Murder Take Two (13 page)

Lights inside the hotel shone brightly over the entrance, but not a soul was visible.

Yancy stopped trying to hold Robin down and helped him up. Draping one of Robin's arms over his shoulder, Yancy put his own arm around Robin's waist and aimed them both for the door.

“Where we goin'?”

“Inside.” And we're hoping like hell there's no spinal injury.

“Over there in the anywhere and Kay in the nowhere.” Robin sobbed; his whole body shook.

Yancy steered them to the entrance and was wondering how to get them both through the door when Howie came dashing up and held it open. Yancy needed to talk to Howie, sometime friend and assistant manager, about giving out cops' phone numbers to sexy actresses.

“What happened? Is he hurt? Oh, my God.” Howie held the door, stood back, and peered anxiously at Robin.

“I seriously hope not. Would you get an ambulance?”

“Sure. Yes. Right away.” He loped off to the desk.

*   *   *

Blue. Laura my beloved. The universe is blue. He didn't know why he'd pushed that drunk. He was just there and it seemed right. Maybe it was out of sequence. The cop got out of his car and was bending over him. If he'd obtained a knife or a hammer, he could have done it right then. Killed the cop, and taken the gun. He should have thought ahead. He could have bought a knife. Damn. Was this a test? Did he fail?

He had to have the cop's gun. That was the most humane way. Shoving and cutting through railings was wrong. The spirits had been against it.

*   *   *

An ambulance drove up, lights flashing, but no siren. Two guys jumped out and opened the rear doors. They got a stretcher and wheeled it up to the entrance. A minute or two later, they wheeled it back with the drunk strapped on. The cop got in his car and followed.

*   *   *

One good thing, Yancy thought, this late on a Monday—he glanced at his watch—one-thirty—early on a Tuesday morning—the emergency room wasn't stacked three deep. They were all home resting up from the weekend. He trotted up the ramp to the admitting area where the ambulance attendants were unloading Robin. The glass doors slid open and they trundled him through and along to a treatment room.

Mary Mason—he'd gone to high school with her—was on duty tonight. “What have you brought us this time, Peter?”

“Just a drunk, I hope.” He explained what had happened. “Since he's one of the movie people, give him every test you've got.”

“Sure. We do that anyway, you know. Go sit down. It'll be a while.”

For a few minutes he sat in the waiting area, but all that unneeded adrenaline was jazzing through his bloodstream. He told Mary he'd be outside.

It was still hot, probably seventy-five degrees. They could use some rain, cool things off some. Not a cloud in the black starry sky.

He made his way to the courtyard on the side of the building. Light poles with round globes lit the area of shrubs and flower beds and wooden benches. In the center was a three-tiered fountain and water spilled endlessly down.

“What is it about moving water?”

Startled, Yancy turned and saw a woman sitting on a bench, middle-aged and plump with short gray hair. She wasn't crying but her face was slack and dull as though she was long finished and there was no emotion left.

“It's just there.” Yancy sat on a bench at a right angle to her. “It's soothing.”

She gave him a ragged smile. “I wish I smoked. Then I'd have an excuse.”

“You need an excuse?”

“My husband is dying.”

Yancy had assumed as much, a relative or someone she loved. “I'm very sorry,” he said.

“I stay in the room until I can't stand it, and I have to leave. But I feel so guilty when I'm not there I have to go back. I sit and listen to him breathe. Awful strangled breath, then nothing. I pray, ‘Oh, God, please let him take another breath.'”

She wasn't talking to Yancy, she wasn't talking to anybody really. Her mind was so full of darkness, she had to let some spill, like the water trickling over the fountain edges.

“And he does,” she said. “Another awful strangled breath. And I pray, ‘Oh, God, please let him go. Give him peace.' I feel so ashamed because I want him to die.”

She rubbed the heel of her palm up and down her cheek, a gesture of rubbing away guilt. “I'm so afraid he'll go when I'm not there. I'm terrified he'll go when I am there.”

The fountain trickled water down its tiers, crickets chirred in the grass, the moon shone full, and the air smelled of jasmine.

After a long silence, she said, “Someone you love is here?”

“No. A minor accident. I don't think he's hurt.”

After another long silence, she stood and dusted off the back of her skirt. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said. “I guess it's time to get back.”

Yancy silently wished her the best, whatever that might be.

Later, Mary came looking for him. “There you are,” she said. “You can come get your boy. He's been poked, jabbed, X-rayed, lab tested, and, aside from some bruises, pronounced suffering from the excesses of alcohol.”

Yancy let go of a long breath he'd been storing up. He had no idea what kind of trouble he was in, but he knew one thing: running over one of the movie people was not permissible. He loaded Robin into the Cherokee and drove as carefully as if he were delivering unboxed eggs.

He went with Robin into his hotel room, placed the key on a chest, and switched on the lamps on both sides of the bed. Robin slumped on the edge of the bed with his head drooping. He managed to prop it on his fists. He wasn't as way-out drunk now, but he wasn't sober either, and he looked thoroughly miserable.

“You need to get some sleep,” Yancy said.

“No,” Robin mumbled, tipping his head back and forth. “I need to see Sheri.”

“Why?”

“She did it.”

“Did what?”

“Knows—she knows—”

“Ms. Lloyd knows who hurt Kay?”

“Nobody wanted to hurt Kay. Laura.”

Yancy leaned back against the door. He thought if he sat down, he might fall asleep.

“Had a fight.” Robin's eyelids were at half-mast.

“Sheri and Kay?”

“Nick.”

“Nick and Kay?”

“No.” Robin's eyes closed. He forced them open and settled for slits. “Nick and Sheri.”

“What about?”

“Not gonna throw everything over for her.”

Yancy wondered if it was worth trying to follow this drunken rambling. The lieutenant would have retrieved whatever was to be had from Sheri, and Yancy was overstepping his duties. A dull headache was developing just behind his temples, the result of long hours and hanging with these California people.

“Oh, God.” Robin took a deep breath, shoved himself up, and stumbled into the bathroom. Yancy heard water running. Robin came back drying his face and hair.

“We were getting married. After this shoot.” He twisted the towel. “You want to hear something funny? She liked working with Laura. Ain't that a kick? Twenty-one.” He glared at Yancy. “Twenty-one goddamn years old.”

Robin wasn't much older, Yancy thought. Twenty-three or four.

“She lived in Van Nuys. You know? Family. Normal people. Two older brothers. Daddy a history teacher. Mother works for some business, secretary. I called them. I had to tell them—” Robin clamped his teeth and swallowed rapidly. His fingers dug into the towel until the knuckles whitened.

“She got along with Ms. Edwards?”

“Sure. Who knows what Laura thought. But stars don't suffer in silence. If she didn't like Kay, you can bet your bottom dollar she'd have said so.”

“What do you want with Ms. Lloyd?”

A crafty look came over Robin's face, then it turned blankly innocent.

Oh, Christ. He's got it in his head to find out who killed Kay Bender. Be an avenger? Slay the slayer? What the hell was the matter with this Hollywood bunch? Couldn't any one of them tell reality from a movie? Yancy sighed. Actually, they couldn't.

He took a deep breath instead of yelling at Robin. He didn't go over and slap him around either. Partly because that wasn't the done thing, partly because Robin had just toppled over and started snoring. After removing Robin's shoes and shoving a pillow under his head, Yancy left him to it.

He debated with himself all the way to the elevator. Any information should go to Osey. The trouble was, he didn't have anything concrete. Drunken ramblings, facial expressions. The hallway was discreetly lit. Yancy felt hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He jabbed the button and looked around. A door seemed to be just closing. Optical illusion. Or somebody was watching him wait for the elevator. A little creepy music and he could turn this into a slasher flick.

When the elevator arrived, the room door opened quickly and a male in his thirties came out. Brown and brown, five ten, hundred eighty, brown pants, white shirt. Small brown backpack. Yancy ran down the description like he was eyeing a suspect. Careful, boy. You don't watch it, you'll be as nutsy as the movie folks.

Inside the elevator, a kid from room service, holding a tray with covered dishes, balanced the tray on one hand and wrapped the other hand around the edge of the door to prevent its closing.

Yancy got in. The hotel guest veered off toward the stairway. Two floors up, Yancy tapped softly at room three-eighteen. It wouldn't do to wake Ms. Lloyd; she most likely wouldn't take that too kindly.

The door was yanked open so fast it startled him. For a fraction of a second Sheri Lloyd smiled in welcome, then anger flushed her face. She was wearing something pale pink and flowing, semi see-through. Obviously, she had been expecting somebody. He wondered who.

“What are you doing here?” She didn't invite him in. Behind her, an ice bucket and two glasses sat on a small table.

He came in by dint of simply stepping forward and forcing her to move back. He closed the door and leaned against it.

She poured something in a glass and tossed it down. “Well, what do you want?”

“You invited me.” He crossed his arms. “You said you had something for me.”

“It's too late.” Sharp. Sexy coo nowhere in sight. Back came the usual disdain.

“What were you going to tell me?”

“Nothing.”

“Who were you expecting?”

“None of your business.”

Yancy was tired, his head ached, he wanted to go home, he wanted to go to bed. He did not want to be looked at like yesterday's dinner. “Ms. Lloyd, you could find yourself under arrest for withholding information in the matter of the death of Kay Bender.” He sounded like such a pompous ass, he expected her to laugh.

She topped up her glass and slugged it down.

“We don't have to talk here. I can take you in. Book you. Take your prints, and your picture. It would be in the paper, but hey, you know what they say about publicity.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“No, ma'am. I'm just explaining what could happen in the event that you did not cooperate.”

“You are a low-life shit.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You know—” Her voice got husky, breathless. She glided toward him, one hand extended in invitation. “If you'd be nice to me I could be very nice to you.”

“Let me make it perfectly clear here, Ms. Lloyd. Whatever the game is you're playing, you don't have to be so nice you need to sleep with a cop. Just answer a question or two and I'll get out of here. All right?”

She dropped her hand, flounced to a chair, and threw herself down in it. “Ask.”

“Who were you expecting just now?”

“Nick.” Very clipped. The lady didn't want to talk with him.

Fine. What he wanted to do was go home. He also wanted to know why Robin McCormack thought this woman either knew something or was guilty. He sat in an easy chair that was so comfortable, he was tempted to close his eyes. Just for a few minutes. He fixed her with a steely-eyed stare, projecting authority and low-life shittiness. “Go on.”

“He's been cool toward me ever since we got here. It's because
she's
been giving him a hard time.”

“She being—?”

“Laura! Nick is just too sensitive for his own good. And he doesn't want to do anything that might have repercussions on the film. He's a professional that way. She's just barely carrying it off anyway. This role is way beyond her. Nick has asked me to be patient.
Begged
me to understand.”

“Patient?”

“Of course, I told him I'd be patient, I did understand. But there's a limit.” She smiled, like the evil stepsister. “So I asked him to drop by.”

“And he agreed?”

“Oh, yes. He said he would try. And I could hear in his voice how much he was longing to be with me.”

“You think he no longer loves Ms. Edwards?”

She glared at him. “He wanted me. On a permanent basis.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes.”

“What time was he going to do this dropping by?”

She flashed him a look of irritation. “Nine-thirty,” she snapped.

“Have I got this straight? You wanted me here at nine-thirty and Nick here at nine-thirty. Wasn't that going to be a little crowded?”

“He is a man who could be spurred by jealousy.”

Yancy thought maybe he ought to be flattered here, if she felt Nick would be jealous of such as he.

“We are exactly suited for each other,” she said. “I know it and he knows it. He's a brilliant, highly successful actor and I—well, I like to think I have my own brilliance even though I'm not quite as established as he is. We can help each other. We're both concerned with social issues. We both have intellectual pursuits. A little jealousy—well I must admit, it's exciting. Just the beginnings, you understand. It makes him very
attentive.
”