Murder

  She wondered what Jake was doing. He must be at his father’s wedding by now, wearing the tie she’d picked out and having such a good time that he’d probably forgotten all about her. She couldn’t help remembering his final words: I wish you’d told me… . I would’ve used a condom.

  How could he say something so hurtful? As if she would ever have put him at risk!

  She found it impossible to concentrate on Bob Evans, so she put on the radio instead. A newscaster was talking about the murder of Salli T. Turner. Kristin had never met her, although she’d had several encounters with her wild husband, Bobby Skorch. Bobby was a notorious womanizer, and loved call girls. She had attended several parties where he’d performed quite publicly—even though everyone knew he had a famous wife at home. Bobby was into showing it off, and he had plenty to show: he was one of the most well-endowed men Kristin had ever seen. So well-endowed, in fact, that several of the girls refused to have sex with him—Kristin being one of them.

  She remembered after one particular party Darlene had lectured her the next day. “Never turn down a client,” Darlene had said, practically tut-tutting her annoyance. “It’s bad for business.”

  “He’s a tattooed freak,” Kristin had replied. “And I don’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to.”

  Kristin could not stomach hearing about Salli T. Turner’s particularly brutal murder, so she switched stations. A newscaster was speaking about President Clinton, Kenneth Starr and all the goings-on in Washington.

  Hollywood and Washington—the men in both cities were beyond horny. Kristin was well aware it was all about power and control. Politicians and movie stars—these men had so much that sometimes the only way they could get off was relinquishing both.

  She switched stations again. A news reporter droned on about another murder.

  “The body of a young woman was washed up on the Malibu shore this morning. Identity unknown. The only description so far is that the victim was Caucasian and blond. Detectives are investigating.”

  Two murders. Two blondes.

  Another normal Sunday in L.A.

  • • •

  When Kristin arrived at the nursing home, she was greeted warmly by the nurses at the desk. “How’s Cherie doing?” she asked, handing over a large bag filled with candy, all the current magazines and a couple of best-selling novels. It was good to keep the nurses happy—that way they’d be sure to give Cherie special attention.

  “Same as ever,” Mariah, the fat, black, friendly nurse, replied. “No change.”

  “You never know,” Kristin said hopefully. “One of these days she might open her eyes, like Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Yeah, baby—keep on thinking that way,” Mari-ah said, oozing her large frame out from behind the desk.

  “That’s why I come here every week,” Kristin said. “My voice gets through to her—I know it does. She has to realize someone cares.”

  “You’re lookin’ pale today,” Mariah said, crinkling her eyes. “Everything okay with you, hon?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Too many patients this week.” Early on she had told all the nurses that she worked as a dental assistant.

  “Ugh! Dunno how you do it,” Mariah said. “Staring into all those sloppy mouths. It’d drive me loco.”

  “Somebody’s got to do it,” Kristin said, anxious to see Cherie.

  “Bet all your patients fall in love with you,” Mariah said with a saucy wink. “You sure are pretty ’nuff.”

  “I’m there to do a job, that’s all,” Kristin said, thinking, Ain’t that the truth.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mariah said disbelievingly. “Didja catch Lethal Weapon 4 yet? What a movie! I’m hot for that Chris Rock. Skinny an’ sexy! Wouldn’t mind spendin’ a night in his company.”

  Kristin summoned up a laugh. “Yes, he is cute,” she said. Actually she had no idea who Chris Rock was.

  “Cute?” Mariah exclaimed. “Honey bun, he’s a horny hound dog!”

  Kristin followed Mariah into her sister’s private room and stared down at Cherie—a shadow of the beauty she once had been, kept alive on a machine. It broke her heart every time she saw her.

  “Hi, baby,” she said, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and taking her sister’s hand, which was ice cold. “It’s Kristin. How are you today?”

  No response. There was never any response. But she’d stay for an hour and keep talking.

  Maybe one day she would get a reaction. She had to keep trying.

  If she gave up, all hope would be lost.

  chapter 9

  MARTY STEINER EMERGED from Bobby Skorch’s bedroom at noon, made his way downstairs and confronted the two detectives in the front hall.

  “We’re ready to ask Mr. Skorch a few questions,” Detective Tucci said, asserting himself.

  “I’m sure,” Marty Steiner replied, smooth as a one-eyed snake. “Fact is, he’s too upset to talk to you right now. And I’m requesting that you vacate the premises.”

  “We still have things to do here,” Tucci pointed out. “This is a crime scene.”

  “I think you’ve had enough time to collect all the evidence you need,” Marty Steiner said. “Mr. Skorch would like you and your partner to leave immediately. This is an extremely difficult time, and Mr. Skorch does not need to deal with having his house invaded.”

  “I’ll remind you again—this is a crime scene,” Tucci said, hating the sleek lawyer and everything he represented.

  “Yeah,” Lee said, joining in. “It’s a goddamn crime scene, for crissake. You think we wanna be here?”

  Marty Steiner’s face gave not a flicker of recognition in Lee’s direction. “If you wish to stay, you’ll need a warrant,” he said calmly. “The bodies have been removed. As I said before, you’ve had ample time to collect your evidence. Now I want you people out of here.”

  “Are you telling me that Mr. Skorch has nothing to say to us?” Lee said, belligerent as ever.

  “That’s correct, Detective.”

  “Where was he last night?” Lee asked, getting right in the lawyer’s face.

  “On his way back from Vegas.”

  “He didn’t arrive here ’til three,” Lee said accusingly.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that it’s a four- or five-hour drive.”

  “His wife was murdered,” Tucci said. “Doesn’t he have any questions for us?”

  “Mr. Skorch has a funeral to prepare for,” Marty Steiner said, his voice hardening. “Now unless you have a warrant, I insist you vacate at once.”

  Tucci and Lee exchanged glances. “I knew he was an asshole,” Lee mumbled under his breath.

  “Nothing we can do,” Tucci said.

  “Why wouldn’t Skorch talk to us?” Lee muttered. “I’m gonna check on his alibi. I wanna know exactly what time he left the hotel in Vegas, an’ who was in the car with him. He probably got back here early, found his wife with a guy an’ lost it.”

  “If that was the case,” Tucci said, ever the voice of reason, “where’s the other man? Why hasn’t he come forward?”

  “Would you under these circumstances? The jerk must’ve run for his life.”

  “We’d better go,” Tucci said, thinking to himself that maybe on the way back to the station he could stop by a diner and grab a bite to eat.

  Lee shrugged. “Fine with me. I came to this case late. If I’d gotten to the prick when he arrived back from Vegas, I’d have questioned him then and there.”

  “He knew his rights,” Tucci said, choosing to ignore the fact that Lee was criticizing him. “He was aware he didn’t have to talk to me.”

  “The asshole’s guilty,” Lee muttered. “Fuckin’ guilty.”

  On his way back to the station, Tucci stopped at Fatburger and devoured a couple of hamburgers with everything. Then he indulged himself with a side order of French fries and onions. There was no way he would confess to Faye that he ate all that food—she’d be too angry. He’d lie, tell her he grabbed a
salad.

  Back at the station he remembered Madison Castelli’s tape and decided to give it a listen. He found it most informative, hearing Salli T. Turner tell about her life. She had a lovely voice—young and vibrant.

  Tucci’s thoughts kept flashing on her dead body, the vicious cuts and lacerations, the sheer fury the murderer had wreaked upon his victim.

  Ah, the price of fame, he thought. Was it worth it? Not for Salli T. Turner.

  Later in the day he went down to the morgue to inspect the body of the “Mystery Malibu blonde” as the media were calling the latest victim. The media were having a field day. First the celebrated Salli T. Turner, and now an unknown beautiful blonde washed up on the Malibu shore. Movie star territory. Two murders in as many days. Ratings were zooming.

  The mystery blonde was young and lovely. Probably no more than nineteen or twenty, Tucci figured. What happened to her that she ended up dead?

  “We’re tracking her dental records,” Lee informed him. “Should have something by tomorrow.”

  Tucci shook his head. There was so much violence in the world, so much anger. He picked up the phone and called Faye. “I’ll be home late tonight, sweetheart,” he said.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Salli T. Turner is all over the television. What a terrible tragedy. They’re comparing her death to the Nicole Simpson murder.”

  “They would.”

  “Don’t think about it,” Faye said. “Solve it.”

  “I plan to,” Tucci answered.

  “Did you enjoy the sandwich?”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the maid had eaten it. “Delicious,” he lied.

  “How about the coleslaw?”

  “Even more delicious. Almost as delicious as you.”

  “You’re such a flatterer,” she said, chuckling happily. “Did you meet with that woman from Manhattan Style—Madison Castelli?”

  “Yes. She brought me an audiotape of her interview with Salli.”

  “Have you played it?”

  “I was listening to it now.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “It sounds to me like Salli had a real problem with her ex. I’ll question him shortly.”

  “Has he been arrested?”

  “Yes. We brought him in on parking violations.”

  “I miss you,” Faye said wistfully.

  “Miss you, too,” Tucci replied.

  “I could make you your favorite pasta tonight,” she said, playing the temptress. “Special treat ’cause you’ve been so good.”

  The two burgers had -made him uncomfortably full, not to mention totally guilty. “That’d be nice,” he said, not quite as enthusiastic as she expected him to be. “I’ll call you later.”

  Lee appeared, eating a jelly donut, the jam dribbling down his pointed chin. “The captain wants to see us,” he said, wiping his sugary hands on his pants. “Like pronto.”

  Tucci got up from behind his desk and followed Lee into their captain’s office.

  Captain Marsh was exceptionally tall, black and bad tempered. He smoked cheap cigars, sported a halfhearted Afro and needed immediate dental work. “The chief of police called—he’d just heard from the mayor’s office,” he said, getting straight to the point. “This Salli Turner murder. They need an arrest, an’ they need it now. Forget about everything else an’ work this case hard. I promised the chief we’d have someone in custody within twenty-four hours. If you need extra help—let me know. I’m expectin’ immediate results.”

  There goes dinner, Tucci thought. Nothing like a little pressure to get you through the day.

  chapter 10

  “ICAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE going out with that Jake guy,” Natalie said, rolling her eyes in a disapproving way.

  “Last night you thought he was cute,” Madison pointed out.

  “I also thought he was available,” Natalie said crisply. “Available and cute is one thing. Available and taken is another.”

  “Who says he’s taken?”

  “Oh, come on, girl!” Natalie said. “Did you see the way he hustled that blonde out of sight last night. He was hot for her. I mean steamin’.”

  “Apparently not that hot,” Madison retorted. “Anyway—wasn’t it you who said I should get out and have fun? Take my mind off David the jerk?”

  “Yeah, but not if you’re jumpin’ from one jerk to another,” Natalie replied. “That’d be too sad.”

  “It’s a date,” Madison said patiently. “I’m not moving in with him.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  “Don’t go getting religious on me.”

  “If Jake’s anything like his brother …”

  “I thought you liked his brother; you dragged me over there for dinner last night.”

  “That’s only ’cause Jimmy and I work together.”

  “Anyway, I’m seeing him. Big deal. One lousy date.”

  Natalie threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m only trying to watch out for you.”

  “How was your lunch with Luther?”

  Natalie’s pretty face broke into a wide smile. “He is some hunk.”

  “You like him, huh?”

  “Understatement, girl. He’s big and damn sexy. Makes me feel protected.”

  “Now it’s my turn to wave a warning flag in your face. Don’t forget, you, too, are coming out of a lousy relationship. Denzl—remember? So don’t get carried away.”

  Natalie giggled. “This is such a buzz!” she said. “I feel like we’re back in college, sitting around talking about guys. I mean, aren’t we a little old for this crap?”

  “Yes,” Madison agreed, smiling.

  “One of these days,” Natalie said, “I’d like to be married with a couple of kids, live in a nice little house by the sea, have a great husband who comes home every night at the same time, and watch Oprah!”

  “Dream world, Nat,” Madison said. “You’d hate missing out on the action. You love what you do.”

  “True. But I want to do more than cover the entertainment beat. I am so sick of talking about Salli T. Turner. Yeah, she was a big TV star and great looking—if you like silicone. But the girl got herself murdered, and now I gotta go on and on eulogizing her. It’s enough already. I want to report real news, not sensational Hollywood murders.”

  “I understand,” Madison said. “But, remember, it wasn’t Salli’s fault she got killed.”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s a tragedy. Truth is—it brings back too many bad memories for me.”

  Madison nodded sympathetically, remembering the night in college when Natalie had been attacked and raped by a man who turned out to be a serial killer. They caught the guy, but it had taken Natalie a year to get over it and stop shaking.

  “What’re you gonna wear tonight?” Natalie asked, hurriedly changing the subject. “Something sexy, I hope.”

  “I don’t do sexy,” Madison said straight-faced.

  “You know what would be really good for you?”

  “What brilliant idea have you come up with now?”

  “Use him like guys are always using us. Throw some condoms in your bag and have a night of wild sex.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Guys do it all the time. And my personal opinion is you need one night of mind-blowing sex. Kind of like a revenge fuck.”

  “Revenge for what?” Madison asked patiently.

  “For the way David treated you.”

  “He did what made him happy. Besides, one-nighters are not my style.”

  “Make it your style. And you’re not wearing one of your laid-back outfits. Have I got a dress for you!”

  “Don’t do dresses either,” Madison objected.

  Natalie wasn’t listening. “It’s red, short and veree sexy. I was saving it for your birthday—but since you’re here, it’s perfect! Oh yeah, an’ you gotta wear your hair down.”

  “Why are you trying to make me into something I’m not?” Madison asked, exasperated.
br />   “Treat tonight like an adventure. What’s to lose?”

  Later, both Cole and Natalie sat around watching Madison get ready for the date. She tried to argue, but instead, couldn’t help dissolving into laughter as they instructed her. Cole was a whiz with the makeup brushes; he worked on her eyes and lips, then stood back to admire his handiwork. “Kevyn Aucoin—drop dead!” he crowed.

  “It’s the Madison makeover!” Natalie yelled. “You’re like one of those secretaries with the bun and glasses.”

  “I don’t wear glasses.”

  “You know what I’m saying. Remove the glasses, let the hair down and voilà—you’re Sharon Stone!”

  “I’m not even blond, Natalie. And I feel ridiculous in this dress.”

  “But you look hot, girl!”

  Cole handed her a packet of condoms. “No, thank you,” Madison said, shoving them back at him.

  “Just in case,” Natalie urged. “Maybe Jake’ll take you dancing, and you’re in his arms, and then there’s that wild moment of no return. If that happens you’ll be so damn sorry you don’t have them with you. ’Cause no glove—no love.”

  “Now I really feel like I’m back in college,” Madison said, laughing. “You two are unbelievable.”

  “Yeah, we’re a fun couple, aren’t we,” Natalie said, impulsively hugging Cole. “Get used to us, ’cause, girl, we’re takin’ our act on the road!”

  “What’s your plan tonight, Cole?” Madison asked.

  “Got a hot date.”

  “Who with?” Natalie demanded.

  “Your favorite,” Cole said. “Mr. Mogul.”

  “Oh, God,” Natalie groaned. “Don’t you get it yet—those power guys are into using and abusing buff young things like you. They’re worse than playboys who try to get one over on women.”

  “I wish you’d meet him. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Nice guy, my ass,” Natalie snorted. “He’s a billionaire gay caballero who’ll use you big time.”

  “You’re prejudiced,” Cole said, narrowing his eyes. “You’d sooner see me settle in with a nice boring accountant.”