Getting shot before finishing one’s first cup of morning coffee is no way to start the day. I agreed to hang loose until Rosario called me back with the all-clear. Besides, I wanted the chance to confront Walker and ask him why he did what he did. Better, I figured, to pose that question after he was restrained.
“Just so you know,” I told Rosario, “there’s a little kid in here. Walker’s granddaughter.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll be extra careful.”
My phone beeped with another incoming call. I told Rosario I’d wait to hear from her and pushed the green button.
“You disconnected me yesterday,” Savannah said.
I had totally forgotten to call her back.
“There was nothing preventing you from calling me back, Savannah.”
“You mean other than phone etiquette? You cut me off, Logan. Etiquette requires that you should’ve called me back.”
“Duly noted. I’ll try not to let it happen again. Anything else?”
“I didn’t call to chew you out. I actually have some great news. I talked to the hospital. Mrs. Schmulowitz is being released today.”
Great news, indeed, but I wasn’t much in the chatting mood as I fretted about the pyrotechnics that I feared might ensue when Walker arrived home.
“I appreciate you letting me know, Savannah.”
“You sound distracted. I’ll let you go — oh, one thing before I forget. You know my client I told you about, the one who works at Animal Planet?”
“The panicky programming executive.”
“That’s a bit callous, Logan, don’t you think?”
“I have to go, Savannah.”
“OK, well, anyway, I mentioned that idea to him, the one Crissy said she was pitching, about the cat trainer. He said he’d never heard of it, or her.”
“Could be she’s dealing with some other panicky programming executive. There are probably lots of them in Hollywood.”
“My client says Animal Planet has no record of her ever having been in for any kind of meeting. The weird thing is, he really likes the idea. He wants her to come in and talk about it.”
I told Savannah I’d have to call her back.
The disquieting scenario that unfolded inside my brain made what had become a chronic headache only worse. Ray Sheen had been shot dead hours before Crissy Walker claimed to have left San Diego for an early morning meeting at Animal Planet in Los Angeles, and before her husband woke up. I wondered if the alleged meeting was intended as an alibi, to put time and distance between Crissy and Sheen’s murder. She certainly would’ve had her own motives to kill Sheen. He’d refused to terminate their affair, and had threatened to blackmail her when she tried to end it.
I gulped down the rest of the coffee, hoping the caffeine jolt would help clear my mind, and tried to focus.
Someone other than Sheen had to have driven his truck into the hills east of San Diego that night. Sheen, after all, was driving his MINI. Maybe he’d called Crissy after we crashed and asked her to come pick him up. Maybe she’d realized he was out in the boonies, where no one would see them, took matters into her own hands, along with her husband’s German pistol, and put an exclamation point on the end of her affair with Sheen — not to mention his life.
I still had more questions than answers. Who tampered with my airplane? Who stabbed Janet Bollinger? And why had Sheen come after me with such a vengeance?
On the counter to my left was a stainless steel toaster. On my right was a photo in a gilded frame of Hub and Ruth Walker embracing after her graduation from the U.S. Naval Academy. Next to the picture was the butcher block carving set I’d admired four days earlier, when Walker had paid me the final money due me. There were slots for thirteen pieces of high-end, black-handled cutlery, eight of them matching steak knives. I noticed that two of the steak knives were missing. I slid one of the remaining knives out of the block.
The blade was about six inches long.
The edge was serrated.
I remembered the fatal stab wound Janet Bollinger had suffered to her abdomen. The edge was jagged. The kind of wound a serrated blade would’ve left.
Plenty of knives have serrated edges. The fact that two of them were missing from Crissy Walker’s carving set, I reminded myself, proved nothing. They were probably misplaced, somewhere in her kitchen. I began looking for them, if only for my own peace of mind.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I turned. Hub Walker was standing behind me. In his right hand was one of the missing knives.
“Crissy said you were out at the airport,” I said, closing a drawer and hoping my surprise didn’t register with him.
“I don’t know where she would’ve got that idea,” Hub said. “I’ve been out in the guesthouse all morning, trying to fix that drip you told me about.”
“With a steak knife?”
“Water supply line’s rusted out. Had to cut away some drywall to get at the angle stop. Just don’t tell my wife. She loves these knives. She should. They cost a small fortune.”
I stepped aside as Walker washed the knife off in the sink.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “What are you doing here? I thought we were all settled up.”
“Where’s the other steak knife, Hub?”
He turned around and looked at me.
“There’s one knife missing from the set,” I said.
Walker toweled off the knife in his hand and fixed me with a frigid stare.
“What do you care where it is?”
Crissy strode into the kitchen just then. She was wearing black stiletto heels and an ivory pants suit trimmed at the neck and sleeves in mother of pearl. Slung over her left shoulder was a black crocodile tote easily worth more than everything I owned.
“There’s some of that leftover casserole Ryder likes,” she said, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “You can heat it up for dinner. I should be home around nine.”
Walker gestured to the carving set, but his focus remained intently on me.
“Mr. Logan wants to know where the other steak knife went off to.”
Crissy shut the refrigerator door.
“It’s probably in the dishwasher. Why?”
“It’s not,” I said. “Or any of your drawers. I checked.”
She set the water bottle down on the counter. Her eyes flashed fire.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Ray Sheen’s dead.”
Crissy gasped and covered her mouth.
“He was shot last night,” I said. “With Hub’s Luger.”
“That’s impossible,” Walker said. “My Luger’s in a locked box, in the back of my closet. I haven’t even looked at it since I got out of the Air Force.”
“You can tell it to the detectives. They’d like to talk to you both.”
“Why would they think I shot him?” Walker said, then turned and glowered at Crissy. “Just because he’s been having sex with my wife for years?”
She forced a laugh.
“Hub, you’re imagining things.”
“Stop, Crissy. Please. I’m not stupid.”
“You need to go to the doctor. You need help.”
“I read your goddamn emails!”
The blood drained from Crissy’s lovely face. “You did what?”
Walker fought back tears.
“Oh, Hub. I’m sorry. My God, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It was just one of those things that got out of control. I never loved him. I love you. I tried to end it, but he wouldn’t. He threatened to tell you. You have to believe me. Please. I’m begging you.”
She reached out to him with both arms. He pushed her aside with the knife still in his hand, then turned to glare at me like I was Judas.
“The police sent you in here to flush me out, so I’d go peaceably, didn’t they?”