The Dark of Day (17 page)

Judy murmured, “Open Sesame.”

“Where's she from?” C.J. asked.

“Jersey? Brooklyn?”

After a minute, the chain rattled, and the door came open. The occupant stepped aside. Dim light filtered around the edges of a blackout shade in the living room and through a curtain over the kitchen window. A counter littered with take-out containers separated the two areas.

“Ignore the mess, okay?”

A torchiere in one corner illuminated an L-shaped faux-leather sofa that faced a flat-screen television. A couple of DVD cases lay open on the coffee table. There were some dark rings on the glass where wine bottles might have been, and ashes but no sign of cigarettes or—more likely—the joint she'd been smoking the night before. Not she,
they.
A pair of men's alligator shoes had been left on the brown shag carpet.

Tisha Dulaney was a pretty woman in her mid-thirties with a rat's-nest of blond hair and mascara smudges under her eyes. Her lips had been shot full of collagen. Full breasts jutted through the thin fabric of a zebra-print satin robe that came to mid-thigh.

She shook C.J.'s hand. “Wow, I'm meeting C.J. Dunn. I watched that trial on Court TV, the one you did in Palm Beach, John Winterhouse? You were really great. I apologize for being rude, but I am so tired of people knocking on the door. The police have been here twice, and some of her friends, and fuckin' reporters every morning and every night. Excuse me. I'm getting sleep-deprived.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm in the travel industry. Cruise ships, resorts. We get a lot of famous people from the entertainment and sports world. Some lawyers, too. You might be interested. I can give you girls my card.”

“All right, thanks.” C.J. said, “Let me ask you about Kylie. If she had friends other than Alana, I don't know them. Anything you could tell us might be helpful. She's only seventeen, and this is her first time away from home.”

“Seventeen? Ha. She told me she was twenty-one, like I'd believe that. I wish I could help you. The last time I saw her, she and Alana were getting ready to go out. It was the same night Alana went missing, Saturday a week ago. They were trying on clothes and doing their makeup. I had to go out too, and I couldn't get in the bathroom. I finally told Alana this is my damned apartment, so wait your turn. I left about eight o'clock, and that was the last I saw of either of them.”

C.J. heard a toilet flush, then a door close. “We woke someone up.”

Tisha said, “Don't worry about it. He should be up already. Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks, we're fine.” She asked, “Did Kylie ever talk about modeling? Did she ever mention an agency or any jobs she had?”

“No jobs, but she talked about it a lot. She wanted to earn money for college, and Alana put the modeling idea in her head, but really. It wasn't gonna happen. Now, Alana had the looks, but please. Five-foot-three? Nuh-uh.”

C.J. saw Judy checking out the DVDs on the coffee table. “Alana was also an actress. I believe she was in a movie?”

“No, she
tried out
for a movie. Never made it. She had the talent, but she needed more on top, you know what I mean?” Tisha cupped her breasts. “Maybe not like this, but something. Alana told me to keep my opinions to myself. It got so we hardly spoke. She's my last roommate. That's it. I need my privacy, and my gentleman friend—” Tisha rolled her eyes in the direction of the bedroom. “He and Alana didn't get along. What can I say? He's kind of older and didn't like her attitude.”

“How did you meet Alana?”

“I knew her from around the Beach, the clubs and parties. She was selling advertising for
Tropical Life,
you know that magazine? I said sure, my company will buy an ad. But they downsized her, and she lost her apartment. I offered to rent her my spare room. I like to help people. But you gotta be compatible, and she wasn't. The exact same day I asked her to leave, she told me she'd be moving out anyway at the end of the month. She was going to Hollywood. Some friend of hers knew people out there.”

“Did she say who this friend was?”

“Never. Most roommates like to talk, you know, but her? Forget about it.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth about Hollywood?”

“Sure. I said good for you, Alana, I hope it works out. I did hope that. I never wished her ill. Now she's probably dead.” Tisha shuddered, and tightly crossed her arms. “This world can be so, so cruel.”

C.J. said, “Do you know a friend of Alana's named Jason? He's blond, late twenties.” Tisha shook her head. “Did she bring men around? Did she have a boyfriend?”

“She dated, sure, but nobody stayed over. She kind of kept to herself.”

“Was she doing drugs?”

“Nooooo.” Tisha lifted her hands and raised her shoulders. “I mean, maybe some weed, but not here.”

“Did you ever suspect cocaine? Not here, of course.”

“She might've. It's all over.”

C.J. opened her bag. “I wonder if you've ever seen this man.” She held up the folded paper she had already shown to Marilyn Chu. “It's a driver's license photo.”

Tisha nodded. “Yeah, I know him. I mean, I don't
know
him, but he was here. He came to take Alana out. His name is Rick. Am I right? The police showed me the same picture.”

“And you ID'd him?”

“Sure. That's a terrible picture. He's a lot more attractive in person.”

“What happened when he was here?”

Judy Mazzio came back across the room to listen to Tisha's reply.

“Well, he sat over there on the sofa and waited for Alana to get ready. They were going out. We talked about the clubs and where to go. I gave him my card.”

“Did he say how he met Alana?”

“I don't remember.”

“When was he here?”

“About a month ago. I never saw him again.”

“Did Alana say anything about him?”

“Yeah. The sex was real good. He had her every which way, and he was huge.”

Judy said, “I thought you two didn't talk.”

Tisha rolled her eyes toward Judy. “Well, that is exactly what she told me.”

C.J. put away Slater's picture. “Would you mind if we saw Alana's room?” When Tisha hesitated, C.J. said, “There may be some clue to Kylie's whereabouts. You'd be doing me a great favor.”

“Just a second.” Tisha went to a door down the hall and opened it far enough to stick her head in. Voices murmured. She shut the door and said, “Okay, but please don't take too long.”

She reached into Alana's bedroom and turned on the light. Most of the small space was taken up by a bed with a disorderly pile of blankets and pillows. A life-size stuffed toy rabbit lay at the foot. Other stuffed animals filled a wicker basket. Clothes littered the carpet. A TV sat on the dresser.

Tisha leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed. “What a mess. Her parents are supposed to come over sometime and pack her things. This is going to be my meditation room and library. I do yoga.”

Judy slid back one of the closet doors. C.J. tugged on the top drawer of the dresser, whose wood-laminate top was strewn with hairbrushes, a jar of coins, makeup bag, cologne, a bill from Macy's, an iPod, and a recent issue of
Cosmo.
The drawer was empty, except for a few pens and a box with a stapler, paper clips, stamps. She opened the next drawer, finding silky underwear and lace camisoles. The next drawers were taken up with shorts, tops, swimsuits. The drawer in the nightstand held a paperback romance novel, nail polish, and a throwaway camera that hadn't been used. Overdue bills. A checkbook whose balance hadn't been figured in months.

Judy sat on her heels to go through shoe boxes. “Tisha, did the police take anything with them?”

“Not really. They made me show them my room, and they went through everything. C.J., did they need a search warrant for my room? They said they didn't.”

“They lied. You could have said no.” C.J. got on her hands and knees to lift the bed skirt. “But they'd probably have done it anyway and said you'd given them permission.” Under the bed she saw only a stuffed toy panda and a clear storage box with sweaters in it. She got up and brushed dark lint from the knees of her pink linen pants. “Tisha, who had a key to the front door? You and Alana. Anyone else?”

“The landlord has a set.”

Judy glanced around from the closet. “You should think about changing the locks.”

“Why?” Tisha pulled in a long breath, and her pillowy lips remained parted. “Oh, my God. Whoever killed her has the keys. Oh, my God.” She rushed across the hall. “Hal? Are you up? Hal! You know how to change a lock? . . . Well, you can fucking learn. Get dressed; we're going to the hardware store.”

Judy slid the closet door shut, and she and C.J. went into the hall.

C.J. said, “Tisha? Thanks for talking to us.”

She came out of the bedroom. “Sure. It was really nice meeting you. I should ask for your autograph. Never mind.” Tisha laughed as she led them toward the front door. “Sorry for going all nutso on you. He says he'll get a locksmith over.”

Tisha opened the door and with a little yelp she jumped back, clutching the front of her robe. A group of people were coming along the walkway from the street. Leading the pack was a man in a suit, trailed by a short, middle-aged couple; then, a few paces behind them, a man with a video camera on his shoulder followed by a black-haired woman in her twenties with a cordless microphone.

C.J. said, “I don't believe this.”

Judy looked past her. “Hey, it's your favorite reporter. Who are the others?”

“Alana's parents. Libi interviewed them yesterday. The man in the suit . . . I don't know, but I'd bet they've hired a lawyer.” C.J. pulled Tisha back by an elbow. “It's your choice whether to let them in or not, but my advice is, don't say anything on camera.” As she and Judy went down the two steps to the walkway, she heard the door slam and a lock turn.

Libi snapped her fingers in the cameraman's direction, and he looked into the view finder, the same man who had been at the courthouse yesterday. C.J. remembered the round face and thick gray mustache.

The man in the suit stepped forward. Sweat was putting a shine on his forehead. He frowned, then enlightenment hit. “Ms. Dunn? I'm Oscar Enriquez, attorney for the Martinez family. They came to get their daughter's belongings. May I ask why such an eminent attorney as yourself is here?”

“I'm so sorry that you came all this way, Oscar. If the family wanted to collect Alana's things, they should have called first to make arrangements.”

“Are you representing Tisha Dulaney?”

“No, I'm simply pointing out that most people prefer the courtesy of a phone call, rather than seeing strangers turn up at their door. Why don't you wait a day, then let Mom give Tisha a call?”

Enriquez smiled. “If you aren't Ms. Dulaney's attorney, why do you speak for her?”

“Fine. Ms. Dulaney can speak for herself. Go read that sign on the door.” C.J. went over to Alana's parents. “
Señor y Señora Martinez, lo siento mucho.
Please accept my sympathies for your daughter. I pray that Alana is found safe.”

They nodded numbly.

She and Judy Mazzio started toward the street.

“Ms. Dunn!” Sneakers pounded on the walkway. “We're here at the South Beach apartment of Alana Martin, and well-known defense attorney C.J. Dunn has just come out.” The microphone appeared in front of her face. “Ms. Dunn, how are you connected to the case?”

“I have no comment.” C.J. kept walking.

“Tisha Dulaney is Alana's roommate. Does she have any words of encouragement for Alana's parents?”

“You'll have to ask her yourself.”

The cameraman lowered the camera. “Libi, forget about it.”

 

 

They found an empty booth at the Eleventh Street Diner. When the waitress came back with their iced teas, Judy said she'd have a Reuben sandwich and fries.

C.J. said, “Didn't you have barbecued ribs with Edgar last night?”

“I missed lunch, thanks to you.” Judy reached into her bag for her compact and lipstick for a touch-up. The uncompromising light through the window showed the fine lines that forty-six years had sketched on her face.

“If you're interested,” C.J. said, “we're grilling steaks tonight. They say we'll get a breeze. I'm so tired of this heat.”

“You should try Vegas.” Judy blotted her lips, now shiny plum-red. “We'll get some rain soon.”

“It won't be soon enough.” C.J. unwrapped a straw. “Richard Slater. My goodness. ‘How well do you know Alana Martin?' ‘Oh, hardly at all. Just bumped into her by accident and asked for directions. Had lunch with her.'”

“Had more than that,” Judy said. “Bad boy, lying to his lawyer.”

“They all do. I shouldn't be surprised.”

“I wonder how huge he is?”

“Oh, stop.” Stirring her tea, C.J. said, “Did you see Alana's parents? I wish I could tell them. They're going to be used up by people like their smarmy attorney, and Libi Rodriguez, and whoever else wants a free ride to five seconds of fame.”

“Maybe they want it too,” Judy said. “It sort of keeps her alive in a way. As long as people are talking about her—”

“It never lasts. People will stop talking. The reporters move on to the next story, and Alana will be even more dead than she is now.”

“Aren't we in a mood,” Judy said.