Booby Trap (21 page)

Again, I paused for effect.

“Damn it, Grey!”

I let loose with an evil chuckle. “No, Steele, I don’t. The only way you’d ever put that much time, thought, and effort into something is if you could bill for it.”

“Damn straight.”

Although tweaking Steele’s nose was fun, it wasn’t the reason why I’d called him.

“Steele, when Jane Sharp was decorating your place, did she have an assistant named Mason Bell?”

There was silence while Steele foraged around in his memory bank. Even over the phone, I could hear a faint
squeak
…
squeak
as he swiveled in his chair.

“I do remember her having an assistant. A young guy. Not sure of his name though. He was mostly in the background doing the leg work.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

There was a long moment when all I heard was Steele’s chair. “If my memory’s correct, he was average height and on the slim side. One of those guys you aren’t quite sure if he’s gay or straight. Know what I mean?”

“That’s all you remember? Was he attractive? What color hair did he have? Any distinguishing marks, tattoos, things like that? Did he speak with any particular accent?”

Another long pause. “I do remember one specific thing, now that you mention it. It was something about his face, not sure which side, but he had a scar—a thin one extending from his sideburn area over his jaw and slightly down his neck. I remember noticing it when he was bending close to me, fussing over swatches. Otherwise, I might not have seen it.”

Paul Milholland crossed my mind. “Do you recall seeing anyone else working with them? A delivery guy or someone like that?”

“Hmmm, no, no one else. But I was staying with a friend while the bulk of the work was being done.”

“Thanks, Steele.”

“So, you coming in or not?”

“Not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Now that your dad’s better, Grey, your tab’s running.”

“And you say hello to the police for me when they come to question you about your sex life.”

The Jane Sharp/Blond Bomber
connection nagged at me while I threw a load of towels into the washer. I still wasn’t sure if I was going into the office today or not, but decided if I did, it would be this afternoon—that I’d take the morning for myself and try to sort out my mind unencumbered with office work.

As soon as the washer started, I sat down at the dining table with a large sheet of brown paper torn from a roll kept in our home office. With a marker, at the top I wrote
Blond Bomber
,
Jane
,
Brian
. To the left, down a column, I wrote the names of the murdered women. With this grid in place, I started checking off any connections between the victims and the three at the top of the sheet.

Elaine Epps was connected to both the Blond Bomber and Jane, but I didn’t know if she had ever known or seen Brian Eddy. A check across from her name went under both the Blond Bomber’s and Jane’s columns. A question mark went into Brian’s column.

Crystal Lee Harper received checks in all three columns; Gabby Kerr in only the first two. Laurie Luke went only in Jane’s column. Amber received checks in only the Blond Bomber’s column and Dr. Eddy’s. But what about Madeline Sparks, the latest victim? Except for her hair color, what connection did she have with the people across the top of the chart? For now, I just checked the column under the serial killer.

I thought about Jane Sharp and Madeline Sparks, and wondered what was going through Jane’s head right now. Did she know Madeline? It must be scaring the snot out of her that the latest victim had hair similar to her new hairdo. I made a separate note to try and reach Jane later.

Under the names of the murdered women, I also listed Kirk Thomas and Gordon Harper. Kirk received checks in the first two columns, while Harper received them in all three.

I didn’t know if this chart meant anything or would be of any help, but it certainly did help clear my mind to take what was in my head and lay it all out. There were definitely more checks in Jane’s column than Brian’s. It still didn’t prove Dr. Eddy wasn’t the killer, but it looked more orderly all spread out across the sheet, even if the ties were a mess in reality.

Another thing that caught my attention was that the murders were happening more often, with less time between them. Looking back over the chart, I jotted down the approximate dates of the earlier murders. The first three happened approximately three months apart. Laurie Luke’s murder, had she been one of the Blond Bomber’s victims, would have been right on schedule as the fourth victim. It made me wonder if Amber had been prescheduled as the fourth victim before Laurie’s murder—in the killer’s sick mind, was she just an expendable note, no more valuable than a Post-It, jotted to the police? Madeline, the latest victim, had been right on the heels of Amber, with virtually no cool-off time between the two. What did that mean? And no matter what the pecking order, whoever was killing these women knew that Jane had changed her hairstyle, so it was someone who had seen her in the past month.

From the kitchen table, I went into our home office and looked up Mason Bell’s company on the computer. Mason Bell Interiors was located in Los Angeles on Olympic Boulevard off of La Cienega. As with Sharp Design, Mason Bell Interior had an online portfolio with photos from several projects. I recognized Debra Kerr’s living room, with its marriage of traditional and modern styles, among them. But because he’d not been in business very long, his client list was short. With a click of the mouse, I opened his bio page and came face to face with Mason Bell himself.

Although as stylish as Jane Sharp, Mason Bell was much more hip and happening. His clothing was tasteful, trendy, and full of pizzazz all at the same time. He had a nice face, neither handsome nor ugly but far from plain, behind a close-cropped beard. His hair was also worn cropped very close. I saw no sign of the scar Steele remembered, but the headshots weren’t close-ups and the beard would have covered much of it. From the photos, it was easy to see that Mason worked out a lot. His body was tight and buffed, and the clothing he wore accentuated it.

If the Blond Bomber was a competitor, Mason Bell would be a good candidate. After all, he was inheriting a lot of her clients, including the Thomases. And Mason knew her well enough to plan such a heinous thing. He knew who her clients were and would probably know Brian. Maybe Mason, either in an attempt to ruin Jane’s business or in the role of frustrated suitor, had marked the look-alike clients for death.

I picked up the phone, called Mason Bell Interiors, and asked to speak with the man himself. When the receptionist asked what it was about, I gave him my name and told him it was about Jane Sharp. For several minutes, I listened to easy-listening music until someone came on the line.

“Hello, this is Mason Bell.” His voice was refined and a bit dramatic, as if he were bored with the call already.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Bell. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

“About Jane?”

“Yes. It’s important.”

“Are you looking for a review or comment on her work?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then I’m really very busy.”

Sensing he was about to say goodbye and hang up, I laid it on the line. I had to say something to shock him into paying attention and want to hear more.

“It’s about her connection to the Blond Bomber.”

“Her
what
?” His voice went almost shrill.

“Her connection to the Blond Bomber—you know, the serial killer.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell me she’s sleeping with
him
now.”

I looked at the photos on the computer screen in front of me. Steele said that years ago he couldn’t tell if Mason Bell was gay or straight. But looking at his photos and listening to his voice and tone, I would bet my collection of Elton John CDs that Mason Bell was gay, even if Jane Sharp hadn’t said anything. Somewhere along the line, he must have openly embraced the rainbow within him.

All the victims had been sexually assaulted. I found it difficult to believe that a gay man would do such a thing to a woman, but it certainly would not be impossible. A closeted, frustrated homosexual maybe, but not an openly gay man. It just wouldn’t make sense.

“You were her assistant until recently, when you started your own company, were you not?”

He stopped chuckling. “What did you say your name was?”

“Odelia Grey.”

There was a pause. Unlike before, I didn’t get the sense he was going to hang up, but was measuring his words carefully.

“Yes, I was, for a number of years. Jane employed me right out of design school.”

“So, like her, you knew all of the women killed by the Blond Bomber?”

“Are you a cop? Or a journalist?”

“I’m not with the police or the media, but I am personally looking into the connection between the slain women and Sharp Design. By the way, you can expect the police to be knocking on your door very soon and asking the same questions. They’ve figured out the connection, too.”

“Excuse me a minute, I need to take this in my office.”

Another long pause while I was put on hold, followed by Mason coming back on the line. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I’ve been following the news, and yes, I knew all the women killed, except one. I’d never met the Luke woman. I knew who she was but never met her in person. I started working on the Thomas home after she was killed.”

I decided to let him think that Laurie was part of the Blond Bomber death stable, or at least let him think I believed that myself.

“Are you still doing work at the Thomas home? I understand Jane turned that project over to you after Laurie Luke was killed.”

“Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas have put the rest of the project on hold. I just finished up what Jane was working on when their son’s fiancée was killed.”

“What about Madeline Sparks? Did you know her?”

“Madeline Sparks? What does she have to do with this?”

“Didn’t you see the news last night or this morning?”

He laughed. “I was at wrap party last night. The only thing I saw this morning was a pot of hot coffee.”

“Madeline Sparks was found dead last night in Laguna Canyon, just like the others.”

“Oh no!” He sounded shocked and upset, but without seeing him in person it would be difficult to tell if it was genuine. “She was such a nice person.”

“Who was she, Mason? How is she connected to Jane?”

“She was a client of Sharp Design—or at least her sugar daddy was. About two years ago, some old guy hired Jane to decorate this adorable little beach house for his mistress.”

“Madeline Sparks?”

“Yes. She was going to grad school at the time and he was putting her through.”

“And do you know if Jane slept with Madeline’s … um … benefactor?”

“Of course she did. She slept with them all. For a while, I was sure he was going to dump Madeline and put Jane up in the beach house.” He laughed lightly. “I don’t know what old Janie girl did in bed, but some of the guys became obsessed and did not want to let go. Almost made me want to turn straight for an afternoon and have a go.”

My ears perked up. “I heard that Jane’s husband suspected you and his wife of having an affair.”

“Dr. Brian? No way. He knew I was gay from the get-go. In fact, I even went to him to have a little work done. And just last year, he removed a facial scar I’d had since childhood. I’ve also referred him to many of my friends.”

Was Jane lying about the fact that her husband thought she was having an affair with Mason Bell? And if so, why? Was she trying to make it look like her husband had a motive for murder?

“You said some of the clients didn’t want to let go. Did any of her past clients cause trouble once she ended it sexually?”

“Some of them dogged her for a while, then gave up. Some showered her with gifts and promises, especially that idiot Harold Kerr, but she was strictly a do ’em and dump ’em kind of girl. As soon as she cashed the final check for the job, the guys were given the boot. And what could they do about it? Most were married. They weren’t about to cause a fuss.”

“Were there any that might have done more than just pursue her? Any that might have stalked her?”

“You mean were any crazy enough to start killing to get back at her?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. All the victims looked like her.”

“Madeline didn’t. She had red hair the last time I saw her. Short red hair.”

“Jane Sharp’s hair is now short and red.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, then a moment of silence.

“You mean the killer is killing women who look like Jane and whom Jane knows? Are you sure about that?”

“Looks that way to me, but I could be wrong.” I backtracked a bit with my line of questioning. “As far as you know, would Mr. Thomas be the last client she might have had a fling with?”

Mason paused again before speaking. “The Thomas gig was a bit different. Jane wasn’t sleeping with Mr. Thomas—not that she didn’t try, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Politely turned down her advances.”

“How do you know this? You weren’t still working with her, were you?”

“It’s a small community, Ms. Grey. Employees love to gossip. Although word on the grapevine is that she did finally get a Thomas, just not the lord of the manor. After the old man turned her down, Jane set her sights on the son and nailed him.” He made a clicking sound. “Another notch on her belt.”

Son? I remembered Lisa talking about Kirk’s family, but I didn’t recall her talking specifically about his brothers and sisters, or that he had any.

I took a stab in the dark. “Which son did she finally nail?”

“Kirk, of course. The other boy’s only fourteen or fifteen. Even Jane Sharp has her morals.”

At the time of Laurie Luke’s death, Jane Sharp was sleeping with Kirk Thomas? If the gossip were true, then Kirk was toting around enough guilt to last several lifetimes. It made me wonder if Jane knew about the smuggling.

“Mr. Bell, if you’d be so kind as to answer one last question.” When he didn’t respond, I ploughed ahead. “You’ve known both Jane Sharp and Dr. Eddy for several years. Do you think Brian Eddy is capable of killing?”