Next he went into the living room. The drapes were closed. A red light flashed on the telephone answering machine.
He opened the drapes and the sliding glass doors to let the sea breeze in, then flipped on the outside light. Steps from the wooden deck led to a short platform of rock that dropped about twenty feet almost sheer to the beach. Arvo glanced down into the dark where a narrow stairway had been cut into the rock. Moonlight illuminated the tall gate at the bottom with sharp iron railings. It was closed.
Next, he went upstairs, where he found three bedrooms and a second bathroom, all neat and tidy, all empty. The two smaller bedrooms were over the garage, and the largest, Sarah’s he assumed, was at the front, over the living room. It, too, had sliding glass doors and an open balcony facing the ocean. The carpet, duvet-cover and wallpaper, he noticed, were in blended shades and swirls of green and blue, reflecting the imagery of the sea. He found the color scheme a little cold but couldn’t deny it seemed to suit her.
Stuart and Sarah carried the baggage into the hallway, Stuart huffing and puffing, then they came through to the living room. Sarah dimmed the light and turned on a shaded table lamp.
Her movements, Arvo noticed, were all fluid and unselfconscious, full of grace, despite her evident weariness, and her actions immediately transformed the ordinary room from a place of possible threat and menace into a safe and comfortable place to be.
She was the kind of person who created atmosphere rather than simply responded to it, Arvo felt. Probably an actress’s skill, and one to watch out for. She seemed much more natural in her bearing now than she had the first time he met her, on the set of Good Cop, Bad Cop.
The room reflected in the half-open glass doors, centered around the dim, warm glow of the lamp. Arvo could hear the ocean and he could see, beyond his reflection, the white line of foam as the waves crested and broke.
The room had a waxed parquet floor, except where a Turkish carpet of intricate design covered the tiles in front of the rough stone fireplace. The wallpaper was a neutral off-white shade and Sarah’s taste in art, Arvo noticed, favored Native American prints, bold and austere in the weak light, and Canadian Inuit sculptures. He approved. He didn’t collect art, couldn’t afford to, but if he did, that was the kind of thing he would be looking for.
There were some framed Hockney prints of bright California scenes, which he also liked, and some Georgia O’Keeffes — flowers in close-up, skulls in the desert. Arvo wasn’t too sure how he felt about those. At least he assumed they were prints, like the Hockneys; surely even a TV actress as popular as Sarah Broughton couldn’t be rich enough to buy genuine Georgia O’Keeffes?
The sparse furniture was modern in design, the Scandinavian kind, in either black or white. Facing the fireplace, a three-piece suite, upholstered in black leather, ranged in a semicircle around a low glass coffee-table.
Sarah said she was just going upstairs to change and asked if they wanted coffee, apologizing because she only had instant.
Stuart and Arvo nodded.
“I want to talk to Sarah alone,” Arvo said to Stuart when she’d gone out of earshot.
“Why?”
“Because she’s confused, she’s got a lot of defenses and I don’t want her inhibited by anyone else’s presence, and I certainly don’t want anyone else interrupting the interview, answering her questions for her.”
“I’ll keep quiet. I promise. I’ll—”
“You won’t be here, Stu. Period. It’s not a request. Look, I know you’re concerned, but go for a drive or something. I’d say she should count herself lucky we didn’t take her straight down to Parker Center and let Robbery-Homicide question her in a police interview room, the way Joe wanted it done.”
“Oh, come on, Arvo. This is fucking ridiculous.” Stuart was still red in the face from carrying the luggage. “Sarah hasn’t done anything. She’s not a suspect.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that it’s my feeling she’s been holding something back. This has gone beyond possible connections, Stuart. It’s real now. I thought you realized that.”
Stuart shrugged and Sarah came back with a tray of coffee. She had changed into black jeans and a white chunky-knit sweater, at least a size too big for her. Blue and green, black and white; those were the colors she seemed to define herself with, Arvo thought. Apart from the paintings, there wasn’t a hint of red, yellow or orange in the place.
“What do you take in it?” she asked Arvo. “I’m afraid I’ve only got Coffee-mate.”
“Black’s just fine with me,” said Arvo. “Stu won’t be staying.”
A look of alarm crossed her face. “Not staying? I... I... don’t understand. Why?”
“It’s okay, honey,” said Stuart, getting up and touching her arm. “Don’t worry about it. Arvo here’s good people. Why don’t I just go out and pick you up a few groceries, huh? Maybe some milk, eggs, bread... you know. Some real coffee beans. Hey, it’s not everyone gets a big Hollywood casting director to do their shopping, is it?”
He patted Sarah’s shoulder and she managed a smile. Then he left. Arvo sat in one of the black leather armchairs and Sarah took the sofa. She put her coffee cup on the low glass table.
“You didn’t have to send him away like that, you know,” she said as they listened to the Caddy start up and drive off.
In the pause that followed, Arvo got his first long look at Sarah Broughton. At the studio, she had been playing the lady cop, Anita O’Rourke.
Even after a long flight and without make-up, she was certainly a beautiful woman. Her heart-shaped face caught his attention most of all. Her skin was pale and flawless, what he would call an alabaster complexion, which was certainly different from most of the tanned denizens of Hollywood he came into contact with. Her blue eyes matched her lapis lazuli earrings, and though they looked capable of expressing many emotions, at the moment they showed mostly anxiety and weariness — enough to warn him that this might be a difficult interview ahead — and they had bags under them.
Beyond all the external features, though, was the unmistakable gleam of intelligence and, Arvo fancied, a strength of character born of suffering and deprivation. This was a woman who had been there, seen it, and come back changed. Was that an act? Arvo doubted it. Some things you just couldn’t fake that easily.
She gave him a challenging, almost coquettish look. “Do you like what you see, Detective Hughes?”
“I’m sorry,” said Arvo. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
She smiled. “I’m used to it. Occupational hazard. Though I must admit I’m not at my best right now.”
For some reason, her response irritated him. Her smile looked far too self-satisfied; she was acting, toying with him. Before he could stop himself, he said, “I suppose you think this is going to be just like the movies, don’t you? Grunt cop falls in love with beautiful vulnerable actress.”
Her eyes turned to chips of ice. “The last thing I need right now is for yet another creep to fall in love with me.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Bad choice of words.”
She nodded. “Indeed it was.” Very ice-queenly. “Look, Detective, I’m really tired. If we can get this over with as soon as possible... ” She pushed back the long sleeves of her sweater and picked up her coffee.
Arvo crossed his legs and leaned back in the armchair. It creaked as he moved. Christ, he hated the kind of furniture that made it sound like you farted every time you crossed your legs. “I don’t know how long it’ll take,” he said. “Depends on you, really. Maybe the caffeine will keep you awake.”