The First Cut (18 page)

She handed it back. “Ma’am, I’ll take the video—”

Thorne mouthed “Thank you” as she put on the earpiece and began pressing speed-dial numbers on the face of the cell phone. “It’s a DVD. I’ll play it for you. Come in.” She jogged up worn marble steps to the massive front door.

The house was impressive. Surrounding the front door and extending to the second story was an elaborate façade of gray stone that seemed lifted from a medieval church. The plaster walls were terra-cotta red, shades lighter than the tiled roof. Mullioned windows lined the lower and upper floors. An incongruous touch diluted the formality. In the flower beds on either side of the porch were dozens of plastic pink flamingos.

Vining took a step toward the house then remained in the driveway. There was no need for her to go farther.

“Gar, sweetheart, I don’t think I can get there before Wink has to leave,” Thorne said into the cell phone as she opened the door. A prealarm sounded. She disappeared inside, the alarm quieted, and she reappeared to stand on the threshold, looking at Vining.

“A police detective is here. You know the homicide victim they found by the bridge yesterday? Our security camera off the back wall picked something up. Wild, huh? With traffic, I’ll just be showing up when Wink has to leave for the airport.” She waved for Vining to come up before again going inside, heels clacking against the marble floor.

Vining looked at the stairs and the darkness beyond the open front door. She didn’t move. She found this pushy woman tiresome. She had to go to the Huntington Hotel yet. Who knows how long that would take? Emily was waiting at home. And Vining was feeling drained.

Go inside the house.

Her conscience was pitiless.

She wasn’t doing it. Especially an older home like this. It looked heavy with memories. Hidden behind gates on a hilltop, anything could have happened. Just thinking of it made her palms perspire.

This is your job. Do it.

She’d demand the DVD and leave. She could avoid it this time, but the day would come when she would have to enter a house that felt wrong. On that day, she might not have the luxury of no other PPD officers around to witness her meltdown.

She heard the click, click of high heels returning. Thorne stood on the threshold, holding the cell phone by her side and talking into a twig of a microphone that extended from the earpiece. Her free hand was again on her hip. She’d taken off the scarf. Straight blond hair fell to her shoulders.

“Oh, hell. Wink won’t care. He never liked me anyway.”

She looked at Vining as she spoke, her eyes asking what was going on.

“He called me a trophy wife to my face.”

Vining flushed, recalling her use of the same epithet.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Garland, I’ve told you what that means a million times. It’s from
Dirty Dancing.
Forget it. I’ll see you later. Give Wink a big kiss for me. Love you.” She chuckled before snapping closed the clamshell phone.

“Detective, your timing is perfect. You saved me from having to see this business associate of my husband’s. A Neanderthal in Armani. Going to the Westside after two o’clock on a weekday? Puh-leese. Won’t you come in? Don’t you want to see the recording?”

“I’d rather you bring it out. I don’t have much time. We’ll need to watch it at the station anyway.”

She gave Vining a puckish look. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Of course not.”

“I mean, you’re the one with the gun.” Thorne entered the house while saying, “Suit yourself.”

Vining felt foolish. She climbed the steps, counting each one, attempting to distract herself. There were six. Six marble stairs with hollows worn into them from the innumerable footsteps of people, each with their own story that had unfolded inside that house. She stepped over the threshold and entered the foyer where Thorne was standing beneath an alabaster and brass chandelier. Staircases with wrought-iron banisters circled to the right and left. Suddenly, the foyer began to expand and telescope, making Vining’s stomach churn. She blinked to shake the illusion, only to dizzily see Thorne looking at her scar. Damn the blasted thing. Maybe she would invest in that heavy-duty makeup they used in mortuaries after all.

Thorne shifted her gaze, embarrassed at being caught. “Are you all right? Would you like a glass of water or something?”

Vining started when a cat darted across the hallway. She felt nauseous.

The hell with it. If I faint, I faint.

“Thank you. I would.”

“This way.”

They circled a marble-topped table that held a crystal vase of white gladiolas. Arched doorways opened onto rooms carpeted with Oriental rugs but scant furnishings.

Vining’s breathing grew labored. She wanted to turn back, but kept on. She couldn’t give in. She had been pumped-up arrogance the week before her return. Simply seeing a corpse and entering a strange house had cut her down to size. Her career was dust. She’d get it over with and tomorrow would ask for a transfer to a desk job in Community Services.

The soul of this house cannot harm you.

Her conscience was trying to set her straight. She tried to pay attention.

Thorne walked surprisingly fast on stiletto heels. She flicked her hand toward a room that contained only a shabby recliner, an end table overflowing with reading material, and a floor lamp in front of a fireplace with a massive stone surround.

“We haven’t furnished most of the rooms yet. I’d like to tell you we’ve just moved in, but it’s been over a year. I should hire a decorator, but the first thing they all want to do is junk my pink flamingos. Too trashy for the grand manse, you know.”

Vining slumped onto a parlor bench. “Ms. Thorne…”

“Iris, please. Whoa…Should I call somebody?”

Vining drew fingers across the perspiration on her forehead. “No. Just…” she panted. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you please bring me the DVD outside?”

She stood, steadying herself against the bench and then began walking, working on placing one foot in front of the other. She felt Thorne’s eyes on her back and was relieved when she heard her footsteps receding. She reached the front door and pulled it open. The air was warm and smoggy but it felt like a balm. Dropping to sit on the top step, she rested her head in her hands and gasped.

She shook her head, recognizing the ridiculousness of her situation. How she had thought she could beat this thing by lifting weights and going into strangers’ homes. She saw now that she had tried to stop a hemorrhage with a Band-Aid.

She straightened when she heard Thorne come onto the porch.

Thorne sat beside her. She carried a DVD in a plastic box, a portable player, and a bottle of water. “How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Thank you.” Vining opened the water and guzzled it. She twisted the cap back on and slowly inhaled and exhaled. Her physical symptoms faded, but she felt defeated.

“Iris, I apologize. I’m overly tired. It’s my second day back at work after a long leave.”

“You’re the officer in the El Alisal Road—”

“Yes.”

Thorne opened her mouth as if to say more, but did not. She turned her attention to the DVD, pressing the top of the player. The screen popped open. She slid in the disk.

Vining was grateful for the unasked questions.

“I had a guy from the security company out. I couldn’t figure out their software. He copied the section I wanted onto DVD.”

The small screen filled with an image in that extreme black and white created by night-vision cameras. A digital clock on the recording reported the time as 3:12 a.m. and kept a running count of the seconds. The view was from up high looking down onto scrub brush and trees. Something was moving in the brush. After a few seconds, a coyote came into view, sniffing the ground.

Thorne said, “The camera’s on the back wall. The coyote triggered the motion detector. We installed cameras around the perimeter of the property after a couple of people camped out in our backyard one weekend while we were gone. They used the pool and the barbecue. Hey, I would have, too. We’ve got barbed wire on top of the wall now. But look what’s going on in the background.”

Tiny in the distance was the western edge of the Colorado Street Bridge, the globe lights lining it glowing. Barely visible was an SUV parked on the packed dirt off the end of the bridge. A person was standing at the edge. Something large flew out and dropped over the slope. A second person of smaller stature who had been hidden by the first started running. They appeared to be a man and a woman. She ran away from the bridge and the street, past the car, and started heading down into the brush and trees. The man chased and tackled her. They disappeared over the slope only to reappear a minute later as he dragged her up onto the asphalt. She shook him off and ran toward the car. The recording ended.

“The coyote went back into the brush,” Thorne said. “So the camera shut off.”

Vining blinked at the dark screen, her mouth gaping.

“It’s the people who threw that policewoman into the arroyo. Don’t you think?”

“Could be,” Vining said.

“Too bad it’s so far away. Maybe you could have it enhanced.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Thorne removed the DVD and returned it to the case. “I hate coyotes. One of my cats disappeared and I’m sure a coyote got it, but this mangy beast here is my hero.”

“No kidding.”

“I wonder why they picked that spot to dump a body. They’re almost underneath a streetlight. It was after three in the morning, but someone could have come by. They took a huge risk to do that.”

Vining agreed. She climbed to her feet, using the railing for assistance. She felt as haggard as she was sure she looked. She brushed off the back of her slacks and held out her hand for the DVD.

“Thank you, Iris.”

Thorne stood as well. “You’re welcome.”

Vining remembered to fish a card from her jacket pocket. “I’ll find this camera around the back?”

“Yes. There are two cameras, one on each corner. The one responsible for this is on the left as you face the arroyo. I can show you the backyard.”

Thorne turned and again started up the marble staircase.

Vining spotted a side yard lined with stepping-stones and creeping rosemary. “Can we go through here?”

“Sure.”

After passing through the side yard, they entered a pergola-covered patio set up for outdoor cooking and dining. The property was deep and terraced down the hillside. Steps took them to another level and a large pool. The bottom was painted off-black, making the water look like a pond. Pricey outdoor furniture and desert-hued, drought-resistant landscaping surrounded it. Vining felt as if she was at a luxury resort. She’d been with the PPD for twelve years and this was the first time she’d been inside one of these homes.

Surrounding the property was a six-foot-high wall of cement painted with a straw-hued wash that complemented the house. A spiral of concertina wire was on top.

“It’s that camera on the corner. Here…”

Thorne began dragging a teak bench and Vining helped. They both stood on it to see over the wall. On the other side, the hillside dropped steeply. The brush had been cleared fifty feet from the wall as a baffle to protect the house in case of fire. Looking right and left, Vining observed that not all of Thorne’s neighbors were as conscientious. There was an unobstructed view of the bridge. Vining looked back at Thorne’s house and saw that windows and terraces were well-positioned to take in the view.

She replayed in her mind the couple throwing Frankie’s body down the slope. There were many remote, isolated areas not far from here, but they had chosen that place. It was not random. She climbed off the bench.

Thorne yelped and windmilled her arms when she stepped wrong and one of her high heels hit an opening in the bench slats.

Vining steadied her as she made her way to the ground. They moved the bench back in place and returned to the driveway.

Vining took the hand that Thorne offered.

“Thank you very much. I’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“My pleasure.” Thorne looked at her watch. “I have newly found time. I can go back to my office and catch up. Hooray. Thank you, Detective.” She ran back inside the house.

Vining got in her car. She was elated by the confirmation that Lolita had been working with someone. Lolita was alive. At least she had been early Monday morning.

She called Kissick on his cell phone. He and Ruiz had met with Frank Lynde, who recalled a couple of details about the luncheon. Ruiz could seek out Sharon Hernandez alone. Kissick wanted to see the DVD right away. He would meet her by the bridge.

Vining ended the call and the afterglow of her win sputtered out. She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Her voice was low and guttural, like a growl.

“What’s happening? Why can’t I fix it? Damn it, damn it, damn it. Damn him! Damn him for screwing up my life.”

She pounded the steering wheel.

“I’m not gonna let you do it, you bastard. I’m not giving you power over me like this.”

She covered her face with her hands. T. B. Mann already had the power. He’d taken her life and tossed it. She felt powerless to fix it. Powerless. Until last year, she’d never thought that word would apply to her. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t do her job.

She abruptly sat up, realizing Thorne had come out of the house and was locking the door. Too late, as the other woman had seen Vining’s meltdown.

Thorne came over, reached through the open car window, and rested her hand on Vining’s shoulder.

Vining smiled thinly. “Personal problems, you know?”

“Sure. I know. You won’t always feel this way. You’ll be all right.”

Vining nodded. “Thanks.” She started her car engine.

“And in case you’re worried, this won’t go any further. It stays here.”

Vining believed that Thorne would keep her word, but was not certain she’d ever be all right.

S E V E N T E E N

V
INING RETURNED TO THE FLAT OUTCROPPING OFF THE WEST EDGE OF
the bridge above where Frankie’s body had been found. It was the fourth time she’d stood on that patch of packed dirt and dried brush within the past thirty-six hours, but this time the space seemed to tremor with the vibrations of Lolita and her partner. The images on Thorne’s DVD played repeatedly in Vining’s mind. She had imagined such a scene, but actually witnessing what happened made it come alive.