Who Do, Voodoo?, page 7
Nick took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders. “What do you think Robin’s going to do about Sophie now?”
“She still has to explain everything to Sam,” I said. “I don’t know what she’ll do about Sophie.”
Nick looked up at the moon. “I wonder if Sophie considered the Rule of Three when she decided to spook Robin?”
“What’s the Rule of Three?”
“Everything you do to others comes back to you threefold.”
“That’s odd.” My eyes were drawn to the flash of yellow under the trees.
“Not really. A lot of practitioners believe in it and—”
“Not that, Nick. Look.” I pointed across the grass to the base of the wooded hill. The yellow Mini Cooper with dealer plates was parked nose in at the trunk of a large evergreen. “That’s Sophie’s car over there.”
“Maybe she left it here and went with her friends,” Nick said.
“Except the driver’s door is open,” I said. “And she left the party over an hour ago.”
“Let’s go take a look,” Nick said.
No light or movement came from the car. I saw a form alongside the open door. I grabbed Nick’s arm and tugged him. “There’s someone on the ground.”
I raced ahead with Nick close behind. My throat tightened. A dark smear streaked the driver’s door window.
Sophie was slumped on the ground. Her back leaned at a sharp angle against the door hinges, one knee up and the other bent open. Her head tilted against the car door. A gash on her left temple oozed blood over her face.
“Shit,” Nick said. “Call 911. Tell them to hurry.”
I yanked my phone out and called Emergency Services, while Nick gently eased Sophie onto her back. I looked down at her. Outrage flooded through me. I took off Nick’s jacket to cover her and keep her warm.
He touched the side of her neck. “I can barely feel her pulse. Her skull looks fractured,” he said. “Stay with us, Sophie. We’re here to help you.”
“I’ll wait on the street for the ambulance.” I dashed across the lawn and flagged the security guards outside the theater. Then I called Robin. Sam needed to know Sophie was hurt.
“Sophie was attacked in the parking lot. It’s bad,” I said to her. “Tell Sam the ambulance is on the way.”
“Oh God,” Robin said, her voice more irritated than upset. “Where are you? We’ll be right out.”
Within minutes, sirens wailed up the hill toward the Greek. A limousine pulled out of the backstage driveway and sped down the hill as the flashing red lights of an LAPD black-and-white, followed by the red LAFD ambulance, appeared. I stood in the street and directed them toward Nick, waiting at Sophie’s car.
Robin walked across the street toward me. “Where is she?”
“Back there, at her car.” I pointed through the trees. “The ambulance just got here. Where’s Sam?”
“He left with Steve.” Robin glanced over her shoulder, down the street. “We didn’t want Steve to get held up. Sam told me to make sure she’s okay and to let her know he’d call her tomorrow.”
“His girlfriend was attacked, and all he could think about was getting Steve away?”
“You don’t understand. His priorities are . . .”
“Really messed up,” I said, irritated and angry at their callousness. “She’s hurt. Bad. He should have come over here to be with her.”
Robin’s voice rose. “How could Sam know whether or not she was pulling a stunt for attention?”
“Because I called you and told you,” I said, raising my voice to match hers. “What’s wrong with you, Robin? You’re acting like Sophie isn’t hurt at all.”
“I’ll go over there and talk to her.” She started toward the picnic area. “Can she drive home?”
“She’s unconscious,” I said. “Someone needs to go to the hospital with her.”
Robin stopped. “I’ll get Lulu. I need to go back to do the settlement.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so casual about this,” I said.
“I’m sorry Sophie’s hurt. Lulu will ride to the hospital with her. But there’s no one left at the theater to do the box office. Sam’s already angry with me about the argument. I’m not going to do anything else to put my job in jeopardy. I’m sure Sophie will be okay.”
“You didn’t see her, Robin. She’s not okay.”
An LAPD patrolman came through the trees toward us. “Ladies, I need you to back away from this area. Did one of you call 911?”
“I did,” I said to the young officer.
“And were you together when you found the victim?” he said, looking at Robin.
“No,” she said. “I just walked over here from the theater.”
“I was with that man over there,” I said, pointing over to Nick.
Nick left the EMT crew working on Sophie and walked toward us. Patrolmen cordoned off the park and kept Sophie’s car isolated. The picnic area was filled with police and emergency crews. A small crowd of people formed on the sidewalk.
“She’s dead,” Nick said quietly.
“Dead?” Robin stepped back, her hand to her mouth.
The patrolman said to Nick and me, “Can you wait for the detective to arrive to give your statement?”
We both nodded.
“I have to call Sam,” Robin said.
“Here,” I said, pulling out my cell phone.
“No. I have to get back to the ticket office. They’re waiting for me.” Robin started to cross the street.
I stopped her. “That’s it? You’re going back to work? Robin, she’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Robin said. “But there’s nothing I can do out here. I don’t know Sophie’s family—Sam will know who to contact. I’ll be of more help on the phone inside than here on the street.”
I was on the sidewalk, watching Robin walk toward the theater. Nick stood there with me. Two more squad cars joined the two already parked outside the small, gated area. A short-haired woman, maybe forty, in glasses and a heavy black coat arrived fifteen minutes later and introduced herself to us as Detective Carla Pratt. Nick and I sat at a picnic table in the moonlight and described to her how we found Sophie.
“Did you know the victim?” Detective Pratt took notes as we talked.
“Not really.” I explained that Sophie dated Sam Collins, my friend’s boss.
A patrolman pulled Pratt aside. His voice carried through the still night air. “It doesn’t look like a mugging. Her purse and wallet are in the car, and she has on jewelry.”
“Sexual assault, a thrill kill, or someone she knew attacked her,” Pratt said. She came back to Nick and me. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else in the lot?”
“No, no one,” Nick said.
“Did you see her leave the theater?”
I described how I saw Sophie leave with Buzzy Lacowsky and her friends, then lost sight of them at the door. By the time we finished our statements, it was after two a.m.
Nick drove through the Valley toward my house. “What a bizarre coincidence. This morning Sophie pulls out of a parking space in front of us, and tonight we find her near her car, dying.”
“And you’re saying there’s a connection?” I lowered the window a crack. If Nick was going to begin theorizing, I needed air.
“Everything in the universe is connected,” he said.
“It’s all random, Nick.”
“I don’t agree.” He turned the car heater on. “Think about this—if you didn’t recognize her car at Collins Talent today, then Sophie and Robin might not have fought over the tarot cards, and Sophie might not have left the party when she did.”
“No causal connection,” I said. “Might is the operative word in your logic. Sophie very well could have left the party at the same time, despite whatever happened earlier. And if someone she knew planned to kill her, it wouldn’t matter what time she left.”
“Why do you insist on being so logical?” he said.
“Why are you so abstruse?”
Nick looked over to me. “That’s a fifty-dollar word.”
“Want me to break it into tens?”
“You can’t deny that our fate is linked with Sophie,” Nick said.
“Our fate?” I said. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
Nick turned left onto Carpenter and drove up the hill. “If Sophie hadn’t left the tarot cards on Robin’s door, you and I wouldn’t be together right now.”
I stared out the car window and grinned. Nick parked in front of my townhouse and got out to open the door for me.
“You don’t have to walk me,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I want to be certain you make it in safe.” He followed me up the steps.
I took out my key and turned to say good-night. Nick put a finger under my chin, tilted my head back, and kissed me lightly. Then he brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Get some rest, Liz. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
I woke with less than three hours of sleep behind me. I showered and dressed by rote. I had one goal—a double shot of espresso before I met my first client.
The aroma of coffee brewing inside the Caffeine Café prodded my senses. The veil of tiredness, clouding my mind and aching my body, was about to be lifted. I got in line to order and glanced at the TV above the condiment station. A headline flashed across the bottom of the screen: “Breaking News: Murder at the Greek.”
A female reporter stood in front of the Greek Theater marquee. “Police are investigating the death of a young woman found in the parking lot of the Greek Theater last night. Sources who attended a private function at the theater after singer Steve Weller’s concert disclosed the victim engaged in an argument at that party.”
I gave the barista my order and dialed Robin.
“I was just going to call you,” she said after my hello. “I hope we’re still on for lunch in Beverly Hills. I know I acted like an ass last night, and I’m sorry. I was upset.”
“We’re on. My last client is at eleven. Meat-loaf sandwiches?”
“Great idea.”
“Did you see the news this morning?” I said, picking up my steaming espresso from the counter. Ouch. I set it down and reached for a cup sleeve.
“Not yet. Did they say something about Sophie?”
“They talked about the murder but didn’t identify her by name. But they knew about the argument at the party. I’m sure the police will want a statement from you,” I said.
“They’ll probably want the guest list, too,” Robin said. “Liz, do you think someone from the party attacked Sophie?”
I walked to my car, set my cup on the roof, and unlocked the door. “I know Madame Iyå and her son followed Sophie out. But killing Sophie over a deck of tarot cards doesn’t make any sense. And I didn’t know anyone else there. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not the only person she harassed,” Robin said. “The girl was evil.”
“She didn’t deserve to die.”
“No, you’re right. She didn’t,” she said.
“Maybe the guest list will help the police. Listen, I need to get to the office to meet a client,” I said. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way to lunch.”
I downed the espresso and drove toward the courtyard of offices on Ventura Boulevard where I rented a one-room suite for my therapy practice. I parked in the back and hurried past the purple and yellow pansies along the walkway. Jillian Maine, forty and looking as tired as I felt, waited on the iron settee outside.
She got up, her arms folded. “You’re late.”
I checked my watch. It was seven fifty-five. “Our appointment is at eight, isn’t it?”
“But you’re always here when I get here,” she said.
“I was delayed this morning,” I said, opening the door. “We can get started now. I’m happy to see you.”
Jillian sat on the sofa. I poured a glass of water, set out the box of tissues on the side table, and sat in my chair. Her anxiety about my arrival was a good opening for our session. Unlike my mother, who masked her anxiety by attempting to control everything, Jillian employed confrontation. However, unlike my mercurial mother, Jillian sought therapy to unravel her issues. My mother’s therapy was to draw tarot cards.
After the fifty-minute session ended, I saw two more clients and then called Collins Talent.
“Robin’s with . . . She’s in a meeting,” Lulu said. “Can I take a message or have her call you?”
“No—please tell her I’ll be there by noon. She’ll know,” I said. Call waiting beeped, and I clicked through to answer.
“Dr. Cooper? This is Detective Carla Pratt, LAPD. I have some follow-up questions and would like to meet with you at the Northeast Division later this afternoon. Would that be convenient? Or should I come out and talk to you?”
“I can come to you,” I said. “How about two o’clock?”
“Yes, thank you.” She gave me the address. “I’ll see you then.”
I hung up, knowing that Pratt would ask about the argument at the party. Why the face-burning guilt for not telling her last night? Thirty minutes after I left my office, I parked my car and rode the elevator up to Collins Talent.
Lulu stared at me wide-eyed as I approached her desk. She beckoned to me to lean closer. “The police are here,” she said in a whisper.
I looked around. Why the secrecy? We were the only people in the hall. “Where’s Robin?”
“She’s in her office. Sorry, they told me not to disturb them. Oh. My. God. Can you believe it? Sophie? Murdered? Dead? She was just right there, standing where you’re standing, just yesterday. Miss Thing with her attitude and purple nails. And acting all like a princess at the concert last night with her entourage following her around. And now she’s dead. Dead. I can’t believe it. Can you believe it?” Lulu exaggerated each word by blinking her eyes and bobbing her head.
I couldn’t believe that motormouth of hers didn’t tell me on the phone that the cops were here. She could have saved me a trip over the hill. “No,” I said, glancing down the hall, eager to find Robin. “I can’t.”
Lulu ran her hand through her short black hair. “It’s been insane here all morning. One detective was waiting on the couch for Sam when I got in. Another one just showed up. I had to keep the whole place together all by myself, what with lawyers coming, the press calling, and clients asking questions while everyone was all huddled up behind closed doors. I’ve been here almost a year so I know exactly what to do, but it was so crazy that I haven’t had a minute to deal with my own emotions, you know? I talked to Sophie a lot when she would call for Sam. And I know her roommate, too.”
I was half listening to Lulu and half wondering if I should leave. But Lulu being friends with Sophie’s roommate caught my attention. “You know her friends?” I said.
“Well, kind of. Yes. We go to the same gym every morning. Linda didn’t show up today. I’m sure because of the . . . murder.”
“I wonder if I saw her at the party. Was she there?”
“Yeah. Linda’s tall, like five-seven, with blonde hair chopped in layers. Good body. Not as pretty as Sophie. At the gym she wears her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and I almost didn’t recognize her because last night she wore it down. She had on a red dress and Jimmy Choo knockoffs laced up her calves. She was with a girl named Nola. Nola has straight black hair and wore a green satin dress. Nola wasn’t at class this morning, either. You know, I guess, because of the . . . murder.”
The names I overheard in the ladies’ room at the Greek, the same girls who followed Sophie when she left the party. How close to Sophie were these friends? And did they walk her to her car?
“So the three of you were friends?” I said.
Lulu’s eyes darted up. “Not friends. I work out with them at Hissy Fit.”
The phone rang. As Lulu answered, I looked toward Robin’s office. To my surprise, my brother, Dave, came out, head down, talking on his cell phone. Why would the LAPD Robbery-Homicide Division send Dave to investigate a parking-lot murder? RHD was a specialized task force. I strode down the hall and tapped him on the shoulder.
He closed his phone and looked up. I grinned. Detective Pratt walked out of Robin’s office. She looked at me, then at Dave.
“Detective Pratt, this is my sister, Liz,” said Dave.
“We’ve met,” Pratt said. “Dr. Cooper found the victim last night. I didn’t realize she was your sister.”
Dave pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Will you excuse us for a minute?” He pulled me down the hall.
We said in simultaneous whispers, “What are you doing here?”
“You first,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You first.”
“I’m here to have lunch with my friend Robin. Your turn.”
“Sam Collins got the deputy chief out of bed at dawn with a request for RHD to monitor the investigation of his girlfriend’s murder. The press is sensationalizing the connection between the victim and Steve Weller. The chief asked me to meet Pratt here and show Collins we’re on it.”
“Sam Collins and the chief are friends?” I said.
“No, Liz, the whole damn city has his phone number. Yes, they’re friends,” Dave said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Is Sam a suspect? Doesn’t the husband or boyfriend always top the list?”
“You know I can’t answer that,” Dave said. “Maybe you should tell me what you know. Why the hell didn’t you call and tell me about it last night?”
“First of all, I got home late, then spent the morning with clients,” I said. “It didn’t occur to me to call you. Second, for God’s sake, Nick and I just found her.”
“Nick?” Dave stood back. “Why were you with Nick?”
“Didn’t you read the police report? Nick and I were at the concert together and found Sophie when we left. Why are you grilling me about my social life? Shouldn’t you be holding a press conference or searching for Sophie’s killer?”
