Laurie hadn’t expected to be at her best the next morning, but she felt like she was still half-asleep. She had spent the night waking up every twenty minutes, picturing Jerry being lifted onto the gurney by EMTs.
Alex must have had a rough night too. In the back of the van, parked at the curb in front of Frank Parker’s former home, a makeup artist was touching up his eyes. He had rightly said to Laurie, “I look like I was on a bender.”
For today, it was just the two of them and the camera crew from the Under Suspicion staff. Jerry, of course, was in the hospital, still in what the doctors politely called “a comalike state.” Grace had stayed at the house to keep Timmy busy while Leo pored through the surveillance footage coming in from Alameda County. If they could somehow connect the murder of Lydia Levitt to the break-in at the Bel Air house, they might figure out who assaulted Jerry. Laurie was nearly certain that person would also turn out to be Susan’s killer.
Right now, the immediate goal was to lock Frank Parker down on his timeline for the night of Susan’s murder. He and Madison had been consistent in sticking to their stories, but Madison’s mention of Susan’s car acting up before her death had added a new layer to the mix.
Laurie watched as a cameraman on a wheeled cart backed up to film Alex and Frank walking side by side. They were there now: a turn in the road entering Laurel Canyon Park, just off Mulholland Drive, the exact spot where Susan’s body had been found. For Laurie, it was a poignant moment. She couldn’t help but think of the playground where Greg had been killed. As she began to tear up, she forced herself to look toward the sky, focusing on the individual branches of a huge sycamore tree towering above them.
Her composure regained, Laurie kept up with the cameraman as he continued to film Alex and Frank walking out of the park and toward Frank Parker’s former home. The purported purpose of this stroll had been to get footage of the iconic setting for the show, but she and Alex had another goal in mind: to establish the short distance between the body and Parker’s house. It was less than half a mile.
As planned, Alex and Frank made their way past the home’s front gate to an interior courtyard, where, with the permission of the present owner, they had staged two chairs next to the front garden. Once they were seated, Alex stole a casual glance at his watch. “Our walk from the scene of Susan’s death was only ten minutes, and I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t exactly hurrying.”
Frank gave a warm smile. In the short time Alex had spent with the director, he had already managed to find a camaraderie that was apparent on camera. “You may not believe me, Alex, but I could have told you the number of minutes without even looking at a watch. I have an inner clock that never stops ticking, and I really can pinpoint the time of day—within one to three minutes—at any given moment. It’s a useless party trick, but I have a feeling that’s not why you brought up the time.”
“Susan Dempsey lived on the UCLA campus, more than eight miles from the spot where she was killed. Yet your house is only a ten-minute walk from that spot. Or perhaps five minutes if someone were running from your house in terror. And Susan was scheduled to be at your house the very night of her murder. You must understand why people suspected you.”
“Of course I understand. If I had thought the police were unreasonable in initially questioning me, I might have hired a team of lawyers and refused to have anything to do with the investigation. But that’s not what I did, is it? Ask any of the detectives who were involved. They’ll confirm I was cooperative. Because I had no cause not to be. I was shocked, of course, when they told me Susan’s body had been found. And where it was found. I provided a thorough account of my whereabouts for the night. They confirmed that account, and that really should have been the end of the story.”
“But it wasn’t the end of the story. Instead, your name is forever associated with the Cinderella Murder case.”
“Look, it would be easier if I could take some magic truth serum so people would finally believe me, but I get it. A young, bright, talented woman lost her life—and her family has never gotten the closure they richly deserve. So I have never expected anyone to feel sorry for me. She was the victim, not me.”
“Well, let’s go over that account you gave the police.”
“Susan was supposed to be here at seven thirty, and she wasn’t. Her agent surely would have told her that I am absolutely intolerant of lateness by anyone working or potentially working for me. If time is money, it’s never truer than in the film business. Once she was fifteen minutes late, I called Madison, who had been my second choice, to see if she was interested. She must have come straight here, because she arrived by eight thirty. She left shortly before midnight. In fact, I even recall her saying, “I can’t believe it’s almost midnight.” His version matched Madison’s, minute for minute.
“And you ordered pizza,” Alex prompted.
“Yes, the pizza. My order was logged at nine twenty-seven, delivered at nine fifty-eight. Check the records. You know Tottino’s still has a copy of the takeout receipt framed on their front wall? They at least had the good judgment to black out my address.”
“And how did Madison look when she arrived?” Alex asked. This was a question they had planned in light of Madison’s waffling about whether she’d been feeling sick the night of Susan’s murder.
“How did she look? Like a million dollars. That role called for an absolute beauty, and she fit the part.”
Laurie smiled to herself but was impressed that Alex kept his expression neutral.
“The coroner estimated Susan’s time of death as between seven and eleven P.M. She was expected here at seven thirty. You and Madison said Madison arrived here at eight thirty. The assumption has always been that you could not possibly have killed Susan, called Madison, returned Susan’s car to campus, and then returned home by the time Madison arrived.”
“No, I have not yet found a way to navigate Los Angeles traffic at hyper speed.”
“But our research has revealed a new wrinkle to the timeline,” Alex said. “We have learned that Susan had been having car trouble prior to her death, so she may have gotten a ride to her audition from someone else. That means you could have had a violent interaction with her upon her arrival and have been home before Madison arrived.”
“If I went to a movie studio and pitched a story where a culprit sets an appointment to meet with someone at seven thirty, then phones her dorm room at seven forty-five, and then for some reason chases her into a park and murders her by eight thirty or so, I would get laughed out of the room. Alex, you’re one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country. Does that really sound plausible to you?”
Laurie watched Frank smile on the screen. She knew how this would play on television. The director was cocky, but he had a point. Unless they broke his alibi, Frank was in the clear. And so far, every part of the evidence supported his alibi: the phone records, Madison’s statements, the pizza receipt.
But Laurie still felt in her gut that the evidence was almost too perfect. What was she missing?