The Next Victim (19 page)

"No, thanks."

"You know what my shrink would say about this, don't you? That I'm doing it as some sort of homage to John. Pretty ironic that I drink and pop pills to deal with his doing the very same thing."

Kali frowned as Sabrina's earlier remark finally sank in. "What do you mean, you took John's Valium? The cops said it was Xanax, and they confiscated what was left."

"I know the difference," Sabrina said indignantly. "What I took was Valium. It was in John's medicine cabinet. Practically a full bottle."

Kali got up and went to check. The medicine cabinet in John's bathroom held the usual array of over-the-counter medications--aspirin, cough drops, Sudafed--as well as prescription bottles of Valium, Vicodin, and Lopressor. Kali poured the Valium into her hand and counted. Twenty-five pills.

Sabrina watched over her shoulder.

"What? You think I was lying? Jesus, Kali."

She shook her head. "It's not about you."

"What are you doing, then?"

Kali returned the pills to the bottle but kept hold of it. Better not to tempt Sabrina by leaving it within easy access. "Why would John have gone and bought an unmarked baggie of Xanax on the street when he had plenty of Valium from a legitimate pharmacy? They do pretty much the same thing."

"Beats me."

Kali felt the tickle of something that didn't add up. She looked up the prescribing doctor in the phone book. An internist. She called his office and left a message, though she wasn't sure he'd tell her anything. Wasn't sure he'd even call her back.

"By the way," Sabrina said, "someone named Graciela called for you a while ago."

"Did she leave a number?"

"It's by the phone. Who is she?"

"John's housekeeper. She was the one who found him in the pool. She was at the service today."

Sabrina's face clouded again. "Oh shit, the service. For a moment there I'd forgotten what was so rotten about today."

Kali didn't want to tie up the land line in case the doctor called back, so she used her cell phone to call Graciela.

"It was kind of you to come to the service," Kali told her.

"I pay my respects to Mr. John. He treat me good." She paused before continuing. "You ask me about the morning when your brother die."

"Yes."

"Today I remember, but maybe it nothing."

"Remember what?"

"When I arrive, the kitchen is messy, like Mr. John make a sandwich."

"Right," Kali said. "I remember you said that."

"The jars," Graciela continued. "Mustard and pickles and mayonnaise."

A little bell went off in the back of Kali's head at the same time Graciela explained.

"Your brother not eat mayonnaise. I fix him sandwich sometimes. Mustard, yes, no mayonnaise."

It was one of John's strong food dislikes. Why would he have had the mayonnaise out?

He wouldn't have unless it was for someone else.

She remembered the voice she'd heard in the background when she'd called John the night he died. Not the television, after all.

Kali could feel her heart racing. She wasn't sure what it all meant. Maybe nothing. But at the very minimum, whoever had been with John might be able to help them figure out what had happened that night. Beyond that...Kali shook her head to clear it. In light of what she'd just learned about John's almost full bottle of prescription Valium, the presence of another person raised disturbing questions.

"Graciela, do you remember if the lights were on inside the house when you arrived Wednesday morning?"

"I...I think no. The sun is out. It's day."

But according to the medical examiner, it had been night when John had died. Had he stumbled around in the dark before falling into the pool, or had someone else turned the lights off on the way out?

Kali could have sworn she remained awake all night, tossing and turning, her mind racing in twenty directions at once. But when the brilliant morning sun streamed through the bedroom window and jolted her from the torment of a dream, she realized she must have eventually fallen asleep. Not that it mattered. Her sleep had been as fitful as the hours preceding it.

Even now that she was awake, the suffocating grief and guilt that had peppered her dream continued to haunt her. She pulled the sheet up under her chin and turned onto her side, away from the memory, but she couldn't shut it out.

A youthful John, laughing and joking with his friends. Kali, a part of that circle the way she never had been in life. In her dream world, she'd experienced a wonderful sense of serenity and belonging, of being loved and accepted by those around her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she'd caught sight of John unwittingly backing toward a steep cliff while several of his faceless friends munched on ham sandwiches with mayonnaise, oblivious of the danger. Couldn't they see what was going to happen?

Kali knew she should warn John, but she was too engrossed in flirting with a boy, whom she recognized now as Doug Simon, the private investigator. Bryce was there too, though Kali was ignoring him. Yet the whole time she was flirting with Simon, she was wishing he were Bryce. Suddenly John was in the ocean below the cliff, thrashing madly in the surf, struggling to stay afloat. He looked pleadingly into Kali's eyes, called out to her with words she couldn't decipher, and then, as Kali watched silently, he slipped under the surface. Kali ached with remorse, yet she made no move to save him. How could she have let John fall to his death and done nothing?

Fully awake, Kali ached still. It was a raw, gnawing pain that pervaded every fiber of her body. She couldn't have saved him, she told herself now. Not literally, not in real life. But she wasn't so sure that was true. At the very least, she could have tried.

And Doug Simon, what was he doing in her dream? She couldn't imagine why she'd been flirting with him. Maybe it was what he'd told her that she'd been flirting with rather than the man himself. The strangers her brother had been looking for--Ray and Martha Adams. Had they been part of the faceless crowd? Kali couldn't remember.

She rolled to her other side and tried shutting her eyes. By now her brain had kicked into overdrive again. Had someone been at John's the night he died? Was that where the Xanax had come from? Several scenarios presented themselves. A small party. A buddy dropping by and a late-night snack. A drug dealer, though Kali doubted a drug like Xanax would command home delivery.

And the terrible possibility that had vaulted into her thoughts as she crawled into bed last night: that John's death had not been an accident at all. That his visitor had had a hand in it.

Kali was now beyond sleep. She got out of bed, showered, and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of strong coffee. No sign yet of Sabrina. Kali poked her head into her bedroom to make sure her sister was still breathing. It was the damn dream, she told herself. Now she was responsible for everyone.

She took her mug into the den and settled down at John's desk. She and Sabrina had a meeting with John's estate-planning attorney later that morning, and she wanted to have a handle on her brother's finances before then.

An hour and a half later, after Kali had worked her way through two cups of coffee and most of the bank records and bills, Sabrina appeared, sleepy eyed, at the door. She was still in her yellow cotton nightgown and her face was creased from sleep.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," Sabrina said.

She sounded genuinely contrite, Kali thought, but it might just have been a hangover. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Sabrina leaned against the wall. "Thanks for not lecturing me, by the way. I know what I did was stupid. I promise to be better in the future."

"It's your life."

Sabrina laughed, a mirthless bark. "That, unfortunately, is the crux of the problem."

"Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help."

"If only I were more like you," Sabrina said, leaning against the doorjamb. "Strong, steady, controlled." Another forced laugh. "Thin."

"That's me, a paragon of virtue and fitness." Kali stood up. It was hard to imagine Sabrina envious of her when for as long as she could remember it had been the other way around.

"Come on," Kali said. "I'll make you a cup of coffee."

Sabrina padded into the kitchen after Kali. "You think it's genetic? This tendency to escape through liquor and drugs, I mean. Dad was like that. And then John. And me."

"Could be."

"But not you," Sabrina said. It wasn't a question and it wasn't, as far as Kali could tell, the least bit sarcastic.

"Oh, for God's sake, I drink too much sometimes. Don't go making me into someone I'm not." And Kali escaped in other ways, by keeping her distance and shutting out feelings. She'd had that thrown in her face often enough.

"Besides," she added, putting the kettle on to boil, "I'm not so sure John
was
escaping with booze and pills."

"What do you mean?"

Kali wasn't sure how much of yesterday afternoon Sabrina was able to recall. She'd been pretty out of it. "The Valium in John's medicine cabinet, remember? And the jar of mayonnaise Graciela found on the kitchen counter."

"Right. You were getting worked up about John's having had company or something."

Kali nodded. "Graciela thinks she remembers the lights being off when she arrived here that morning."

Sabrina stretched, elbows out to her side. "That's important?"

"Would John have turned off the lights himself while he was still up and wandering around?"

"Probably not. Not all of them, anyway. You think his friend...you think that..." The expression on Sabrina's face shifted. "What are you saying? That whoever was here..." She took a breath. "Are you saying John's death wasn't an accident?"

"It raises questions, doesn't it?"

Sabrina stared at her silently, then nodded. She collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs, her bare legs and feet spread out in front of her. "Oh, God."

"There's something else." Kali told her about the PI John had hired. "Do the names Ray and Martha Adams mean anything to you?"

"Never heard of them."

"What about Portland, Oregon? Did John have ties there?"

"Not that I know of. I'm certain he never lived there."

The phone rang and Sabrina picked it up. She listened for a moment, then said, "I think you need to talk to my sister. She's the attorney." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "It's Carmen Escobar, representing Olivia Perez's family."

Kali took the phone. "What can I do for you, Ms. Escobar?"

"I just wanted to make contact." The voice was high-pitched, clipped, and strident. "As I understand it, you and your sister are John O'Brien's next of kin."

"That's right."

"I represent the parents of one of his victims, Olivia Perez. It's our intention to file suit for damages." Ms. Escobar raced on as if she were reading from a script. "Because of your brother's heinous act, the Perez family has lost their only daughter, their pride and joy. Murdered in cold blood."

Kali bristled at the tone and innuendo. "My brother was never even arrested for the crime, much less convicted. And that's because there's scant evidence that he had anything to do with it. You'll have a hard time proving he was responsible."

"Not as hard a time," she replied smugly and much more slowly, "as you'll have trying to convince a jury he wasn't."

That was unfortunately all too true. Innocent until proven guilty was a laudable concept, but verdicts often sprang from emotion. And Olivia Perez was a highly sympathetic victim--young, beautiful, hardworking. Someone who'd overcome tremendous odds and was on her way to achieving great things.

"Do her parents understand they might lose?" Kali asked. "They'll have squandered money bringing suit for nothing."

"That's not an issue."

A contingency fee, in other words. "You're in a position to gamble like that?" Kali asked. "It's likely to be an expensive trial."

"Unless it settles first," Carmen Escobar observed pointedly. "These cases almost always settle. Sooner or later."

Outrage bubbled in Kali's chest. What the attorney was suggesting was nothing short of extortion, though it happened often enough. Sue and chances were you'd wind up with something. Defendants tended to shy away from costly courtroom battles.

"We're not interested in settling," Kali told her.

"Just something to think about. The Perez family is willing to be reasonable." Carmen Escobar paused just long enough to punctuate her remark. "Oops, I've got a call on another line. Speak to you later."

Kali slammed the phone into its cradle.

"What was that all about?" Sabrina asked.

"Sounds like the Perez family has hired themselves a piranha. She's hoping we'll settle out of court. Mr. and Mrs. Perez, and their lovely attorney, will walk away with money in their pocket merely for stamping their feet a few times and waving their arms."

"Why would we settle?"

Kali handed Sabrina a cup of coffee. "We might lose if we go to trial."

"But if John's death wasn't an accident--"

"Even if we had proof of that, it doesn't let him off the hook for the murders of Sloane and Olivia. But I agree, it certainly changes things."

Kali and Sabrina spent over an hour in the luxuriously furnished office of Albert Geddes, the attorney who'd drafted John's trust and will. He was a quiet, balding man with a pinched face and a no-nonsense manner. Although lacking in charisma, he seemed to know his business.

"It's not a complicated estate plan," he told them. "The bulk of the assets is in trust. There's a bequest to each of his nephews, but in the main, the assets will flow directly to the two of you. Because of the trust, there's no need for formal probate, but there will still be a fair amount of paperwork, particularly with regard to date-of-death valuation and estate tax. I'm happy to work with you in whatever capacity you wish. I can handle it all, or only what you don't want to do yourselves."

"Thank you," Kali said. She could easily manage the transfer of assets, but she had no desire to immerse herself in the minutiae of tax matters.