Merciless (9 page)

Malcolm fired up the engine. “I want to put a tail on him.”

“As much as I’d like to, we don’t have just cause.”

Malcolm backed out of the parking spot and punched the gas. “Then we better find it.”

Wednesday, October 5, 5
P.M.

Malcolm and Garrison arrived at the Springfield Theatre in Annandale just after five in search of Marty Gold, Sierra’s ex-lover. They’d called ahead and discovered today’s play practice focused on their upcoming production of
Hamlet
. Marty was expected.

This theater was markedly different than the West End Theater. It was smaller, housed in the end space of a strip mall, and its main entrance was just yards from a drug store. Still, the owners had gone to lengths to blacken the windows and display posters of upcoming productions.

The detectives pushed through the glass doors and entered a small lobbylike area created by a black curtain that partitioned off the front section from the back. A tented opening connected the two. A display counter exhibited a collection of
Springfield Theatre!
T-shirts that were for sale.

A slim, tall woman with black hair slicked back into a bun stood behind the counter. She had pale skin and
wore the leotard of a dancer under a black skirt. “May I help you?”

“We’re here to see Marty Gold.”

A slim, neatly plucked eyebrow raised in judgment. “He’s in practice.”

Malcolm did his best to smile, but found his patience wearing thin. He’d been up nearly twenty-four hours, and a dull headache throbbed in the back of his head. He pulled out his badge. “Police.”

The woman didn’t bother to glance at the badge. “You can find him on stage now. He’s the one holding the skull.”

“Skull?”

“It’s a prop. He’s Hamlet. The skull is supposed to belong to his dead father.”

“Charming.”

They pushed through the curtains and entered the theater section. The floor, ceiling, and walls were painted black with silver flecks. Dark metal chairs created a semicircle around a simple wooden stage that rose up a foot off the ground. “Not as fancy as the West End.”

“Everybody’s got to start somewhere,” Garrison said.

“Yeah.” Malcolm held up his badge and in a loud voice said, “We’re with Alexandria Police. We’re here to see Marty Gold.” His gaze settled on the guy with the skull, who glanced at them with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He was short with thinning blond hair. Dark tights and a tunic accentuated a stocky build. “You Marty?”

“Yeah, I’m Marty.”

Malcolm crooked his finger. “Got a minute?”

The guy grinned as if to say he had no idea what was going on and crossed the stage. He hopped down and moved toward them. “What can I do for you?”

Gold wasn’t a handsome guy like Humphrey. His
nose hooked to the left slightly as if it had been broken a few times, and his dark eyes were wide set. His build was more muscular and his hands large as if accustomed to manual labor. He was definitely rougher around the edges than Humphrey.

“Sierra Day. We want to ask you about her.”

His gaze turned guarded. “What is she saying about me? I did not take her car if that’s what she’s saying. She said that I could use it. And I did not put the ding in the back bumper. She did that herself.” He still held the skull in his hand, but his grip tightened considerably.

“She’s not complaining about you, Mr. Gold.”

He relaxed a fraction. “What did she do?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“A week ago. We hooked up.”

“We’d heard you two broke up,” Malcolm said.

“We did, but that didn’t get in the way of some good clean fun.”

“A week ago would be last Wednesday?”

“Yeah. We were at an impromptu cast party. We had a great time.” His eyes narrowed. “I can promise you that the sex was consensual.”

“No doubt.”

“If she’s not complaining, then why the visit?”

Instead of answering, Malcolm countered with another question. “What do you do for a living?”

“I work construction,” Gold said.

“Where?”

“The job site is out in Fairfax.”

“Missed any work lately?”

“No. You can ask my boss. I’ve been working overtime for the last couple of weeks so I could have time off for play practice.” He supplied his boss’s name and number.

Malcolm wrote it down. “And you come here right after work?”

Gold’s frown deepened. “Ask anyone. I just about live here. What’s this about?”

“We’ve found Sierra’s body. We’re trying to retrace her steps,” Malcolm said.

That undercut Gold’s bravado. “Oh. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. Rough. So the last time you saw her was at the party?”

“Yeah, and she was alive and kicking. After we did our thing, she said she had a better dude waiting for her. He was rich. She took off to see him.”

“This dude got a name?”

“Don’t know.”

“Anyone show great interest in her that you were aware of?”

“Sierra attracted attention like honey does bees. She knew how to work a room, and when she wanted to she’d light it up. If you could get Sierra at your party, she made it fun. And for the record, I didn’t send her those notes.”

“What notes?”

“The ones that said she was pretty.”

“Where did she find these notes?”

“Front door. Car. Dressing table. The guy even gave her an ivory pendant.”

“Who would have the notes and jewelry?”

“Zoe, I guess.”

“That Zoe Morgan her roommate?” Garrison said.

“Yeah.”

They’d put calls into Ms. Morgan but hadn’t connected with her.

“Go see Zoe,” Gold said. “Knowing Sierra, all her crap is still piled high in Zoe’s spare room.”

* * *

Zoe Morgan’s third-floor walk-up was located in Old Town over a dress shop that had GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE signs in the front window. The racks in the store looked picked over, and only a few half-interested women milled around inside.

They climbed the stairs. On the second floor the distinct scent of roasting chicken wafted out from one of the apartments. The sound of a television and a woman talking loudly leaked out from behind another door.

Police work was hardly the glamorous stuff he saw on television. It was a lot of mundane legwork that produced too much information that had to be sorted through for the few nuggets of gold. But to give in to the mundane was dangerous. In a blink the routine could explode in violence.

The stairs that led to the third floor narrowed. They found her apartment and knocked. Zoe answered her door on the third knock.

Dressed in a dark suit and a white silk shirt, the woman who greeted them looked as if she’d just gotten home from the office. A tight ponytail held back brown hair and accentuated a high slash of cheekbones and a peaches-and-cream complexion that needed no makeup.

“Can I help you?” the woman said.

Garrison pulled out his badge. “We’re with Alexandria Police. Are you Zoe Morgan?”

Her shoulders edged back just a fraction. “That’s right. What’s the problem?”

“May we come in?” Malcolm prompted.

“First tell me what this is about.”

“Your roommate,” Malcolm said. “Her body was found yesterday.”

Zoe’s lips parted in surprise, and the muscles in her face tightened. She stepped aside. “Come in.”

The place was neatly arranged. A floral couch, two chairs, a flat-screen television, a built-in shelf loaded with books, and a large window that allowed the fading afternoon light to flood into the apartment. On several walls were framed posters of ballet productions:
Giselle
,
Swan Lake
, and
The Nutcracker
.

Malcolm made no effort to disguise his appraisal of the room. He’d discovered living spaces said a great deal about people. “How long was Sierra Day your roommate?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “About a month. It was only supposed to be for a few days, but I should have known better with Sierra. Once she’s in a place it’s hard to get rid of her.”

“You two were friends?”

“I wouldn’t say friends. We were acquaintances. I’m the marketing director for the Washington Ballet. She worked at most of the theaters in the metro area. We ran in the same circles. When she asked me if she could stay for a few nights it seemed the nice thing to do.”

“How did you two meet?”

“She was my understudy in a play a few years ago.”

“You the actress that suddenly got sick just before opening night?”

Dark brows creased. “How did you know?”

“Grapevine says that Sierra gave you a little something that made you sick so she could step into your role.”

Zoe frowned. “That’s not true.”

“What was wrong with you?”

She hesitated. “Food poisoning.”

“That’s a bad break.”

Zoe was cool, controlled. “Not really. I was trying to act when I could no longer dance. Acting was not a good fit for me. I landed the ballet marketing job a few weeks after that play shut down.”

“Why’d you let Sierra move into your place?”

“She needed a place to crash. That play stuff was water under the bridge.”

“Okay.”

Zoe folded her arms over her chest. “So where did you find her?”

“She was found at Angel Park.”

She arched a brow. “Really?”

“That means something?” Malcolm said.

“Her last reviewer called her an ‘angel on stage.’ She liked the description and repeated it a lot.”

“A lot of people heard it?” Garrison said.

“Knowing Sierra, yes. She was no shrinking violet. How did she die?”

Malcolm would bet that Zoe was no shrinking violet either. “We’re still trying to figure all that out. Did she pay you rent?”

A smile tipped the edge of Zoe’s lips. “Not a dime. But then it was just supposed to be a few days.”

“How long has it been since you last saw her?”

A crease formed on her smooth forehead. “Ten or eleven days. A Wednesday, I think.”

“It didn’t surprise you that she didn’t come home for so long?” Garrison said.

“No. She’s been coming and going like that since day one. Last Friday night I paused and wondered if she’d come home. I peeked in her room, but couldn’t tell if she’d been through or not. It’s always a wreck. I left early on Saturday for a seminar and just got back today.”

“Where was the seminar?”

“New York. It was a medical convention focused on healing injuries.”

“You want to dance again?” Malcolm said.

Her fingers tightened very slightly around her forearms. “Yes, I do. I used to be a very talented dancer. A car accident changed all that. I’d hoped the seminar would show me new healing techniques to strengthen my right ankle.”

“Did it?”

“No.” The clipped word hinted to her disappointment.

“So you just lost track of your roommate?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I had a lot of hopes pinned on this trip and was distracted. I wasn’t going to deal with Sierra until I got back.”

“Can we see her room?” Malcolm asked.

“Be my guest.”

She crossed the living room and opened the door to a guest room. The contrast between the living room and Sierra’s room was stark. Clothes covered Sierra’s floor either in discarded piles or in stacks piled in green plastic garbage bags. There was a pizza box on the middle of an unmade bed. Cups lined the floor by a dresser piled high with all kinds of makeup. Layers of jewelry hung from the mirror.

“As you can see, it’s hard to tell when she comes or goes. The room’s been like this since the first night she arrived.” Zoe shook her head. “She was an irritating woman, but I am sorry.”

“What else can you tell me about her?” Malcolm asked. He moved to the dresser and picked up a lipstick. He opened it and studied the bright, bright red.

“Nothing anyone else wouldn’t tell you. Ambitious. Driven. She’d have done anything to be a success.”

“Anything?”

“Just about.”

Malcolm stared at the makeup, wondering how she even picked out what she needed on any given day. Mixed among the makeup were a box of diet pills, a sleeve of condoms, and a wad of black panty hose. He glanced at a pair of high heels, black with red soles, on the floor. He picked them up and studied them. Expensive.

As he turned back toward Zoe, his gaze caught sight of a business card tucked in the bottom corner of the mirror. Dr. James Dixon.

“I guess you all know Dixon’s past,” Zoe said, catching his line of sight. “I told Sierra to stay clear of him. I read about what he did to that prostitute.”

“Do you know how the two met?”

“Through me, as a matter of fact. I invited her to a ballet fundraiser over the summer. He was there. And they hit it off.” She shook her head. “The guy always gave me the creeps, and I told her so a few times, but she didn’t seem to care.”

“Did he ever give Sierra reason to worry?” Malcolm asked.

“No. In fact, she said he was the gentlest of souls. That he made her feel completely comfortable.”

Lulu Sweet had testified that he’d been gracious and polite, and it was only when they were alone in the motel room that his mood turned violent.

On the bed among the rumpled bed covers was a script,
The Taming of the Shrew
. The spine had been creased, pages dog-eared, lines highlighted and annotated. “Looks like she was studying hard.”

“Sierra was totally dedicated to whatever play she was in. She never missed a mark and always showed up knowing her lines. That’s one of the reasons she got so much work in the area. Pretty helps, but it’s only a foot
in the door. If you don’t deliver in this area, word gets around fast, and you don’t work.”

“You ever help her with her lines?” The script smelled faintly of perfume.

“Sure, a few times. And it was kind of amazing to see her transform from a woman I didn’t really like into a character that totally captivated me. She was a gifted actress.”

Garrison walked to the lone window in the room and stared out. “Where does the alley below lead?”

“To a small parking lot. Tenants of the building have access to it.”

“Marty Gold said Sierra received notes.”

“She mentioned that. She thought they were from her ex.”

“Which ex?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do you know where the notes are?”

“Likely buried in here somewhere.”

He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Zoe. “Will you call me if you hear of anything?”