Lemons 02 A Touch of Danger (7 page)

When people get scared, they get nervous, and when they get nervous, they’re more likely to fuck up. These fuck ups help me solve cases.

My phone rang as I got back into the car. It was Max.

“Perfect timing man. Got anything for me?”

“Yeah, nothing really unusual. Brad Jackson is clean, apart from the normal minor violations. The housekeeper is documented with a spotless record. I’m working on the stalker lady right now but, uh, what I was calling for was, ya remember that old TGIF show where the family was an old sitcom family from the fifties and they had that magic remote that would turn them back into black and white. It was really cheesy and it didn’t last very long…?”

“Yeah sure, Hi Honey, I’m Home. What about it?”

“Wow, never mind. I couldn’t think of the name.”

I let out a chuckle. I really needed to get a life. “Yep, Hi Honey, I’m Home. The family’s name was The Nielsen’s, named after the TV ratings system and the remote control that turned them from black and white to color was the Turnerizer, named after Ted Turner. The show didn’t last very long though. Hey, you remember that shitty Look Who’s Talking rip-off called Baby Talk?”

He laughed. “Yeah, wasn’t Danza the voice of the baby?”

“What a turd that was. Wait. I’m actually in the middle of something here. Shit. Hold on, I’ve got to get the hell out of here. Sit tight.”

I started the car and headed back towards the beach. I picked my phone back up once I was a safe distance from Brad Jackson’s house.

“Ya there, Max?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What did you get yourself in to?”

“I’ll tell you later. I promise I won’t get myself killed.”

“Best not.”

“Do you have the address for the housekeeper?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. It’s the same as one of Jackson’s addresses, just ‘and a half.’”

“Can you give it to me?”

“Okay man, but if anyone asks you where you got it, you don’t know me. Capiche?”

“Have mercy!”

He gave me the address in Beverly Hills and I scribbled it on my arm and concluded our phone call. Looks like I would be taking a road trip today.

***

I got back to the beach and explained to Elise and Jamie what was going on. Poor Jamie seemed so excited she could hardly contain it. She was more than happy to watch the kids as Elise had insisted on accompanying me to Los Angeles. After some car swapping, some car seat re-arranging and a quick stop at the gas station, Jamie’s car was at the beach with the kids and Elise and I were in Elise’s car headed down the 101 South towards Beverly Hills to pay a little visit Inez Valenzuela.

We made the hundred and ninety-mile drive in less than three hours, and pulled out the GPS on my phone once we reached the Beverly Hills area. The neighborhood wasn’t gated so we had no problem reaching the house. Unfortunately, neither did Emma Ricks.

We found the house, parked on the street out front and made our way up to the door. A Spanish woman answered and I assumed it was the housekeeper.

“Inez Valenzuela?” I asked

“Yes,” she replied.

“My name is Doug McKenzie and I’m a reporter with The Desert Sun newspaper out of Palm Springs. We actually wanted to do a quick follow-up story on the Emma Ricks case. Do you have a quick minute to speak to us?”

“I am very busy, sir. What is it you want to know? I haven’t given an interview about this in years.”

“I understand. It is just a follow-up. You were the one who found the body of Mrs. Jackson, is that correct?”

“Yes. That is correct, sir. I have told this story many of times.”

“I understand. As I said, it’s just a follow up. Kind of a slow news week, ya know?”

“Ms. Valenzuela, my name is Chris Parker,” Elise said. “I’m also a reporter with the Sun. You said you saw the suspect, Emma Ricks, on the property the night Mrs. Jackson was killed, correct?”

“Yes, I see her in the backyard. I panicked. She has re’training order here. She not to be anywhere nears this house. I see her, go inside to call cops. That is when I find Mrs. Jackson on the ground. She had been stabbed many time. I scream and call cops. They tell me I have to go with them. Later I testify in court, Ms. Ricks go to jail.”

“And you are one-hundred percent sure it was Emma Ricks, right?” I ask.

“Of course I am sure.”

“Of course you are, ma’am. I’m just getting my facts straight. Do you know how she got into the house?”

“Yes sir, there was a broken glass square out of the back door. She open door, walk in, kill Mrs. Jackson, leave the way she come in.”

“Great. Thank you so much for your time, Miss. We’re just going to go back to the car and write down what you said and then we will be on our way. I hope we didn’t inconvenience you too much. Have a wonderful day, ma’am.”

She gave us a little nod then closed the door.

“Well,” Elise said. “What do you think?”

“I think she is telling the truth. I think she saw exactly what she said she saw. We really need check out the stalker though. I have a feeling.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a dead end? It doesn’t really seem to have anything to do with what you saw at the beach. And this is years old…”

“Like I said, I have a hunch. It could turn out to be nothing but I feel it at least warrants a look. Come on, let’s take a look around here before we leave.

We walked to the side of the house and saw a large brick stone wall that surrounded the property. The garage was big enough to hold three cars and I tried to peak into a window on the garage door but they were up too high. I wasn’t having much luck here, so I snapped a few pictures on my phone and told Elise I would buy her a late lunch so we could figure it out.

***

Inside, Inez Valenzuela picked up the home phone and dialed a long distance number.

“Hello,” a man answered.

“Yes, Mister Jackson,” Inez said. “I jus’ had two reporters leave the house. How you know I be having someone ask me about jor wife today?”

“Just call it a hunch, Inez. Just call it a hunch.”

13.

We drove to The Grove on 3rd and Fairfax to get some dinner. The area was the old Farmer’s Market that had been built up to a nice, quaint and classy little shopping center that featured several restaurants, a movie theater and plenty of shops. Marianne and I came here on several occasions. We had places similar to this in town, but the class of people was much better here which is why we were willing to make the drive so often. The very first time we tried to come here though, I decided I didn’t need any directions, so we ended up driving around Los Angeles, totally lost, for almost eight hours without ever once getting out of the car. My frustration was ridiculous and I could tell Marianne was getting quite annoyed with me. We ended up just getting back on the freeway and heading back to town and having dinner at the Olive Garden three miles away from our house. I drove for so long, my right foot was cramped and I could hardly walk once I exited the car. This was years ago before smart phones and every bit of information at your fingertips. The next day though, I was the proud owner of a GPS system. The same GPS system that is still currently in my car back home. The same GPS system that cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars but is now available for like forty bucks or some shit.

Anyway, we decided to eat at the Cheesecake Factory just because the dessert sounded so delicious. Elise checked in with Jamie and the kids and it turns out they were going to go see a movie at the local drive-in down there. I’m not going to lie, I was quite jealous. Stupid Brad Jackson. More like, Brad Ass-son…or something.

We had just placed our order when Detective Anderson called me back. He had the same information that Max had gotten me, but in addition to that, he was able to score stuff from the police report.

“Tell me what you’ve got, Detective.”

“Okay, so the lady that killed Annette Jackson is named Emma Ricks. She’s thirty-eight years old and there was a restraining order out against her from the Jackson’s.”

“Yeah, that I knew.”

“Right. Okay, well the story goes is that this broad was stalking and harassing Mr. Jackson. Apparently, she would show up outside of his house at night and do all other kinds of crazy shit. She would say the stereotypical stalker shit like If I can’t be with you, no one can, and stuff like that, which he naturally took as threats against his life. Hence the restraining order.

“She wasn’t allowed anywhere near him or his property, so that’s why when the housekeeper saw her she went into the main house to tell Mrs. Jackson and call the police. Only problem was Mrs. Jackson was already dead.”

“Right. I just talked to the housekeeper.”

“You did what? You talked to her? How?”

“I have my ways, Detective. She told me the same story and I didn’t pick up on her being a liar. I’m usually pretty good at that.”

“Except with that redheaded bitch.”

“Ouch.” That one stings.

“So, you said you wanted to talk to Emma Ricks, right?”

“Yeah, I would. I don’t know if it will do me any good but I just don’t want to leave any stone unturned, ya know. I just don’t know how I’ll get to her.”

“How soon can you be in L.A.?”

“Actually,” I said, “I’m here now.”

“Well, you’ve got a meeting with her at the jail tomorrow morning. I set it all up. I know the warden, we’ve met on several occasions and he provided me with a little professional courtesy, as they call it.”

He gave me all the details on the meeting and I ended my call with him.

“What?” Elise asked.

“Looks like we’re shackin’ up here, tonight.”

She raised some concern over the kids still being at the beach, but another phone-call to Jamie put that to rest. She was fine with watching them. I don’t know how she does it. Managing three kids like that. I would lose my mind. I guess that’s just one of the many reasons that women are vastly superior to men.

“Oh hey,” I said. “Guess where we’re staying tonight.”

“Where?”

“A HOTEL!”

“Okay.”

“Yay! Faced! Whatcha think about that, beyotch?!”

“Sounds great.”

“Oh. Great. Let’s order. Fatty hungry!”

***

After gorging ourselves with dinner and dessert, Elise suggested we walk to the Gap at the end of the shopping center and pick up some fresh clothes. We didn’t plan on staying the night when we left.

“Here you go,” Elise said to me as we entered the store, “it’s time for you to get some clothes that were made this century.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Elise went to the women’s side of the store while I wandered around the men’s department totally lost.

V-neck tshirts? Get real.

There is no way I’m wearing that. I’ll settle for a button-up shirt and an undershirt. No need for new shorts, the ones I’m wearing are just fine.

I grabbed a shirt, guessed at the size and took off to find Elise. She was in the underwear section on the far side of the store. UNDERWEAR!

Back in the men’s department I grabbed three pairs of the most ridiculously priced boxer briefs I’ve ever seen then went back to round up Elise who had her arms filled with way more clothing necessary for a brief prison visit. I was pretty upset that I wouldn’t be able to wash my underwear before wearing them, though; as I have this odd hang-up about wearing clothes right off the rack. I realized I had no other option though when Elise offered to throw them in a digesting laundromat washing machine.

“Barf! No thank you!”

“You realize that the clothes and the machine come out clean at the end of every cycle, correct?”

“Well, they’re not cleaned with fire, which is about what it would take for me to put my clothes in one of those disgusting pieces of shit.”

Argument over. Apparently, I won.

It was time to go.

Gina, who was working the register and had a nose like one of those creepy beak masks from Eyes Wide Shut, took our money with a nice smile and a thank you and we were on our way to the closest hotel. We didn’t have to drive very far before settling on a nice looking place. We went inside, got one room with two queen beds, and retired for the night. We had to meet with Ms. Ricks early tomorrow morning.

14.

We had a little over an hour drive ahead of us when we checked out of the hotel and headed to the California Institute for Women, in Corona, where Emma Ricks would be waiting to talk to us. I was shocked to notice that we actually arrived early, despite two separate stops demanded by me. One for a Rockstar and another one to pee it out. Apparently, I have the bladder of a little girl.

We pulled into the visitor center of the prison, got out of the car and proceeded to look around and take it all in. Shawshank this was not. In fact, the prison itself was about as exciting as a Hostess donut. It was nothing but big, drab gray buildings set in to what appeared to be a giant circle. I had no idea where to go. I let Elise take charge.

After going through the usual motions of entering a prison, we were finally sitting in the visiting area, which looked, actually, exactly as they do in the movies. Elise and I were directed where to sit by one of the guards and told our prisoner would be out shortly.

We took a seat in the little cubicle and waited. There was a small table, a thick pane of glass and of course, a telephone in front of us. Actually, there were two phones on our side and one on the prisoner’s side. While we waited, I tried to listen to other peoples conversations without much luck. I was already bored and my mind wandered to an old episode of The Adventures of Superman where Clark and Lois visit a man in prison, just like this, and Clark figures out the man is innocent and telling the truth by using his super-hearing and noticing the man’s heartbeat never speeding up while talking. I hoped I would be able to deduce something similar here. It was time to find out.

A buzzer sounded and a guard on the other side of the glass opened up a door and out stepped a slender woman with blond hair, dressed in her prison outfit. I assumed it was our girl even though I have never seen a picture of her. My assumptions were correct. Emma Ricks took a seat directly across from us on the other side of the glass and picked up the phone. I did the same.