors had left by 6:00. An older, short and slightly overweight gentleman in a BMW, a younger, tall dark-haired guy in an old Honda Accord and a young, shorter blond guy, looking like a “surfer-dude” according to one, who left on foot. All well before the time of death.

‘
Blanks, Perks. Nobody saw nuttin’.’

‘
Not in that time frame. The killer was there later. A couple of hours later.’

‘
So you’re 100% on the no suicide thing now.’ It wasn’t a question.