A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (11 page)

Jessica’s head was spinning again, the gears whirring wildly. This was all happening so frigging fast...“Wow, that’s amazing. That should get me in the door. Thanks, Paul.”

“No problem. Get me names of the principal characters, and I’ll touch base with them if necessary.”

“Paul, you’ve been more than helpful. I’ll make a couple calls tomorrow and see what sort of reception I get as Attorney Huntington, Associate with Canady, Holmes, Winston and Klein. Thanks again, Paul, for everything. I’ll see you on Tuesday at two o’clock.”

Jessica hung up the phone and tried to refigure where she was, and where she was going. She scanned the calendar on her laptop and started to put in the new appointments she had made. The thought of battling traffic for three hours to make that 2:00 meeting on Tuesday was already making her skin crawl. Her inner stress engine revved a little. The way around that was to drive into LA tomorrow and stay at her dad’s house in Brentwood. The concierge service that took care of the Brentwood property while her dad was out of town could let her in. Jessica called her dad to alert him first. The call went straight to voice mail. Who knew where he was, what time, or even what day it was?

“Hey Dad, it’s me, Jessica. Hope everything’s going well wherever you are. I’m calling to let you know I have a new job. That’s good, I guess. It’s with a law firm opening an office out here in the desert, but I’m going to be in L.A. for a couple days where the main office is located. I’m taking you up on the offer to let me hang out at the house in Brentwood. I hope that’s still okay. I’ll try not to trash the place. I’m going to call the service and get them to let me in. It’d be great to see you if you’re coming back to town anytime soon. Anyway, love you! Bye!”

If Jessica got up early, she could get her workout done, and check in with the White Glove-whatever-it was-called concierge service in LA. She’d still have time to pressure the insurance company that owed Laura Stone a life insurance payout on the death of her murdered husband. Then she could call and set up a time to meet with the counsel for Chester Davis Wednesday morning. Maybe even arrange that face-to-face with Mr. Davis. It was a lot. By packing tonight, she could get all that done and still be on the road to LA by ten or so. If she could get to her dad’s house and settle in by early afternoon, she would have plenty of time to swing by Rodeo Drive. That way she could buy a dress or two or three for all the lawyering duties in the queue for the week. The urge to shop was fierce, growing in tandem with anxiety about her burgeoning “to-do” list.

Jessica’s fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up information about her favorite shops on Rodeo Drive. Aha! Max Mara was having a sale! Her last Max Mara dress hadn’t fared so well. Then, a lot of her clothes had taken a beating lately, along with the rest of her. She had to find something that would make a good impression on her new clients at the law office and that could handle the transition to dinner later. She also needed something for her visit to the public defender’s office, the county Sherriff’s department, and the county jail, if that’s where she had to go in order to meet Mr. Chester Davis.

CHAPTER 7

Jessica was energized by the prospects of making the trip to LA. She bounded out of bed, as she caught sight of the bags packed the night before. It was more than the prospect of shopping that had her psyched, although she was definitely looking forward to that. The schlep into LA was emblematic of the fact that she had arrived at a turning point. A new job and an assignment in the works for that job signaled progress.

Her beautiful bed was made in a flash and, just as quickly, Jessica donned a bathing suit for her work out in the pool. It took another minute to apply sunscreen, grab a pair of swimming goggles, and put on her flip-flops. Throwing on a robe, she darted into the kitchen and got a press pot of coffee going. The aroma of the fresh ground coffee sent her spirits soaring even higher. While she waited for the coffee to brew, Jessica put in a call to the concierge service. Theoretically, someone was available to respond to her call any time of the day or night. Her call was answered on the second ring.

“White Glove Property Concierge at your service. How may I help?”

“This is Jessica Huntington and I’m going to be dropping in at my father’s home in Brentwood today. I’m talking about Henry Huntington. I plan to stay for a couple nights. He left my name with you as a permitted guest. Will I need a code for the security system in order to get into the front gate and the house without setting off the alarm?”

“Well, Ms. Huntington, um, Huntington-Harper, uh...” Jessica interrupted before he could go any further.

“It’s just Ms. Huntington at this point. I’ve dropped the hyphen, so no more Harper.” Maybe she should have it printed on a banner across her chest.
As soon as she signed those divorce papers she had already started to play the name-change game with DMV and other businesses and bureaucracies. This morning she thought of half a dozen more places she needed to contact to update them. This was getting old fast, but it was a correction she would have to continue to make.

“No problem. I see your name on the list, and the room that you use when you visit. If you have an idea about what time you might arrive, I’ll have someone at the house to meet you. We’ll make sure the house is ready for you when you get there. What can we pick up for you for the kitchen or bath, Ms. Huntington?”

“I could use a pound of coffee. Peet’s preferably, Arabian Mocha Sanani or Sulawesi, whole bean. Some bottled water, like Evian or Fiji. Fresh fruit, melon and berries would be great. A pint of Greek yogurt, please, plain, low fat, and honey, if there isn’t already some in the house.”

“Raw or pasteurized, Ms. Huntington, something local or do you have a particular product you prefer?”

“Raw, local is fine.”

“Anything for the bath Ms. Huntington, or can we pick up theater tickets, a movie or reading material of some kind? Or perhaps, we could make a dinner reservation for you?”

“No, thanks, but how about the pool, is it serviceable?”

“Of course, Ms. Huntington, would you like us to heat it for you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, that should do it. I’m hoping to arrive by 1:00 this afternoon. Thanks so much for all your help.”

“It’s our pleasure, Ms. Huntington. Ms. Roberta Palmer will be at the house when you arrive. Please don’t hesitate to call if there’s some other way we can be of service. Enjoy your stay in LA.”

With that, she hung up the phone and sprang into action. By 9:00 a.m., Jessica had completed her laps in the pool, finished her coffee and breakfasted on that piece of leftover chocolate cake. There was nothing like coffee and chocolate to put your day on the right track. She showered and dressed in comfortable clothes for her drive into LA.

Next, she placed the nagging phone call to the insurance company. The representative assured her that Laura would have her check within a week, even with the 4
th
of July holiday delay. That would be almost one month since Roger’s death. Jessica had called in a number of credits from members of her network to get that quick turnaround. It had been worth it, giving her direct contact with the CEO of the insurance company via a member of their board of directors. That tactic cut a swath through the red tape that often swamps insurance claim transactions, in particular those involving double indemnity payouts. Under ordinary circumstances, Roger Stone’s murder might still have been under investigation, and Laura would have waited a lot longer for a check. Despite the terror they had all undergone, the matter was resolved. Jessica felt a modicum of relief after hanging up the phone, but would not let up the pressure until Laura had that check in her hands.

While on the phone with the insurance company, Jessica received a voice mail from Frank Fontana. The person in custody was, indeed, Chester Davis. Detective Art Greenwald, was in his office and expecting to hear from her. Jessica dialed the number Frank had left for the detective.

“Hello, Detective Greenwald speaking.”

“Detective, this is Jessica Huntington...” Jessica caught herself before blithely adding the Harper to her introduction. “Damn,” she thought, picking up where she left off. “I believe Frank Fontana told you I was going to call about Chester Davis.”

“Yes, Ms. Huntington. I understand Frank already told you we were notified by the Public Defender’s office that Chester Davis has information about an old case involving a hit-and-run. Mr. Davis didn’t give us a name, but after talking to Frank, it sounds like the circumstances are similar to those involving his cousin, Kelly Fontana. In particular, the fact that, according to Mr. Davis, the incident occurred in the parking lot of the Agua Caliente Hotel and Casino, which I understand is where Kelly Fontana’s body was found.”

“Yes, that’s true. As I recall, she was an employee of the hotel and casino at the time, working as an attendant in the spa.”

“Well, I don’t have the case file yet, just the incident report from ‘99 that I could pull up online. That report doesn’t give me too much information, but this afternoon I’m going to go pick up the case file. I should know more after I’ve taken a look at it.”

“What do you make of Chester Davis?”

“I’m not sure how much stock I’d place in the testimony of Mr. Davis. He was arrested last week after some sort of ruckus at a local flophouse where he and two other males were apprehended. The police were called to the house because of the noise. They found the three derelicts going at it, fighting about somebody stealing something. Anyway, the police had to break it up, and when they went into the house, they found quite the little party going on. They confiscated small amounts of methamphetamine, oxycodone, and marijuana, as well as an assortment of drug paraphernalia, a few hundred dollars in small bills, and a gun. It was all laid out on the coffee table like a buffet. It’s the gun that’s going to get Mr. Davis in plenty of trouble. Possession of a weapon by a felon puts him on the fast track for more prison time. Of course, nobody at that little party will admit to owning the gun. Most likely, it’ll turn up as having been stolen. They could all be in even more trouble, depending on the history that goes with that gun. If Mr. Davis and his attorney get the drug charges reduced from a felony to a misdemeanor, the gun is going to be a problem. Given his two prior felonies, Mr. Davis is looking at a long stint in prison, despite recent changes to the third strike law in California.”

This was, more or less, the story Frank had given her. Kelly’s death had been reported in newspapers back then. Chester Davis had plenty of motivation to dredge up an old story and use it for his own purposes. Surely they could figure that out in short order, couldn’t they?

“Okay, so is there any reason to believe this guy is doing anything
other than
throwing up a smoke screen, hoping to avoid spending the rest of his life in prison?”

“The public defender’s office has assigned Richard Tatum to handle the case. He’s an appointee, not on staff with the County. He’s known the guy for years, and confirms Mr. Davis was living in Palm Springs when he claims to have witnessed the murder. That time frame is consistent with the death of Kelly Fontana. We don’t have the whole scoop yet since Davis wants some assurances they’re going to make him a deal before he gives up the information he has. If he wants us to look into it, we have to have more to go on than he’s given us so far. We’re waiting for the defendant’s attorney and the prosecutor to play this out. I was ready to set it aside until I spoke with Frank.”

“Where is Mr. Davis, now?”

“He’s sitting in the County jail. He’s been arraigned but couldn’t make bail so he’s not going anywhere for a while. The preliminary hearing is set for two weeks, a little longer than usual because of the holiday coming up this week. His lawyer is fine with the extra time. Tatum’s hoping he can work something out with the prosecutors so that the charges against Mr. Davis will be reduced or eliminated by the time the case goes back to court. Davis has already been through rehab a couple times. If he comes up with something of value in an old case, he might get another chance for treatment through the Drug Court. Prop 36 has created more interest in keeping a defendant like Mr. Davis from spending the rest of his life in a state prison. So, who knows? I’ve pulled the old perp’s records but haven’t gone through his file yet either.”

“I presume Frank told you that I’d like to take a look at the records related to Kelly Fontana’s case and that we’re sort of in limbo. The family went through a lot. It would be a shame to bring up all that pain again unnecessarily. One thing that makes this trickier, too, is that Kelly’s Uncle, Don Fontana, is in the Palm Springs office.”

“I know all of that, and I get it. As I said, I’m going to go get the case file myself. We’ll keep this between me and the detective at the other end, for the time being. He cares as much as you do about keeping this under wraps until there’s a reason to do otherwise. Since you are representing the family, as their attorney, you can have a look at it. Most of what’s in there is a matter of public record anyway. My guess is the file’s pretty thin, given how quickly it went cold. I should have a copy for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I plan to be in Riverside Wednesday morning and I’ll come by and pick it up then if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. If I’m here, tell them to call me up front so I can say hello. If not, I’ll have it ready and you can just pick it up.”

“Thanks, Detective Greenwald. I appreciate your help, especially agreeing not to rouse more interest than necessary right now.”

“Limbo is a good way of describing where we all are at the moment. For anyone who’s lost a family member the way the Fontanas have, limbo is an awful lot like hell. You want to avoid taking them there unless you have to.” With that, they said their goodbyes.

Jessica immediately called the Riverside County Public Defender’s Office and got a number for Richard Tatum. Her call to the attorney went directly to his voice mail. Not sure how much to say about the matter, she simply left her name and phone number and added, “I’d like to speak to you about Chester Davis at you earliest convenience.” “Earliest convenience” was an odd turn of phrase when leaving a message about a murdered friend. It was an odd turn of phrase for an odd turn of events.