Death in Daytime (20 page)

"Talk to him, Alex," Jakes said. "We have an ambulance coming, and I want to keep him calm."

"First you scare him out of his wits and now you want to keep him calm?" I asked, but I got on my knees next to Andy and grabbed his hand.

"Alex?"

"You're going to be all right, Andy."

I looked at Jakes.

"Could be a heart attack," Jakes said, "or it might be an anxiety attack. We'll know more when the EMTs get here."

Andy squeezed my hand.

"Murray," he said, "where's Murray?"

"Who's Murray?" Jakes asked.

"His life coach."

"His what?"

"There was another man at the house when we picked him up," Davis said, "but we wouldn't take him along."

"I'm surprised he didn't follow you," I said.

"He might have trouble getting into the building,"

Davis said.

"Alex--"

"I'm here, Andy," I said, holding his hand in both of mine. "Stay calm. You're going to be fine."

"I didn't kill Marcy, Alex," he said. "I didn't kill anyone."

His eyes were closed, his lids fluttering, but he continued to drone on about how he hadn't killed anyone.

"I know, Andy, I know . . . ," I assured him, saying the only words I could think of.

I hoped Jakes was right, and that it could have been an anxiety attack, because to me Andy looked gray. His palm was sweaty. . . . He looked really bad. . . .

I went to the hospital with Jakes and from the waiting room called George's house to let everyone know what was going on.

"Are they crazy?" George asked. "That man couldn't kill anyone."

"That's what I told them, but it didn't carry much weight."

"I have a question."

"What?"

"Are we going to work tomorrow?"

"You are," I said. "I don't know about me." As for Wayne, he was a writer and he worked at home. "I'll have to wait and see. I might have to give Thomas a call in the morning and explain my situation. If there's a murderer after me, I don't think he'd want me to bring him to the set."

"I think the whole production company would appreciate it if you didn't," George agreed.

"Okay, I've got to go. Here comes a doctor."

"Tell Andy--," he started, but I cut him off. Jakes saw the doctor at the same time I did and we all met in the center of the waiting room. "Is there a family member here?" the doctor asked.

"This man is under arrest, Doctor," Jakes said. "Ms. Peterson, here, is the closest to a family member we've got."

The doctor was young and had an earnest expression permanently placed on his face, probably hoping patients would take him seriously. He looked at me and said, "You're on TV, right?"

"Doctor?"

"Sorry, Mr. McIntyre has suffered a mild heart attack. I'd almost call it an anxiety attack, but there is slight damage."

"When can I take him out of here?" Jakes asked.

"Oh, not until tomorrow, I'm afraid, and maybe not even then. I want to watch him tonight, and reevaluate in the morning."

"What's your name?" Jakes asked.

"Dr. Steinberg."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be looking for you in the morning."

"I'll be here," Steinberg said. "I just came on duty."

He turned to leave, then stopped and looked at me again.

"You are on TV, right?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I am."

"Sorry," he said, "I just moved here from the Midwest. Not used to seeing celebrities, yet."

"You'll get sick of 'em," Jakes said. "They're all over the place."

I stared at Jakes as the doctor walked away and he said, "Well, you are."

"I am?"

"You people," Jakes said. "Celebrities."

"You're not making any points here, Detective," I said. "What are you going to do about Andy?"

"I'll keep a man here overnight to watch him," he said. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to take him back to Parker Center."

"And put him back in that room?" I asked. "You'll be right back here in no time."

"I doubt I'll be able to put him in that room again without his lawyer's okay, after this," he said. "He'll probably have a doctor advise against it."

"The studio will probably step in, too," I said, "to try to keep him safe."

"Would they do that for you?"

"I hope so."

"You know, I shouldn't tell you this," he said, "but I like you, so I will."

"I'm flattered."

"Those people you work with, they were all so quick to believe you might've done it, might've killed Marcy Blanchard. A couple of them even went so far as to say maybe you had."

"I know," I said. "I found that out myself."

"How can you work with those people?"

"Up to now I haven't had a problem," I said. "But after this . . ."

I let it trail off. Now wasn't the time for me to wonder about my future on the show. First I had to make sure I had a future to worry about.

"You know, you may think you have a killer in custody, but I know he's still out there, and I think I'm still in danger." "I'll keep a man on you until we actually close this case out," he said. "And by the way, what the hell were you doing leaving your house today?"

"Oh can it," I said, firing right back at him. "I know you have your man watching Julia, not me."

"He's watching all of you."

"Well, I'm actually glad he's there, because my daughter and mother are there, too."

"What?"

"Could you replace him with somebody who shaves?"

"Officer Wilson is a very fine young officer--but, yeah, he is kinda young. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

"What are you going to do now?" he asked.

"I have to go back to Marcy's to get my car, then go back to George's house--"

"Come on, I'll drive you."

I didn't argue. Being in his car with him again meant I got to smell his cologne some more. By the time we hit the street it was starting to get dark. It didn't seem to me that we'd been in Parker Center and the hospital that long.

"How are things with your boyfriend?" he asked as we got underway.

"Why do you ask?"

"He seemed pretty upset yesterday," Jakes said. "I had a feeling it was aimed more at me than you."

"He's fine," I said. "We're fine."

"Kissed and made up?"

"Yes, not that it's any of your business."

"That's nice," he said, "nice that you patched it up."

"Why do I get the feeling you're being sarcastic?"

"Am I? I get accused of that a lot."

I decided to change the subject.

"Do you really think Andy McIntyre killed Marcy and her husband? Why the husband?"

"I don't know," he said. "That's what our interrogation was supposed to tell us. As for Marcy, we found a draft of a memo in her office recommending that Andy's character be killed off."

"And you think he knew?"

"Why not? Marcy seems like she was that kind of person."

"Well, yeah, she was. . . ."

"And she was trying to get rid of you."

"You find a memo to that effect, too?"

"No, just gossip," he said. "She was, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

"Seems like it was harder for her to get you dumped than McIntyre."

"I don't know. Maybe the stupid bitch thought I had more mileage left on me."

"I think you've got a lot of mileage left on you," he said. "I mean--you don't seem that old--that is, I mean--"

"Stop there, Frank," I said, "and I'll take all the stammering as your attempt to pay me a compliment."

He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it.

When we got to Marcy's Jakes pulled into the driveway and stopped right behind my car. I started to open the door to get out and he put his hand on my arm to stop me.

"Wait."

"For what?"

I wondered if he was going to ask me out.

"Don't open the door."

"Why? Frank, what's going--"

"As we pulled up I thought I saw a flash of light inside."

"Light?"

"Like from a flashlight."

I felt my eyes widen.

"You think there's someone in the house now . . . again?"

"Why don't you just sit here and wait while I find out?"

"Wait." This time I put my hand on his arm. "Don't you want to, like, call for backup or something?"

"I'm just going to check it out," he said. "I don't need backup for that."

"And you want me to wait here?" I asked. "Alone?"

"Don't tell me you're afraid," he said. "You weren't too afraid when you went into the house alone this afternoon."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't dark then, and somebody hadn't already conked me on the head."

"Twice," he reminded me. "Once more and I'm going to have to retire you from the game."

"Okay, I assume that's a sports analogy--"

"Football."

"Not my game. How about I just come with you?"

"Alex--"

"Hey, if all you're doing is checking it out, where's the harm?" I asked.

"You know, you'd make a hell of a cop's girlfriend."

I was taken aback by the comment, momentarily speechless.

"You'd always want to be right in there in every case," he went on, "asking questions every time the guy came home. You're almost like a--"

"Don't say 'buff,' " I cautioned him, holding up my index finger. "I know what that means, and I don't like it."

"Alex," he said, "really I'd be a whole lot more comfortable if you just stayed in the car."

"Are you going to give me a gun?"

"Do you know how to use a gun?"

"No," I said, "I'd probably shoot off a toe."

"Then why--"

"See? I'll be safer with you." I grabbed his arm and squeezed. "Please?"

"I knew the minute I first laid eyes on you. . . ."

"Yes?"

We stared at each other for a long moment. Then he said, "Forget it. Okay, you can come with me, but stay behind me and do what I tell you. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Scout's honor. I'll do whatever you tell me."

"Yeah," he said, "that'll happen."

We got out of the car and closed the doors as gently as we could. Then Jakes signaled me to follow him, and he went around to the side of the house with the French doors. Sure enough, they were open. As he started to go in, I grabbed his arm, put my mouth right to his ear and whispered, "Watch out for the
chachkis
. They'll be all over the place."

He drew away from me, touched his ear, then said,

"Turn off your cell, just to be on the safe side."

As a mom I never turn off my cell phone, but I did set it on vibrate.

He went inside and I followed, staying close. Inside we paused, I assumed, to let our eyes adjust to the darkness. Everything seemed to be as it had been earlier that day. Suddenly, we heard a noise in the back. I couldn't believe that whoever had knocked me on the head late that morning had come back. And that we were here at the same time. I made a note to ask Jakes how big a part coincidence played in his business. It was fascinating. Jakes put his hand in his jacket, and for some reason I expected him to come out with a flashlight. Instead, he came out with his gun.

We headed down the hallway toward the office and saw that the desk lamp in the back was on. If Jakes had seen a flashlight beam, then whoever it was had probably gotten there only moments before us, used the flashlight to find his way to the office and turned on the desk lamp.

Jakes quickened his step and when we got to the office doorway he said, "Hold it!"

I tried to look past him into the room, but I couldn't see who it was until Jakes moved farther in. The intruder had frozen where he was, behind the desk.

"I know you," Jakes said.

"Yeah, you do," I said. "That's Thomas Williams, producer of
The Yearning Tide
. Hey, Thomas, I was going to call you in the morning to tell you I won't be at work tomorrow." Wildly inappropriate at the moment, but I didn't know what else to say.

"Somehow," Jakes said, "I don't think Mr. Williams is going to be there, either."

We took Thomas back to Parker Center. This time I followed Jakes in my car, while he took Thomas in the backseat of his. He didn't handcuff him, but he did put him in the same interview room where Andy had his heart attack.

"This guy doesn't have a heart condition, does he?"

Jakes asked me.

We were watching Thomas through the one-way mirror. He was wearing a dark sweater and jeans, and some kind of sneakers, attire Thomas probably thought a proper burglar would wear.

"Not that I know of. Hey, how come the chief isn't here? And your partner?"

"The chief is home having dinner, hopefully, and so is my partner."

"So you're off duty?"

"I was," Jakes said. "I'm back on the clock now. Tell me about this guy before I go in there and question him."

"He's something of an ass and a poser," I told him.

"That said, he's a very good producer."

"What did Marcy's death mean to him?"

"Well, on one hand it made his job harder," I said, "but on the other, he'd already told me he intended to take over her writing duties until someone else could be hired."

"Would this be a move up the food chain for him?" he asked.

"Yes, absolutely," I said. "But I still don't think he did it."

"Let me ask you a question, Alex," Jakes said. "Who do you think killed her?"

"Me? I don't know."

"Well then, how come every time I bring somebody in for it, you say they didn't do it? Come up with an alternative for me. Meanwhile, I'm going in there."

He left and, moments later, entered the interview room. He was right; I kept pooh-poohing every move he made--bringing in Andy, bringing in Thomas--but at least while he was investigating them he wasn't investigating me. But, in all good conscience, I could not believe that either Andy or Thomas had killed Marcy. There, I said it--or thought it. But if I said it out loud to Jakes, I'd be putting myself on the block again. Next to the window was a button for an intercom. I pressed it, and Jakes's voice leaped into the room.

"--on, Mr. Williams," he was saying, "you must have had some reason for breaking into Marcy Blanchard's house and ransacking her office."