Blues in the Night (24 page)

“You said to call till twelve,” Darren Porter said. “So I guess it’s not too late. What’s this about?”

thirty-nine

Thursday, July 24. 9:05
A.M.
11300 block of Stevens Avenue. A woman reported that her mail had been stolen from the front-door mail slot of her house. The victim had left the outgoing mail in the slot. The victim knew the mailman had already come by that day. Outside, the victim found an empty envelope that had contained a $35 DVD. The other piece of mail had been a bill with a check for $73. (Culver City)

I was becoming addicted to “the lady from 29 Palms.” I have an unhealthy attachment to the Internet as it is (ask my family), and I’d listened to the song on the town’s Web site last night after talking with Darren Porter, who, it turned out, used to do property management for Saunders Enterprises. He’d agreed to meet me during his lunch break at a coffee shop on Pico and Beverwil, just a few blocks from his current workplace.

I listened to the song again this morning, thinking about Lenore, wondering who she was. I’d just finished rereading her testimony, and like Donna Bergen, I was convinced she’d been playing a role.

During his closing statement Chapman had explained Lenore’s inconsistencies as the natural confusion of a woman coming out of a postpsychotic episode. Maybe if I’d heard her on the stand, if I’d seen the grief on her face, maybe if Zena hadn’t told me she’d seen Lenore reading books about postpartum depression when she was pregnant. Maybe then I would have believed Lenore, too.

I checked my e-mail, replied to several posts including one from my agent, who wanted to know if I had an idea for the new book. Then I looked at my Amazon numbers for
Out of the Ashes
. 84,101.
Rock-a-Bye Baby
was on the same Amazon page, in the column to the left, because I’d checked out Korwin’s bestseller on Monday. I clicked on the link.

His star had risen—the book’s ranking was number four. The news reports associating him with Lenore probably hadn’t hurt. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t a great book. Even Bergen, cynic that she was, had acknowledged that Korwin was tops in his field.

If Korwin had been troubled by Lenore’s testimony and suspected that she’d shaken the baby to death in a fit of frustration, he wouldn’t be thrilled to learn that the woman he’d helped beat a second-degree murder charge had killed her child in cold blood. I wondered what would happen to his Amazon numbers if the truth came out. Probably nothing. Notoriety is like a bad review—it’s better than
no
review, as long as they spell your name right.

But what about his credibility? Maybe psychiatrists
can’t
always detect when patients are faking symptoms, but Korwin had staked his reputation on his certainty. Any good interviewer would find that out and bring it up, embarrassing Korwin in front of the audiences watching all those national talk shows he’d been booked on. And his peers. And his patients, and all the prospective patients banging on the clinic’s doors. Not great timing.

Of course, he could reject what was, after all, conjecture. The smile, the embrace, the look on Betty Rowan’s face. Even the fact that Lenore had been reading up on postpartum depression when she was nine months pregnant. He could argue that Lenore had been a conscientious mother-to-be, that we don’t always recognize in ourselves the things we see in others, that we deny. Which is all true.

And the fact that Lenore had lied about it under oath?

Maybe she’d been frightened to admit that she’d read books about PPD. Maybe she’d worried that the jury would damn her with the knowledge, just as I was willing to.

Half a truth . . .

The point was, Korwin
hadn’t
known the truth. At most, he suspected that Lenore had panicked and fabricated the postpartum psychosis. Unless . . .

Betty Rowan had known. She’d known the truth on that first day of the trial, and when she’d looked under the rock and had seen something nasty, maybe she’d seen part of herself. She had known, and that explained the rift between her and Lenore.

I wondered if Lenore had written the truth in her journal. That’s what journals are for, right? Your secret thoughts. Had Betty blackmailed Korwin with the truth? Had she teased Robbie with it?

Don’t you want to know what really happened to Max?

Maybe she’d given Robbie a copy
before
Lenore died.

And if Korwin had discovered the truth and worried that Lenore would tell? She had nothing to lose. They couldn’t try her again, because of double jeopardy. Had he weighed the worth of a psychopathic killer against the needs of all the women trapped in postpartum depression, women he’d no longer be able to help if his reputation were ruined? And what about his clinic, his dream come true?

Suicide or murder. I still didn’t know, and it was making me jumpy. As Bubbie G says, you can’t sit on two horses with one behind.

On the way to my meeting with Darren Porter, I stopped at the Hollywood station. I had to wait a few minutes before I could see Connors, who told me he’d received the preliminary autopsy report on Betty Rowan that morning.

She’d been strangled with a scarf—silk, judging from the fibers. Bruising on her arms, along with tissue under her fingernails, indicated that she’d struggled with her assailant.

“She was killed sometime between ten
P
.
M
. Sunday and two
A
.
M
. Monday,” Connors said. “She was dead when she was put in the tub and her wrists were slashed. Very little bleeding from the wrists, and the M.E. found no water in her lungs.”

Connors also had a list of the phone calls Lenore had made the night she died.

“Lenore phoned Saunders repeatedly between one and three in the morning. The last call she made was at two fifty-five, just before the nurse did her rounds. She also phoned Nina Weldon, at two-twelve, and left a message on her machine, asking her to phone Saunders.”

I wondered again why Nina hadn’t told me about the call when we’d first talked.

“At eleven thirty-five, Lenore phoned Korwin’s exchange. She phoned him again at two thirty-five. The service said they tried contacting Korwin both times but couldn’t reach him. He says he never received the pages.”

“Interesting.” So was the fact that Lenore hadn’t tried phoning her mother—it was a sad commentary on their relationship. “She didn’t try to call a nurse?”

“The call light box was on the floor, near her bed. Lenore either dropped it or someone did it for her.”

“Did you ask Saunders about the calls?”

Connors gave me a look. “Duh. He and his fiancée were out until around two. Then they went to sleep and didn’t hear the other calls.”

I sniffed. “All those phone calls, and Robbie and Jillian didn’t hear anything?”

“Maybe they were otherwise occupied and didn’t want to be interrupted.”

“More likely they thought she was crying wolf. I can’t blame them.”

“Do I hear sympathy?” He raised a brow. “I thought you were on Lenore’s team.”

“I thought so, too.” I repeated what Bergen had told me and what I’d read in the transcript, and my conversations with Irene and Zena Lopost. “Apparently, Lenore and her mom were both manipulative and scheming.”

“Just when you thought it was safe to go into the water,” Connors said, but he sounded sad.

That’s one of the reasons I like Connors. He has heart. “What did Lenore say when she called Saunders?”

“That she needed to see him, that she was going to kill herself if he didn’t come to the hospital. That’s what he claims, anyway. He erased the tape.”

“Do you know for certain that he was home?”

“The neighbors were all asleep. I couldn’t find anyone who can say whether or not Saunders left the house around the time Lenore died.”

“And Sunday night?”

“He and the fiancée went to dinner and a late movie.”

“They could be lying to alibi each other.”

Connors widened his eyes. “Hey, let me write that down!”

I’d opened myself up for that. “Did you talk to Brad Messer, Andy?”

“Yesterday afternoon. He’s committed to the environment and he was outraged—
outraged!
—when I suggested he was more committed to another kind of green.” Connors grunted. “As for Betty Rowan’s murder, he claims he was home with his wife the entire night. No other witnesses. Ditto for the Hortons and Maureen Saunders. Home alone. Mrs. Saunders’s maid is off Sundays.”

“So no one really has an alibi.”

“Why I love my job, by Andrew Connors.”

I debated, then figured, what the hell. “Can I run something by you, Andy?”

“Like it would matter if I said no?”

“Remember I told you Betty Rowan kept calling me, saying she wanted to get together? I think I know why.”

“I’m listening.”

And he did, intently, his eyes narrowed into slits as he swiveled back and forth in his chair with his cranelike arms laced behind his head until I’d finished my spiel.

“So you’re thinking Betty mailed teasers to prospective buyers and hedged her bets by dangling you in front of them,” he said. “Saunders. Messer. Maybe Horton. Who else?”

“Nina Weldon.” I voiced my suspicion about the phone call. “It’s odd that she didn’t mention it right away. Maybe she made it up, after you started investigating Lenore’s death as a homicide.”

“Why?”

“She and Lenore were close. Nina told her
everything
. Nina’s words. She probably discussed intimate details of her life. What if Betty threatened to expose all that?”

Connors looked skeptical. “Details about what?”

“Her depression. She may have some deep, dark secret. She definitely has a thing for Korwin. She almost snapped my head off when I suggested that patients become attached to their shrinks. Maybe she’s sleeping with him.”

“Maybe you need a vacation.”

“And there’s Korwin.” I told him what Donna Bergen had said, that he’d realized Lenore had fooled him. “He staked his reputation on his diagnosis. What if Lenore wrote the truth about Max’s death and Betty sent him a copy of the pages, telling him she’d make the knowledge public unless?”

Connors didn’t answer.

“It’s not just about humiliation, Andy. Korwin told me he’s hoping to get another book deal. That won’t happen if his credibility’s damaged. And he can forget about being an expert witness, about attracting more patients. Six months ago his clinic was in trouble, by the way, and now it’s going gangbusters.” I had liked Korwin, I really had. But I’d liked Lenore, too.

“I don’t know, Molly. He sounds genuine to me.”

“That’s the point, Andy. He’s doing a scientific study. He wants to help all these women, but he can’t, not if Betty Rowan discredits him. And the fact that he didn’t get Lenore’s messages from his service is awfully coincidental, don’t you think?”

“I’ll check it out,” Connors said.

At least he wasn’t laughing.

forty

“I don’t think Saunders will be happy if he finds out I talked to you about Lenore,” Darren Porter said, and laughed uneasily. “But at least he can’t fire me. I left Saunders Enterprises around a year ago.”

I’d noticed Darren at the funeral. He was in his late twenties, I guessed, tall with dark brown hair, a football player’s build, and small blue eyes set a little too close together.

“I saw the beautiful sunflowers you brought Lenore when she was in the hospital,” I said. “I wish my boyfriend brought me flowers like that once in a while.”

“They were nice, weren’t they?” He ate a bite of the tuna sandwich he’d ordered and wiped the mayonnaise that dripped down his chin. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Lenore, though, ’cause she was sleeping. The nurse wouldn’t even let me go in. I can’t get over the fact that she’s dead. I mean, how could that happen in a hospital?”

“The two of you knew each other long?”

“About four years. We started working for Saunders around the same time, right after I got my degree from Santa Monica City College. She’d been working somewhere else before.”

“What was she like?”

“Smart.
Real
smart. She worked her way up fast, too, faster than I did. Well, I couldn’t marry the boss, could I?” He laughed and took another bite of the sandwich. “That was a joke. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. Lenore worked hard, and Saunders appreciated that.”

“Did you ever go out socially?”

He laughed again. “I wish. You’ve seen her, right? She’s not hard on the eyes. I asked her out, and she said yes, but told me right off she just wanted to be friends. I figured out why pretty soon—she was saving herself for Saunders.”

“She made a play for him?”

“Saunders didn’t seem to mind.”

“He was engaged at the time, wasn’t he?”

“He was, but Lenore didn’t know. She was upset when I told her.”

Or pretended to be. “That didn’t stop her from going out with him.”

“Well, that was up to him, wasn’t it? It’s not like they were married. He was in the driver’s seat. And she would’ve gone to the moon and back for him.”

Several drivers’ seats, apparently. “So you and Lenore kept up after she and Saunders married?”

“Some. We weren’t best buds or anything. She’d call and say, did I want to go to a karaoke bar or grab a bite. She could stay out all night. And she’d send me a birthday card every year, never forgot. Well, except that one year right after the baby died. The thing is, I think she felt kind of lonely with his crowd, and she couldn’t let her hair down. Then they moved to Santa Barbara, and, well, you know what happened.”

“Did you see her after that?”

“Every once in a while. I felt bad for her, especially when I heard Saunders was divorcing her. She didn’t talk about it, but I could see she was hurting.”

“How did you know she was in the hospital?”

“We went to a movie and pizza the Thursday before she got run over. She was pretty upset that night, so I called her Saturday to see if she was okay, but she wasn’t in. When she still didn’t answer the next day or the next, I called her mother. She told me. I heard the mother was murdered, huh?” Darren shook his head. “Isn’t that something.”

“Why was Lenore upset?”

He twirled the straw in his soda glass. “I don’t know if I should be telling you Lenore’s private stuff.”

I waited.

He let out a deep breath. “It was my fault. I told her I heard Saunders had set a wedding date. I only told her ’cause I knew she’d never get over him if I didn’t. But she took it bad. She was cussing him out. She said she was going to bring him down. I heard on the news that she was pregnant, so I guess that’s why. I guess it was his kid.”

Had Lenore gone to Robbie on Saturday night to threaten him or seduce him? Probably the latter, since she’d put on Jillian’s nightgown. And then he’d thrown her out.

“Listen, I’m not a fan of Saunders,” Darren said. “He can be a mean son of a bitch, and he’s out for number one. Plus I don’t think he’s always on the up and up. That’s why I quit. If he went down, I didn’t want to go down with him.”

“Did you hear rumors?”

Darren shrugged. “There’s always rumors. He lost a bundle in the market, and he was having problems with some projects. His father-in-law bailed him out.
Future
father-in-law. But I can’t blame Saunders for not wanting to have another kid with Lenore. He went through hell the last time and stood by her. I was with him the day it happened, you know.”

I looked at him with interest. “Were you?”

He nodded. “I was helping him set up the Santa Barbara office. Everything was going wrong. The secretary he hired never showed, the computers were down. And this deal he’d been working on for six months fell apart. On top of all that, the housekeeper called in sick, and Lenore kept phoning, telling him the baby was crying and she didn’t know what to do.”

Not what either one of them had testified, and you didn’t have to be Johnnie Cochran to figure out why. Donna Bergen hadn’t known that, because Saunders’s office and home were only ten minutes away and probably had the same area code, so the calls wouldn’t have shown up on the phone company’s records.

“What did Saunders tell her?” I asked.

“Well, you have to remember he was in a foul mood, okay?” Darren sounded uncomfortable. “He told her he was sick and tired of her bitching, that if she hadn’t gotten herself knocked up she could be out shopping instead of taking care of a crying baby, that he’d offered to hire a nurse, but she didn’t want one, so what the hell did she want him to do?”

“Nice,” I said. Robbie definitely had a way with words.

“Well, he was just blowing off steam. He probably wasn’t getting much sleep either. He called her back and asked should he come home instead of going to L.A., and she said no, go ahead. I’m sure he felt bad about what he said, especially later, when he found out . . .” Darren sighed. “I’m sure he blamed himself. If he hadn’t yelled at her, maybe she wouldn’t have flipped like that. ‘Cause the doctors, they still don’t know what makes a woman think she’s hearing voices like that, right?”

“Right,” I said, although from what I’d recently learned I knew that postpartum psychosis wasn’t triggered by an argument, and Robbie had known it, too.

“I saw him a few days later,” Darren said. “He asked me not to say anything about the phone calls. He said the police might get the wrong idea about Lenore. They might think she got fed up and took it out on the baby, and that’s not what happened, but they might think so anyway. So I said okay. I never said a word to anybody, but now she’s dead, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

It might matter to Korwin, I thought. It might matter a great deal. “So Saunders drove to L.A.?”

Darren nodded. “I stayed in the office a couple of hours longer, and Lenore called again, saying she’d tried the L.A. office but everyone had gone for the day, and she’d tried Saunders’s cell, too, but he wasn’t answering and did I know where he was?”

“Did you?”

Darren was blushing. “Well, I had a guess, but I didn’t tell Lenore.”

“Jillian?”

He nodded. “She figured it out, though, and she asked me. I said no, why would you think that? He’s probably in a meeting and shut off his phone. But after I hung up, I reached him on his cell and told him Lenore was looking for him, and I heard Jillian’s voice in the background.”

That explained the phone call Lenore had made, and explained why Saunders had phoned her back. And did it explain why Lenore had picked that night? Had it been part anger, part desperation?

“Did you ever tell Lenore?”

“Two Thursdays ago, the night we had pizza. I thought she should know, so she could get him out of her system. I don’t know if I did right, telling her. She flipped. She said he’d been lying to her all these years, and she was sick of it, and she hoped he spent the rest of his life locked up where he belonged, and she knew how to do it. She had it all written down.”