Nicole pulled into the driveway at 5:30. When she started to unlock the front door, Josh opened it, clearly upset. “Where’ve you been? I couldn’t reach you on your cell, so I called your office. Joanne told me you’d taken the day off. I’ve been out of my head with worry.”
Nicole followed Josh into the house, struggling to find something to say. She plopped herself on the couch before she responded. “I’m really sorry. I was going to tell you, but I never found the right moment. Then this morning, we were both in such a rush—” As she said this, she realized how lame this sounded. “And I knew you’d be upset,” she added.
“Damned right I’m upset. And you still haven’t told me where you were.”
“In Hemet. I found some people there who can help Doshan’s defense. They wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone, so I had to go out there.”
“You had to go out there? How is this your problem, Nicole?”
“I’ve told you. Doshan Williams is innocent, and I have information that can help clear him.”
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Aren’t you already taking care of that by appearing as a witness?”
Nicole was running out of patience. “I’ve explained this: Mary Ellen said one thing in court, then she told me something else. The prosecutor can pretty much dismiss my testimony unless there’s more evidence to back it up. Doshan’s investigator didn’t find anything, but I did. Andy Drummond, one of Doshan’s teammates, pulled the exact same trick in high school. He blackmailed a girl into falsely accusing the quarterback of rape so that he could get the position himself.”
“Look, if this guy is the real killer, then you’re putting yourself in danger. And here’s what I’m thinking: This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Are you going to do the same thing when the next ‘injustice’ catches your eye?” He made finger quotes when he said injustice. “Is this going to be your life? Because if it is—”
“If it is? Say it. Then you don’t want to marry me?”
“Your words, not mine,” he said. His face was flushed, and she could see how angry he was. “But you do have an over-developed sense of moral outrage. You’re impulsive, and it’s making me crazy. I love you. I want to be with you. But I want a normal, quiet family life. I’m not sure that’s what you want.”
“Of course it is.”
“Then take a look at what you’re doing.” He glared at her. “You promised you’d leave this case to Doshan’s lawyer once you agreed to testify. But you can’t stay away from it, can you? You found information that could clear Doshan? Then why in the hell didn’t you turn it over to the defense attorney’s investigator? It’s his job to work this case.”
Nicole was barely able to hold on to her temper. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an investigator myself, and Sperantza’s investigator is either lazy or incompetent. I told him about things he should be looking into, and he just blew me off.”
“You’re still a rookie, remember?” Josh was all but shouting. “You need to put in more hours and pass a test before you qualify for your license. So why can’t you just stand aside and leave this to the professionals?”
For the first time, it struck Nicole that this was her fault. She’d allowed Josh to think he had the right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’m not the one for you.”
“Quit putting words in my mouth. I love you no matter what. But this thing you did behind my back? It really pisses me off.”
“What if I had told you? What would you have said?
“I’d have tried to talk you out of it. But if you wouldn’t listen, I’d—I don’t know what I’d have done. Here’s the bottom line: You can’t keep putting yourself in danger. You just can’t! Why couldn’t you have chosen a normal occupation like becoming a realtor or a teacher? Those are great occupations for a woman raising a family.”
Without a word, Nicole walked past him and went upstairs to change. They didn’t discuss it again. He barely looked at her during dinner. She made a few attempts at conversation, but after a brief response, he’d lapse into silence.
They went to bed and lay with their backs to each other. Nicole was wide awake, too upset to sleep. Josh’s derision of her work had stunned her. It made her realize, for the first time, that he didn’t understand her at all. And maybe it was mutual. She thought she knew him, but the Josh she loved wouldn’t have said that.
As soon as his breathing slowed and she was sure he was asleep, she got up. Tiptoeing around the bedroom, she grabbed some clothes, basic cosmetics, and her overnight case, and went downstairs to pack. She wrote a note and left it under her engagement ring on the kitchen table. The note said:
Josh:
I couldn’t sleep because of this rift between us. I think we need time apart so you can reconsider our engagement. I’m going to be an investigator, not a realtor. You have to accept that.
I don’t see myself as jumping from crisis to crisis. But I do sometimes act on impulse—call it moral outrage, if you like. That’s who I am, and I wonder if you can live with that. I guess you’re wondering, too.
I can’t imagine ever encountering another situation like Mary Ellen’s murder. But if I did, I wouldn’t behave any differently. So I want you to take time to consider whether you want to marry me.
Meanwhile, I’ve gone to stay with Steph. Believe me when I say I love you.
Always, Nicole
With little traffic, it took only twenty minutes to drive to Steph’s apartment in West Hollywood. Nicole arrived a little after 3:00 a.m. and let herself in with the key her sister kept under a flowerpot by her front door—a practice Nicole had warned Steph against a number of times. She tiptoed in, carrying her overnight bag. She went into Steph’s study, which doubled as a guest room, set her bag down and pulled out the futon. She must not have been as quiet as she thought because Steph appeared in the doorway, yawning, stretching and rubbing her eyes. She gave Nicole a puzzled look. “What’s up?”
“Fight with Josh,” Nicole said, tears spilling down her face.
Steph put an arm around Nicole and steered her into the living room where the two of them settled on the sagging couch that Steph had found in the alley behind her apartment house.
As Nicole was trying to pull herself together, Steph got up, went to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
Nicole looked at her sister incredulously. “For God’s sake, Steph. At this hour?”
“You’re a wreck,” Steph said. “This will calm you down. Or I could roll us a joint. Your choice.”
“No, no. Whiskey’s okay, I guess. I just don’t want to go to the office smelling like I’ve been up drinking all night.”
“A little toothpaste, a little mouthwash,” Steph said. “You’ll be fine. Now tell me what happened.”
Nicole did just that, recounting her scene with Josh.
Steph was quiet for a long moment before she said, “Your old pal Reinhardt and I talked about this before he went back to England. He couldn’t understand why you’d chosen Josh. What was it he said? Oh, yeah”—at this point Steph affected a posh English accent—“I’m surprised she’s settling for suburbia. I thought she wanted a bigger life.”
This made Nicole laugh. “Did Reinhardt imagine he was giving me a bigger life? He lived on another continent. Even if I’d gone over there to live with him—something he never did suggest—he was off the grid most of the time, engaged in some kind of covert ops. He wasn’t about to give me any kind of life.”
“True,” said Steph. “But he did have a point. I mean, Josh is a lovely guy. He’s gorgeous, he’s nice, he’s smart, and all that. But don’t you sometimes wonder if his overprotectiveness is going to cramp your style?”
“I don’t know,” Nicole said. “I love him, and we have so much in common. And he gets me—” She broke off, realizing this was a claim she no longer could make. If Josh really did get her, they wouldn’t be having this fight.
“Listen to me,” Steph said. “The things I admire about you most are your chutzpah, your fearlessness, your sense of right. As a kid, I was so proud to be your little sister. And then last year you cracked that ring of crooks. You get off doing this stuff. Admit it.”
“What are you talking about? It was terrifying, and I hated every minute of it.” Nicole paused, reconsidering. “Okay, it was great at the end when they caught those guys and locked them up. The rest was a nightmare. But none of that matters. I’m in love with Josh. I want to be with him. I’m still hoping there’s some way we can work this out.” All at once something occurred to her. “If we’re not back together soon, I’ll have to look for another place to stay.”
“I don’t see why,” Steph said. “You’re welcome to stay in my guest room as long as you want.”
“Thanks, Steph,” Nicole said. “I know that. But after I testify, it will attract the paparazzi. Given my history with them, they’ll follow me here. I’d never put you through that.”
“Quit worrying. You and Josh will be back together in no time. He’s crazy about you. You’re not going to break up over this.”
“I don’t know. He said some things that made me wonder if we’re right for each other.” Nicole’s voice trailed off. She put her untouched glass of whiskey on the coffee table and got up. “I’m whacked. Let’s go to bed.”
Nicole woke at 6:00 a.m., exhausted from too little sleep, and checked her phone. No messages. She’d hoped for word from Josh by now, saying, “Come home. It was all a misunderstanding.” But it wasn’t a misunderstanding. The idea of losing him made her feel ill.
When she got to work, she called Sperantza to tell him she’d learned something that might help Doshan’s defense.
“I don’t think it’s wise to talk by phone,” he said. “Let’s discuss it over lunch. I’m downtown today. If you can make it, we could meet at the same place. 12:15.”
“Okay,” she said, “See you then.” All morning, she kept checking her phone for messages. Each time she found nothing, she felt a little worse. She tried to reassure herself that she’d done the right thing leaving the way she did. She’d been honest in the note she’d left. She couldn’t change who she was, and, even if she could, did she want to? But what if it cost her Josh? Once again, she found herself tearing up. On her way to the women’s room to splash water on her face, she encountered Joanne in the hallway.
“Why Nicole,” Joanne said. “What’s wrong?”
“Allergies,” Nicole said. “Drippy eyes.”
“Santa Anas,” Joanne said. “Isn’t it awful? I had to take two allergy pills this morning.”
Nicole hadn’t even noticed the Santa Anas. Usually, the hot winds inflicted her with a runny nose, bad dreams, and a sense of foreboding. Much worse was the destruction they wrought. On a regular basis, Santa Anas turned a few sparks or a discarded cigarette into a wildfire that decimated thousands of acres of Southern California’s forests and canyons. In her distraction, Nicole had no idea what the weather was like outside the ever-cool tower where she worked.
By the time she arrived at the restaurant, Sperantza was waiting in a booth in a second dining room at the back of the restaurant. Here it was relatively quiet.
As soon as Nicole was seated, a waitress arrived to take their orders: short ribs, the daily special, for Sperantza, and a niçoise salad for Nicole. Once they were alone, Nicole described her meetings with Alejandro and Kayla.
Sperantza’s eyes grew wide, and he started to grin. “Nicole, this is exactly what we needed. We can subpoena Kayla as a hostile witness. Along with your testimony, this will create reasonable doubt.”
Nicole put down her fork. “How? She’ll deny telling me anything; she might deny ever meeting me. She’s terrified of Drummond. He said he’d kill her if she told anyone.”
“If we subpoena Kayla, she’ll have to appear. We’ll ask about Drummond and her rape charge against Alejandro. She can deny all she wants. But I’ll call you as the next witness, and you’ll explain she told you she’d do that because Drummond threatened to kill her. Then you’ll relate what Mary Ellen told you. Your testimony will show he manipulated both girls into lying to the authorities and, in Mary Ellen’s case, perjure herself in court. That pattern of behavior points to Drummond as a likely suspect in the murder.”
Speranza stopped talking to take a swig of coffee and another bite of his meal. His eyes were darting about, and it was clear he was considering his strategy. He swallowed, put his fork down. “Obviously, Drummond is off our list of character witnesses. An amazing bit of detective work on your part, by the way,” he said. “I’m surprised Slater missed this.”
“Didn’t Slater say that Drummond had an alibi for the night of the murder?” Nicole said.
“He did. I’m going to talk to him about that, make sure he checked it out thoroughly and didn’t just rely on Drummond’s word. I’m beginning to wonder if he cut corners on this investigation.”
Nicole shrugged, remembering Slater’s dismissive attitude when they’d spoken by phone. It was clear he hadn’t put much time into this case. “Even if he’d found the Hemet High connection,” she said, “it might not have done him much good. Kayla only talked to me because she recognized me from the tabloid stories last year. She thought I was some kind of celebrity.” Nicole laughed. “But she sure wasn’t happy when I suggested she testify in court.”
§
She spent the weekend with her sister, hanging out, trying some new restaurants, and catching a couple of movies. All of that time, she kept checking her phone for a message from Josh, but there was no word.
On Monday, two days after she’d left Josh and two days before she was to testify, Nicole used her lunch hour to return to the house and pick up more of her things. As she’d expected, Josh was at work and the house was empty. Her heart ached as she walked through the place she’d come to regard as home. It was immaculate, tidier, in fact, than when she was in residence. She climbed the stairs to the bedroom. The bed was made, the bathroom spotless with freshly hung towels.
She gathered up some jeans and casual tops plus enough work outfits to last a week, tossing them on the bed. Then she went into the bathroom for the rest of her cosmetics and makeup. Since she was only taking two suitcases, she had to leave some items behind, but she’d made a significant dent in her wardrobe. She debated leaving her closet door open, to let Josh know she’d been there and moved out more of her things but decided against it. The idea she might have left for good could push him into making a decision before he was ready, and that could easily backfire.
Nicole headed straight for the short-term rental she’d arranged the day before. She’d looked at some online rental sites, not expecting to find much available for immediate occupancy. But she’d found something right away—a furnished, one-bedroom condo that was attractive and just a few blocks from her office. She’d taken it immediately, paying a week in advance. From the empty state of the closets and dressers, she concluded that no one lived here. Someone had invested in it for the rent it would pull in—$150 a night.
She still hadn’t heard from Josh. It was hard for her to accept the idea that he was finished with her. Or was he was simply doing what she’d asked, thinking things over?
There were moments when she thought about what Steph had said. In a year or two, after the blush of romance had worn off, would she feel trapped in the quiet life Josh wanted? His love and companionship, motherhood, a career doing corporate investigations—would this fulfill her? She had no idea.
Before work, she’d been to the grocery store to stock up. The apartment came with linens, dishes, pots, and pans. Now, it was just past 1:00. All she had to do was unpack and put her clothes away. She could do that later. Instead, she decided, she’d head back to the office for the remainder of the afternoon. She didn’t want to be here with time on her hands to think about her fight with Josh and what it meant for the future.
She arrived at the new rental, parked in front, and got her suitcases out of the trunk. She bumped them up the short flight of steps to the front door, let herself into the lobby, and pressed the button for the elevator. She got off the elevator on the second floor, approached her apartment, and parked the suitcases next to the wall so they wouldn’t topple over. Then she got out her key and unlocked the door. As soon as she stepped inside, she sensed something was off; someone was here. She took several steps back, getting ready to retreat when a man—a very big man— appeared in the kitchen doorway. It wasn’t his size that frightened her as much as the grotesque mask he was wearing. It covered his entire head and looked like a cartoon rendition of Munch’s painting The Scream. She turned and ran.
The man was fast, almost upon her before she’d taken more than half a dozen steps. She grabbed the handles of her suitcases, still standing at attention in the hallway, and thrust them in his path. He hadn’t been expecting this, and he probably couldn’t see much through the eyeholes of the mask. He tripped over the bags and went down with a crash. While he was getting up and shoving the suitcases out of his way, Nicole ran down the hall. Her heart was soon pounding in sync with the heavy footsteps behind her.
Just then a door opened at the other end of the hall. The masked man stopped and looked around. Nicole ran even faster, aiming for the stairwell. She was surprised to find her purse still on her shoulder. She reached in and dug around for her can of pepper spray.
The door down the hall slammed shut. By now Nicole had the spray in her hand. She risked a look behind. Beyond the man, the hallway was empty. Whoever had opened the door must have seen what was happening and decided to retreat.
She started running again, but he was too fast. Only moments passed before he grabbed her by the shoulder. She swung around and squirted the grotesque face with pepper spray. To her dismay, the spray liquefied when it hit the mask and ran down the slick plastic. But some must have made its way through the eye holes, for the man stopped and screamed, putting his hands to his face. Now free, Nicole hurled herself forward. Reaching the stairwell, she bolted down to the lobby and out of the building. She heard sirens as soon as she emerged from the front door. Two police cruisers pulled up. Nicole looked back into the lobby. Her pursuer was nowhere to be seen.
A policeman with a ruddy complexion and a shock of white hair introduced himself as Officer Greg Nielson. Nicole explained that she’d opened the door to her apartment, found a man waiting for her, and had been forced to flee.
“We’ll take a look,” Nielson said. Three of the officers started searching the building while Nielson accompanied Nicole up to her apartment. The suitcases were sprawled in the hallway. “Wait over there,” he said, directing her to a spot about six feet from the door. He pulled out his gun and, holding it up as if to shoot, went inside.
A short time later, he was back. “The place is empty. Whoever it was is gone.”
“When he started chasing me, I heard someone open a door down the hall.” Nicole pointed toward where she’d heard the door open. “The guy in the mask stopped and looked around. I kept running, but I heard the door close again. Maybe whoever lives there saw us and called 911.”
Nielson went down the hall, knocking on doors and shouting, “Open up! Police!” Before he got to the last door, it opened, and an elderly woman appeared.
“Oh, officer, I’m so glad you’re here.” She was breathless, as if she’d been the one running. “I’m Eleanor Poole. I saw this young woman being chased by a madman wearing one of those hideous Scream masks, as if the painting isn’t frightening enough. I went right back inside and called 911.” She turned to Nicole. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Thanks to you, I am. I think you just saved my life.”
“Did you see anything else?” Nielson asked.
“I did,” Eleanor said. “Just after I heard your sirens, I went to look out the window. I’m on the side of the building, you know, so that’s the view I get. I preferred a place that isn’t on the street. So much noise!” She paused, as if she’d forgotten where the conversation was headed.
“What did you see out the window?” Nielson prompted.
“Oh, yes. The man in the mask ran by, heading for the back alley. He turned left.”
Nielson pulled a communications device with an antenna off his belt. He radioed his teammates to tell them which way the man had gone. He thanked Eleanor and accompanied Nicole back into her apartment.
Neilson closed the door and gestured toward the couch. They both sat down. “Do you have any idea who the intruder might be or why he might want to harm you?” he said.
Nicole explained about the trial, her role as a witness, and what she’d found out about Andrew Drummond. “You can see he wouldn’t want me to testify. If he’s the one who killed Mary Ellen Barnes, he’d want to shut me up. Obviously, I couldn’t see his face. But he was really tall and muscular like a football player, which is what Drummond is.”
“When are you going to testify?”
“In two days.”
“We need to make sure you have protection,” he said. “I’m going to call the station and alert them.”
He made his call and gave a very brief description of Nicole, just her name, and the trial she was part of. After that, his side of the conversation became “Uh-hum” and “Yes, sir.”
After Nielson hung up, he said, “You can’t stay here. We’ll put you up in a hotel or motel, depending, and you’ll have to stay off the grid. You’ll have an officer with you at all times until after your court appearance. You have a smart phone? Turn it off. Otherwise someone could use your GPS to track your movements.”
Nicole pulled her phone out of her purse and looked at it. “First I have to tell the lawyer who’s handling the case that I’m being intimidated as a witness.”
Nielson nodded his head in agreement. “Go ahead. I have to make a call myself. Nicole went into the bedroom, closed the door, and dialed Sperantza. To her surprise, she got through right away. She told him about the man in the mask and the policeman’s offer of protection.
“Tell him ‘no.’ We have our own security service. Nicer accommodations, better trained personnel for this sort of thing. But the police are right. You can’t stay in that apartment, and you do have to turn off your phone and stay off the grid until after your testimony.”
“What then?”
“Once you’ve testified, I can’t see this guy as a threat to you. We’ll wait and see what develops. If it is Drummond, he may very well be in custody by then. I’ll call the security service right away. They should have someone there within the hour. Give me your address.”
“I don’t want to turn off my phone. What about my sister? What about work? What about my fiancé?”
“Call them now and explain. Leave a message if you must. Then turn your phone completely off and leave it that way. Oh,” he added, “and make sure the police stay with you until our security arrives.”
Nicole told Officer Nielson that she’d decided to use the security the attorney was willing to provide.
“Your choice,” he shrugged. “When will he be here?”
“In about an hour. The lawyer wanted you or another officer to wait with me.”
He glanced at his watch. She could see his hesitation. “It would be easier if you came with me. I’ll drop you at the station. You’ll be safe, and your bodyguard can pick you up there.
She made another call to Sperantza to rearrange the pickup. On their way out, Neilson picked up the suitcases, still sprawled in the hallway. He took charge of them until they reached the patrol car, when he put them in the trunk. Neilson’s fellow officers had disappeared in pursuit of Drummond, so it was just Nicole and Neilson on the ride to the station. She took advantage of the time to call her office, then her sister, to explain why she’d be out of touch for a few days. She couldn’t bring herself to call Josh’s cell. Part of her feared he wouldn’t pick up when he saw her caller ID. Or maybe he’d answer, listen to her story, and say, “I told you so.” There was also the possibility that he didn’t care that she was unreachable because he had no intention of calling her.
After some thought, she called their home phone and left a message on the answering machine. She simply said she’d be out of touch for a few days without explaining why. She managed what she hoped was a cheerful tone, as if she were looking forward to the next few days and wasn’t upset that he hadn’t called her.
By now, the squad car had pulled up in front of the Wilshire Division station, an undistinguished building of red-and-beige bricks. Nielson pulled the suitcases out of the trunk. Nicole wheeled them up to the station while Nielson waited in his squad car. She opened the front door and turned to wave at him. He waved back and sped away, lights flashing.
Inside she found people waiting—some standing against the wall, some seated on crowded benches, and a few sitting on the floor. Most of them looked poor and unhappy, here for reasons every bit as fraught as her own. One of them, a Latino in a straw hat and sweat-stained T-shirt, got up from a bench and offered Nicole his seat. She thanked him but refused, pushing her suitcases against the wall so she could half-perch, half-lean against them. She kept her eye on the front door, watching for the man who would whisk her away from this corner of purgatory.