“Your pager?” Damon asked.
“I just turned it off. Now Nana and I are going to wait out in the hail, and I want you two to hide it somewhere. Hide it good. I don't want to see that thing again, not until we're backinD.C.”
Both Jannie and Damon began to whistle and cheer. Even Nana let out a whoop. We were finally on vacation.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 23
MAYBE THERE WAS a silver lining in all of this misery and desolation. Not likely, but maybe. Arnold Griner knew he had exclusive rights to his own story when this terrible mess was all over. And you know what else? He wouldn't settle for just a TV movie. He was going to try to serialize the whole thing in his column, and then sell it as a prestige project at one of the studios. Hollywood Under Siege? The War Against the Stars? Bad titles. That was the concept, anyway He shook his head and refocused on the San Diego Freeway The Xanax he'd taken was making him a little loopy He'd kept the caffeine going, too, just to maintain some kind of balance through the day Actually the morning commute was the hardest time of his day It was a daily transition from not worrying as much to worrying a lot and feeling sick to his stomach. The closer he got to his office, his desk, his computer, the more anxious he felt.
If he knew for certain that another creepy e-mail was coming, it would almost be easier.
It was the not-knowing part that made it hell.
Would Mary be back? Would it happen today? But, most important why was she writing to him?
All too soon, he arrived at Times Mirror Square. Griner worked in the older part of the complex, a 1930s-era building that he had a certain affection for, under normal circumstances, anyway The main doors were large bronze affairs, flanked with imposing twin eagle sculptures.
He walked right by them this morning, around to the back entrance, and took the stairs to the third floor. One couldn't be too careful, could one?
A reporter named jennie Bloom fell into step with him the second he hit the newsroom floor. Among all the staff who had shown a sudden interest in his well-being, she was by far the most obvious about it. Or was that odious?
“Hey, Arnold, how's it going? You doing okay man? What are you covering today?”
Griner didn't miss a beat. “Jen, if that's your idea of a pickup line, you must be the most unlaid woman in L.A.”
Jennie Bloom merely grinned and kept on coming on. “Spoken like someone with experience in matters of the heart. All right then, let's skip the foreplay You get any more e-mails? You need help on this, right? I'm here for you. You need a woman's point of view.”
“Seriously, I just need some space. Okay? I'll let you know if I get anything else.” He turned abruptly and walked away from her.
“No you won't,” she called after him.
“No I won't,” he said, and kept walking.
In some ways, even the annoying distractions were a relief. As soon as he turned away from Bloom, his mind went back into the disturbing loop it had been on before.
Why me? Why did Crazy Maty pick me out? Why not Jennie Bloom?
Would it happen again today? Another high-profile murder?
And then it did.
Chapter_24 A CALM, MEASURED FEMALE voice said, “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“This is Arnold Griner at the Los Angeles Times. I'm supposed to call a Detective Jeanne Galletta, but I don't . . I can't find her number on my desk. I'm sorry I'm a little rattled right now. I can't even find my Rolodex.”
“Sir, is this an emergency call? Do you need assistance?”
“Yes, it's definitely an emergency Someone may have been murdered. I don't know how long ago this happened, or even if it did for sure. Has anyone called about someone named Marti Lowenstein-Bell?”
“Sir, I can't give out that kind of information.”
“It doesn't matter. Just send someone to the LowensteinBell residence. I think she's been killed. I'm almost sure of it.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just am. Okay? I'm almost positive there's been a murder.”
“What is the address?”
“The address? Oh, Jesus, I don't know the address. The body is supposed to be in the swimming pooi.”
“Are you at the residence now?”
“No. No. Listen, this is a ... I don't know how to make this clear to you. It's the Mary Smith murder case. The Hollywood celebrity killings. Do you know what I'm talking about?”
“All right, sir, I think I understand. What was the name again?”
“Lowenstein-Bell. Marti. I know her husband's name is Michael Bell. You might find it under that. I don't know for certain if she's dead. I just got this awful message. I'm a reporter at the L.A. Times. My name is Arnold Grinet Detective Galletta knows who I am.”
“Sir, I have the information now. I'm going to put you on hold for just a minute.”
"No, don't -
Mary, Mary
Chapter 25
LAPD DISPATCH PUT OUT A CALL at 8:42 A.M., sending officers, backup, and emergency medical personnel to the Lowenstein-Bell address in Bel Air.
Two separate 911 calls on the same incident had come within a few minutes of each other. The first one was from the Los Angeles Times. The second came from the Lowenstein-Bell residence itself.
OfficersJeff Campbell and Patrick Beneke were first at the scene. Campbell suspected before they arrived that this was another celebrity murder. The address alone was unusual for this kind of call, but dispatch had mentioned a single adult female victim. And possible knife wounds. The couple who owned the house were both Hollywood types. It added up to trouble no matter what.
A short, dark-haired woman in a gray-and-white maid's uniform was waiting in the driveway She was wringing some kind of towel. As the patrolmen got closer, they could see that the woman was sobbing, and walking in circles.
“Great,” Beneke said. “Just what we need, some Carmelita who doesn't even speak English, bawling her eyes out and acting nitty loco.”
Campbell responded the way he always did to the younger officer's tiresome, racist cynicism. “Shut the hell up, Beneke. I don't want to hear it. She's terrified.”
As soon as they were out of the car, the maid went hysterical. “Aqui, aqui, aqull” she screeched, motioning them toward the front door. “Aqui! Aquif”
The residence was an ultramodern stone-and-glass structure high in the Santa Monica Mountains. As he approached, Officer Campbell could see straight through the green- glass entryway to the back patio and the sweeping coastal view beyond.
What was that on the front-d oor glass? It looked totally out of place. A label or a sticker of some kind. A kiddie decal? With a large A on it.
He had to practically pry the maid's grip from his forearm. "Ma'am, just please be calm.
Uno momento, por favor Corno te llamas?"
The woman may or may not have heard him. Her Spanish came much too quickly for him to understand. She pointed toward the house several more times.
“Let's just get in there,” Beneke insisted. “We're wasting time with her. She's living the vida coca.”
Two more cruisers and an ambulance pulled up. One of the paramedics spoke quickly, and more efficiently, with the maid.
“In the pool in the back,” he reported. “No one else is here - as far as she knows.”
“She don't know shit,” said Beneke.
“We'll go around,” Campbell said. He and Beneke took the north side of the house, their weapons drawn. The other teams went to the south, straight through a set of hedges.
Campbell felt the old rush of adrenaline as they worked their way through a dense cluster of hydrangea. Homicide calls used to be almost exhilarating. Now they just made him feel light-headed and weak in the legs.