Director's Cut (9 page)

I picked up. “Hey, you. How'd you sleep?”

“Pretty good. Thanks for leaving the coffee on for me.”

“It was nothing. Did you eat yet?” I asked.

“I never eat breakfast,” she said. “I need a favor.”

“Need me to pick you up sooner?” I guessed.

“I forgot my movie script. I left it at the house. I usually study it in the mornings before going to rehearsal. Can we swing by and pick it up before going to the theater?”

“I don't know if you can get in. Have you heard from Detective West?”

“No, but I need that script. I have a meeting with the director and cast tomorrow morning, then I have to rush back for the play.”

“You are one busy girl,” I said. “You go ahead and get ready. I'll call West and check on the status of the house.” I hung up. “Floyd, see if you can ring up Detective West. He may be at headquarters.”

“Did I hear my name?”

The unexpected voice made me jump. West walked through the outer door into Floyd's office and stepped to my threshold.

“I was just going to call you.” I stood. “Long night?” He looked drawn. The ace-up-his-sleeve smile usually perched above his chin was missing and the skin beneath his eyes looked dark. The only clue I had that he had gone home yesterday was his change of clothes.

“You don't know the half of it.” A formal man, he stood at the doorway until I invited him in. He closed the door behind him and took the seat I offered.

“Want some coffee?” I offered.

“No thanks.”

“Fritzy made it.”

“Okay. Black, please.”

I buzzed Floyd over the intercom and placed an order for coffee, then I lowered my fanny back into the desk chair. “That was Catherine. She left something in her house and wants to know if she can pick it up. Poor thing, she's putting up a good front, but I can tell this is weighing on her like a wet bag of cement.”

“I suppose so,” West said. “Scientific investigation finished up last night. I finished an hour later. I've declared the house clear. She can go back now if she wants.”

“Find anything?”

He paused at that.

“You did, didn't you? You found something at the house.”

“No, not at the house.” He leaned forward.

There was a knock on the door, and West stopped midsyllable. The doorknob made some noises but the door didn't open. I pinched off a smile. “Do you mind?”

West rose and opened the door. Floyd stood on the other side. He had been trying to juggle two cups of coffee and open the door at the same time.

“Sorry,” he said and entered. He placed the coffee mugs on my desk and took away the now empty cup Fritzy had left. As he exited, he closed the door behind him.

West sat down, took the coffee, and said, “Doug Turner is in the hospital. As of an hour ago, he was in a coma.”

“Wha—What?” I felt sick. Acid boiled in my belly. The words came too quickly and slapped me hard across the mind.

“He came by the scene last night. Took a few photos, interviewed me, then took off. At this point, we're not exactly sure what happened. He was found in his car. He had driven off Aberdeen Canyon Road. The car rolled several times, and the accident investigators think he may have done an end over.”

“An end over?”

“The car flipped end over end.”

The image fanned the nausea boiling in my stomach. I opened my mouth to say something but my mind refused to cooperate. West filled in for me.

“A passerby saw lights shining up the slope. Fortunately for Turner, the other driver has a curious streak. He saw the headlights of the car and then called for the police.”

As much as I fought it, the image of Doug Turner careening over the edge of the road, rolling and flipping his way to the bottom, flashed like a strobe in my brain. The area West described was just a couple of miles from Catherine's house.

Santa Rita has three basic areas of geography. A portion of the city ran along the sugary sands of the coast. The “flatlands,” as the locals called it, was a wide expanse on the other side of the 101 freeway. Businesses, parks, government buildings, schools, and the like were built there. Immediately east of that rose the gently rolling hills where the expensive homes were built. Those hills meet in valleys, some with steep sides. Aberdeen Canyon was one such gorge.

“I know that road,” I said. “The canyon side has barricades along the side. Are you saying that Doug went through or over the railing?”

“No.” West folded his hands and pressed his lips into a line. “The railing was gone. All that was left were the short posts that held it.”

That made no sense. “The city and county share in the maintenance of the residential roads. This year's budget reflected our efforts to improve safety on the hillside roadways.”

“I know,” West said. “The accident investigators believe that the rails were removed by high school or college kids. Lately, there's been a rash of thefts. They're taking everything they can get their hands on. For the moment, the best guess is that it's a right of passage for some group of teenagers. Tagging was and remains a problem, but this is something new.”

“Why would they do that?” The thought was repulsive. “That kind of game could get someone killed . . .” I prayed I wasn't being prophetic.

“We have officers on it,” West said and sipped his coffee.

“Will you be working that investigation too?”

“No. Believe it or not, it's considered petty theft, unless—”

“Unless Doug dies, then it's homicide, right?”

“Yeah, that's pretty much it.” He studied me. I knew West well enough to know that he was concerned about how the news would affect me. West was a friend, and he wanted to be more. For a time, although I fought it tooth and nail, I thought I wanted the same thing, but the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that romance was not in the works. We had been through several grueling, soul-shredding events, but all that did was prove that friendship could be strengthened but love could not be forged. I had accepted that fact. He hadn't.

“You okay?” He fingered the rim of his coffee cup.

“Stunned. That word doesn't say it. I'm . . . I'm . . . speechless.”

He smiled. “I never thought I'd see that.” It was a kind gesture meant to lighten a dark moment.

“I'm a little surprised myself.”

We fell into an awkward silence. My mind juggled a dozen thoughts, and my emotions quarreled with each other. Courage wanted to take control, but sadness demanded equal time. I prayed in silence.
Oh God. Dear God. Sweet Jesus.
It wasn't eloquent but it was the best I could muster.

“Well,” West said, standing. “I need to be going. The ME is doing the autopsy on Catherine's chauffeur in about half an hour. I need to go observe.”

“One of the great benefits of your job.”

“When I left San Diego, I thought I'd see a lot fewer people on the metal table, but lately it seems like I should have an office down there. I'm afraid the world is catching up with your city, Mayor. It's a shame, really. Eden is falling.”

It was my turn to study West. He wore a cloak of weariness; a weariness that didn't come from the loss of some sleep—his heart was fatigued, his soul aging faster than it should.

I rose and looked into his eyes. West's determination and strength was almost legendary among the police force, but I saw the eggshell spirit of the man. He could be powerful, determined, and had a will of iron. Nothing cowed him. Yet, behind the badge, beneath the veneer of masculinity, was a man who frayed at the edges as quickly as the rest of us. He would never admit it, and I would never ask him to.

“You'll keep me posted?” I asked.

“I always do.”

He set the coffee cup down, gave me a quick but penetrating stare in the eyes, sucked out some of my strength, then left.

As a child, I visited my grandparents and saw an old washing machine, the kind with rollers on the top for squeezing water out of just-washed clothing. I felt like I had just passed through a pair of those rollers.

I stepped into Floyd's office. “Floyd, please ask the city manager and city attorney to meet me in my office.”

“Sure. What time?”

“I want them here in ten minutes. Call Tess, too. The deputy mayor should be in on this.”

Floyd looked at me. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

“No, Floyd. I'm not.”

I went back into my office, closed the door, sat in my chair, and closed my eyes. For a moment, I wished I had stayed in Sacramento.

Chapter 9

S
ometimes being mayor and being human seems like mixing oil and water; today was becoming one of those days. Ten minutes after West left I had three people in my office: Tess Lawrence, deputy mayor and frequent thorn in my flesh; Fred Markham, city attorney and all-around nice guy; and Russell Elliot, the city manager. My leisurely morning had dissolved in the heat of change. I was to pick up Catherine earlier than planned, and the news West brought me required immediate action. I got straight to the point and laid out what West had revealed about Doug Turner's accident.

“That's horrible,” Russ said. “Is he going to be all right?” Russ is a quiet, reflective man who has helped make Santa Rita one of the best cities in California. I valued his leadership, his opinion, and his honesty.

“I don't know,” I said. “I pray so.” My stomach still quivered.

“Doug may have been a reporter but he was always an honest reporter,” Fred Markham said. Fred is one of my favorite people at city hall. He had joyful eyes, an insatiable mind, and spoke plainly. We were lucky to have him, especially in light of the number of offers he received from larger, better-paying cities. I once threatened to nail his feet to the floor. I wanted to keep him as long as possible.

“I see the problem,” Tess Lawrence said. She stood by the door, allowing Fred and Russ to sit in the only two guest chairs in my office. To an outsider, it might look as if she was being polite, but I know her too well. Tess wanted the advantage of being the only one standing.

Tess and I have a rocky history. Until this year we could barely stand to breathe the same air. She is often argumentative, obstinate, manipulative, aggressive, rude, ambitious, and as cuddly as a snowman. In the past, I have described her as an iceberg in pantyhose. Now, I restrain myself.

Some months back, during a difficult time for the city and for me, we had knocked heads like bighorn sheep, but when the air cleared I had come to see a different side to the woman with short white hair and a permanently etched frown. I learned of her artistic side. I also learned that she had a heart, bled when cut, and had feelings as genuine as mine. We had come a long way, but we weren't taking our lunches together. The thawing of our professional relationship had been good for everyone, especially me, since she was my deputy mayor.

“I thought you might,” I said. She was insightful. “Share your thinking.”

Tess crossed her arms and stepped to the side of my desk, addressing Fred and Russ. “I'm preaching to the choir here, but we need to consider the legal ramifications of the accident. A citizen driving on a city street steers off the road and is nearly killed. He may die yet. If he lives, he may sue. If he dies, his famil—” She looked at me. “Does he have family?”

I didn't know. “His mother passed away in January, but that's all the family I know of. I'm afraid I never asked.”
Great
,
now I felt guilty.

“We'll have to assume he does. Even a brother or sister could launch a wrongful death suit. His medical bills are going to be enormous. I assume the
Register
has some sort of health insurance for its employees, but that means that they might try and recover some of their costs. We can add to that Mr. Turner's auto insurance. They're certain to see us as having some pretty deep pockets.”

“I'll get started on an assessment,” Fred said. He seemed to have aged five years in the last five minutes. “I'll also refresh my memory on the city's liability insurance.”

I looked at Russ. The city manager scratched his head. “I've never heard of anything like this,” he said. “Oh, I've heard of kids stealing traffic signs but not often. Those things are attached in a way that makes them difficult to remove. Removing a segment of traffic rail would take a good piece of work. I'll get hold of the Public Works Department and see how far these pranks have gone.”

“I want that rail fixed as soon as possible,” I said, snapping more than I meant.

“The key is to show we weren't negligent,” Tess said. “If it appears we were aware of the problem and did little or nothing to prevent it, the court will hand us our heads on a platter. Damage control will be the order of the day.”

“What if we are negligent?” I asked. It was an uncomfortable thought.

“We're not,” Tess said. “It's important, no, it is imperative that we give the idea that the city is limited in this matter. Do you want me to handle the media on this?”

She was in rare form.

“It's vital that we put the right spin on this,” Tess added. “The city could lose a lot of money—”

“We don't have all the facts yet, Tess. There's nothing to spin. I want to know the truth.” I stood so I could be eye-to-eye with Tess. Her lips were drawn tight and her expression could be read by everyone in the room. She was a severe woman in attitude and appearance. It was an image she cultivated around city hall. On the campaign field, she could appear warm, caring, and open. Those elements were in her—somewhere—and percolated to the surface from time to time. Most days, she was just plain difficult. This was one of those days. We had had a few warm moments, but this wasn't going to be one of them.

“First, we don't know that the city is liable. Second, we don't know Doug Turner's intent. I agree we need to be ready, but our first goal is to ascertain the truth and not become defensive. I want to know as much as I can before we decide on a course of action. Let's keep our options and our eyes open. Russ, I need your report from the public works people as soon as possible. I plan to follow up with the police. Fred, see what you can do about getting the police report on the accident.”