The Heart Has Reasons (34 page)

She
pictured the broad shoulders, the bulging biceps, the washboard abs.  “No,
not really.”

“How
about hair color?”

“Hidden
under the ski mask.”

“What
about body hair?”

An
image of the dark hair on his muscular forearms flashed into her mind.
 “Light.  Reddish-blond.”

As
Fahey jotted that down, Gonzales snapped his cell phone shut.  “Guess who
owns this house?  Coco Keswick.”

“I
know that name from somewhere,” Larissa blurted.

Fahey
regarded her with raised eyebrows.  “Coco Keswick was a porn star back in
the eighties.  She later started her own film company and began producing
and directing her own movies.”

That’s
how she knew the name.  Coco Keswick made movies targeted at women and
she’d seen a few.  They were good.

“Most
of them were probably filmed right here on the property,” he informed her.

“At
her own home?”

“Most
adult films are produced inside homes right here in the San Fernando
Valley.  We have the dubious distinction of being the porn capital of the
U.S.”  Fahey gazed about at all the bondage equipment.  “But I had no
idea she’d branched out into S&M films.”

Larissa
leaned wearily against the doorframe.  “I doubt she did.  I think
this is all Sparrow’s doing.”   The room seemed to spin around her. 
“I need some fresh air.  If no one minds, I’m going to step outside.”

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, various
official-capacity vehicles lined the driveway, their arrays of rotating beacons
lighting the day with blood-red pulses.  Sitting under a tree with her
back to its trunk and her knees drawn up to her chest, Larissa watched as two
technicians wheeled Sparrow’s black-bagged body out of the playroom. 
Inside, the crime scene was now a hive of activity as lab technicians took
photographs and bagged evidence.

Her
clothes and hair were drying quickly due to the low humidity here but, despite
the afternoon’s warmth, she trembled and shivered.  An unshakable cold had
taken hold of her as if her blood had turned to ice water.  Her asthma had
worsened to the extent that the new inhaler was no longer having much effect
and she couldn’t draw in enough air to fill her lungs.

Detective
Fahey emerged from the guesthouse, glanced in her direction, did a double take,
and hurried over to her.  “Ms. Santos, are you okay?”

“I
can’t breathe.”

“I'm
taking you to the hospital.  Wait here while I bring the car
around.”  After speaking with Detective Ramos, he took off at a jog toward
the front of the house.

Two
minutes later, he was back.  As he helped her to the car, she gasped, “I’m
so cold.”

He
immediately shucked off his suit jacket and draped it around her
shoulders.  “You’re going into delayed shock, which is no surprise
considering all you’ve been through.”

Fahey
called ahead to let the hospital know they were coming.  When they arrived
several minutes later with lights flashing, she was shaking so badly her teeth
chattered like castanets.  A nurse escorted her into a curtained cubicle
and, while Larissa sat shivering and wheezing, Fahey quickly explained the
situation to the ER doctor.  There followed a flurry of activity in which
she was cocooned within several pre-warmed blankets, given two oblong white
tablets and two tiny blue ones to swallow, and started on the nebulizer. 
Once she was breathing easier, the doctor examined her facial injuries and
insisted on taking X-rays to rule out skull fractures.

After
the radiology technician had departed, the doctor put two tiny stitches in her
lower lip.  “See your family physician in four or five days to have the
sutures removed.  In the meantime, keep the wound covered in petroleum
jelly to minimize scarring.”

Once
they were alone behind the curtain, Fahey leaned toward her and lowered his
voice. “Ms. Santos, did either your abductor or Sparrow sexually assault
you?  If so, we’ll need to do a rape kit while we’re here.”

If
they did a rape kit, they’d be sure to find her kidnapper’s DNA.  “Neither
man raped me.”

“You
and your abductor spent several nights together.  Even if under duress—”

“He
never tried to coerce me either.”

Fahey
had the alert, cynical eyes of someone who had seen everything and, subsequently,
was now surprised by nothing.  Those eyes now bored into hers.  “He
could have done so while you were drugged and unconscious.”

She
shook her head.  “If he had, there’d have been evidence.”

“Not
if he’d worn a condom.”

“If
I’d been molested, I would have known. And if I had even a smidgeon of doubt,
I’d be insisting on the rape kit myself.”

“Would
you feel more comfortable discussing this with a female officer?”

“
There’s
nothing to discuss!
”  Rubbing her temples, she closed her eyes and
took a slow, deep breath, grateful for the restored ability to do so.  Her
gratitude extended to the pills that were finally beginning to take effect,
dulling her aches and pains and sanding the sharp edges off her jitteriness.

She
opened her eyes to find the detective watching her.  “I apologize,
Detective Fahey.  I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you.” 

He
patted her hand.  “In light of all that’s happened, I think you’re
handling things remarkably well.”

“It
doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“I
deal with a lot of crime victims, and I can assure you that, under the
circumstances, you’re doing great.  Is it possible your abductor was
homosexual?”

“If
he was it wasn’t obvious.  Maybe he was determined to deliver me in good
condition simply because he believed I was Sparrow’s wife.  He brought me
sufficient changes of clothing, all the toiletries I’d need, and was clearly
concerned about keeping my asthma under control.  Despite his threats to
hurt me if I offered any resistance, he never actually did.  Of course, I
always tried not to give him a reason.”

Fahey
reached over one long-fingered hand and lightly touched the bruises circling
one wrist.  “In the face of these bruises, how can you say he never hurt
you?”

“I
did this to myself, trying to escape the handcuffs.”

“Well,
fear not.  We’ll catch the son-of-a-bitch.”

* * * * *

Chase was nearly to the freeway when a
patrol car pulled in behind him.  The uniformed officer tailed him for the
next several blocks and, in the rearview mirror, Chase could see him speaking
into a hand mike.  He unlocked his cell phone and speed dialed a number.

Travis
Barker answered on the second ring.  “Talk to me.”

“In
the next few days, you’ll get a package in the mail.  I’d appreciate you
keeping it somewhere safe.”

“Will
do.”

“That
alibi we discussed?  Looks like I'm going to need it.”

“Fuck. 
I’ll let Mad Dog and Roach know.”

Chase
lightly touched the tips of his fingers to the bruise on his temple.  “One
more thing.  You and I were drinking last night and we got into a physical
altercation.  When I went down, I banged my left temple on a rock.”

“I
remember the incident well.”

A
second patrol car turned a corner, joining the first.  As both their
lights started flashing, Travis asked, “Where are you now?”

“San
Fernando Valley, about to be arrested.”

CHAPTER
23

Feeling awkward and conspicuous, Larissa
followed Detective Fahey through the police station, trying to ignore all the
curious glances cast her way.  Her left eye and lower lip felt
enormous.  Her feet squished in her shoes, her yoga pants were still damp
around the crotch, waist, and hem, and she didn’t even try to imagine how bad
she must look.

Ramos
was already there.  “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much,
thank you.”

Fahey
invited her to take the seat across from his own desk.  A flat-screen
monitor idled between them, a stack of files piled high beside it.  “Are
you hungry?” he asked.

Suddenly
aware of the hollow ache in her stomach, she nodded.

Ten
minutes later, a uniformed officer delivered a paper bag full of fast
food.  Fahey and Ramos gobbled their burgers between phone calls and
filling out paperwork.  Despite her hunger, Larissa barely managed to
choke hers down.  Encountering food for the first time since last night,
her stomach grumbled in protest.

She
didn’t see how the two detectives could get anything done with all the
confusion and noise.  People constantly moved about the large room,
talking, swearing, occasionally shouting, the fax machine and photocopier
hummed almost without pause, and the telephones rang incessantly.

The
Novocain was starting to wear off and her sutured lip was beginning to smart
like hell.  Despite the pain pills, her eye started to throb dully as a
growing multitude of various other aches and pains competed for
attention.  As soon as she got home, she was going to take a long, hot
bath, crawl into bed, and not emerge for days.

The
two detectives didn’t seem to be paying her much attention, which seemed
strange.  Although they’d already questioned her at the crime scene,
shouldn’t they now be taking her formal statement?  When Fahey received a
phone call, he abruptly left to attend to who-knew-what.

“Detective
Ramos, would it be possible for me to make a long-distance call?”

“Sure. 
Dial nine to get an outside line.”

Brendon
answered his cell phone on the third ring, and she almost broke down at the
sound of his “Hello?”

“Brendon,
it’s Larissa.”

“
Oh
my god!
  Honey, where the hell
are
you?  We’ve been
worried half to death.  Are you all right?”  The poor guy sounded on
the verge of tears.  He was obviously at the salon, for she could hear her
coworkers in the background, shouting questions.

“I’m
fine.  I’m at a police station in California.”

“
California?
”

She
glanced up as Fahey strode back through the door, accompanied by two
people.  Dressed in a dark gray pantsuit, the woman was only a few years
older than Larissa.  Raven-black hair shorn mannishly short framed an
exotic face whose dusky complexion proclaimed an East-Indian heritage.

The
middle-aged man’s skin gleamed the undiluted blue-black of his African
ancestors.  He towered over Detective Fahey and, although his waist was
trim, an impeccable navy suit strained over massive shoulders and biceps. 
When his dark gaze locked onto hers, her gut instinctively tightened. 
Returning her attention to Brendon, she said into the phone, “Sparrow had me
kidnapped and brought here.”

“I
knew it!  I hope they fry that son-of-a-bitch!”

“Brian
Sparrow’s dead.  I killed him.”

After
a moment’s strained silence, he said, “Well, good for you.  Honey, are
you’re
sure
you’re okay?”

“Just
a bit shaken up.”  What a freaking understatement.

With
a feeling of impending doom, she watched the two newcomers accompany Detective
Fahey across the squad room toward her.  Fighting down the nausea that
threatened to relieve her of the hamburger she’d eaten, she took a deep breath
and said into the phone, “Brendon, I have to go now.  Will you let
everyone know I’m all right?”

“I
will,” he promised, clearly reluctant to hang up.  “Call me back when you
can talk.”

As
she set the receiver back into its cradle, Detective Fahey made the
introductions.  “Ms. Santos, this is Special Agent Sengupta, and Special
Agent Jarvis.  Since your abductor transported you across multiple state
lines, the FBI is assuming jurisdiction over the investigation.

* * * * *

Larissa sat stiffly in the rear seat of
the big, black SUV, trying to ignore the icy, centipedal feet of fear prickling
up and down her spine.  As Agent Jarvis skillfully maneuvered the vehicle
through the heavy traffic, she leaned back against the leather seat and closed
her eyes, feigning sleep in an attempt to forestall their questions.

After
nearly an hour’s drive, they arrived at the concrete high-rise that constituted
the Los Angeles Federal Building.  Flanked by the two agents, she limped
through the bustling lobby.

The
elevator disgorged them on a grey-linoleum-tiled corridor stretching the length
of the building.  In stark contrast to the police station, the floor of
Federal Building commanded by the FBI breathed officialdom.  From behind
closed doors set at regular intervals, only an occasional muted voice or
ringing phone relieved the near-silence.

Once
they were ensconced in an interview room, Agent Sengupta took multiple photos,
the camera’s flash stabbing Larissa’s eyes like a knife.  Her injuries now
documented, Agent Jarvis invited her to take a chair, and seated himself
opposite from her.  “Before we begin, is there anything we can get you? 
Water?  Coffee?  Something to eat?”