Act II
“Find anything interesting?”
Lindsay leaned over the body of Charles Moore, paying close attention to the lack of trauma to the man’s wrists. Claire had been right; he’d barely been tied to the chair. The bruising was practically non-existent.
“Maybe if you’d quit hovering, I’d find something,” said Claire, tilting her head and leveling a laser-like glare through her safety glasses. Lindsay slowly held up her hands in surrender and took a giant step back.
“I’ll just… um, be right over there,” she offered, gesturing toward the glass window that looked into Claire’s office. Lindsay couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of Jill catching her eye and waving a few fingers while she pretended to talk on the phone. Both Lindsay and Claire knew the DDA had only used the excuse of needing to make a few calls because she could no longer stand to look at the victim’s face. She’d literally cringed every time she’d gazed down at the wire tearing through the skin of the grotesquely swollen eyelids as if it were the consistency of hamburger meat.
Now that she had sufficient room to maneuver, Claire began a running commentary of her findings. “The contusion and stellate lacerations surrounding the gunshot wound appear to be caused by a muzzle. There’s also some gunpowder in the wound. I’d say the killer pushed the gun forcefully against the victim’s temple and fired point blank.”
“Anything else?” asked Lindsay, already figuring that the kill shot had been inflicted at very close range. She continued to keep her distance in hopes that Claire would find something out of the ordinary that might give her a lead, especially if her second attempt to interview the fiancée that afternoon didn’t produce anything.
“Not yet. You know, you really need to learn some . . . well, hello there,” said Claire, not taking her eye off her new discovery as she reached blindly for a pair of tweezers. Very slowly and very carefully, she extracted a paper thin filament from inside the entry wound and held it up to the light.
“What is it?” Lindsay moved closer and squinted. Whatever Claire had found was barely discernible to the human eye. Surely something so small and insignificant-looking couldn’t be the case breaker.
“Hmm, looks like some kind of rubbery material.” Claire angled the tweezers toward the light, watching as the odd-colored strand wiggled freely back and forth. “It appears to have an orangish tint.”
“A basketball!” exclaimed Cindy, hurrying into the room to get a glimpse of the newly found evidence. She’d arrived just in time to hear Claire’s last few words and had immediately jumped to what, she thought, was a logical conclusion.
“And you know this because?” asked Claire, just able to keep herself from waving the tweezers at the young reporter for almost scaring the life out of her.
“Ellis Vanderholt.” Cindy grinned widely as she reached into her purse for her glasses. Stepping closer to Claire, she eased them onto her face and studied the orangish material.
“Golden State’s starting point guard? What’s he got to do with all of this?” asked Jill from her position just inside the doorway to Claire’s office, making sure to stay as far away from the body as possible but still close enough to take part in the discussion of the new evidence.
“And you know him how?” Lindsay was momentarily distracted by Jill’s question and suddenly began to wonder if she was the only member of the group who had very limited knowledge of professional sports in the Bay City area or in any area, for that matter.
“Luke’s a huge fan. I had to learn all the players,” Jill answered matter-of-factly and turned her attention back to Cindy. “Why Ellis Vanderholt?”
“Wait a minute,” said Lindsey, crinkling her brow and facing Cindy. “Why didn’t you say something about this Vanderholt guy last night?”
“Martha needed comforting,” explained Cindy, not bothering to mention that Lindsay had needed comforting as well to assuage the guilt she’d felt at accidentally locking Martha in the closet, even if she had kept insisting that she never, ever, closed her closet door.
“Something happened to Martha?” asked Jill, concern evident in her voice as she stepped further into the room. Her sudden interest in the welfare of Lindsay’s dog had her temporarily forgetting about her queasiness.
“Martha spent the whole day in the closet, poor thing,” tsked Cindy, the memory of the dog’s grateful expression at having been found shining through in her words.
“It wasn’t my fault. The door must’ve closed on its own somehow.” Lindsay’s tone was weak at best, giving every indication that she might finally be on the verge of accepting that she was truly the one at fault. After all, Martha could hardly lock herself in the closet.
Sensing her friend’s turmoil, Jill tried for a bit of levity, “Don’t worry, Linz; I’ve had friends who’ve stayed in the closet for years. At least Martha came to her realization in a timely fashion.”
A deep, rich chuckle rose up from deep inside Lindsay’s gut and was soon followed by a chorus of laughter from the other women. Cindy wiped a tear from her eye and took advantage of the perfect turn of phrase by Jill to drop her bombshell.
“Yeah, and some people are still so far in the closet, they can’t even find the door anymore – kind of like Charles Moore and Ellis Vanderholt.”
Any and all laughter, including the intermittent sprinkles of light chuckles, came to a screeching halt and was immediately replaced by a deadly silence. The change in the tone of the room was so sudden it was eerie.
“Charles Moore and Ellis Vanderholt?” asked Jill in complete disbelief. She could still recall the night when Luke couldn’t stop talking about Vanderholt and his amazing abilities, calling him a man’s man. She’d just never considered the possibility that he could be speaking literally. Of course, she’d figured Luke hadn’t either.
“And you didn’t think that was worth at least a mention?” Lindsay couldn’t believe Cindy hadn’t breathed a word about what she’d suspected. This information could blow the case right out of the water, especially if the media sharks got wind of it.
“Well, I did say that I needed to talk to another one of my sources this morning before I could confirm my theory. You seemed willing to wait at the time.”
A very vivid memory of exactly what Cindy had been doing when she’d relayed the tidbit about her source made its way into Lindsay’s head in high-definition, the resolution crystal clear. A light pink tint painted her cheeks, and she swallowed hard.
“Um, oh yeah.” She struggled to regain her composure, “Er, okay, why don’t you fill me in now?”
Claire, who’d been silently listening to the conversation, grinned from ear to ear at the last bit of exchange, before she finally spoke up. “I think this is going to be a loooong explanation, and I’m already starving. Let’s order something for lunch and move this discussion into my office. Just let me bag this.” She slowly lowered the forgotten tweezers. “Jill, hand me one of those evidence bags, would ya?”
Sporting a matching grin, Jill turned toward the table behind her for a plastic bag, not realizing that she’d slowly gravitated to a spot next to Claire during their friends’ conversation. She gently released the seal on the bag and held it open for the coroner to ease the filament into the container. Taking possession of the evidence, Claire properly sealed the edges.
“Okay, I’m in the mood for some pizza…” Claire lazily gripped the sheet and gently began to pull it over the victim’s body, “hmm, I’m thinking sausage.”
Jill - making the grave mistake of glancing down at the corner’s slab just as the stark white polyester-cotton neared the completion of its journey and eased its way over swollen, wire-sewn eyelids - swallowed the bile that was rapidly working its way up her esophagus... again.
“I think I’ll just have water.”
*****
Jacobi stared at the dull white tiled wall and frowned slightly. The deluxe corned beef at the deli just down the street or the supreme pasta salad at the quaint Italian restaurant he’d come across several months ago? So intent on his lunch decision, he never saw the individual who’d entered the room to stand, practically shoulder to shoulder, next to him.
“So, how’s the case going?” asked Tom, glancing briefly to his left before settling his focus on the grayish grout that outlined the drab tile of the wall directly in front of him.
“Lindsay’s going to talk to the fiancée again this afternoon, and Claire may have found something embedded just inside the entry wound.” Jacobi shifted uncomfortably. He hated discussing cases in the men’s room. In fact, he hated having discussions of any kind in the confines of the men’s room.
“What did she find?” asked Tom, not seeming to have any problems carrying on a conversation while otherwise engaged.
Jacobi shrugged slightly. “Lindsay’s not saying yet. She said Claire needed to run some tests first.”
Tom nodded in understanding. Claire was the ultimate professional. “So, how’s Lindsay holding up these days?”
Jacobi’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline, and holding the expression in place, he tilted his head and first glanced down at Tom’s hand and then his own. “I am not discussing my partner’s well-being while we’re standing in front of the urinals.” He rose up on his toes several times and, following a few quick motions, zipped up his pants. “In fact,” he turned on his heel and headed directly for the sink on the opposite wall, making quick work of washing his hands, “I’m not answering that question anywhere, anytime, or anyhow.” Opening the door, he took one last look at Tom’s back. “You figure it out.”
Tom worked his mouth open to respond, but the door had already closed on Jacobi’s parting words. Looking down, he wondered when he’d lost the ability to know what Lindsay was thinking.
*****
“Oh God, this is sooo good,” said Claire, readying to take another bite of her sausage pizza with extra cheese. She glanced over at Jill who was nibbling on a cracker and sipping her water. “Sure you don’t want some?” Grinning, she held up a slice.
“You are evil.” Jill made a face and shifted on the couch, easing her leg up under her as she turned her attention to the other end of the sofa. “So, spill – what’s this about Ellis Vanderholt and Charles Moore?”
Taking a sip of her Coke, Cindy looked up to find three sets of eyes on her, one pair in particular almost causing her to drop her drink, the gaze so intense. “Um, I searched through every picture I could get my hands on, including gallery openings, charity galas, and holiday parties, featuring Charles Moore. I started paying more attention to the background and discovered something interesting. The same man kept popping up behind the scenes.”
“Ellis Vanderholt,” Lindsay piped up, her mind already firming up a motive. It made perfect sense to her. Closeted NBA player, scared his lover was going to out him, found the perfect fall guy – the Hallelujah Man. Too bad the star point guard hadn’t made proper use of the Biblical verse or known to make his lover suffer.
“According to my sources, Moore and Vanderholt have been lovers for the past three years. They met at a charity benefit.”
“How have they kept their secret under wraps?” asked Jill, angling more toward Cindy as she rested her arm on the back of the couch. “If your sources know, then chances are other people do, too. In this day and age, a secret like that would be worth a handsome payoff. Loyalty doesn’t stretch as far as it used to.”
“Well,” Cindy shifted in her seat, completely focused on the subject of the two gay men and not giving a thought to the fact that she and Lindsay had a similar secret of their own that they were keeping. “I don’t think anyone would notice anything out of the ordinary at these big events – just a bunch of high profile people coming together for a cause, and they’re super careful with the more private affairs.” She placed her canned drink on a side table to free her hands. “They make sure it’s a truly,” she made air quotation marks, “‘gay’ affair.”
Lindsay almost choked on her pizza at Cindy’s rather descriptive turn of phrase, suddenly realizing that their own ‘affair’ could very well be on the verge of being discovered, but her investigative skills kept her on track.
“And how exactly do they do that?”
“Everyone involved is gay from the drivers to the caterers to the serving staff. Plus, the hired help is paid very well and guaranteed to work all the parties. It’s also been rumored that some of them even hook up with the guests.” Cindy watched Lindsay narrow her eyes and anticipated what the next question might be, adding quickly, “Not that I’ve ever been to one of these parties myself.” She made it a point to maintain eye contact with her girlfriend. “My sources occasionally attend, but they adamantly refuse to talk to the police about any of the relationships, especially Moore and Vanderholt.”
Jill chuckled softly under her breath. “But they’ll talk to the media.”
“I’m not the media to them.” Cindy took offense to the statement and, with a slight huff, folded her arms across her chest and swiveled around to face the DDA.
“And exactly what are you considered to be then?” asked Claire, exchanging a quick glance with Jill and Lindsay, before turning her attention back to the young reporter.
“A friend.” The answer was swift, matter-of-fact, and very sincere. “Besides, the people who attend these parties are just trying to find a little happiness in life that they’d otherwise never be allowed to have. Is that a crime?
“No, but a crime has been committed, and it’s quite possible that some of these people can shed some light on a probable motive, perhaps even know if Vanderholt had threatened Moore.” Lindsay pushed to her feet and moved to the office door. She peered through the open blinds at the body that lay beneath the draped sheet.
“Linz, you can’t just barge into Ellis Vanderholt’s home and accuse him of murder, especially if there aren’t any tangible ties to his relationship with the victim.” Jill bent her elbow and rested her head against her closed fist. “You’ve got to find someone who can at least tie him to Moore.”
“What about the fiancée?” asked Claire, tossing her napkin into the empty pizza box. “She’s bound to know something. That old saying about the wife or lover being the last to know is bull. They’re usually the first to suspect – just the last to accept.”
“Or maybe Moore confided in someone he works with or perhaps someone he depends upon, someone he’s close to,” said Jill, hesitating slightly before adding, “kind of like us. We pretty much share everything with each other.” She purposely alternated her gaze between Cindy and Lindsay, before looking over at Claire and shrugging not so innocently. This pretending game the four of them had been playing at was getting old, but she knew Lindsay had to be the one to make the decisive move to bring it to an end.
A not-so-comfortable silence ensued until Lindsay had finally had enough. It was time to address the very large pink elephant that was fast becoming a permanent fixture in their group. Jill had opened the door; all she needed to do was step through it.
“Maybe he was afraid to tell his friends,” said Lindsay in a soft voice, keeping her focus on the morgue’s far wall. “Maybe he thought they wouldn’t approve of his choice.”
“If they’re truly friends, they’d be happy that their friend had found someone.” Claire pushed to her feet and walked over to sit between Jill and Cindy. She took hold of Cindy’s hand and squeezed reassuringly. “Happy for both their friends.”
“And are they?” Lindsay released a nervous breath and slowly turned around, leaning her back against the door for support. She looked first to her lover and then to her friends. “Are they happy for their friends?”
Smiling, Jill took a firm hold of Claire’s hand and extended her other toward Lindsay, motioning with her fingers in invitation for her friend to complete the circle.
With a crooked grin, Lindsay pushed off the doorframe.
*****
Booted feet made their way down a narrow hallway and came to a stop beside a brown stained wall at the far end of the corridor. The man paid no mind to the water-damaged finish, instead taking great care to ease his key into the deadbolt, making as little noise as possible to unlock and open the door. With a final glance over his shoulder, he stepped into the apartment and softly pushed the door closed, not taking a single moment to pause inside the doorway as he crossed the room with determination.
A flick of a switch brought a monitor to life, and after a few seconds, the room was awash in the soft glow from the television screen. The man reached across to the recording device and checked the time settings on the DVR. He gripped the remote and stepped back a few feet until he was in the perfect position to view the full screen. Using the time stamp, he activated the earliest listed: the camera specifically assigned to the apartment’s den.
The screen’s action began with the opening of an apartment door, and he watched as a tall brunette stepped into the room, followed by a shorter redhead. The pair seemed concerned about something as they moved quickly across the den and out of view. A push of another button brought a second camera’s view to life and showed the smaller woman walking briskly toward the bedroom closet door. The man stepped closer to the monitor and activated the sound, smiling when the redhead accused the other woman of locking the dog in the closet. He continued to follow their conversation to a third recording of a camera that had been positioned behind the air-conditioning vent in the kitchen.
“Hey, it was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone.” The redhead continued to remove various containers from the bags she’d set on the kitchen table. “Let’s not worry about it. Martha’s quite content with her bone, just as you should be with your crab rangoon.”
The brunette glanced down at her dog, happily gnawing on her bone. “She does look okay.”
“She’s fine,” assured the younger woman. “Now, sit; the food’s getting cold.”
The watcher continued to listen to the ensuing conversation that centered on the dog, and bored with the rehashing of the same topic of how she’d come to be closed up in the closet, he halted the play of the DVR’s recording and was just about to turn off the machine when he noted another recorded listing from the bedroom camera. Highlighting the choice, he hit play and stepped back once again when the darkened screen came to light. He frowned slightly as he watched the two women enter the room together, hand in hand, and his own hand clenched tightly around the remote when the brunette pulled the redhead close, dipping her head and gently pressing their lips together – the gesture clearly not forced. There was no sign of hesitation or nervousness; it was familiar, comfortable even.
He fingered the remote to stop the action but halted his motion when a tanned hand eased its way to the buttons of the younger woman’s shirt, expertly freeing each one as she deepened the kiss. Anger rose deep inside him as he watched the long tapered hand return to where it’d begun its task, and now barrier-free, it easily palmed a silken-covered breast and squeezed lightly. The resulting moan from the redhead pushed him over the edge.
Flinging the remote against the wall, he heard it shatter into pieces, the force causing the recorded action to fast-forward. He stared at the images speeding by him so quickly he couldn’t make out the blurry figures and felt relieved that he’d been spared from watching the sinful actions play out. Just as he reached out to manually shut off the monitor, the recording came to sudden halt, freezing the last image onto the screen. He hadn’t been spared after all.
Light from a full moon shone brightly through the bedroom window, casting a silvery glow on the two women nestled closely together. A long leg had been carelessly thrown over a shorter one, the rather impromptu position in sharp contrast to the way the brunette cradled the redhead closely to her, protecting the younger woman even in sleep.
Consumed with hate and anger, he flipped the switch and darkened the screen, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. Slamming it hard enough to rattle the wall, he stomped down the hallway, no longer concerned if anyone knew he was there.
*****
“Would you care for something to drink, Inspector?”
Sally Walters walked toward the poolside table, carrying a serving tray containing a tall carafe filled with lemonade, two glasses, a small plate of cookies, and napkins. Lindsay shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She hadn’t liked the idea of interviewing the fiancée outside the station in the first place, and now she felt as if she was on a social call rather than official police business.
“Perhaps later, I’d like to ask you some more questions about your fiancé first,” said Lindsay, placing her elbows on the arms of the wrought iron chair and resting her clasped hands loosely across her stomach.
The blonde faltered slightly, but nodded her assent as she neared the table and placed the tray in its center. Sitting in the seat directly across from the inspector, she mimicked Lindsay’s posture with one minor exception. Her hands were gripped together tightly.
“Has anyone ever threatened your fiancé?”
“No; why would they? Charles has never given anyone any reason to be upset with him.”
“How about someone he works with? Has Mr. Moore ever spoken of problems at the office?” Lindsay treaded carefully in her questioning, laying the foundation for the questions she really wanted answers to. Besides, there was always the possibility that there was someone else who might have a motive. If not a lover, who better than a disgruntled employee?
“No, he never said anything about work problems. He’s always been very generous to his employees.”
“What about friends? Any arguments lately?” Lindsay watched the blonde closely for any reaction or obvious hesitation in answering her question. Hesitation seemed to be the order of the day as Sally turned her focus to the crystal blue waters of the swimming pool as if the answers to the inspector’s question lay at its bottom. She bit down on her lip in thought.
“There was something a few months ago, but it was resolved.”
Lindsay leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Surely it wasn’t this easy.
“What happened?”
“Charles bought an original painting…” Sally hesitated again, trying to remember every single detail of the argument. “I can’t remember its name, but it was two children playing on the beach. Charles wanted to hang it in the foyer of the local women’s shelter, but John didn’t think the painting would be safe there.”
“John?” Lindsay pulled a small notebook from her pocket and removed the attached pen.
“Yes, John Mullins, one of the gallery owners in the Bay Area. He was very upset when he realized what Charles had intended to do with the painting.”
“Did he threaten your fiancé?” asked Lindsay, jotting down the potential suspect’s name and making a note of the incident.
“No, not really; he came up with another idea instead. He suggested a reproduction be placed in the shelter and that Charles keep the original in his study. Charles didn’t like the idea at first, but then he finally agreed.”
“So, you don’t think Mr. Mullins might have held a grudge over the incident?”
“No, not at all. Besides, John would never hurt Charles. He was the gallery’s best patron.”
“Okay, anything else come to mind?” Lindsay sat back in her chair. She’d remembered seeing the painting. It was the one Jill kept her focus on the most when she’d been trying to avoid looking at the victim’s body.
Sally looked off in the distance and shook her head sadly. She truly had no idea who would want to hurt her fiancé.
Reaching into her back pocket, Lindsay pulled out a business card and handed it to the blonde. “I appreciate your time, Ms. Walters. If you think of anything, please give me a call.” With a smile, she pushed to her feet and turned to leave, but stopped suddenly as if something had just occurred to her.
“Was Mr. Moore serious with anyone else before the two of you starting seeing each other?”
For a second, Lindsay was certain she’d have to once again leap to the aid of the other woman. All color had drained from Sally’s already pale face, but the blonde managed to stay conscious. She was clearly unsettled though.
“Um, I don’t believe so.”
At that moment, Lindsay was certain Sally Walters was fully aware of the relationship between her fiancé and Ellis Vanderholt, but if she didn’t come forward, Lindsay would have to go elsewhere to make the connection. She tried once more to plant a seed of doubt.
“It was just an idea. You wouldn’t believe how many times the ex-lover turns out to be the killer.”
Wide green eyes, filled with obvious surprise and fear, snapped up to fasten on Lindsay’s just before they rolled back into Sally’s head. Lindsay was just able to cover the distance between the two of them to catch the fainting woman in her arms. This time there wasn’t anyone around to hear her call for help.
