Gray Area (9 page)

“Hoo wee,” Turner whistled, taking in the view that was indeed a sight to
behold.

Lou’s irritation took an exponential jump on his personal shit-fuck
factor of being jerked around and manipulated.  He knew, just
knew
,
that she was doing this for his sake.  She finally put the robe around
her, then took her time about heading for the veranda.

“Morning, Lou,” she said, smiling.

“Ms. Baylor,” he replied quickly.  “This is Lieutenant Turner Sage,
my superior.  We’ll try not to impose on your busy schedule.”

“No imposition whatsoever,” she said.

This time Turner glanced at Lou with an expression of mild
curiosity.  Lou ignored him. 

“I’ve asked Marshall to sit in with us.  Just for the record.” Linda
continued.

She then went to a lounge chair and curled up in it like a cat.  Her
legs glistening perfectly against the sun.  She waited until the three men
found chairs of their own, ignoring Marshall’s concentrated look of annoyance
cast her way.

“Ms. Baylor,” Lou began, “for the record, this is all very
informal.  Last night, as you’re aware, a murder was committed at Berenson
& Marelli.  Specifically, Marianne Simpson and Jason Randall were
found shot to death by Marshall here at approximately one in the morning. 
We have no fingerprints, nor do we have a murder weapon.  What we do have
is an article of jewelry belonging to you found near the victims.  My
first question is how you came to lose this item?”

Linda’s smile disappeared.  She appeared to be concentrating on her
answer.  “I was in the library most of the day.  It probably fell off
at some point.  Have you talked to Marianne’s husband yet?”

“The police did a search this morning at the Simpson residence.  Don
Simpson wasn’t there.  We have an All Points out on him,” Turner offered.

“Well, this case seems pretty open and shut to me, pardon the cliché,”
Linda said easily.

“Maybe,” Lou shrugged noncommittally.  “Now, may I ask where you
were between the hours of midnight and one in the morning?”

“Here.  Swimming,” Linda said, smiling at him.  “I like to swim
at night.  After which, I like a long, hot shower.”

Diamond allowed his eyes to wander to her legs, now shifting slightly as
she adjusted her position in the lounge chair.  “Were you alone between
the hours of midnight and one in the morning?”

“I usually swim and shower alone, Lou.  Don’t you?”

“I haven’t done much of either lately.”

“I believe you,” she said, her smile broadening.

“Did you know Ms. Simpson or Mr. Randall?”  

“Marianne, hardly at all,” Linda said.  “A few words in the lounge,
that’s it.  She was real estate, I’m contracts and litigation.  Not
much cross-over there.  She seemed quiet, polite.  And beautiful … in
a Victorian kind of way.  Not the kind to screw on library tables. 
Then again, I’m a poor judge of character sometimes.  And people can
surprise you now and then.”

“Linda,” Marshall sighed.

“As for Jason,” Linda pushed on, flatly ignoring Marshall’s patronizing
tone, “well, how can I put this delicately?”  She paused, looking out at
the aqua perfection of the Pacific.  “We—”

“Yes?” Diamond nudged.

“—fucked a lot,” Linda finished.  She shrugged a little girl
shrug.  Turner cleared his throat and glanced at Lou.  Marshall again
tried to sound like Big Daddy.

“Very elegant, Linda,” he said dryly.

“Could you be more specific?” Lou was not in the mood to be
indulgent. 

“We fucked often,” Linda said.  “Everywhere, whenever we
could.  Enthusiastically.  Jason was a walking hard-on.”

Marshall stood and stared out at the ocean.  Lou shared his
brother’s irritation; Linda was being deliberately outrageous.

“How long had you and Mr. Randall been together?” Lou asked.

“We were involved for two months.  I ended it about six weeks ago.”

“He didn’t waste time finding a new girlfriend.”

“He did not.”

“Why did you end the affair?”

“Because he liked to fuck everything with a heartbeat,” Linda replied
undramatically.  “And I tend to be proprietary.  Not to mention
paranoid when it comes to sex.  Dangerous business, these days. 
Fucking, that is.”  She smiled at Lou now, and leaned forward in her
lounge chair.  “Don’t you agree, Inspector?”

Marshall turned around now, his patience at an end.  “Do you have to
be so crude, Linda?”

“I’m being direct,” Linda fired back at him.  “You used to admire
that about me.”  She looked from Marshall, to Turner, then finally back at
Lou, anger flashing in her brilliant green eyes.  “I like to cut through
bullshit.  It invariably saves money and it always saves time.”

“Cutting through the bullshit,” Lou said in a low, direct voice, “you’ve
just given us a justifiable motive for murder.”

“That being?” Linda challenged.

“Theoretically, you could have killed Ms. Simpson and Mr. Randall out of
a jealous rage.”

“The same theory could apply to Marianne’s husband.  Anyway, I
dumped Jason, he didn’t dump me.  And I don’t get jealous.  Besides,
I told you I was here last night.”

“Alone,” Lou reminded her.  “That’s a lousy alibi, Linda.”

“It’s the truth,” she shrugged.  “Besides, there were a few other
folks inside and outside the company who had better reasons to whack Jason than
myself.”

“You’re of course referring again to Mrs. Simpson’s husband,” Turner
jumped in.

She gave a slight nod his way, but somehow Diamond didn’t think Linda had
given Turner the direct answer he needed.  Lou’s head was pounding, his
shakes had increased, and he was tired of the pissing match atmosphere that
prevailed.  He decided on a different tack.  He glanced at his
brother who still looking annoyed and uncomfortable.

“Marshall, would you advise your client that she seems unduly hostile to
this entire investigation and that her flippant, noncommittal attitude towards
the death of her colleagues puts her own position in a very unfavorable light.”

Marshall glanced at Linda.  “That’s Lou’s way of being
intimidating.”

Linda stood and wrapped the robe tighter around herself.  “I’m not
being hostile.  I know my rights.  You don’t have shit.  And I
think I’ve been more than patient.  Again, for the record, I can’t say I’m
crushed to hear Jason got whacked.”

“So you’re glad he’s dead,” Lou pushed.

“I’m a lawyer, Lou.  Not a monster.  What happened last night
was tragic, but not surprising.”

“If he was a prick, Ms. Baylor, why fuck him?” Lou jabbed again.

Linda laughed, and he could tell there was genuine amusement there. 
“Oh, come on, Lou.  Haven’t you ever found yourself in the position of
fucking someone, almost against your will?  Jason surprised me.  I
like to be surprised.”

A flash of the previous night, with Juanita, tormented Diamond for a few seconds
before he consigned the image back to the dark abyss of recent memory. 

Linda moved closer to him now, voice lowering. “Nice people generally
tend to be lousy fucks, I’ve found.  The really good bangs come from those
individuals who have little conscience and no moral integrity.  Throw in a
dicey environment, and you’ve got a real party happening.”

“By that criteria, a date with an ax murderer in Disneyland is a real joy
ride,” Lou said evenly.

“Are we going someplace substantive with all this?” Marshall asked.

Linda ignored Marshall and focused on Lou, smiling.  “That’s very
funny.  But we’re digressing.  What were we discussing earlier that
was more germane to your investigation?”

Lou waited for just a moment.

“How you weren’t a monster.”

Her smile abruptly disappeared.  “If we’re finished, gentlemen, I’d
like to continue with my swim.”

“We’re done for now,” Lou said, standing.  “I’m afraid they’ll be
more questions, Ms. Baylor.  Until this matter is concluded.”

“Again, Lou, I’ll keep an open door policy in your case,” she said, then
turned her back on him and headed onto the beach.  She took off her robe,
her magnificent body exposed to taunt and entice.  She hit the surf
running, then disappeared beneath the surface.

“That is one tough lady,” Turner remarked through a whistle.

“She has her moments,” Marshall agreed.

Lou turned and walked back into the house, snarling at his brother. 
“What the fuck are you trying to pull, Marshall?”

“I don’t understand—” Marshall stammered.

“You could have told me last night that she was screwing Randall.  I
knew it already—but I wanted to hear it from you, directly.  Why are you
protecting her?” 

“I’m not,” Marshall protested.  “I knew she’d tell sooner or later.”

Lou stopped dead in his tracks and stood face to face with
Marshall.  “No more surprises or I’m off this case.”

Marshall swallowed what looked to be a watermelon, then nodded. 

Turner gave Lou a wide eyed stare that seemed to say, ‘well, that went
real good,’ then followed his friend back down to the car.

Five minutes of strained silence later, Diamond looked at Turner. 
“Well?”

“Beats the fuck out of me, Lou,” Turner said, scratching his chin and
driving at his usual as-slow-as-piss speed.

“Look, we have motive and no alibi.  Yet the pole-up-her-ass
attitude is almost challenging us to book her.”

“She’s a scary woman, that’s a fact,” Turner said.  “But she’s right
about being judgment proof.  So far, anyway.  Half the people you
question at your brother’s firm will have alibis just like hers.”

“Half the people at the firm weren’t dicking the guy that got whacked,”
Diamond said, annoyed again.

“That you know of,” Turner reminded him.  “The lady did say this guy
Randall was a bit of a Stick Man.  Who knows where that wick was and with
whom.”

Diamond had already considered that possibility.  But the meeting of
just minutes ago was downright, goddamned rankling.  Something about Linda
Baylor was really bugging him; moreover, something about his brother’s
involvement in all of this didn’t smell all that poop-free either.

“What now?” Turner asked.

“The most probable hitter, according to everyone in the goddamned known
universe,” Diamond sighed.  “We try to find Marianne Spencer’s
husband.  Mind if we do a quick run by his house, just for good clean
American fun?”

“He’s not there,” Turner said.  “But what the hell.  It’s only
the first day off I’ve had in three months.  Why not spend it working?”

TWELVE

Preston Giles lay back in the bed and yawned as techno jazz howled in the
background, his living room to be precise, just two walls away.  He sighed
as he absently watched the two girls pleasure each other at the foot of his
bed.  Tanya, the closest girl to his right hand, turned and smiled at him,
her mouth half open in either genuine or simulated pleasure.  At $700 an
hour, Giles wasn’t sure, nor did he care.  She moved closer to him by a
foot, and he idly fondled a breast as the other girl, a brunette (in this
light, who could tell) slowly drew him in and out of her mouth, moaning as her
young friend manipulated her with her tongue and a vibrator.  It all got
so complicated, these threesomes, Giles thought distantly.  He was a
precise man in general … yet there were fetishes to be indulged and today he
was indulging them in earnest.

Giles was a tall man, roughly six foot one, and possessed of one of those
bodies that usually graced the cover of men’s magazines.  The kind that
rippled with muscles and was meant to entice sand-kicked-in-your-face girlie
men to purchase them with the dim hope that they, too, could look like
that
. 
Giles had worked on his physique for years, but not for the purposes of looking
great on the beach.

He kept his strength because sometimes you had to have that kind of power
to snap a man’s neck, or break his back … all at a moment’s notice.  Part
of his on-the-job requirement as a paid killer. 
Heck, it’s a living
,
he thought absently, willing himself to concentrate on the blonde’s wet mouth
now consuming his cock.

Tanya and Astrid, both from Guadalupe, had charming French accents. 
They were lovely, Giles thought.  They had told him that they were trying
to break into the theater.

“Very nice,” Giles whispered to Tanya, the head-giving blonde. 
“Yes, very nice indeed.”

Tanya was a singer.  He forgot exactly what Astrid’s claim to fame
was … dancer, maybe?  Yes, probably so.  It didn’t really
matter.  They had a double trouble thing that they had marketed to
discreet gentlemen of discriminating tastes, and Giles was currently enjoying
the proficiency of their performance.

“You have pretty face,” Tanya had told Giles as she walked through his
door half an hour earlier.

“Thank you,” Giles gave an almost courtly bow, then led both Tanya and
Astrid into his bedroom.  It was true—Giles was possessed of one of those faces
that was almost feminine; an amalgam of beauty, sexuality and
ruthlessness.  It had served him well in the past.  Some of his
targets had been women and, before he had killed them per contract and per
pre-payment, he had enjoyed romancing them for one last evening of
pleasure.  Giles viewed himself not as an assassin but as a civilized man
who was good at his job.  And it
was
a job, like any other … with a
few exceptions.  He didn’t want to dwell on those exceptions at the
moment, as he smiled at both girls, doing their very best to bring in the bacon
from daddy.

Neither one of the young ladies could have been more than eighteen or
so.  All the better.  Tanya shifted from cocksucking to moaning, as
Astrid expertly brought her nearer and nearer to climax.  She lifted her
head and looked at Giles through glazed eyes.

“Fuck me, pretty man,” she said.  “Hurry, baby!”

She swiveled around on her knees and he mounted her doggie style, as
Astrid moved below them and continued with her oral ministrations, transitioning
to include both of them.  Astrid, the faux brunette with a shaved mons,
was masturbating furiously as she licked and sucked, fondling Giles’ balls as
he slid in and out of Tanya.  He felt the latter spasm rhythmically only a
few moments later and he thrust in deeply and stayed still, savoring her orgasm
as it pumped at his member.  Astrid extended the contractions by pressing
a vibrator against Tanya’s clitoris.  He held off on coming, remaining
still as she throbbed at her core.  Giles then withdrew and winked at
Astrid.  He was still rock hard.