i 9fb2c9db4068b52a (11 page)

“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone else?” Jovanic repeated.

“No.”

One dark brow arched. “No, you’re not sure, or no, you didn’t see anyone?”

Claudia rubbed her eyes, realizing too late that she had smeared what was left of her mascara onto her cheek. “No, I didn’t see anyone.”

“What’s your relationship with Mr. Novak?”

“He’s a client.”

Jovanic cocked his head to the side and studied her through intelligent grey eyes flecked with brown. “What business?”

“I’m a handwriting expert.”

More scribbling in the notebook. “What were you doing here tonight?”

“Ivan called and asked me for a ride to LAX.”

“He was going out of town?”

“That’s why
I
usually go to the airport.” Claudia regretted the sarcasm as soon as it left her lips. Jovanic gave her the raised brow again. “He was booked on a redeye to Chicago,” she amended lamely.

“What does Mr. Novak do?”

“He’s in public relations.”

Jovanic looked attentive, waiting for her to elaborate, but Claudia held her tongue. She had learned interview technique from years of giving expert testimony in court. A good witness answered only the question asked, nothing more.

He who speaks first loses.

“Do you know of anyone who might want to harm him?” Jovanic asked at last. “No. He only retained me yesterday morning.”

“Yet, tonight he asks you for a late-night ride to the airport? I didn’t know handwriting experts provided taxi service.”

“He wasn’t a total stranger. I’d met him before, through the woman he worked for.”

“So, how long
have
you known him?”

“A few months, and only very slightly.”

“Then why didn’t he call a cab or the Super Shuttle?”

“He wanted to give me something. Since I would already be here to pick it up, he thought it made sense for me to drop him at the airport. LAX is near my house.”

“Did you get it?”

“Get what?”

“What he had for you. Did you get it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“I thought you didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”

“I
didn’t
. He left an envelope in the foyer for me. Maybe you noticed the suit bag? That’s where I found it.”

Would she be forced to hand over the letter if Jovanic pursued the matter? She probably should have opened it before he arrived, but everything had happened so fast.
Shit.
The detective unwrapped a new toothpick and held it like a cigarette. A reformed smoker, she would bet on it. He asked her to tell him once again what had happened, starting with Ivan’s phone call.

Claudia’s relief that he didn’t ask her for Zebediah’s letter was immediate and intense. This time around she remembered about the matching logos on the florist’s van and the flowers in the foyer. “Is there any more you can tell me, ma’am?”

The “ma’am” annoyed her, made her feel ninety-nine instead of thirty-nine. She wondered if he did it deliberately.

“No.”

But he continued asking questions and making notes, with an occasional grunted, “Uh huh” as she answered. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “What was it he wanted you to pick up?”

“What? Uh, that’s confidential.”

“Must have been pretty important to bring you out here so late on a Monday night.”

“It was related to the case I’m working on for him. As far as I know, it has nothing to do with what happened here tonight.”

“What kind of case is it you’re working on, Ms. Rose?”

“As I told you, I’m a handwriting examiner. He asked me to examine some handwriting.”

Jovanic made no response to that and a long silence ensued, during which she concluded that he wasn’t going to say anything further.

Point conceded. Score one for Detective Jovanic.

“Ivan worked for a woman named Lindsey Alexander, who recently committed suicide,” Claudia explained. “
Apparently
committed suicide, but Ivan didn’t believe it.” She watched him closely as she described Ivan’s suspicions about Lindsey’s death and saw the flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

“I’m familiar with the case,” he said. “There was nothing to suggest it was anything other than suicide.” He sucked thoughtfully on the toothpick, looking at her straight on with eyes sharp enough to penetrate the smallest white lie. She would hate to be a suspect if he were doing the interrogating. Being a witness was uncomfortable enough. “What makes you so sure your case isn’t related to the attack on Mr. Novak?”

“What makes you think it is?” she countered. There she went again, letting the words rush out without thinking. She needed some sleep. Real sleep; not the nightmare-inducing catnaps she’d been allowed this night.

“It’s my job to investigate,” said Detective Jovanic. “And I’m investigating. Doesn’t it seem a little strange to you? It just
happens
that he calls you to come over, then,
voila
, he’s attacked?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?
I
attacked him?”

His face was expressionless as he replied, “We’re just beginning the investigation. I’m not ruling anything out at this point.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, now I’m a
suspect
?” Outraged, Claudia glared at him. “I’m the one who called 911, remember? What motive would I have for attacking Ivan?”

Jovanic shrugged. “If you have a motive, I’ll find out. Meanwhile, do you really believe that two acts of violence in the same place inside of two weeks is a coincidence?”

“You’re the ones who are so sure Lindsey committed suicide. That’s a very different kind of violence than this! Come on, detective, it’s nearly two in the morning; I’m wiped; I can’t think straight. Or is that why you’ve kept me here? So I won’t know what I’m saying?” Suddenly, Claudia’s anger deflated like a popped balloon. “Can’t we finish this some other time? Please?”

Jovanic pointed to his own cheek. “You’ve got blood on your face.”

Her hand flew to her cheek, felt the dried spot on her skin. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“How’d the blood get on you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Have you
seen
the amount of blood in there, Columbo?”

“You know, Ms. Rose, you might want to consider changing your attitude. At the very least, you’re a witness at a serious crime, and I expect you to explain yourself, not smart off.”

Claudia stared at him.

“Wait here,” he said. “And don’t touch that blood.” He got up and strode out of the room, returning a moment later with a young woman who awkwardly approached the sofa with him.

“This is Daleesha,” Jovanic said. “She’s a crime scene technician and she’s going to swab the blood on your face.”

“So you can make sure it’s Ivan’s blood?”

“I see you’ve been watching Forensic Files,” Jovanic said, and Claudia wasn’t sure whether he was being sarcastic, or it was an attempt at humor. “We’re also going to need a blood sample from you, to rule you out. You can come down to the lab to do that.”

The technician showed Claudia a cotton swab. “It’ll just take a sec,” she said, reaching forward to swipe it across Claudia’s cheek. “Okay, got it. Thanks.” She dropped the swab in a paper bag, sealed it and wrote something on the seal, then nodded to Jovanic and left.

Detective Jovanic sat down beside Claudia and took a clean linen handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. She took it with reluctance and scrubbed at her face, stunned at being considered a suspect, even though she understood that he was following standard procedure.

“Thanks,” she said begrudgingly. “I’ll have it cleaned.”

“Not necessary,” Jovanic said, then returned to his earlier question. “Can you think of
anyone
who might want to harm Mr. Novak?”

She thought of the threatening note she’d found in Lindsey’s files. Ivan had rejected her suggestion that it might be connected to Lindsey’s death, but it seemed too much of a coincidence to ignore. “There was a letter that I discussed with Ivan this morning,” she began. “He said it was from a former employee who had been fired for sexual harassment. I told him that the guy was dangerous. He disagreed and tore the letter up.”

“Dangerous? How did you reach that conclusion?”

“From his handwriting. I’m a graphologist as well as a document examiner. There were a lot of red flags in the writing.”

Jovanic’s neutral expression puckered into scorn. “
Graphology?
Come on, Ms. Rose, you don’t expect me to believe that BS, do you?”

Claudia was used to dealing with skepticism and should have been prepared for his response, but her customary aplomb deserted her. She sprang up from the sofa, her hands balled into tight fists. “I really don’t give a shit whether you believe it or not.”

Before she knew what was happening, he was on his feet, scowling down at her. Claudia’s pulse raced with a mixture of emotions, but she’d be damned if she would let him know he intimidated her. Like a cat puffing out its fur to scare off the enemy, she straightened her spine and tried to make her height work for her.

They glared at each other, the atmosphere thick with antagonism, neither willing to give way until Jovanic gave a short laugh. He backed up a step and took a business card from his jacket, scribbled something on the back. “Here, you can analyze this.”

Claudia snatched the card and thrust it into the pocket of her Levis without looking. “I don’t need to see your handwriting to know you’re being rude.”

Unexpectedly, he smiled. A nice smile that softened the lines around his mouth. What the hell was he doing? Playing good cop/bad cop, all by himself?

“Call me when you’ve had some sleep,” he said. “You’ll need to sign your statement once I’ve got it typed up.”

The morning light and the shimmer of dawn on cold, blue water had sold her on the place. Sunrise cascading through the glass wall that fronted her office. Even when the marine layer obstructed the sun, the light was there to give her a lift. But today, when morning arrived—far too early after a night far too short—the light battered the backs of her eyes.

She would have slept on but for the intrusion of the ringing telephone. When pulling the pillow over her head failed to shut out the third call, she gave up and turned off the ringer. After that, sleep was impossible and she headed downstairs.

On her way to make coffee, Claudia’s eyes drifted to the couch, where she had tossed her purse upon arriving home from Lindsey’s apartment only a few hours earlier. Ivan’s envelope was inside, still sealed. She had been loath to open it before, and she was loath now, afraid that his suspicions about Zebediah would have some basis in fact.

She crossed to the kitchen, moving away from the purse with quick strides. But professional curiosity and personal friendship jerked her to a halt. Feeling like a marionette on a string, she did an about-face.

As she picked up the envelope she spotted the flash drive lying beneath it, forgotten in the chaos of the arrival of the police and the EMS crew. Detective Jovanic’s stern countenance popped into her head as she carried both items to her desk. Would she be in trouble if he found out about that?

Yeah, she would be in trouble. Big trouble
.

With a sigh, she set aside the drive and slit open the envelope, removing the single sheet of paper. Claudia swore under her breath, immediately recognizing the jerky, malformed strokes. There was no denying that Zebediah had written the letter. He had always been self-conscious about writing in Claudia’s presence, blaming his strange handwriting on a learning disorder. More than once, he had complained that letting her see his unique scrawl made him feel naked. And yet, he had felt compelled to write a letter to Lindsey.

“Lindsey: Get out of my life! Mexico was a huge mistake. I should never have let you talk me into it. Don’t you understand? I want nothing more to do with you. Stop calling me, stop writing to me, stop following me around. Just stay the hell away. Don’t force me to do something drastic. I don’t want to hurt you.”

His distinctive
“ZG”
was scrawled across the bottom of the page. Reading his words, Claudia’s heart sank. It was easy to see why Ivan had interpreted the letter as damning. She read the letter over a second time and a third, debating what to do with it. California law expressly forbade counselor/patient liaisons for a period of two years after discontinuing therapy. How much time had passed before Zebediah had succumbed to Lindsey’s manipulations?

She pressed his speed-dial number on the phone. What would she say to him?
Say, Zeb, did you kill Lindsey? Did you attack Ivan?

Would he tell her the truth? Would she know the difference?

She chickened out and hung up before the call connected.

Staring through the office window she watched the surf, lazily drifting in and out on the other side of the highway. Beach-goers studded the sand, ants from her perspective a half-mile away. They had no idea she was watching them, just as Zebediah was unaware that, with his letter to Lindsey, she might be holding his fate in her hands. She could burn it and no one would be the wiser. Even if Ivan fully recovered from his injuries, chances were, he might not even remember the letter. Claudia replaced it in the envelope, memories of Zebediah’s many kindnesses blurring the lines of ethics. Besides, she had introduced the two of them when Lindsey had turned to her for a good therapist referral. That made her partly responsible.

You have to turn the letter over to Detective Jovanic
.

She did her best to shout down the little voice in her head, drown it out. But this letter was no minor stretching of the facts. Claudia had sworn too many oaths to tell the truth over the course of her career to abandon those ethics now.

But could she betray her old friend that way? His Buddhist principles precluded harming any living creature. Violence was against everything Zebediah stood for.

Maybe she didn’t have to take action immediately. Going to the small safe that the last owner had cut into the wall, she slid aside the Egyptian Eye of Horus papyrus and dialed the combination. The letter would stay with her computer backup disks for now.