July 18
The maddening insistence of the doorbell finally got my eyelids open a centimeter or so. I hoped it would go away, like maybe it was just some kid selling magazines so he could go to Bible college or something, but it was unrelenting. So I eventually pushed myself out of bed, threw on a robe, and stumbled to the door.
"Amelia!" I said, doing a darn good job of acting as if I was glad to see her, even though the clock over the oven told me it was barely seven in the morning. With friends and associates like I've got, why do I bother setting an alarm? "What are you doing here so…unexpectedly?"
"When else am I going to catch you?" She didn't need an invitation; she pushed past me and headed into the living room. "I called all last night, but you never came home."
"Oh, sorry. I was working late. I had to do some catch-up."
"I can imagine. You don't want the killer to get a head." She paused. "That was a joke."
"I got it."
"You didn't laugh."
"It wasn't funny." I instinctively groped toward the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. When I returned to the living room, she had her fists on her hips and a scowl on her face. "Something the matter?"
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"You know perfectly well what."
And I should, too, since I am Little Miss Empathy. But my gifts didn't work this early in the morning. "Can you give me a hint?"
"The coffee table! The Brancusi knockoff! You've still got this…this…" She gestured toward the offending pine object. "…this chewed up banged up piece of-"
"Oh, did you want me to replace this table?"
"You know perfectly well I did."
"I thought it made more sense to put it somewhere I didn't already have a coffee table."
"And that would be?"
I held up a finger. "I think the coffee's ready."
"Don't run away from me, you coward. Where is it?"
I shuffled my bare feet. "It's, um, in the bathroom."
"The bathroom! You put an expensive Brancusi-like coffee table from the Venetian in the bathroom!"
"You know how much trouble I have reaching the top shelves in there. I thought-"
"Susan Lynn Pulaski, you march up there right now and bring down that coffee table!"
"Amelia, I-"
"Susan, this thing you've got is a piece of junk. I'm going to have it burned. Go get the new table!"
"Amelia…" Sure, I was mad at the time, but I got over it. Because I loved him. "I'm really too tired to do any heavy lifting. I didn't get much sleep last night."
Her demeanor changed immediately. "You didn't? Why not?"
"I don't know," I lied. "I just…couldn't let go of the case, I guess. Everyone is counting on me to lead them to the killer."
"I know. When the detectives are floundering, they always start blaming you. When are you going to quit this lousy cop shop and get an office job? Help losers patch up their marriages for a hundred dollars an hour."
"Oh, I'll get over it. But in the meantime…" I looked down at the carpet. "I know you said no more, but I thought if you gave me another one of those little blue pills…"
She frowned, then started rummaging through her purse. "That's funny. Must've left them somewhere." Of course I knew she wouldn't be able to find her Valium bottle, since I was the one who took it. But I also knew that eventually she would notice, and I would be her prime suspect. Unless I threw her off the scent by asking for some. After all, if I were the thief, I wouldn't have asked, right? This is the way you learn to think in the police department. I had deviousness down to an art. "Just as well. You don't need any medication. Just try…running around the block or something. Soak in a hot bath."
"Yeah, okay."
"So once you've imbibed some caffeine and gotten yourself together, wanna go play around?"
"Can't. Work."
"On Saturday? They don't even expect me to come in today."
"'Fraid so."
She grunted, then headed for the door. "Get that overpriced piece of pseudo-art out of the bathroom, understand, girlfriend?"
"Understood."
She blew me a kiss and disappeared. I grabbed some java and fell in a heap on the sofa. I hated to disappoint Amelia. Hated stealing from her and lying to her even worse. But that table…
You can't imagine how I felt when I found out. But he didn't mean any harm. And I loved him.
I headed for the bathroom, but not for the table. For two of those little blue wonder pills. And then I held my head under a spigot of cold running water for about half an hour. It did not make me feel better. But it did, at least, sort of deaden the pain.
Since it wasn't a school day, I called Rachel on my cell during the drive out. She was in good spirits, but busy. Basketball season. We gossiped a little and exchanged terms of endearment, but it made me realize how dramatically things had changed. It wasn't that we'd grown apart so much as just…separated. I suppose this was what all empty-nest parents experience. I just didn't expect it to happen while she was still in high school.
I agreed to meet Darcy at a bus stop, rather than picking him up at his home, as I normally would do. He didn't specify why, and I didn't inquire, but I could guess. We had to leave early to get crosstown by nine, so his father was probably still at home. And since Darcy wasn't supposed to be a part of this investigation, he just acted as if it were any other ordinary kind of day, leaving to catch the bus for the day care center.
Eventually, O'Bannon would figure it out. He was a detective, after all. But if I wanted to catch this killer, I'd be crazy to refuse Darcy's help. We just had to keep it under the radar. And hope it didn't cost me my job.
When he saw me coming, he wiggled his fingers, put on that goofy grin of his, and climbed into the passenger seat.
"Morning, Darcy."
"Allegro Vanilla Bean Espresso!"
Only took me a minute. Maybe two. Slowly but surely, I was learning to speak Darcy. "That's very good. I suppose you smelled it on my breath. Shouldn't have grabbed that last cup on my way out the door."
"Or brought it in the car," Darcy added. "Or spilled it on your blouse."
"Where?" I said, looking down, and practically having a wreck in the process.
"I think that you should look at the road and I should look at your blouse," Darcy said excitedly, his hands flapping. "Does that seem like a good idea?"
"Reasonable enough."
"Did you know that more car accidents occur because women are putting on their makeup while they drive than because people use cell phones?"
"Then you're in good hands. Since I rarely wear makeup."
"It's probably hard to look at the road while you are putting that black stuff on your eyelashes."
"I'd imagine."
"Why do women put that black stuff on their eyelashes?"
How to explain. "Some men find it attractive. Or at least women think men find it attractive."
"Does it make them want to make babies?"
"Whoa now." I put my foot on the brake. "Where did that come from?"
He looked away, fidgeting with his hands. "I just…wondered."
"Well, it has nothing to do with that." Actually, it did, in a way, but I wasn't going into it with Darcy. "Kid, did your father ever have that…talk with you?"
"Talk about what?"
"You know. Birds and bees."
"I know lots about birds and bees. Did you know that it is aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee-"
"No, I mean about men and women. About how babies are made."
His face turned blood clot red. "You mean about doing sex."
"Umm, yeah."
"We talked a little. He gave me a book with lots of pictures."
I suppressed a grin. Better than nothing, I suppose. Especially for the kid who remembers everything he reads. "Darcy, have you ever…"
"What?"
I shook my head. "Never mind. None of my business." What was I thinking? When would he? And with whom?
"I got a kiss from a girl once, in the sixth grade. Beatrice McKenzie."
Damn mind reader. "That was it? A kiss?"
"No. She, um, she let me…"
"Yes?"
"She let me touch her top part. Just for a second."
Aha. A little childhood playing-doctor. "And did you…get anything out of it?"
"Yes. I got thrown out of school for the rest of the semester. I had to go to a special school for kids with problems. Most of them were in wheel-chairs."
"And since then?"
"I do not want to get thrown out of anything. So I am very careful."
"Of course you are." When we stopped at the next light, I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "There. Now you've had a second kiss."
"Am-Am I going to get thrown out of something? Does this mean-?"
"It doesn't mean anything, Darcy. Except that you and I are friends. Right?"
"Right. Friends." He paused. "I like being friends with you, Susan."
"Feeling's mutual, kiddo." I saw the house and parked next to the curb. "All right, Sherlock. Showtime." "ALL DONE?" Esther asked.
"Yeah," Tucker said, scrubbing his hands in the sink. "Done."
"No mistakes?"
"None. Hell, the porn actress fought harder than that miserable lawyer. What a crybaby he turned out to be."
"And you left nothing behind."
"Nothin'. I wore gloves. Put paper on the floor. Didn't leave any blood or anything else. Brought back the weapons. Left the secretary tied up in the closet. Just like you told me."
"And the arm?"
"Still there. Tonight I'll take care of the body."
"Perfect. Just perfect. You've done very well, Tucker. Very well indeed."
With a speed that startled her, he spun around from the sink. "How much longer is this gonna go on?"
Esther stepped back, surprised by this sudden display of emotion. "You know the plan, Tucker. You always have. The Sefirot has seven divine components. Disassembling those components will complete the act of summoning. It's a simple equation."
"Simple. Yeah. You're not the one who's out there killin' people."
"Are you saying…you don't wish to continue?"
"I'm sayin' it ain't that easy, killin' people."
"I know that, Tucker," she said, gently laying her hand on his shoulder. "That's why you were chosen. You are my instrument."
"I'm your hired killer! And-And-" His face crumbled into his hands. "It's hard."
"Of course it is." She stepped closer, letting him feel the body heat radiating from her. "It's a test. We approach the divine by destroying it, a daunting task. If it were easy, it would have no meaning."
"I know that," he said, not looking at her, staring at the floor. "I just-I don't know how much longer I can go on doin' this."
"I'm still your guide, aren't I?"
"Of course you are."
"And we are the wandering angels, are we not? Like those cast out and left behind in the Book of Enoch?"
"Yes, but-"
She pressed her cheek against his and held it there, very still. "You want to please me, don't you?" she whispered.
"You know I do."
"Have I been good to you?"
"You've been-like no one else ever was before. No one ever treated me good. No one ever made me feel wanted."
"And I've done…things for you, haven't I? Just like you've done things for me."
"I know that. I know all that. But it's…different."
She forcefully pushed him away, abruptly breaking contact. "You want it to end. Is that what you're saying?"
"No! I mean, I don't want us to end. I want-"
"Make up your mind, Tucker. You can't have it both ways."
"I want-I just-" His head fell. "I don't know what I want."
"I know what I want." She reached out and ripped open his shirt, sending the buttons flying. "I want you."
She pushed him back onto the bed. While he lay there, helplessly, she brought her tongue to the side of his face and licked it. "You love me. I know you do."
"I do," he echoed softly.
She pulled off his pants with as much violence as she had the shirt. "And you want me just like I want you?"
"More," he murmured. "More."
"Then come to me." She pulled him up by the arms and pressed herself against him. She dug in with her long fingernails and dragged them down the length of his back. Blood rose to the surface.
"Oh, my God, yes," he said, weak, helpless. "Oh, my God!"
She shoved him back against the bed then straddled him.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she said, rocking her hips.
"Oh, yes."
"You earned this. By what you did tonight." She moved faster, rhythmically. His eyes lit.
"Oh, God. Oh, God, yes!"
She accelerated her thrusts. "We're a team, Tucker. In every possible way. We are one person. Two primordial forms reunited. We have what no one else has, what no one else has ever had. We represent the Aleph."
His eyes ballooned. His head swung back and forth. "Oh, God. God God God God God…"
She knew this wouldn't last much longer. She crouched down and bit his earlobe, hard enough to draw blood. "And you want us to continue to work together, don't you? In every possible way? The next prime is fast approaching. You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"
"Nooooooooo…!"
When it was over, she lay beside him for a long time, stroking his hair until he fell sound asleep.
He was good. At least for now. He would be faithful to her. If she had to proceed without him at some point, so be it. But until then, he was her slave. This powerful brutish muscleman. Her willing slave.
She gathered her belongings and slipped out the front door.
I left Darcy outside to scout the grounds. Probably not the best use of his talents, but I couldn't take him inside a porn studio, even if they weren't filming at the moment-especially after that last conversation.
Inside, I was greeted by Gina Berend, the woman who had served as Danielle Dunn's top aide and vice president of her company. Her face was perfect-as far as I could tell, it never moved-and her attire was immaculate, but for all that, the stress emanating from her was palpable. After the loss of Danielle, she was running the business. Moreover, I also got a distinct feeling that she was mourning the loss of a close and dear friend, someone she not only admired but loved.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me," I said, shaking her hand. I tried not to stare at her face. She was obviously a master at the art of makeup, what my mother used to call "putting on her face," a talent at which I was so inept that I rarely tried. All hail the natural girl, right? "I know this must be difficult for you."
"It is," Gina said softly. There was no trace of the martyr in her voice; it was a simple statement of fact. "But I want the man who hurt Danielle caught."
"I understand. We all do. That's why I've been brought in on the case."
"So I gathered. Although I don't know what I could tell you that I haven't already told the detectives."
It isn't a matter of you telling me something you didn't tell Granger's troops, I thought. It was a matter of asking the questions they wouldn't think to ask. "How long had you known Danielle?"
"Almost seven years now. I came on board about a year after she formed her own company."
"So you weren't the first vice president."
"No. Or the second, for that matter. A series of men who had considerably more experience in the straight-to-video world preceded me. But none of them stayed long."
"Why is that?"
"Pick your own explanation. Most of them complained that Danielle was difficult to work with, which is ridiculous. She was a perfectionist, true. She had a vision of what her films should be and she remained true to it. But she was never difficult. I think those men just had a problem accepting a woman as their boss. Perhaps you've had some experiences along that line yourself."
"Once or twice." And I didn't have the added credibility problem of having worked as a porn actress. "The two of you hit it off?"
"Almost immediately." She gestured toward a chair in the front lobby. The furniture was functional but not plush. The only items hanging on the walls were clippings and magazine covers featuring the deceased president of the studio. "It was more than just personality. It was like…I don't know. I understood what she was trying to do. So many women have a negative attitude toward porn that they simply couldn't comprehend, much less embrace, what Danielle was trying to do. But I got it, right off the bat. At DannyDunn Studios, our productions aren't about female subjugation. They're about female empowerment."
"So I've read."
"Have you seen any of Danielle's pictures?"
"I'm afraid I haven't." And wouldn't admit it if I had.
"You might be surprised. The scripts may follow a formula, but they're smart, witty. She looked for actors based upon their ability to actually act, not the size of their genitalia. Even when she shot straight-to-video, she insisted on top-flight lighting, quality sound, elements that might be invisible to the average viewer, but made a huge result in the final product. That's why people are able to distinguish a DannyDunn film from others, why people became devoted fans and repeat customers. After you've been to Disney World, the school carnival just isn't all that exciting anymore."
"I can appreciate and admire anyone who tries to do their best work," I said. Even if I still thought the work was of dubious merit. "I know you've been asked this before, but can you think of any reason why someone might want to kill Danielle?"
"I wish all they'd done was kill her." Gina's face hardened. "You're asking if I know why anyone would want to torture her. Mutilate her. And the answer is no."
"Did she have any enemies?"
"She had competitors." Gina walked behind the desk just beside the front door and pulled out a ledger. "More than one small film studio bit the dust because DannyDunn commanded such a huge market share. And it was well known in the industry that she was the heart and soul, not to mention the brains, of the company."
"If she went down, so did the studio."
"So they might think. I'm going to do my damnedest to keep it going. To keep Danielle's dream alive."
"Good for you." I couldn't believe I was cheering for a woman to keep churning out pornography. But such was the depth of Gina's feeling; it oozed sincerity. "Can you give me a list of some of these competitors?"
"I can. But how does that explain the-the-" She could hardly make herself say it. "The torture. The…decapitation?"
It didn't, and I didn't believe for a minute that this crime was committed by some stogie-chomping pornmeister. But I had to at least consider the possibility. "Did Danielle ever receive any threats?"
"Sure. All the time. It was inevitable. Every time she got a little publicity, every time a magazine did a feature piece on her, some of the desert rats would come out of their caves and send her hate mail. Some of it was from women-you know, Take Back the Night types who still clung to the tenuous link between pornography and sexual assaults. But most of it was from men. Very religious men. People with bad penmanship and worse spelling who called her the Whore of Babylon or the Witch of Endor or whatever trite and misapplied biblical allusion first popped into their heads. Of course, it was always clear from the letters that the authors had watched her films. Probably several of them. Probably done the solo nasty while they conducted their research. And then, rather than facing up to their own guilt, blamed it all on Danielle."
Disturbing. Mostly because it made me wonder if Granger's lame "sex prude" theory might possibly be correct. "Did you report these letters to the police?"
"No. What good would it do? It wasn't as if they were signing their names. We thought they were all impotent mother-fixated nutcases. Vile but harmless."
"And yet, someone did come after Danielle. Someone who clearly was…not entirely sane."
"Yes," she said, her chin lowering. "I know. But I still can't believe it was any of these whack jobs. At the end of the day, they'd be more likely to bad-mouth Danielle at a tent revival meeting than commit an act of violence."
I had to admit that the enormity of the event, the amount of planning and detail-weird detail-suggested that something else was at hand. But there had to be more to this than fervent sexual prudery. I didn't know why this man picked Danielle for his next victim. But it wasn't because of the movies she made. "Could I get copies of the letters?"
"Your detectives already took them."
I nodded. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"Just this." Gina sat beside me on the sofa, about as close as two women could sit without one of them getting nervous. "Danielle was a good person. A genuinely good-hearted person. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise. She came from a very difficult background. Kicked out of her home when she was sixteen."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't tell. I know her mother was an alcoholic and abusive, but Danny didn't talk about it. From that age on, she made her own way in the world. And there weren't that many opportunities for a sixteen-year-old girl on her own in Vegas. She did the strip joints, then the adult films, but she never let it get her down. And she never stopped planning, never took her eyes off the prize. She knew she was capable of doing bigger, greater things, and when the opportunity came, she seized it. She built something wonderful-more than that. She built something important. How many people can say the same?"
A good and valid question. But if I was going to find her killer, I couldn't afford the luxury of canonizing her. "Did Danielle have any…secrets?"
"No." A beat. "Not that I know of."
I've had so much experience at this that now, I'm not always sure what I'm listening to-my inner instincts or the telltale traces that even the most gifted liars couldn't erase. But I was definitely getting some flashing lights from the seemingly guileless Gina. None of the obvious signs like her eyes drifting to the left; after all, she wasn't inventing, she was denying. On the other hand, I had detected a hesitation, slight, but the first I'd encountered yet in a conversation that she'd had at least twice before with other detectives. For whatever reason, her subconscious had to think a nanosecond before she gave her answer. She blinked, and now, as I stared at her without answering, she shifted her crossed legs and began to tap the floor with her left toe. Her breathing remained steady, her face didn't flush. She held her hands together in her lap.
"Do you suppose there were some secrets you didn't know about?"
"I-don't have any reason to think so."
"Ma'am, I urge you not to hold back anything that might conceivably-"
"I'm not." Her voice rose with the denial, both in pitch and volume. She shrugged, not very convincingly. She smiled, but it was lopsided, asymmetrical. "I mean, there's hardly anyone in town who has had more written about her than Danielle did. Everyone knows her past, her troubled childhood, how she rose from bit actress to major industry player. What secrets could there possibly be?"
That I didn't know. But every word Gina spoke convinced me that there was something. "Once again, I have to emphasize the importance of not withholding any information that might help us find the link-"
"I assure you, I'm not. Danielle was the most up-front person I've ever met. She had no secrets."
"A boyfriend, maybe?"
"Not at present. She had dated here and there, but…it never really took."
"A girlfriend, then."
"The characters she played in the movies were just that. Characters. Fictional."
"So she wasn't dating anyone on a regular basis?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"I'd imagine she would be an intimidating partner. Someone that confident. Self-assured."
"True. And I think…well, to be blunt, she was just too smart for that. She didn't need a man to make her life complete. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying she was gay. I'm just saying…her life was already whole. Do you understand?"
"I think, perhaps…"
"I notice you're not wearing a ring. Are you married?"
I felt my back stiffening. "Not anymore."
"I guessed as much. You've got a full life. You don't need a man to tell you who you are."
A full life. I felt a powerful aching at the pit of my stomach. If only it were so. I didn't need a man to tell me who I was. I needed a man to tell me why I should get out of bed every day. To tell me why I shouldn't order a double scotch and pour the whole bottle of Valium into it and No. I had to stay on task. "Could I see Danielle's office?"
Gina shrugged. "I guess. But the detectives have already gone over it with microscopic scrutiny. I don't know what you could see that they didn't."
"It's not a matter of seeing something different," I replied. "It's a matter of seeing it with a different set of eyes."
"All right. But I'll warn you." She tilted her head slightly to one side. "Her office is not what you might expect."