CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke up the next “morning” in time for the midday news. After making myself a café mocha, I curled my legs under me to sit on the couch. Momma jumped up beside me. I turned on the television and was surprised to see Elizabeth Addison; I didn’t realize she did the actual news in addition to her morning show. She had the perfect newscaster expression of sad and caring while she announced the latest breaking news.
“An actress was found dead this morning in her Summerlin apartment. This marks the fourth unexplained death of an actress in four months in the Valley. Karen Weston was last seen at a party following the conclusion of filming for John Doe, leading some to wonder if the production was cursed.”
A picture of the dead actress was displayed on the screen. I actually spit my coffee out, something I thought only happened in the movies. An outrageously attractive blond-haired, blue-eyed twenty-something smiled engagingly from what was clearly her professional headshot. I immediately recognized her. The woman Alex had spent much of the night with.
Could he be a killer?
Images of Alex and Karen whirled in my head. I tried to decide what to do. Should I call Alex to ask him about her? Should I call the police to tell them what I saw? In my heart, I didn’t believe he was a killer. Technically, the police weren’t calling any of these deaths homicide, I didn’t think. Though how they were explaining four deaths in four months of young attractive actresses, I had no idea.
My phone ringing saved me from having to make a decision. “Catherine Rodham speaking.”
“Ms. Rodham, this is Detective Jacob Dawson. We spoke before.”
As if I could forget. “Yes, Detective. How may I help you?” My stomach had already begun churning, while I imagined where this was going.
“I understand you were at the party last night for John Doe?” He asked this as a slight question, though it seemed obvious to me he already knew the answer.
“Yes, I was.”
“Would you be available later this afternoon to answer some questions?”
“Um, sure. Do I need to come downtown?”
“I’ll come to you.”
Awesome. “Of course. Do you need my address?”
“I have it, thank you.”
Ugh, I was slow sometimes. “Okay, well, what time?”
“3 p.m.”
“See you then,” I said, more cheerfully than the circumstances lent themselves.
“Thank you, ma’am.” The call ended.
I set my phone on the coffee table and shakily stood. Momma meowed from the couch. I scratched her behind the ears before I walked over to the sliding glass door that led to my balcony. I leaned my forehead against the glass. This did not bode well.
*****
The hours passed in a blur. I became increasingly anxious as 3 p.m. drew nearer. When there came a knock at my door, I about jumped out of my skin. My tabby freaked from my nervous response and ran for the bedroom. I’d probably find Momma under the bed later.
I opened the door and appraised the gentleman standing before me. He defied my internal representation of him from when we spoke before. He was tall, with a lithe swimmer’s build and close-cut blond hair. I realized I was stalling when he spoke.
“Ms. Rodham? I’m Detective Jacob Dawson. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” I stammered, before standing to the side to allow him room to pass. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He entered and walked toward the dining room I had arranged in the middle third of my studio condo. He looked at the table though did not move to sit.
“Pardon my manners, please be seated.”
As we both sat, he smiled unexpectedly, blue eyes kind. “You don’t have to be nervous. You’re not a suspect.”
I knew he was telling the truth. Still, the comment threw me for a second. “Wait. A suspect. I never thought I was a suspect.”
His smile dimmed. “Oh, usually people worry they’re a suspect when a homicide detective comes by.”
I hesitated, uncertain, before finally blurting out. “If someone at the party last night is dangerous…that’s what worries me. That I might know him.”
“Him?”
“Aren’t men statistically more likely to do harm?”
“That’s true.” I could read his disbelief in my explanation.
I smiled and tried to look helpful. “How can I help, Detective?”
The questions began innocuously enough; general timeline type questions to establish when I arrived, when I left, that sort of thing. Then we got to the meat of the matter.
“Did you know Karen Weston, the actress who died?”
“I did not.” I answered succinctly before asking, “Was she murdered?”
“That’s unclear at this time.”
“Huh? There are four dead actresses, right? All young and healthy? All blond and blue-eyed? You guys have nothing?” I heard the hysterical note creeping into my voice.
“Ms. Rodham, this is an ongoing investigation.” He paused before continuing. “The news reports actually have it right so far. All four women seem to have had a heart attack. Yes,” he added as I started to interject, “that’s statistically unlikely, so we’re looking at other explanations. Comprehensive drug testing came back on the first two victims and they were clean. The others have been requested.” The detective looked vaguely surprised to have told me this much. I wanted to reassure him this happened all the time; I have one of those faces. People liked to confide in me. Or maybe it was part of my poorly understood empath abilities.
“No evidence of poison,” I said slowly. “That seemed like the most logical explanation.”
Detective Dawson unexpectedly laughed. “Do you watch a lot of crime television shows?”
I blushed slightly. “A few.”
“Keep in mind, some poisons clear the system faster than others, so it’s possibly something like that.”
“Which brings me back to my fear that someone at the party is a killer.”
His eyes narrowed. “You said that before. Is there someone you have in mind?”
When I didn’t immediately answer, he leaned forward in the chair. “If you know anything, please share it. Help us catch whoever is doing this.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “I had never seen Karen before last night, but I definitely noticed her.”
“How come?”
“She was dressed rather … provocatively. Designed to draw attention.”
“And did it?”
“It seemed to.”
“Anybody in particular?”
I hesitated again. If Alex was innocent, this would be a minor inconvenience. If not, if my gut was wrong and he was a killer, this might save a life.
“One of the actors from my agency seemed to spend a lot of time with her,” I finally stated.
“Alexander Moore?”
“Yes,” I answered, surprised.
“Thank you for confirming what we’d already been told by others at the party.”
“Okay. Isn’t poison the choice of female killers?”
The detective smiled again. “Yes, that’s true. However, remember that we haven’t confirmed poison – and we’re just gathering information.”
That was not an entirely truthful statement; Alex must be a person of interest. My chest tightened.
“Did you see anybody else or anything that stood out as suspicious?”
Like when Alex sniffed the air repeatedly, I immediately recalled but chose not to share. I didn’t understand what it meant if anything, and I had already made up my mind to track down Alex. For the detective, I simply shook my head.
“Well, since you’ve seen a few detective shows you know the drill,” Detective Dawson said with a playful smile. He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please give me a call. My cell is on there; you don’t have to call the station.”
“Of course.”
He stood and I followed. At the door, he turned to me. “Please be careful, ma’am, until this is solved.”
“I will, thank you,” I responded, rattled slightly.
He smiled a final time and left.
I needed to talk to Alex to find out what happened. I wondered if I needed to wait for the detective to talk to him first. Unable to decide at that moment, I chose to go to the office and answer emails until I could make a decision. I’m a pretty good judge of character and I didn’t believe Alex was a killer. And a serial killer at that. Four dead women in four months. It didn’t seem possible.
*****
When I arrived at the office, the decision was made. Alex was sitting on the ground, slumped against the door, with his head in his hands.