‘Hello, gorgeous. Am I too late for visiting time?’
‘Eleanor?’
I let my astonishment show. It was for real. Written all over my stupefied face.
Eleanor Zimmerman was leaning against the door frame, wrapped to her ankles in a fake sable coat. She had one eyebrow raised, alluringly. She looked every bit the Hollywood starlet. All that was missing was the fake cigarette.
‘What happened to your face?’ she asked.
‘I butted heads with an old adversary.’
We stared at one another.
193
___________________________
Eleanor and I go way back. Sometimes I think it’s too way back. Nothing has ever happened between us – I was already happily married and committed when we first met – but I’d always had the feeling something might have happened had Eleanor had her wicked way.
I stepped aside. Gave the gawking Deputy a
mind your own God-damned business
stare. Closed the door behind us.
‘This is what you call one hell of a lovely hotel suite.’ Eleanor commented as she inspected the set up. I watched her work her way around the open-plan room, running fingertips over the heavy fabrics and the glassy surfaces. Murmuring every now and then as she made exquisite new discoveries.
‘How much does a pad like this set you back for the night?’ she asked. ‘Four, five hundred bucks?’
‘Eleanor. What are you doing here?’
She turned and held up a bottle of whiskey in one hand. A pair of matching tumblers in the other. ‘I heard you needed a friend. So I brought one.’
She placed the glassware on a table. Shrugged off her faux fur and draped it over a lampstand. Eleanor was wearing a silvery blouse and grey business suit slacks. The outfit made her irises glow.
‘Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.’ I said, keeping my distance.
‘You’re up to your neck in quicksand. I’m here to pull you out.’
I started picking up case notes from littering the floor. Piled them out the way.
‘Eleanor. I appreciate the sentiments. Really, I do. And it’s good to see a friendly face. But how exactly do you plan on getting me out of here?’
I saw her peer through the sliding doors, out onto the terrace, like she was weighing up offers in a store window.
‘Don’t tell me this place has an outside Jacuzzi?’
‘Eleanor.’
‘Have you forgotten who I work for?’
I sighed. ‘No, Eleanor. You work for the Los Angeles Police Department. Same as me.’
She turned and raised a finger. ‘Technically. But the actual office I report to is –’
‘Internal Affairs.’ I hadn’t forgotten. ‘I heard they were sending somebody over. I wasn’t expecting the resident shrink.’
She pulled a face. ‘Ouch. You make me sound dirty.’
‘Eleanor, you don’t need any help on that score.’
‘You’re right.’ She laughed.
I was under no illusions. The primary reason for Eleanor’s visit was to psyche me out. Evaluate my mental health. Then report back to the Police Commissioner with her professional assessment. Her appraisal wouldn’t change the fact there were trumped-up charges against me. It would simply help explain why I might have committed murder in the first place. Right now Eleanor was friend and foe.
I watched her sit herself down on a sofa and crack open the whiskey. Saw her lick lips, unconsciously, as she unscrewed the cap. It was like watching a ballerina perform a perfect pirouette.
I sat down opposite, having already decided to play it coy.
‘I can’t believe you brought whiskey and glasses all the way from LA.’
‘I didn’t,’ she said as she dribbled the amber liquid into the tumblers until they were two fingers full. ‘Vegas isn’t third world, darling. I picked them up downstairs.’
She held one out. I shook my head.
‘Oh, come on. Live a little. Who knows, I might get lucky.’
‘In Vegas?’
‘In my fifties.’
I took the drink.
Eleanor smiled. ‘See. I don’t bite. At least not without permission. Now drink up; we have a bottle and a whole roll of red tape to get through.’
I made mine last. I couldn’t say the same for Eleanor. Eleanor could soak up whiskey like it was Evian. Always could. The worst part about it was that she hardly ever got drunk. Don’t you hate that? Maybe after an entire bottle. Maybe a little tipsy, a little more promiscuous – if that was possible. Never rolling round on the floor in a pool of her own vomit, drunk. We were born under different stars.
‘What’s Ferguson had to say?’
‘Hasn’t he called?’
I shook my head.
‘He’s probably been told to stay incommunicado until the coast clears. He hasn’t called me if that’s what you’re thinking.’
I made a face.
‘If you must know, it was Hugh.’
‘The bastard.’
I could see she didn’t approve of my little outburst. She pulled back from it as if it was a naked flame.
‘He’s not exactly the forgiving type, is he?’
‘He’s vindictive.’ I said. ‘That’s Hugh to a tee. Even after all these years.’
‘You shouldn’t have slept with his wife.’
‘I didn’t. They weren’t married back then. And neither was I.’
I necked the whiskey.
Eleanor refilled our tumblers.
We sat and we talked. Rather, Eleanor asked questions and I avoided. It was a tango we’d danced more this last year than any year before. Practice had made us perfect. Anyone listening would think we’d been married forever.
‘So why do you think the killer is setting you up?’
‘To get me off the case.’
‘Why, when he deliberately drew you in?’
‘Milk believes it’s all been a ruse from the start. All leading up to framing me for murder.’
‘Milk?’
‘One of the Vegas homicide detectives I’m working with.’
‘So the rest of the murders are incidental to framing you for murder?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘It’s how it sounded.’
‘Stop psycho-analyzing me, Eleanor.’
‘It’s my job.’
‘I think setting me up was a bonus.’ I said.
‘And how does that make you feel?’
‘Angry, mostly. Cheated. That son of a bitch knows every button of mine to press.’
I looked at Eleanor. My whole career in law enforcement rested on this conversation. My future in Eleanor’s hands. I looked at them; her hands. They were slender and white. No rings. No calluses. Something about them made me want to reach out and hold one.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Inspector Maxwell.’
I gave Eleanor a sideways stare. ‘What’s that got to do with this appraisal?’
‘I’m establishing emotional state.’
‘There is no relationship. Which means there’s no emotional state to establish. I’ve known Sonny a couple of days and it’s all been above board and professional. Why are you doing this?’
‘To help me determine if you’ve been compromised.’
‘I’m not a locked box full of emotional secrets.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Honestly?’
‘Sonny’s been good to me.’ I said through barred teeth. ‘If anything, she’s the one whose kept me focused. Especially after the incident at Rochelle’s place.’
Eleanor sat up. ‘Rochelle Lewis?’
I instantly regretted letting it slip. Disclosing sensitive information to Eleanor is like opening yourself up to an organ bank and saying
help yourselves
.
My phone rang.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Eleanor said with a smile.
The number on the screen belonged to Detective Fred Phillips, back in LA. I hadn’t spoken with Fred in days. I wondered if his call had anything to do with the list I’d emailed him.
‘Fred? How’s it going? What’s up?’
‘Hello, Gabe. Thought you should be aware of the big things afoot here in LA. Are you by any chance near a television set?’
‘Sure. Why?’
‘Tune to one of the national news channels. Choose any one; they’re all showing the same story.’
I picked up the TV remote and did as directed. Saw a big red-and-white
Breaking News
banner splashed across the screen.
‘Got it, Fred.’
‘Okay. We’re all rooting for you, Gabe.’
‘Thanks, Fred.’
I put down the phone and cranked up the TV volume.
‘What is it?’ Eleanor asked.
‘I’m not sure.’
I read the text scrolling across the screen. Below the flashy banner, in smaller letters, were the words:
‘Dr Milton Perry indicted on Le Diable killings.’
‘I think Devereux just got his promotion to Langley.’
194
___________________________
On the gridlocked Interstate 15 in Las Vegas, an eighteen-wheeler tanker full of 2% milk had sideswiped a truck carrying plush toys and flat-bellied into the median barrier. The big silver tanker had cracked like an egg, spilling a slurry of frothy milk all over the freeway – while the storage truck had jack-knifed and tipped over, scattering its cuddly contents right across the creamy asphalt.