twenty-three

When we got to the hospital the next morning, DeDee was asleep. Her sister, Nancy, was by her side. Like DeDee, Nancy had a prominent nose, wiry build, and a penchant for cutting to the chase.

“Did the police find the bastard that did this yet?” Nancy asked us without preamble.

“Not yet,” I answered.

Nancy turned back to look at DeDee’s bruised face. “Well, I’m definitely going to want a few minutes alone with the son of a bitch when they do,” she said.

“You and about ten other people,” Nigel told her, “but I’ll make sure you’re at the front of the line.”

“Has there been any change in her condition?” I asked.

Nancy shook her head. “Not really. She said I look familiar, which is a good sign, but the rest is still a blank.”

We sat with Nancy until DeDee woke up. Unfortunately, she still had no idea who Nigel and I were, and our presence only seemed to agitate her. With Nancy promising to keep us informed, we left and returned home. There we found two police cars waiting for us in our driveway.

In the first, were Officers Hax and Kelly. In the second, was a new face. It was a handsome face, too; dark blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and a jaw that appeared to have been chiseled out of granite. The face was attached to a man I guessed to be in his mid-forties. Unlike Hax and Kelly, he was not wearing a uniform. Instead, he wore a tailored blue blazer, a white linen shirt, fitted dark jeans, and a self-satisfied smirk. From the way Hax and Kelly deferred to him, I gathered he was their superior. Back in New York, a guy in a cop car who looked like this was more likely to be the criminal than the officer. I mentally shook my head. Every time I thought I had adjusted to California, something like this happened, and I realized that I’d probably never get used to it.

“Hello, Officer Hax, Officer Kelly,” Nigel said, as he got out from the driver’s side. Looking at the new guy, Nigel put out his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Nigel Martini. And you are?”

“Detective Jack Brady,” he answered, shaking Nigel’s hand. Detective Brady was a few inches shorter than Nigel and a little broader in the shoulders, but other than that, they shared the same lean athletic build. “This is my wife, Nicole,” Nigel now said, turning to me.

“Hello, Detective Brady,” I said, as I held out my hand as well. “What can we do for you?”

Detective Brady shook my hand firmly, but did not immediately answer my question. He stared at me a beat as if faintly amused. Releasing my hand, he said, “I know that you spoke with Officer Hax and Kelly earlier, but I just wanted to follow up and make sure that Hax covered everything she was supposed to. You know, crossing the “T’s” and dotting the “I’s.”

I stole a glance at Officer Hax. Her expression was blank. She’d make a hell of a poker player. “Officer Hax seemed very thorough,” I said. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to clarify?”

Detective Brady gave an almost apologetic shrug. “Nothing in particular. But, Hax here tells me that you used to work for the New York City Police Department. Mrs. Martini, is that correct?”

“For six years,” I answered with an affirming nod.

Detective Brady’s smile dimmed. “You were an officer?” he asked, his tone doubtful.

“Oh, no,” I said with a shake of my head. His smile reappeared. “I was a detective,” I clarified. “I worked homicide.”

The smile now completely vanished. A faint line formed between his eyebrows. With a shake of his head, he turned back to Officer Hax, saying, “Guess you were right, Hax. Looks like I owe you a beer.” Officer Hax breathed heavily out of her nose, but didn’t respond. Detective Brady turned back to me.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. Detective Brady saw it and let out a small laugh. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug, “It’s just that you don’t look like any detective I’ve ever met. Of course, I mean that as a compliment.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said.

Officer Hax coughed into her hand. Detective Brady glanced at her and then looked back to me. “So why did you leave?” he asked. He jerked his chin toward Nigel. “Decide to finally settle down and get married?”

“Not at all,” I answered. “I was told that there were going to be some…oh, let’s just say, ‘openings’ in the Beverly Hills Department and was asked to consider throwing my hat in the ring.”

The line reappeared between Detective Brady’s eyebrows. “Openings?” he repeated.

I nodded and leaned forward. “Something about ‘spring cleaning’ and ‘outdated gender attitudes,’” I said in a low voice, “but I probably shouldn’t say any more until it’s official.” Detective Brady blinked at me and rocked back on his heals. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk to us about, Detective?” I asked. “Is there any news on who might have attacked our employee?”

Detective Brady cleared his throat before answering. “Well, that’s not something I think we should discuss in your driveway. Would it be possible to go inside for a moment so we can talk?”

“Of course,” I said. Nigel and I led the three officers up the slate walkway and inside the house. Skippy met us with a tennis ball in his mouth. Detective Brady stared at Skippy in surprise. “Wow. You don’t see too many Great Danes around,” he said.

“That’s true,” I agreed. “Especially in this house,” I added, as I took a seat on the couch next to Nigel. Meeting Detective Brady’s quizzical gaze, I clarified, “Skippy is a Bullmastiff.” Skippy dropped the ball at my feet and stared at Detective Brady.

“Really?” Detective Brady asked, eyeing Skippy critically. “Are you sure he’s a purebred?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, that’s what his mother claims, anyway,” Nigel added as he picked up the tennis ball and threw it down the hall. Skippy happily charged after it.

Officer Hax smothered a smile, while Detective Brady stared blankly at Nigel. “I’m assuming that you aren’t here to discuss Skippy’s pedigree,” I said. “Have there been any developments as to who attacked our employee?’

Detective Brady returned his gaze to me. “Well, we have a few leads.” He paused and began to lightly tap his forefinger on his pants leg. Officer Hax glanced over at him, her expression curious, but she said nothing. Officer Kelly said nothing either, but that was to be expected. The silence continued.

Over the years, I’d learned that some detectives preferred to dictate how an interview was conducted while others preferred for the witness to take the lead. The theory behind the latter was that a witness’s questions could be just as informative as their answers. I was never a big fan of this technique. Detective Brady, however, apparently was. I smiled politely, sat back into the couch, and waited. Skippy bounded back with the ball and dropped it in Nigel’s lap. He threw it again.

Detective Brady quietly drummed out a rhythm on his leg for a few more minutes before narrowing his eyes and asking, “You don’t have any questions?”

“Oh, I have lots of questions,” I assured him. “However, I assumed that you came here to tell us something. But, if you’re trying to do so through Morse code, I should warn you that I’m a bit rusty on my dashes and dots.”

Detective Brady blinked and abruptly stopped tapping his leg. “Yes. Well, we’re pretty confident that whoever attacked your employee is also responsible for some recent break-ins in the area. No doubt the intruders assumed that your house was empty, and unfortunately, your employee must have gotten in the way.”

I stared at Detective Brady. “I’m sorry, did you just say she must have ‘gotten in the way’? You make it sound like she wandered out into traffic. You do realize she was beaten within an inch of her life?”

Detective Brady crossed his legs and fixed the crease on his pant leg before answering. “I am familiar with all of the aspects of this case,” he replied.

“Then I’m surprised that you think this was a break-in gone wrong,” I replied. “The tapes were the only things taken.”

“Which, I understand, are very valuable,” he countered.

“So too is jewelry, TV sets, and stereos,” I replied. “And yet none of those items were taken.”

He aimed a condescending smile my way. “Yes, but they are much harder to carry. I think I have a pretty good handle on what happened here, Mrs. Martini. This area isn’t immune to petty crimes. We suspect it’s some local kids. They probably assumed the house was empty and were startled to find Ms. Evans in residence. They must have panicked and grabbed what was easy—namely the tapes. Pretty straightforward, really.”

Skippy returned with the ball, this time dropping it in Officer Hax’s lap. She obligingly tossed it down the hall.

“How do you figure that the thieves knew about the tapes in the first place?” I asked.

“I believe it’s been a common topic in the local papers,” Detective Brady replied.

“That’s true,” I conceded. “However, the papers only reported that the tapes were being edited at Nigel’s office. Nothing was ever mentioned about us doing work on them here.”

Skippy returned with the ball. He dropped it at Detective Brady’s feet, where it stayed. “I imagine it was just a lucky break for whoever broke in,” he said.

“I disagree,” I said. “I think that whoever did this came here with the sole intent of taking those tapes. DeDee called my husband while we were at the Vanity Fair after party. It was clear from his side of the conversation that DeDee had discovered something important on the tapes.”

Detective Brady arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “And what was this important discovery?” he asked Nigel. Skippy laid his massive head on Detective Brady’s lap, his eyes pleading. Detective Brady ignored him.

“I don’t know,” Nigel said. “I couldn’t hear her. I thought she was saying something about someone named Giuseppe.”

“And do you know anyone named Giuseppe?” he asked.

“No,” Nigel admitted.

Detective Brady smiled as if this proved his point. “And yet, you think that not only could someone else hear what you couldn’t, but that it was important enough to come over here, break in, and attack a defenseless woman?” he asked. “Seems a bit silly.”

“Seems a bit silly that you won’t even consider it as a possibility,” I countered.

Detective Hax began coughing into the crook of her arm. Detective Kelly stared at his shoes. Skippy admitted defeat. He removed his head from Detective Brady’s lap and trotted off down the hall.

“Mrs. Martini,” Detective Brady said, his voice growing annoyed, “I am sorry about the attack on your employee and the break-in. And I understand that you might be tempted to put your former skills to use in finding out who did this, but please let me handle this. I can assure you that the only crimes connected with the Vanity Fair Party, other than a few drunken antics and some very questionable attire, was the theft of an Oscar. All pretty standard stuff for that crowd. I deal with it every year.”

“Someone stole an Oscar?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Christina Franklin’s. She reported it early this morning. It’ll turn up. No doubt in James Franco’s possession. That man has an odd sense of humor.”

“Detective Brady, with all due respect,” I began. He cut me off.

“Mrs. Martini, please. Are you seriously suggesting that someone who was at that party—a Hollywood A-Lister, no less—broke into your house and attacked your employee?”

“Are you seriously suggesting that it’s not a possibility?” I countered.

Detective Brady took a deep breath. “I appreciate your input,” Mrs. Martini, “but I think I know what I’m doing.”

I was about to answer to the contrary when Skippy came back into the room, carrying something in his mouth. Walking directly to Detective Brady, he then sat before him and dropped the object at his feet.

It was an Oscar statue. And based on the dried hair and blood that covered the pedestal, it also appeared to be the weapon used to attack DeDee.

Nigel crossed his leg and fixed an imaginary crease on his leg before saying, “Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, Detective, but I think you might want to rethink that idea.”

Skippy barked. I made a mental note to buy him a steak dinner.