Swingin' in the Rain (4 page)

  “Sure thing,” Marlene drawled in a voice that was like honey on a hot biscuit. “Come on over here, Alex. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  George put the last hairpin into my chignon and I scooted over to Marlene’s chair.

  “Thanks, Marlene. You know what Patti uses on me right?” I asked as I looked over my lines for my first scene. I glanced up just in time to see Marlene rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I know this isn’t your first rodeo.” I let Marlene do her thing, as I tried to remember my lines. She got me done in record time.

  “You nailed it. Thanks!” I hopped out of her chair just as I heard, “Alex to set, please. Alex?” over the PA.

  “Talk about timing! Follow me down to set.” George said. As we got outside the hair and make-up room he added, “How’d it go with Sarah, any way? Is she okay?”

  “I took your advice and I didn’t tell her. I’ve got some big news, George.” We were nearing the bottom of the stairs. “The police want to question me about Randy’s death.”

  George stopped suddenly and turned around to face me.  “Listen to this.” He got very close to me. “When Patti was on the phone? I heard her say something like ‘I could get there by eleven.’ She hung up and ran out of the room so upset I felt I just had to check the caller I.D. You’ll never guess what it said.” He glanced around making sure no one was in earshot. “It said Los Angeles Police Department.”

  “Why would they want to see Patti?” Just then Herbie walked over and looked at me impatiently. “Sorry, Herbie. I’m there.”

  If I thought this day was going to be tough earlier, I had no idea what lay ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

  I taped my scenes for the day, and since there was a little time to kill before I had to go downtown, I wandered back upstairs to the make-up room to sniff around. Patti was still MIA. In fact the whole room looked deserted.

  “You looking for Patti?” I jumped. It was Ralph, another make-up artist stationed in the corner. Before I could answer, he volunteered, “Everyone’s at a production meeting because of that snafu at the remote. We have to re-shoot, you know.”

  “Yeah, I heard. That’s a drag, huh?” I went over to Patti’s station and pretended to be fixing my make-up. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, if anything. My instincts told me the LAPD thing was not a coincidence. I opened a drawer and something caught my eye. It was a napkin with a logo on it. Where had I seen that before? Then I remembered. It was the same one I’d seen on Patti’s wrist at the remote. “Trois ou Plus” it read. And an address. A club I’d never heard of. Not unusual since I didn’t go out much. My cell rang and it was Jakes.

  “You done?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, in fact I’m leaving now. I’ll see you in twenty.” I disconnected the call. “Bye Ralph, have a nice day!”

  “See ya, Alex!” And he got back to his magazine.

  The new Headquarters was at 100 W. First Street, which had replaced the old Parker Center. I hadn’t been to the new Headquarters yet, but Jakes was waiting just inside the door, in the lobby, to accompany me to the proper floor.

  “How are you liking the new building?” I asked in the elevator. I was nervous and just wanted to make conversation.

  “The cafeteria still needs work,” he said. “Aside from that, it’s an architectural nightmare.”

  We got off on the Robbery Homicide floor and he walked me to the Homicide Section. It reminded me of the old building, just cleaner floors, walls and desks. Even the holding cages were clean.

  Jakes walked me to his desk and said, “Wait here. I’ll let the detective in charge know you’re here.”

  “I wish you were the detective in charge.” I must have looked a little scared because he put his arm around me.

  “You’ll do fine, baby,” he said. “I can’t be, because of our relationship.”

  As he walked away I thought how silly it was for me to be nervous. I knew I was innocent, so what was the big deal? Maybe because when I had been in this situation before, so many people had believed I could be a killer. It made me nervous realizing how easily people rush to judgment.

  Jakes came back with a man I had never seen before. He was tall—not as tall as Jakes, though—slender, in his late thirties. And he was clean. I mean, he seemed fastidious about it. Hair short and perfect, suit impeccable, tie just right, shoes shined.

  “Alex Peterson, this is Detective Sam Rockland.”

  “Miss Peterson,” Detective Rockland said, shaking my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He called me “Miss” which meant he knew Randy was my ex, but it was still polite to show me some sympathy.

  “Thank you.”

  “And thank you for coming in,” he said. “I just have a few questions.”

  I stood up.

  “Should we go to an interview room?” I asked.

  “That won’t be necessary. We can talk at my desk.”

  He stepped aside and gestured with a folder for me to precede him. I looked at Jakes, who nodded and said, “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  I went ahead and he stopped me when we’d gone about three desks up.

  “Right here,” he said. The chair simply sat by his desk, but he held the back of it for me, anyway. His manners were as impeccable as the rest of him. His scent lingered while he sat behind his desk. He put the folder down in front of him. On it was written in Sharpie: Randall Moore.

  He opened the folder and pulled out a small notebook, clicked his ballpoint pen and looked at me.

  “I understand you and your ex-husband were involved in a heated custody battle.”

  “Well . . . yes.” I had been royally pissed off when Randy said he wanted to share custody. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to want to be Sarah’s father again after stealing our money, leaving the country and not even having to pay for it. Heated. That was a good word for it.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Last weekend.”

  “Under what circumstances?”

  “He came to pick up our daughter to spend the day with her.”

  “Did he bring her back on time?”

  “Um, yes, he did . . . for a change.”

  “So there have been times when he didn’t bring her back promptly.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And how did that make you feel? When he brought her back late?”

  How did it make me feel? Terrified? Livid?  After all, he took off with our money, was gone for a few years. What was to keep him from taking off with our daughter? And yet, until the final decision, the court had given him one day a week with her.

  “Angry?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Scared?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How late was he bringing her back?” Rockland asked.

  “About an hour.”

  “So, then, not late enough for you to start looking for him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean making calls, to his home, or getting in the car to try and find him?”

  “No,” I said, “not that late.”

  “Miss Peterson,” her asked, “where were you the night before last?”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “All night,” Rockland said. “I’ll make the question easier. Did you see your ex the night before last, at any time?”

  “No,” I said. “I was working all night on location in Griffith Park.”

  “Sounds like you have lots of witnesses.”

  “Yes.”

  “All day and night?”

  “I took my daughter to school in the morning,” I said, “ran some errands, and then went to work.”

  “Errands?”

  “I went to the bank, bought some groceries, took my lap top to be fixed, and then went to work.”

  “I see. And did you pick your daughter up from school in the afternoon?”

  “No,” I said, “I had to work.”

  “So, did your ex pick her up, then?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It wasn’t his day,” I said.

  “Then who did pick her up?”

  I paused for a second. I couldn’t fathom what any of these questions had to do with Randy being murdered. Was there a method to this? “Detective Jakes did.”

  “Ah . . .”

  “Detective Rockland,” I asked, “am I a suspect in my ex-husband’s death?”

  “A suspect?” he asked. “Did I give you that impression?”

  “Sort of.” He knew he had.

  “Well, I‘m sorry, then,” Rockland said. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I was just asking some routine questions. It’s true when a man or woman is killed, the spouse is often the main suspect. But I don’t believe that’s the case, here. In fact, I don’t have any more questions for you.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “We’re finished?”

  He nodded and said, “We’re finished.”

  I stood up, still unsure about whether I could leave or not. I was pleased to find out I wasn’t a suspect in Randy’s death, but was Detective Rockland telling me the truth?

  “Thank you,” he said. As he stood up he dropped the folder on the ground. I bent over to pick it up. Photos fluttered to the floor. Dead Randy photos at the scene of the mud slide.

  “Sorry about that, Miss Peterson.” He reached to take them back, but my expression must have gotten his attention.

  “Are you all right?”

  I shook my head. It was disturbing seeing Randy like that. Then I noticed something when I was handing the photos back. “I never knew Randy had a tattoo.” One was clearly visible on the inside of his lower forearm. “He never had one when we were together. He said they were crass.”

  “Well, I guess he changed his mind.” He took the photos and put them back in his folder. “Thanks, again Miss Peterson.”

  I nodded, and walked back to Jakes’ desk.

  “All done?” he asked.

  “You tell me,” I said. I threw a sour look back at Rockland, who didn’t notice. “He says I’m not a suspect. Is he telling me the truth?”

  “Let’s go get some lunch,” he said, “and we’ll talk about it.”

CHAPTER NINE

   Lunch was one of those chi chi food trucks that are all the rage. It was a gourmet restaurant on wheels parked just outside the new headquarters. Jakes nodded to the people he knew from the building. We waited in line and didn’t start talking until we had our chicken crepes and café au laits. We claimed a couple of steps in front of the building to sit on.

  “Sorry for the quick lunch, but I have to get back inside,” he looked at me closely. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really. On top of everything else going on I just found out that two more soaps were cancelled. That only leaves four on the air. Can’t help thinking soaps are an endangered species.” I looked around. The rain had actually stopped; for a change and it was nice to be outside.

  “Sorry to hear that. Will ‘The Bare and the Brazen’ be safe?”

  “For a while, I guess. We have good ratings. But it’s  relative now. Our good ratings would have been considered very bad five years ago. We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.”

  “How was the interview?” he asked.

  “Is that what it was?” I asked. “It seemed more like an interrogation.”

  “He would have taken you into another room for that,” he said.

  “Then what was all that ‘where were you’ and ‘how mad were you’ stuff?”

  “Just routine.”

  “That’s what he said,” I replied. “That’s what you all say.”

  “Look, babe,” he said, in a soothing tone, “you’re not a suspect, okay? Not this time. It really is just routine to question the ex-spouse.”

  As I ate I was looking past Jakes at some of the people on the steps, and that was when I saw her. She had come out of the building, then walked quickly down the stairs. My first urge was to chase after her, but what would I say?

  When she hit the street she practically ran away from the building.

  “Look,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “That woman holding the red umbrella.”

  He turned his head, looked, but I could see he wasn’t spotting her.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Patti.”

  “Who?”

  “Patti, she does my make-up on the show.”

  He looked around again, then at me.

  “She’s gone,” I said, “but she came out of your building.”

  “What was she doing in there?” he wondered.

  “That’s what I want you to find out,” I said. I told him about her phone call, and what George had found on the caller I.D.

  “Maybe she was here reporting a burglary, or a stolen car?”

  “And you call yourself a detective?” I teased. “It’s too much of a coincidence that two people from the same show needed to come down here and talk to the police today.” And then it hit me. “Oh my God! Oh my God! That’s too weird!”

  “What’s too weird?”

  I took a few moments to process it before answering.

  “You’re not going to believe this. Okay. So, when I was working the other night, I noticed a stamp on Patti’s wrist. You know, like the ones you get at a club? It was a fleur-de-lis. Like ummm, that royal emblem thing? Right? You with me so far?”

  “Yeah, I’m following. What about it?”