Martinez paused for a few moments, watching Deirdre, his head tilted, like an osprey waiting for a fish to break the surface. “Which is it, do you think?”
Chapter 19
He thinks I killed my father,” Deirdre said when she and Sy were outside in his car. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Not necessarily. He is considering his options.” Sy put the key in the ignition and turned on the engine. The A/C started to pump cool air and the clock on the dashboard lit up. It was after four. “He is poking around to see what sparks. That is his job.”
Deirdre reached out to steady herself against the dashboard. “I feel sick.”
“You did fine.”
“The shovel. I wasn’t thinking . . . I didn’t know.”
“You did what anyone would have done. You picked it up and moved it. If you had killed your father, more likely you would wipe it clean, yes? What concerns me more is that no one can verify where you were when your father died. It’s your word—”
“I’m sure Stefan has Shoshanna’s contact information. He talked to Avi. He made the arrangements. I’ll get it from him.”
“Good. Do it right away. Okay?”
“As soon as I get home.”
“Good. Good.” Sy turned to her, a concerned expression on his face. “You did not tell me about the shovel.”
“I . . .” The observation rattled her. “I barely remembered it myself, and I had no idea that it was important.”
“Fair enough. But think. Is there anything else? Anything that seemed unimportant at the time? Run through the timeline of what happened that night and the next morning.”
Deirdre sat back. “I worked until late. I slept at home. Alone. Yes, I turned off the phone. I wanted to get a decent night’s sleep. You know how he could be.”
“I do.”
“I left the house around nine. Stopped to get something to eat and to pee. Found him.”
“Was anyone out on the street when you arrived?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Any cars that you noticed parked when you got there?”
“Just Henry’s in the driveway. I moved the shovel. No one answered at the front so I went around to the back. Knocked.” Deirdre closed her eyes, remembering standing on the patio as the dogs attacked the sliding glass door. “There was a glass on the table on the patio.”
“One?” Sy’s bushy eyebrows went up and his hairpiece shifted forward. “And then?”
“Finally Henry came to the door. Then I noticed Dad’s shirt was out by the pool. That’s what made me go over.” She swallowed. “That’s it.”
Sy nodded, rubbing his chin. “You are quite sure? Deirdre, if you know anything more about your father’s death, tell me.” Sy returned her look with a steady gaze. “This is not the time to withhold information.”
“You think I’m withholding . . . ?” Angry tears welled up. “I’m telling you everything I know. Why would I be hiding something? And you haven’t asked, but no, I did not kill my father.”
“Of course not.” Sy put his hand on her arm. “So let me help you. I can do that.”
“Like you got Joelen Nichol off?”
“Got her off?” Sy seemed taken aback for a moment. Then he gave her a wry smile. “I did not get her off. She confessed. Remember? It was the evidence supporting her confession that kept the case from going to trial, but she did not get off. She paid for what she did.” Sy stared out the window for a moment, then looked back at Deirdre. “Take my advice. Focus on the present. Give the police the evidence they need to eliminate you as a suspect. Find those receipts. Get in touch with the woman who was with you in the gallery.”
“Sy, even if I can’t convince the police that I couldn’t have been here, what motive could I have for killing my father?”
“Once the police demonstrate opportunity, motive is easy to manufacture,” Sy said as he released the emergency brake, switched on the turn signal, and looked over his shoulder. “Greed. Revenge. A stupid argument gets out of hand. The police find evidence and they build a story that supports it.” The turn signal ticked as Sy waited for a break in the traffic. “Your friend? Now that is a case in point.”
It took a moment for her to get what he was saying. “Are you saying Joelen didn’t kill Tito?”
“She was only fifteen years old. Antonio Acevedo had a history of violence. He was a bully. It was no secret that he and Bunny fought. Joelen confessed. Everyone went home happy.” He backed out of the parking space and pulled into traffic. “I kept you out of trouble then. Let me keep you out of trouble now.”
Sy’s remark left Deirdre momentarily speechless. “Me?”
“Did the police question you? Did you have to account for your whereabouts, or give a statement about what you saw or heard?”
“I . . .”
“Well, there you go.”
Deirdre was still mulling that over when Sy dropped her off in the alley behind her father’s house.
“Do not forget,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat to talk to her through the open car door, “find those receipts and track down Susanna.”
“Shoshanna. Right away. Thanks.” Deirdre closed the car door and watched Sy drive away, then pushed through the back gate. If Stefan didn’t have Shoshanna’s contact information, he’d certainly be able to get it from Avi. But would that be enough? Because even if she could convince the police that she’d been in the gallery when she said she was, that only accounted for her whereabouts until midnight. The drive to Los Angeles was just two and a half hours. She could have driven up, killed her father, called her own phone from her father’s house, then driven back and started out again the next morning as if nothing had happened. It made no sense, but it wasn’t impossible.
Deirdre was at the kitchen door, digging for her keys, when she registered an acrid smell. She looked around. Despite the deepening shadows, she could see that the door in the garage leading to her father’s office was ajar. Had she left it open? Or maybe Henry had gone up after she’d left. When she started back to investigate, a flock of blackbirds perched in the upper branches of a eucalyptus tree behind the garage swooped across the yard, whistling and screeching like so many squeaky hinges. For a moment she thought she saw something move across the garage’s second-floor window. She squinted up at it. Maybe Henry was up there. His car wasn’t in the driveway, but it could have been parked out on the street.
That’s when she noticed rivulets of smoke seeping from underneath the garage’s overhead doors. She moved closer and dropped her messenger bag in the driveway. Covering her mouth and nose, she peered in through a window in the door. All she could see was a dull glow on the floor between her father’s car and the bay where Henry kept his motorcycles. Something was burning.
In a panic, she reached down to throw open the garage door but stopped herself. Wouldn’t that feed the fire? Maybe she could drag over the garden hose. Or was there a fire extinguisher? Her mother had bought one years ago for the kitchen.
Just as Deirdre was trying to see if a fire extinguisher was hanging on the wall inside the garage, sparks exploded like messy fireworks. She heard a whoosh and felt a wave of heat, and stumbled backward seconds before the window she’d been peering through splintered, pieces of glass falling and shattering on the concrete threshold. Inside, flames had sprung to life and licked up toward the ceiling.
Deirdre stood frozen for what was only a second but felt like forever. “Fire!” she screamed, as loud as she could. She banged her crutch on the door and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Fire! Fire! Fire!” Inside, the blaze had doubled. She backed away, choking on smoke. Surely if Henry was upstairs in her father’s office he’d smell it now.
She had to call the fire department. She hurried as fast as she could down the driveway to the house. When she finally reached the kitchen door she realized she hadn’t unlocked it and her keys were still in her bag, which was lying on the ground in front of the garage. Deirdre turned and looked back. The spot where her messenger bag lay was now completely engulfed in smoke.