Hangman Page 10

  In her wedgies, Crystal was having trouble standing erect. “Why, why, why!”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Oliver said. “And you can help us, Crystal. But you’ve got to focus.”

  “I don’ wanna focus.” She wiped her eyes on her arm, tattooing the skin with a black ribbon of mascara. “I wanna go home. I wanna sleep!” She sniffed and began rooting through her purse for her keys.

  “Where do you live?” Marge already knew the answer. She and Oliver had gone by the place earlier in the evening.

  “In the Valley.”

  “How convenient! I live there, too. Why don’t I take you home and Detective Oliver will drive your car for you.”

  “I’m…okay.”

  “I know, honey, but this way you can rest.” Marge was already steering her back to the parking lot. “Where’s your car, honey?”

  She squinted. “I think…” She tottered and stopped.

  Marge said, “What car do you drive?”

  “A Prius. Gotta be like…econonological.”

  There were a number of them in the lot. “What color?”

  “Blue.”

  “I see it.” Marge tossed Oliver the keys. “See you later.”

  “Good luck.”

  Marge helped her into the passenger seat of the unmarked and buckled her seat belt. “Comfy?” No answer. Marge started the motor and drove toward the freeway.

  Crystal snored all the way home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ADRIANNA MADE HER home in a block-long complex of three-story dun-colored buildings, planted with ferns and palms, illuminated at night by colored spotlights. Her apartment number was 3J, and Decker walked quietly through the two-bedroom, two-bath unit. She might have been a wild party girl, but she had kept her place tidy. Maybe that was the nurses’ training. When he was a medic in the army, he found that organization was not only handy, it was imperative. Lives depended on it.

  It was an open-concept design. The living room/dining area was furnished with the basics—a sectional couch with a chaise, a couple of end tables, and a trunk for a coffee table. There was a square dining table and four chairs. The kitchen was tiny with beige tiled countertops and newer white appliances. A flat screen had been mounted to the wall opposite the couch. The place could have belonged to anyone USA except for the only revealing item in the space—a bookshelf.

  Not many books but lots of DVDs. More important were the framed pictures of Adrianna in life. She’d been an attractive woman with long brunette hair and a wide smile. She stood on the slopes holding her skis with a goofy grin, she posed with her girlfriends at a restaurant holding up a margarita glass, she stood tall in a cap and gown, with her parents on either side. There were several shots of her with the same man—average height, spiky sandy-colored hair, light eyes, and several piercings in each earlobe. Good-looking guy. Probably Garth Hammerling. Decker placed one of his pictures in his briefcase.

  He moved on to the bathroom—OTC analgesics, face creams, birth control pills, and a nice-size bag of weed. He left everything as is and went on to the spare bedroom, which Adrianna had set up as an office. There was a cheap desk that held a Dell laptop and a printer, a rocking chair, and a foldout sofa bed.

  A computer was a valuable thing. He unplugged the laptop, closed the lid, and gently slid it into a carrying case. Then he began to rifle through her desk—pencils, papers, receipts, paper clips, rubber bands, tape, Post-its, and dozens of loose photographs.

  He flipped through some of the pictures.

  Adrianna had an orderly mind. On the backs of most of the photos, she had labeled the people and dated them. The same names and faces kept coming up: Sela Graydon, Crystal Larabee, Mandy Kowalski, Garth Hammerling—the cute guy in the framed, living-room picture—and a few of Garth’s friends, Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn. Again, Decker selected several pictures and stowed them in his attaché.

  Not much else inside the desk. One drawer was dedicated to printing paper; another contained a tangle of cable cords. He got up and surveyed the clothes closet. It was used as a spare, holding heavy winter coats, a set of skis, a boogie board, six black party dresses, and a set of luggage.

  Her bedroom was also neat. A pink paisley comforter sat atop a queen bed. Two night lamps on either side sat on two identical nightstands, which held a clock radio, a land phone, and a pad and pencil. Decker picked up the blank pad of paper and the pencil. Using a light touch, he rubbed the side of the pencil tip against the pad, the indentations revealing a former grocery list. He put the pad down.

  A flat screen had been placed atop an open console. Her clothes closet, on the other hand, was jammed. It was neat-ish but not compulsive. Different sections for blouses, shirts, skirts, pants, and dresses, but not color-coded. Formal wear sat with casual wear. She had lots of shoes and lots of running shoes. Dozens of purses, belts, and scarves, and ten pairs of sunglasses. Nothing designer, just mega-quantity.

  Decker checked his watch. It was time to get back, just in case Donatti decided to be a speed demon and come in early. He didn’t want Chris picking up Gabe without his being there. He gave the bedroom a final once-over. On impulse, he walked over to the right nightstand and pulled out the small top drawer. It was crammed with a Sudoku book, several mechanical pencils, a nail file, several Tampex, and a pad of Post-its. The left nightstand drawer had a wheel of birth control pills, the remote control for the TV, and a latched leather-bound book. Decker picked it up

  A diary.

  Didn’t come across those too often. How lucky is that?

  He stowed the diary in his briefcase.

  His bedtime reading.

  CRYSTAL LARABEE’S APARTMENT was a two-story white stucco building of sixties vintage. She was on the second floor and Marge pitied the person who lived below her. It was amazing how much noise she could make wearing cork-sole wedged shoes. As soon as she kicked them off—with a thud—Marge realized that Crystal was a very petite woman, about five feet tall. The cuffs of her jeans dragged along the floor. She plopped down on her couch and threw her legs on a glass coffee table.

  “What time is it? I wanna go to sleep.”

  “It’s not late,” Marge lied. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  She yawned. “I’m tired.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Who the hell is that?” Crystal said.

  “My partner.”

  “The guy?”

  “Yeah, the guy.” Marge got up and opened the door. “This is Detective Oliver. He drove your car home from the Port Hole.”

  “He did?” Crystal rubbed her eyes and noticed black on her fingers. “I gotta wash my face.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and grimaced. “My mouth is yucky. I don’ feel so good. Can’t this wait?”

  “How about if you wash your face, I’ll put on some coffee,” Marge said. “You do have coffee, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I’ll make some coffee, okay?”

  “Whatever.” She disappeared into a bedroom.

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “How much do you think we’ll get out of her?”

  “At this point, I’m just aiming for the name of the hunk that Adrianna was flirting with. Or maybe he was flirting with Adrianna.”

  The two detectives took in Crystal’s living space. The carpet hadn’t been vacuumed for a while and the blinds were speckled in dust. Copies of Cosmo, People, and Us magazines were strewn on tabletops and littered the floor. Furniture was simple: sofa, an ottoman, end tables, a dinette set, and a flat screen on a stand. Messy but not filthy.

  The kitchen was another story: dishes in the sink, sticky countertops, grit on the floor, and an overflowing garbage can under the sink. Marge found some coffee in the fridge and milk that was fortunately not beyond its expiration date. She brewed up a pot of strong coffee, found some clean mismatched mugs—she rinsed them out anyway—and poured a cup for Oliver and for herself.

  It was taking a while for Crystal to make her
appearance. Marge got up from the couch. “Let me see what’s going on.”

  She found Crystal in her bedroom, stripped to her skivvies and fast asleep atop her comforter.

  “Oh boy.” Marge gave her a gentle shake. “Crystal, we need a few minutes.” Another shake. “Wake up, honey.”

  Crystal opened her eyes. “Wha?”

  “Last night, honey,” Marge said. “We need to talk about last night.”

  “I was at the Port Hole.”

  “Not tonight, Crystal, last night. At Garage…where you were working.”

  Crystal rolled over. “I took the day off.”

  Marge shook her. “I want to talk about Adrianna, Crystal. She was flirting with a man at Garage. I want to talk about that man.”

  Crystal turned over and faced Marge. “Huh?”

  “Last night at Garage. You were comping them both free drinks. You could get into trouble for that.”

  That got her attention. She sat up. “You’re not gonna say something?”

  “Not if you talk to us,” Marge said. “Put on a robe, come out into the living room, and let us talk to you for a few minutes. Then you can go to sleep.”

  “Okay.” Crystal blinked several times. Her lids, freed from the crushing weight of the mascara, could move. With a scrubbed face and no makeup, she looked far more vulnerable. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  “We’ll be waiting in the living room.”

  A sec was fifteen minutes, but she did come out, and when she did, Marge gave her a cup of coffee. “Drink.”

  Crystal obliged. Her voice was shaky. “You can’t tell my boss…about the drinks.” She rubbed her eyes with her right fist. “If he finds out, I’ll get fired.”

  “For comping a few drinks?” Oliver asked her.

  “It wasn’t like…the first time.” Another sip of coffee. “It’s not like it’s such a big deal. Jeez, they dilute the shit anyway. I’m mostly comping them water.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Marge said.

  Crystal’s eyes swelled with tears. “I wasn’t expecting her last night. She just popped in, but I shouldna been surprised. She does that a lot when Garth isn’t around.”

  “Does what?” Marge asked.

  Crystal appeared to be deep in thought. “When he’s gone, she gets lonely. She likes a little fix of company. She usually doesn’t come to Garage because it’s expensive—the bar is. But she knew I was working and she knew I’d give her a break.”

  “Do you know the guy she was flirting with?”

  “Don’t recall knowing him,” Crystal said. “He’s not a regular.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  She thought hard. “I mighta heard someone calling him Farley.”

  “Is that a first or last name?”

  She shrugged.

  “What does he look like?” Oliver asked.

  “I dunno. Medium height, medium weight…real big shoulders.”

  “Good-looking?” Marge asked.

  “Not too bad.”

  “Kind of a hunk?”

  “More like the Hulk…’cause of his shoulders.”

  Marge nodded. Sela Graydon said that Crystal had referred to him as a hunk. Maybe she misheard “hunk” for “Hulk.” Or maybe Crystal had reassessed in the light of day. “Were the two of them hitting it off?”

  Crystal took another sip of coffee. “Maybe he thought so. Adrianna wasn’t serious about a hookup that night. She had to work.”

  “What time did she leave Garage?”

  “Around ten.”

  Oliver said, “Did Farley seem pissed off when she got up to leave?”

  “I don’t know if that’s his name, Detective.”

  “We’ll just call him that for right now. Did he seem angry when she left the bar?”

  “Not at all. I think they mighta even shook hands.”

  “Could they have planned to meet up later, after Adrianna’s shift?”

  “Don’t know.” She finished her coffee. “She left and he moved on to other women. He mighta even left with one. And even when Adrianna takes it to the next level, it’s not serious. She’s really into Garth.”

  “What’s the next level?”

  A big sigh. “It’s not serious with Adrianna, not in her mind at least, but you know how it is. Love the one you’re with. Garth is gone a lot.”

  “I’ve heard mixed reviews about her boyfriend,” Oliver told her.

  “He’s real cute and he knows it. He takes advantage of her.”

  “In what way?”

  “He’s always borrowing money from her. I think he might have a problem. Could I get another cup of coffee?”

  “I’ll get it for you.” Marge went into the kitchen and made a fresh cup for her. When she came back she said, “What is Garth’s problem? To me, that means drugs.”

  “He smokes weed, but that’s not what I meant. He borrows money for weekend trips. He goes to Vegas a lot.”

  Oliver said, “He gambles.”

  Crystal said, “Yeah, that and maybe he’s fooling around on her.”

  “Maybe they have an understanding,” Oliver said. “She fools around on him, he fools around on her.”

  “She only fools around on him because he’s gone all the time.” Crystal thought a moment. “Adrianna told me that sometimes Garth has a little trouble in the love department. She blames it on his pot smoking—he does smoke a lot of weed—but I’m wondering if it isn’t because he’s getting it somewhere else.”

  “So you’re saying that Garth is basically leeching off Adrianna.”

  “Maybe that’s a little strong.”

  Oliver said, “He borrows money from her, smokes a lot of pot, and gets his jollies with other women. Does the guy have any good points?”

  “He’s cute.”

  Marge said, “We’re trying to get hold of Garth, but he’s on a river-rafting trip.”

  “Yeah, right!” Crystal was scornful. “It just so happens that the rafting trip happens to be near Reno.”

  “Really,” Marge said. “How do you know?”

  “I’m friends with Greg Reyburn, one of Garth’s friends. He told me that they are going river rafting, but they’re also making a detour to the casinos. He also told me not to tell Adrianna.”

  “Did you?” Oliver asked.

  “I wasn’t gonna tell her. But then she looked so lonely. So I mighta said something about Garth not being entirely truthful with her and she should just have a good time and forget about him.” Crystal looked up at the ceiling. “I think that was a mistake.”

  Y’think? Marge said, “How did Adrianna respond?”

  “She asked what I meant. So I said, I heard the boys were also going to Reno for a little R and R. Then she said, how did I hear that? Then I said, I heard it from Greg. So she said, why didn’t I tell her? Then I said, I told Greg that I wouldn’t. So she said, well then, why did I just tell her? And I said, I thought she should know the truth so she could have a good time.”

  Crystal’s eyes darted to the left.

  “She was pissed. She told me she loaned him five hundred bucks because he told her he was river rafting, not gambling. If she would have known they were going to Reno, she wouldna lent him the money. But then she got up and started talking to Farley or whatever his name is. She started laughing and gave me a thumbs-up. I dunno. I still felt guilty. So I comped them both a few drinks.”

  “Garth sounds like a real loser,” Marge said. “Any idea why she didn’t break up with him a long time ago?”

  “Like I said, he’s cute. Better looking than Adrianna, honestly. And she told me that when they actually did it, he was good in the sack. So maybe that was enough. Or maybe he was good arm candy and that made her feel good. Some girls really like that kinda shit.”

  Marge said, “Crystal, I want your opinion on something. After you told her about Garth’s deception, could she have called him up and broken up with him?”

  “I dunno. Check her phone records.”


  “We have,” Oliver said. “She didn’t call him, but she placed a call to two different people when she got off shift. One was Sela Graydon. The other number is a mystery to us, but we do know it’s not Garth’s cell phone.”

  Marge said, “Maybe you can help identify it.”

  When she read off the digits, Crystal shrugged. “Don’t know it. It’s not Greg’s number, that’s for sure. What happens when you call it?”

  “The mailbox is full without any identification. Sounds like the person hasn’t checked for messages in a while.”

  “Maybe that person is away on a rafting trip,” Oliver said. “What about Garth’s other friend—Aaron Otis.”

  “I don’t know Aaron’s cell number. I could find it out for you. I have to make a few calls.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll wait.”

  “Why would she call Aaron?”

  “To get to Garth.”

  “Why wouldn’t she just call Garth?”

  “I don’t know, Crystal. We’re just exploring all avenues right now.”

  “You know even if Adrianna did call up Garth and break it off, I don’t think Garth would care. He wasn’t that into her, you know.”

  “He might not care about her, but he might care about the money,” Oliver said.

  “And you never know about people, hon,” Marge said.

  “That’s true.” Crystal put her mug down. “It’s like what I learned in science way back in high school…that usable energy—you know, energy that does stuff—it wants to turn into chaos. Well, that’s real true with people, too. Sometimes we get it right and it all makes sense. Mostly we just screw up and everything turns to shit.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  OVER THE LINE, Marge said, “Crystal Larabee got us an ID on the mystery number. It’s Aaron Otis’s cell phone.”