Relatively Dead (8 page)

“Does she live in the same building?”

“No, but I gather she lives nearby.”

I remembered what the older Jason had told me before. “Jason was twenty-five.”

“Yes.”

Same age as I was. “Did he have a job?”

“Sort of. At least I think he did. He was always a bit vague about that point. I think his parents—my son and daughter-in-law, subsidized him, although I don’t know why. He was certainly old enough and had enough education to support himself.”

“Maybe he…” I decided I wasn’t being a good listener. “Sorry. I’ll shut up and let you tell me what you know.”

Jason was silent for a few seconds as we passed an unattended wooden lifeguard tower, painted with an artistic design in wild colors, including purple and orange. A pretty young lady ran past us from behind, ponytail flying, wearing short shorts and a T-shirt with sponsor logos on the back from some running event. As she pulled away from us we got a good look at her shapely legs and buns. I wondered whether a sight like this still had an effect on Jason, as it undoubtedly would on a younger man. If so, he gave no outward sign.

He sighed, audibly, and started speaking. “I’ve talked to the detective who’s in charge of the investigation. He wanted to know whether I was aware of any enemies Jason had—anybody who might have a reason to kill him. I’m not, as I said. My impression is that everybody liked him and he was very popular. The detective also questioned his parents along the same lines with—I gather from talking to them—the same results.

“He was murdered last Friday night. There was a party on the roof of the apartment building where he lived. Ordinarily, parties on the roof of a building like that would be
verboten
, so I suspect the owner is in on it. The partygoers were climbing a vertical fire escape ladder from a balcony on the fourth floor, which is the top floor, to get to the roof. Apparently, it was a condition for attending the party.

“I never noticed this ladder when I visited Jason before, so when I got to L.A. this time I went and took a look at it. It’s precarious enough if you’re not afraid of heights and are stone-cold sober. It’s forty feet above the ground, sticks out three feet from the wall of the building, and is completely exposed. Just think what it would be like to climb on it if you were drunk or high on something.”

I shuddered. “I think I have acrophobia.”

“Sometime during this party, Jason fell from the ladder. He apparently hit the metal railing of the fourth floor balcony, and then fell the rest of the way to the concrete beach walk. He was dead by the time the paramedics arrived.”

Jason stopped talking and inhaled noisily, perhaps to keep himself from crying. He kept walking, so I walked beside him and placed an arm across his shoulders. His breathing quieted a little and I decided it was okay to ask a question.

“If he fell off the ladder, why do the police think he was murdered?” The news reports I’d read had been sketchy.

“At first they didn’t. But then the coroner’s office found a hole in his chest from a small-caliber bullet. Probably not enough to kill him but definitely enough to knock him off the ladder.”

“Somebody at the party shot him.” I spoke softly to myself.

“What?”

“Did anybody at the party see someone with a gun?”

“If so, they didn’t admit it to the police. The detective said they questioned everyone they could find. They were all deaf and dumb.” Jason spoke bitterly. “Nobody heard a shot; nobody saw a gun. It would have been a small gun, easy to hide, but even so… Of course, they were probably playing loud music that drowned out the sound of the shot. It’s a wonder all kids aren’t deaf by the time they’re twenty-one.”

“Do they know what time the murder occurred?”

“According to the people on the beach walk who saw Jason fall, it was about nine-thirty.”

I changed the subject. “Do you keep in touch with your Boyd cousins in Northern Ireland?”

Jason looked startled. “Cousins in Ireland? I don’t know anything about them.”

“Apparently you—and I—have some Boyd cousins still living in Northern Ireland. My friend who is a genealogist found them. One of them, a Tim Boyd, was murdered about a month ago.”

“That’s incredible.”

“That’s what I thought, too.

CHAPTER 10

The LAPD station covering Venice Beach was located on Venice Boulevard, but it wasn’t very close to the beach as I found out when I drove there. Jason gave me the card of the detective in charge of the investigation and called his office to introduce me and say I was coming. I asked if he wanted to come with me, but he said he had a previous engagement.

Detective Rossi, who was dressed in a suit, introduced himself to me, took me to an interrogation room, and listened to my story about my grandmother’s scammer and why he might also be Jason’s murderer. He was skeptical until I showed him the letter, being careful not to handle it with my bare fingers any more than I already had. I told him my fingerprints were probably on it.

He handled the letter with gloved hands and asked me if I would consent to having him take my fingerprints in order to eliminate them from any found on the letter. I had no objection. My prints were probably on a police database dating from when I had amnesia, although at that time no name had been associated with them.

Detective Rossi asked me questions about how I’d received the letter. I told him about it being delivered to the motel where I was staying, and said I didn’t know how the scammer knew I was there.

He raised his bushy eyebrows. He had a kindly, if wrinkled, face, more like a father, which he probably was, than a detective. “You said the scammer has talked to your grandmother multiple times on the phone.”

“Yes.”

“During some of those conversations she wasn’t completely aware of what was going on. She could have given him the name of your motel.”

“As far as I know she didn’t, but I’m not absolutely sure of that.”

“In any case, I doubt that he got it through some kind of bug on your cell phone. That usually just happens to celebrities. In your opening speech you were talking very fast, but I thought I heard you say he tried to kill you.”

“Sorry.” I’d been babbling to try to convince him of my point of view before he got tired of listening to me. I told him what had happened the night before.

“Did you call the Redondo Beach police?”

I admitted I hadn’t and tried to explain why. My explanation sounded lame.

“They might have found tire marks or something like that. It’s probably too late now, but I’ll send someone down there to investigate. He can also try to get a better description from the clerk of the pimply faced teenager who delivered the letter. One obvious question is, why wasn’t he in school? Draw me a picture of the parking lot layout and your room number, and show where the vehicle came from.”

I felt guilty for not calling the police, so I drew the best picture I could, putting in enough detail to allow an investigator to understand where I was and the path of the vehicle, as Detective Rossi called it.

While I was doing that, he told me scams like the one Mrs. Horton fell for were covered by another department, but he said he’d get in touch with the detectives working on it and share information with them, in case they were looking for the same person.

I wanted to scream that of course it was the same person, but I’d already told him everything I remembered. I hoped he knew what he was doing. At least he’d receive the description given by the Western Union clerk who paid the scammer the money, and the drawing done by the sketch artist. I didn’t mention the Boyd cousin who was murdered in Northern Ireland. It didn’t seem relevant here, and besides, it was way outside the jurisdiction of LAPD.

I came out of the brick and concrete building wondering what to do next. It was Los Angeles rush-hour and I didn’t feel like retracing my route to Redondo Beach in all the traffic.

I considered going to Venice Beach to take a look at the apartment building where Jason III died, but a glance at my map showed me I was actually closer to Sebastian Ault’s home in the Hollywood Hills. I’d promised Kyle, his assistant, when I talked to him on the phone about Ault’s dementia, I’d visit the next time I was in L.A.

This was much too short notice, but what the hell. I called Ault’s home on my cell phone. Kyle answered.

“Hi Kyle, this is Carol Golden.”

“Carol. Hello, hello. Where are you?”

“Well, I’m actually just a few miles from you.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Can you come over? Mr. Ault is feeling down in the dumps today, and you’d cheer him up.”

I told him I’d be there as soon as she could. I set the GPS in the car to Ault’s address and then realized I owed Rigo a call. I called his cell phone and left a message saying I wouldn’t be able to eat dinner with him this evening. I disconnected and started inching my way through the traffic.

***

I climbed the hill above Sunset Boulevard, dependent on the GPS. However, I recognized the tall iron gates leading into the Ault mansion as soon as I saw them. I had climbed over those gates the first time I was there to make my dramatic escape from Broken Nose, the man who took me to the mansion to perpetrate a scam on Ault. When I found out I was psychologically unable to carry out the scam, I thought my only recourse was to get away on my own.

Looking back, I realized Kyle would have helped me and protected me from Broken Nose, but at the time I didn’t know anything about Kyle. I buzzed the house from the intercom and the gates swung open. I drove along the circular driveway and parked in front of the door.

As I walked up the steps of the white building, passing between imitation white Roman or Greek pillars (who knew the difference?), the front door opened and Kyle appeared, dressed, as usual, in a natty suit. Before I could say anything he enveloped me in a bear hug, grinning broadly.

“I don’t usually do this to Mr. Ault’s visitors.”

“I would hope not.” I pretended to be offended. “You know I don’t carry a gun.” Then I answered his smile. “I’d rather have
you
feel me up than a TSA employee. It’s good to see you. Although, before you hug me again you should know I have the world’s worst case of poison oak.”

Kyle stepped back in mock horror. “I’ve never had poison oak. Does this mean—?”

“It means nothing since I seem to be the only person in the world who can catch it. Besides, the doctor told me I wasn’t contagious unless you get the junk oozing out of my blisters on you. But if I start scratching myself, you’ll know why.”

“How can you look so good and have something that sounds so horrible?” He looked past me at the car. “Nice wheels. Just think, the first time you came here you exited over the fence. Now you’re traveling in style. You’ve really come up in the world.”

I laughed. “I got tired of walking.”

Kyle became serious. “I need to give you a little preparation before you see Mr. Ault. He’s gone downhill since you last saw him. I don’t know whether he’ll recognize you or not. Some days I’m not sure he recognizes me or Hildy.”

Hildy was the housekeeper and cook.

“That’s sad. I’m not dressed very well, either. I didn’t know I was coming here.”

I was wearing slacks and a not very feminine long-sleeved shirt, to cover my poison oak. Ault preferred sweaters and skirts, especially the styles of the fifties.

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll be happy to see you even if he doesn’t recognize you.”

Kyle walked me into the large living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking south over Los Angeles. It was a fantastic view, but I preferred the north-facing view from the home of Tina and Ernie. Kyle offered me a seat and went to get Mr. Ault.

My first sight of him was depressing. Kyle wheeled him into the room in his wheelchair. Previously, Ault navigated the wheelchair himself. He was still well dressed in his blue blazer over a pink shirt. His body appeared to have shrunk some more. He looked pale and his eyes were vacant, until they spotted me.

Kyle stopped the wheelchair. “You remember Carol.”

“Carol. Yes, of course. You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

I gave him a careful hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“I watch your video almost every day.”

My baton-twirling video. Kyle and I looked at each other. That was a good sign.

“I enjoyed making the video—although I looked rather clumsy when I fell down.”

“No, no, you’re great in it. Would you like to do another one?”

“Maybe sometime.”

Kyle cut in. “Carol didn’t come here to make videos. She came here to see you.”

“That’s very nice of you. Can you stay for dinner?”

I looked at Kyle and received a nod. Apparently, there was enough food for me. “I’d love to.”

***

Kyle joined us at dinner in the formal dining room and helped to keep the conversation going. Hildy, who was a wonderful cook, served us. Ault didn’t eat much and wandered from one topic to another. Sometimes he seemed to have lost his train of thought. Kyle and I tried to fill in the gaps. I admired Kyle for taking such good care of Ault. Of course, he was being very well paid for doing it, but just the same it required a special type of person.