The First Cut (31 page)

Vining picked up a recent family portrait. The five of them were on the beach, all dressed in blue jeans and white shirts. They were an attractive family. Vining could see Rhonda having the photo made up into Christmas cards she’d mail out with a chatty letter that would state the facts but not the truth. Moore stood in the rear, overseeing his brood. His smile was confident and controlling. The man.

You disgusting rat.

How much did Rhonda know and how long had she known it?

“How old are your children?”

The coffee drained into the pot, filling the air with its homey aroma.

“Sixteen, fourteen, and our girl is twelve.”

“I have a fourteen-year-old girl.” Vining didn’t quite know how to get Rhonda where she wanted her, but talking about family was a place to start.

“Ken adores our daughter, but it’s true what they say about boys being easier than girls. Especially lately. Our Meghan has become a handful.”

“Emily and I have our power struggles, now more than ever.”

The chitchat had superficially broken the ice.

“How do you take your coffee?” Rhonda poured coffee into mugs decorated with teddy bears.

“A little cream or milk and a scant teaspoon of sugar.”

That was Rhonda’s theme: teddy bears. Now that Vining had gotten it, she saw teddy bears everywhere. Cute and cuddly and nothing like real bears. In reality, they are predators. They kill and eat people.

Vining sensed the tension in this house. Her presence had added to it, but it was there before she had set foot on the front path. The children felt it. Rhonda lived it. And Moore…He did whatever the hell he wanted.

Rhonda went to a cabinet for the sugar. She tore open a packet of Equal for her own coffee. She carried the mugs to the family room, set them on coasters on the coffee table, and clicked off the television with the remote. She sat in a deep leather chair and brought her mug to her lips, blowing on the coffee to cool it. She glanced at Vining then back at her cup.

Vining sat on the matching sofa. “Good coffee.”

“It’s Peets. Ken likes it better than Starbucks. I think they’re both too expensive, but I buy it for him.”

Rhonda’s hair was neat, her makeup carefully applied, her clothes clean and pressed. She wore several pieces of gold jewelry. Her hoop earrings were enameled in a color that matched her outfit. Her figure might have filled out and her husband chased around with other women, but she still made an effort to keep herself up.

“Rhonda, did you know Frankie Lynde?”

“I met her a couple of years ago. Frankie started out in the Van Nuys precinct. One of the guys had a barbecue. Memorial Day. She was there.”

“How long ago?”

“Must have been…maybe two years ago. Terrible what happened to her. Made me sick when I heard about it.”

She remembered too well a distant, casual encounter that should have been forgotten. It was clear to Vining that Rhonda knew about her husband and Lynde.

“Was that the only time you saw her?”

“Yes.”

Vining sensed she was lying. “Why do you remember her? You just saw her once a long time ago.”

“I’m sure you’ve been to backyard cop parties. The wives hang around together and the men stay with the men and the female officers stay with the men. That’s where Frankie was. After all, she worked with them and didn’t know us. Me and the other wives, we noticed Frankie. She was the kind of woman people notice.” Rhonda looked up from her coffee. “Ken was having an affair with her.”

Vining reined in her surprise. She hadn’t expected Rhonda to come out with it.

“Detective, now you look like you’re the one who’s had a scare. When I heard about Frankie’s murder, I expected one of you from Pasadena to show up. Frankie wasn’t Ken’s first, but she might have been his longest. No, I don’t intend to divorce him. His chasing around doesn’t make me happy. It doesn’t make me feel good about myself, but he’s a great father and provider and a halfway decent husband. I have three kids…”

She let the last comment dangle, an underscore to the rest. That summed it up.

“Was he seeing anybody in addition to Frankie?”

“No.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because I’ve followed him from time to time.”

Vining wondered if Rhonda had friends that fit Lolita’s description. They’d focused the investigation on searching for a male/female couple. What if they should be looking for two women? Two women could have beat up Frankie and made it look like a brutal rape. It was farfetched but not impossible. They could have somehow set Frankie up.

Vining took a sip from the teddy bear mug and knew she was dreaming. This woman did not lash out. This woman bit the bullet and had another piece of cake.

“How long were they together?”

“I think it started before that barbecue, but not much before.”

“How did you determine that?”

Rhonda slitted her eyes. “The wives have ways of keeping tabs on the husbands.”

“Do you know if Ken gave Frankie jewelry or money?”

“Jewelry or money? You have to be kidding. We have trouble managing our bills as it is. I keep track of the household finances. If he bought anything, I would have known. She had jewelry and money?”

Vining didn’t respond.

“If you’re thinking Ken stole to give to her, you’re wrong. Ken’s an honest cop. Check his records. He’s had several commendations. He loves being a police officer. He’s third-generation LAPD. He would never do anything to discredit his profession or his family.”

Rhonda took in Vining as if seeing her for the ogre she was. She was standing by her philandering husband. Lieutenant Kendall Moore was a jerk, but he was her jerk.

“Ken might be a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer. My husband would never do what was done to that woman. He doesn’t have it in him. I know that man. I know him inside and out.”

Vining made her next comment not to make Rhonda feel better but to grease her enough to keep the woman from shutting down. She could sense Rhonda circling the wagons, withdrawing. “At least he never left you for a bimbo.”

The other woman could have a PhD in quantum physics, but in the minds of jilted wives everywhere, she was always a bimbo. The edges of Rhonda’s face softened but they wouldn’t be grabbing a coffee at Peets together ever.

“Not like my husband, leaving me for a nineteen-year-old hairdresser at Supercuts.” That wasn’t precisely what happened, but Vining embellished the saga for dramatic impact.

Rhonda tried to gauge if Vining was telling the truth.

After Vining hummed a confirming “Um-hmm,” Rhonda made a small moan of sympathy. She then revealed something that Vining had not expected.

“Ken wasn’t even seeing her when she disappeared.”

“How do you know?”

“He was home when he was supposed to be. When he said he was with his buddies, he was. There’s a cop-friendly bar in town. The Maverick. I’d cruise by and see his car parked in front. Sometimes he’d be out on the porch, smoking a cigarette, and see me.” She shrugged. “And he was more interested in sex with me.”

“When do you think it was over with Frankie?”

“About two months ago. It was my daughter’s birthday, that’s why I remember. We had a little party. After, I expected Ken to take off because I knew Frankie wasn’t working that day. I knew her schedule because I’m friendly with an officer who worked with her. Ken would usually leave after dinner to have drinks with the boys, he said. I knew he’d have one drink and take off, then wouldn’t come home until late. That night he stayed home and sulked on the couch. Wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Said he was tired. After that he was always where he was supposed to be. And in a bad mood…”

Rhonda winced with the recollection. “I just put up with it. I was happy to have him home.”

“When is your daughter’s birthday?”

“April fifteen. Ken and I joke that she’s our little tax deduction.”

“How’s Ken been acting lately?”

“Quiet. Not that he’s much for talking anyway.”

“Frankie Lynde is like an elephant in the room and all these years you’ve never talked to Ken about her.”

She opened her palms as if to say, “There it is.”

Vining stood and carried the mug to the kitchen sink. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“No problem.”

Rhonda looked through the windows over the kitchen sink at a car. It slowed as it passed then circled the cul-de-sac and headed out. Vining saw it was an unmarked detective’s car. It was likely Moore.

“I guess that’s it.” She began walking to the front door as if Vining was a dinner party guest who didn’t know when to leave.

On the porch, Vining turned back as if something occurred to her as an afterthought.

“Rhonda, when’s the last time you’ve seen a dentist?”

“Dentist?”

“Dentist.”

“I don’t know. Six, seven months ago for a cleaning. What does that have to—”

“What about your husband?”

“I’m not getting—”

“Does he go to the dentist?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Does he go to the dentist?” Vining gave her the blank eyes she’d learned from Kissick.

“I don’t have to answer.”

“No, you don’t. But it will be easier in the long run if you just answered the question.”

Rhonda glared at her. “Ken did not have anything to do with that woman’s murder.”

“Your life will be easier if you answer the question now, Rhonda. Trust me on this.”

Rhonda exhaled noisily through her nose. She gazed beyond Vining, as if seeking divine assistance. Then she gave in. “Ken rarely goes to the dentist, but he’s lucky. Has perfect teeth. You want to call our dentist? I’ll give you his number. Go ahead and call him.”

She could be lying, but Vining didn’t think so. This woman would be an inept liar.

“Thank you for your time, Rhonda. Have a good day.”

“I hate detectives. You’re all the same. Those cold eyes. You hide behind them. I know what you’re thinking. Poor thing. Stays married to a serial cheater, but you’re not me. Judge not lest ye be judged.”

The twig wreath rustled when Rhonda slammed the door.

If Wes hadn’t left, Vining wondered if she would have turned into Rhonda Moore. Would she have turned a blind eye to Wes’s philandering and crafted a
Better Homes and Gardens
life around a sucking black hole? She didn’t know. A lot of years had passed since she’d encountered the young woman she used to be. She was no longer qualified to speak for her.

Judge not lest ye be judged.

Every day she was on the Job she made judgment calls about situations and people. She’d been judged. Plenty. So Rhonda, eight words:
There but for the grace of God go I.

T W E N T Y - S E V E N

W
HILE SITTING IN HER CAR IN FRONT OF THE MOORE HOME, VINING
called Frankie’s friend and fellow LAPD officer Sharon Hernandez. She was off-duty that day but moonlighting as uniformed security part-time in downtown L.A.’s jewelry district. She could meet Vining for a few minutes. She lived in Thousand Oaks, thirty miles north of downtown L.A., but was making a stop at Frankie’s condo during her commute. They could meet there in about an hour and a half.

Vining called Kissick and updated him about Rhonda.

When he answered the phone, he had a prickly tone that she hadn’t heard in a while. “We can stop wasting time on Kendall Moore.”

“Right,” she lied.

She told him what she’d learned about John Lesley—being seen with Frankie at the luncheon, the domestic violence PRO, the nasty interaction with the PPD’s John Chase over the fix-it ticket.

“Jim, I know no one wants to pursue citizen hero John Lesley as a suspect, but we have no basis to exclude him or his wife. We’re supposed to move off because Beltran thinks Lesley’s a nice guy?”

“Nan, we’re stepping down because there’s no evidence. I don’t care about Beltran. You know me better than that. At least I hope you do.”

“Sorry, that was out of line.” She was angry because she wanted him to leap on the Lesleys, have the same gnawing feeling about them that she did. The facts supported his view. What frustrated her was that they
had
evidence: the dental crown, the New Balance shoe. It was useless unless she could legally link it to the Lesleys.

“Forget it,” he said.

There was a pause. “Jim.”

“Yep?”

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but are we having a personal issue?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Cuz everything was great last night and it’s weird today.”

“You thought last night was great?”

“I told you that. Come on. Just because I didn’t hop into bed with you.”

“Like my father used to say, live in hope, die in despair.”

She made a small noise to let him know she was smiling. “We’ll crack this case, Jim.”

“I wish I was as confident. As far as last night goes, I’m mad at myself. You’re right. We have to work together. I’ve been having doubts about whether we can. Whether it’s practical.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She tried to be reassuring. “One day at a time.”

“Sweet Jesus.”

She was about to hang up when he interjected, “Almost forgot. You’re on the news.”

“Me? Why?”

“This morning.”

“Right. The media gauntlet. I forgot. Already?”

“Slow news day, I guess.”

“I didn’t say much.”

“You were fine. They had plenty to say about you. Something to the effect that Officer Nanette Vining was critically injured in a knife attack by an unknown assailant a year ago. Her assailant is still at large, and so on.”

“Great. My fifteen minutes of fame has been extended to a half hour. Okay, I’m code seven for an hour or so. Get lunch and run a couple of errands.”

She called information for the address of Moore’s hangout. His car was the one that had started down the cul-de-sac and retreated. She took a chance on where he might be hiding out. She was confident he didn’t kill Frankie, but she wasn’t finished with him. Someone had to stick up for Frankie. She might be the only one left who would.

T
HE MAVERICK OCCUPIED A SIDE STREET CORNER. THE DEEP WRAP-AROUND
porch was crowded with smokers sitting at resin patio tables or leaning against the porch railing. They were mostly men. The few women wore tight jeans and low-cut tops, whether they had the figure for it or not. A dozen motorcycles were angled against the curb between pickup trucks and Simi Valley PD cruisers. There were sheriff’s department vehicles, too. If the cops ate there, it meant good cheap food.