Omerta Page 7

  Tomlinson smiled, got up, and walked over to Drew’s side of the table. She bent down and kissed him on the mouth.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” she said.

  * * *

  Lucy Tomlinson stood in the living room of Drew’s apartment and looked through the CDs stored on the shelf above the stereo.

  “Country-western fan, huh?” she said.

  Drew was in the kitchen mixing scotch and sodas with lots of ice. He smiled when he heard her question about his music tastes. He finished making the drinks and walked out to the living room. He handed Lucy a glass.

  “Yes, I developed a taste for it when I was in the army,” Drew said. “You like it?”

  “Some of it,” Lucy said. “As long as it isn’t too twangy.”

  “Who do you like?”

  “Um, Taylor Swift.”

  “Well, she started as a country singer,” Drew said. “But I think she is more of a pop singer now.”

  Drew went to the shelf and selected the Calico the Band Rancho California CD. He popped it into the stereo.

  “You might like this,” Drew said. “It’s an all female vocalist’s California country band from Los Angeles. They’re great.”

  As the music began, Drew picked up his drink, and Lucy came over to tap his glass with hers. But instead of drinking, they kissed. Halfway through the kiss, Lucy started giggling.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just feeling happy.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Drew said, smiling.

  “And a little reckless,” Lucy smirked.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said with a grin. She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth again.

  Later, with Lucy lying face down on his bed, Drew gently traced the outline of her spine with a fingertip and then the curve of her thigh. He marveled at how comfortable he felt being with her. He knew almost nothing about her. There seemed to be a surprise around every delicious curve.

  “What are you thinking about?” Lucy said.

  “Nothing. I was just wondering if you’re sleeping over or going home.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Sleeping over.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I don’t feel ready to start missing you yet.”

  Lucy turned onto her side, revealing her breasts and the smile with the sparkly thing in her eyes. Her breasts weren’t large, but they weren’t small. Sort of medium, symmetrical, and perky, and that’s what made them perfect. Her short, light brown hair was mussed from the bed. Drew liked that too. She reached over and pulled him into a deep kiss.

  “That’s so sweet,” Lucy said. “I think that’s the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me.”

  Drew lay his head on her pillow and drank in the scent of her perfume and the scent of sex and sweat.

  Lucy turned over with her back to Drew. He reached beneath her arm and cupped one of her breasts and pulled her close.

  “So, are you sleeping over?”

  “Well… my boyfriend is expecting me to come home,” Lucy said. “But I guess I could call him.”

  Drew stiffened. Then Lucy laughed.

  “I’m teasing.”

  “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Well, you never asked if I was seeing anyone before you seduced me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s what happened,” Drew said with a laugh. “But you didn’t ask me either.”

  “I didn’t have to ask you,” Lucy said. “It’s obvious. You’re the lone wolf detective type—just the facts, ma’am—I have no time for chicks. Murder is my business, and business is good.”

  Drew ran his fingers across her ribs, tickling her. Lucy cut off her words with giggles. Drew rolled over on his back with his head on his pillow.

  “So you are spending the night?” he said.

  Lucy rolled over to him and kissed him on the chin.

  “Depends.”

  “Depends?”

  “Yeah, on whether you’re up for more sex or whether you’re only a one-trick pony, mister.”

  Drew grabbed her and pulled her on top of him.

  “Well, c’mere, and I’ll show you who isn’t a one-trick pony,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  On the way to work the following morning, Drew was still smiling from the memories of the night spent with Lucy. It had been amazing. Afterward, when he’d fallen asleep, he had slept more soundly than he had in a long time, and there had been no dreams. Drew thought maybe having someone in his life was what he needed.

  At five minutes after ten, the watch sergeant brought Rowan Zuckerman into the squad room. Ortega and Drew took him to an interview room, not because they considered him a potential suspect, but only for the privacy. Zuckerman was twenty-five and looked the part of a musician. He had distinctive, waxed, spiky, blonde-tipped hair.

  After sitting down at the table in the interview room, Zuckerman told Ortega and Drew that after Silverman and his father broke up, he continued to visit her at least once a week. He acknowledged she had made him the beneficiary of her modest Writer’s Guild insurance policy, something the detectives already knew.

  “How often did you talk on the phone?” Drew said.

  “Constantly,” Zuckerman said. “We were very close. Fiona was always more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.”

  “How was Fiona about security?” Drew said. “Did she usually keep the house locked up when she was at home?”

  “Oh yeah,” Zuckerman said. “She was pretty anal about it. Whenever I visited, I’d have to knock on the door. She would look out the peephole. I’d say, ‘It’s me.’ Then she would unlock the door and let me in.”

  “Did she mention having problems with anyone?” Drew said.

  “The landlord was always a point of contention,” Zuckerman said.

  “What was the problem there?” Drew said.

  Zuckerman explained the landlord had tried to evict Silverman many times because she hadn’t paid her rent.

  “The old lady took her to court over it several times,” Zuckerman said, “trying to evict her. But Fiona was successful every time arguing she was only withholding the rent until needed repairs were made to the house.”

  “The landlord must have been steamed about that,” Drew said.

  “Well, you know the deal,” Zuckerman said. “The landlord wanted the rent paid on time, and sometimes Fiona just didn’t have the money to pay. She told Fiona she had a gun. She threatened to shoot her dogs. Fiona always felt threatened. She even told me once that if she ever turned up dead to tell the cops the landlord did it.”

  “Do you think the landlord killed her?” Drew said.

  “It’s hard to say,” Zuckerman said. “Like last year, the landlord had a serious car crash. Fiona visited her in the hospital and even took her flowers. I think she even visited the old lady a few times after she got out of the hospital. Fiona had received some money from a friend and had caught up on the rent. I don’t think she was ever late paying the rent after that. Anyway, it seemed like they had worked out their issues.”

  “To your knowledge, did the landlord ever show up at the house and display a gun?” Drew said.

  “No, and I’m sure Fiona would have mentioned it to me if she had.”

  “What was your father’s relationship with Fiona like?” Drew said.

  “It was great at first,” Zuckerman said. “Dad, my sister, and I all moved in with Fiona in the house she used to own in Brentwood. We all got along fine at first. It was, well, like a family.”

  “What caused the breakup?”

  “Dad and Fiona tried to produce a Broadway musical, and it went bust,” Zuckerman said. “They had used Fiona’s money. Right or wrong, when the dust settled, Fiona blamed dad for losing her money.”

  “You ever see your father violent toward Fiona or anyone else?” Drew said.

  “No, never.”

  “Did he own any weapons?”

&
nbsp; “No, man, never,” Zuckerman said. “My dad is an ex-hippie. He isn’t the violent type, and he hates guns. He says they should be banned.”

  “Any idea what Fiona’s usual daily schedule was like?” Drew said.

  “She’d get up mornings and read the paper while she had her coffee,” Zuckerman said. “The rest of the day she spent writing or going to meetings with her agent to sell her books and screenplays.”

  “Did she do much socializing?” Drew said.

  “Like did she go out, or did she have people over?” Zuckerman said.

  “Both.”

  “Okay, she had lunch with friends sometimes. Sometimes she went to dinner or movies with her agent.”

  “You’re referring to Nelson Welch?” Drew said.

  “Yes. Anyway, as far as socializing at home, Fiona invited very few people to come over. I know it was because it embarrassed her living in poverty and the poor condition of her house.”

  Me and Nelson, her agent, were the only friends she allowed to visit regularly. Well, except for the writer dude whose screenplay she was editing. I think he visited her at the house once or twice a week.”

  Both detectives were interested in Welch and hoped Zuckerman could tell them more about him.

  “You said Fiona went to dinner and movies with Nelson Welch,” Drew said. “Were they in a relationship?”

  “She had a sort of relationship with him, I guess,” Zuckerman said, holding out a hand with the palm down and tipping the hand up and then back down several times to emphasize the “sort of” aspect.

  “Was it a romantic relationship?” Drew said.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t ever like that,” Zuckerman said. “They weren’t sleeping together. Nelson never stayed overnight at the house. Besides going to dinner and the movies, Nelson often drove Fiona to business meetings, her medical appointments, to the supermarket. Things like that. By relationship, I only mean they had more than only a business relationship. They were friends.”

  “So, he helped her out with other stuff besides just being her agent?” Drew said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you ever get the impression Welch wanted more than just friendship?” Drew said.

  “Honestly, I never got that vibe from him,” Zuckerman said. “It was actually the other way around. I think Fiona wanted it to be more, but Nelson wasn’t into it.”

  “Anyone else she might have had problems with?” Drew said.

  “Nobody that she mentioned to me,” Zuckerman said. “The thing about Fiona is she didn’t like drama and confrontations. If she had problems with anyone, she would clear them out of her life.”

  “Do you know a man named William Hurst?” Drew said.

  “Yes, she always called him Bill. He was Fiona’s best friend since they were in college together way back when. He lives in New York, but whenever he was in L.A., he always visited her. I met him a few times. Seems like a decent guy.”

  “Do you think William Hurst could have killed Fiona?” Drew said.

  “That’s just idiotic,” Zuckerman said. “They were like brother and sister. Bill would have never hurt Fiona.”

  “The authorities in New York recently reopened an investigation into the disappearance of Hurst’s wife many years ago,” Drew said. “We’ve learned Fiona might have known things about that Hurst wouldn’t have wanted her to reveal. You don’t think that could have been an issue between them?”

  “No way,” Zuckerman said. “Fiona told me a little about that after some New York detective contacted her about coming out here to interview her again. Fiona already proved her loyalty to Bill eighteen years ago. And if Bill wanted Fiona dead, he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger himself. The guy is a billionaire. He would have hired and sent someone. Fiona would never have let anyone in the house she didn’t know.”

  Zuckerman put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Bill called me last night. He offered to pay to hire a private investigator if it seemed you guys weren’t going to find the person who killed Fiona. He is also paying all the expenses for the funeral. No way is Bill connected to Fiona’s death.”

  “Do you know if the funeral arrangements have been made?” Drew said.

  “Yes, because I’m the one making them. That’s why I came back early from Austin. Fiona has an aunt and a few cousins who live out here. But, a while ago, she asked me to take care of things if anything happened to her.”

  “When is the funeral?” Drew said.

  “We haven’t set the date yet because the coroner hasn’t released the body,” Zuckerman said. “But I’ve set everything up for when they do. Fiona told me exactly what she wanted. She wasn’t religious and didn’t want a big showy funeral. There will be a memorial service at the Writer’s Guild Theater in Beverly Hills, where all her friends can come and pay their respects. A private interment ceremony will follow that at a mausoleum at Home of Peace Memorial Park that Bill Hurst has already arranged and paid for.”

  “We’d like to attend the memorial service, if you have no objections,” Drew said. “To pay our respects, but it would also give us the chance to speak with some of Fiona’s friends who don’t live in Los Angeles.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Zuckerman said. “Whatever helps you guys find Fiona’s killer, I’m down with it.”

  “You think William Hurst will attend the memorial service?” Drew said.

  “Of course he will,” Zuckerman said. “I told you they were very close and have been for a long time.”

  “I guess that’s all the questions we have for now,” Drew said. “We appreciate you coming in to talk with us.”

  “I have a question for you,” Zuckerman said.

  “Sure, what?” Drew said.

  “How optimistic are you guys about solving this?” Zuckerman said.

  Ortega spoke up. “We solve most of our cases,” he said matter-of-factly. “Something will turn up. We’ll get the person who did it.”

  After walking Zuckerman out, Drew met Ortega back in the squad room.

  “I think we’re getting close, Youngblood,” Ortega said with confidence. “Based on what everyone is telling us, Silverman was obsessive about her security at home. No way she would have let a stranger in her house. There was no sign of forcible entry. The killer has to be someone she knew and trusted. And, there were only a few of those she allowed to visit her at home.”

  Drew nodded.

  “We can be sure that kid didn’t kill her. You could tell how torn up he is about it, and he has a solid alibi besides. After the interview yesterday, I don’t like Hargraves for it. Once we get the final time of death estimate from the coroner and check his alibi, I’m sure we’ll be able to eliminate him. Everyone we’ve talked to has been adamant they don’t believe William Hurst did it. So, that leaves only two viable suspects.”

  “The landlord and Nelson Welch,” Drew said.

  “Exactly, and we’ll go a long way toward finding out if the landlady did it when we serve the search warrant this afternoon,” Ortega said. “My money is on Welch. We have two hours before we head out to serve the warrant. I’m going to get with the watch sergeant to arrange for some uniformed officers to help us serve the warrant. You try to get a hold of Welch and see if you can convince him to come in tomorrow for an interview. If he refuses, we’ll go to his house tomorrow to interview him.”

  “Okay,” Drew said. “I was going to call Welch anyway since we’ve talked with Zuckerman and got the background we wanted before approaching him.”

  Ortega left to coordinate with the watch sergeant. Drew picked up the phone and called Nelson Welch. After three rings, Drew was mentally composing the message he’d leave when the voicemail picked up. But Welch answered before it did.

  Drew said, “This LAPD Detective Howard Drew. Is this Nelson Welch?”

  “Yes, it is,” the man said warily.

  “Mr. Welch, my partner and I are investigating the death of Fiona Silverman,” Drew said. “We unders
tand she was your client and maybe a friend as well. We’d like to speak with you to see if you might have any information that could help us with the investigation.”

  “What kind of information?” Welch said. “I don’t know who killed Fiona. I’m not sure there is anything I know that could help you.”

  “You never know, Mr. Welch,” Drew said. “Sometimes things people think are insignificant turn out to be important in investigations like this.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Welch said.

  “I can’t give you legal advice, Mr. Welch,” Drew said. “I can tell you we aren’t looking to question you as a suspect. We only want to speak with you as a witness, someone who was a close associate of the victim.”

  “What do I need to do?” Welch said. “You want to come out to the house?”

  “It would be better if you came to West Bureau,” Drew said. “We need an official statement from you for our case file. Rather than have you write something out, if you could come here, we can just record the interview. Things will go a lot quicker.”

  “I guess I can do that,” Welch said somewhat reluctantly. “Where do I need to come?”

  “To LAPD West Bureau on West Venice Boulevard,” Drew said. He gave Welch the exact street address.

  “When?”

  “We’d like to speak with you as soon as possible,” Drew said. “We still have many other people to interview. Can you come into tomorrow morning, say at 10 A.M.?”

  “I’ll have to reschedule some things I have set up for tomorrow morning,” Welch said. “But, sure. I think I can make it tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “We’d really appreciate it, Mr. Welch,” Drew said. “We’ll plan to see you in the morning then.”

  The men said goodbye. Drew hung up. He was as interested to learn what Welch had to say as Ortega was. But, unlike Ortega, Drew wasn’t ready to dismiss William Hurst as a viable suspect. Since Ortega hadn’t returned, Drew made a decision. He picked up the phone and dialed Hurst’s mobile number, which he had found in Silverman’s address book.

  After several rings, the call went to voicemail. Drew identified himself, left a message about why he had called, and asked Hurst to return the call. Hanging up, Drew realized it had been an exercise in futility. He was sure Hurst’s attorneys had already told him not to talk to LAPD.