Murder Page 2

  And lying in bed making love, Kristin had felt Jake shrivel up inside her before he rolled away.

  She hadn’t known what to say. In fact, neither of them said a word. After a moment or two, Jake got off the bed and hurried into the bathroom.

  Punishment, Kristin thought. Punishment for imagining I could have a life.

  She had reached for her silk robe at the end of the bed, sat up and put it on. Jake had stayed in the bathroom a long time. When he came out he was dressed and ready to leave.

  “I forgot,” he’d said, hardly able to look at her. “I’m expecting an important call.”

  Disappointment had flooded over her. Wasn’t he even going to discuss it?

  So what? she’d thought defensively. Maybe this is best. What could he say? Excuse me, Kristin, why didn’t you tell me you were a hooker?

  Sorry, Jake, I forgot.

  “Uh, I’d like to explain,” she ventured, hoping for at least a chance to say something—even if it was only an apology.

  “No, Kristin, really,” he said, anxious to leave. “There’s nothing you have to explain to me. Uh—the truth is—your lifestyle and mine—they uh … simply don’t mesh.”

  Was that it? Was the nonpaying customer leaving?

  “I understand,” she said stiffly, thinking that if he didn’t want to get into it, he wasn’t worth having anyway. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Guess so.” Then he stopped at the door, turned and stared at her accusingly. “I wish you’d told me,” he said.

  “Why?” she said, filled with hurt.

  “Because it’s not fair you didn’t. I would’ve used a condom.”

  The final blow. How dare he say that to her, as if she was a common street prostitute. “Fuck you,” she’d yelled, suddenly furious. “Fuck you!” And she had gotten up, chased after him, slamming the door on his retreating back. Then she went to her dressing table and sat there, staring, staring, staring at her reflection.

  When Max Steele, her once-a-month client, phoned in the morning, she had not picked up. Instead she listened to his message as her answering machine recorded it. Max had never done her any harm—in fact, she quite liked him. She didn’t know exactly what he did, only that he was a big Hollywood player.

  “Hey, baby,” he said. “This is Max Steele. I’ve made a decision. I’m taking you out of the business, honey. Making you exclusive. You tell me what it’ll cost to set you up, and I’ll do it.” A long pause, then—“I’ve been thinking about things. I want you to be with me. Y’see I need somebody like you around, somebody to keep me focused. I can introduce you to people, change your life. Nobody’ll know who you are, or what you used to be. This is gonna work out, Kristin. Trust me.” Another long pause. “I have a breakfast meeting, so call me any time after twelve and we’ll work something out. Okay, honey?”

  Okay, honey, she thought. I can do that. If you want to pay me the kind of money Mister X does, you can have me. Because nobody else wants me. I’m used goods. So, Max Steele, I am all yours.

  chapter 4

  “YOU’RE LATE,” DETECTIVE Tucci said to his partner, thoroughly grumpy because the maid had devoured his sandwich—not to mention an entire carton of Faye’s homemade coleslaw.

  “Hey, buddy, you try racin’ back from a fishin’ trip in the middle of nowhere,” Detective Lee Eccles complained, frowning. He was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a weathered face and exceptionally large hands. “It ain’t easy,” he grumbled. “An’ then, when I stopped by the station—my freakin’ luck—I got sent out on another homicide. Or a suicide—who the fuck knows? Knockout blond babe washed up on the Malibu shore. Legs from here to Cuba. Forensics are runnin’ a check on her now.”

  “You missed the big one here.”

  “My freakin’ luck again. Fill me in. Tell me what we’ve got.”

  “Two dead bodies. One female, one male. The female stabbed multiple times. The male shot once in the face. The female’s husband arrived home at three A.M. Gave him the news, he shut himself in the bedroom. His lawyer, Marty Steiner, arrived this morning—they’ve been locked in there together for a couple of hours.”

  “That piece a shit,” Lee spat in disgust.

  “You know him?”

  “Some freakin’ asshole,” Lee said, picking at his teeth with a dirty fingernail. “Had dealin’s with him before.”

  Lee Eccles and Detective Tucci had been partners for an uneasy six months. Tucci’s previous partner had been a veteran detective, now retired. Lee was smart enough, but too abrasive for Tucci’s taste. His favorite off-duty pastime was hanging out in bars and strip clubs, and he constantly talked about women in such graphic terms that he offended Tucci’s sensibilities because his remarks were so sexist and derogatory. Tucci had complained once.

  “Get yourself to a fuckin’ monastery,” Lee had responded with a mean scowl.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Tucci growled, and they almost had gotten into a fistfight.

  Since that time they had tolerated each other, but there was no real camaraderie.

  “You don’t look so good,” Lee remarked.

  “Didn’t get any sleep,” Tucci replied. “And I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always freakin’ hungry,” Lee said, impatiently cracking his knuckles. “If you stopped eatin’ so damn much, you wouldn’t have such a big gut.”

  “I’m dieting,” Tucci admitted, stung by the criticism.

  Lee guffawed. “Yeah, until the next donut comes along!”

  Tucci didn’t bother answering. His gut wasn’t that bad—Faye said she loved cuddling up to him. “You’re huggable,” she often said. Hmm … he thought, it would be nice if she changed that to “fuckable.” Not that they had any problems in that department—although she had told him he was getting too heavy when he was on top, making love to her. Hence the diet.

  “What’s the deal?” Lee said impatiently. “We gonna wait ’til the husband decides to come out an’ speak to us? Whyn’t you go knock on the door an’ tell him we need t’interview him now.”

  Lee was right for once, Tucci thought. He definitely had had enough of sitting in this house of death. Still, he had to do it by the book. “Bobby Skorch doesn’t have to talk to us,” he pointed out. “You know that.”

  “He’ll talk. For your info, when I was over at the station I took a gander at the ex. The dumb jerk is sittin’ in a cell sweatin’ it. Apparently he called his lawyer, who ain’t exactly breakin’ a leg to bail him.”

  “Really?” Tucci said.

  “Yeah, and you’d better get your fat butt outside an’ make some bullshit announcement to the media,” Lee said. “The natives are gettin’ ornery, nearly pulled me to pieces on my way in. An’ while you’re out there, take a look at the ass on that little Chinese chick from channel four. Now she’s a piece! I wouldn’t mind reamin’ it up that juicy rear.” Tucci threw him a disapproving look and Lee chuckled heartily. “What’s your problem? Don’t wanna get it up with anyone ’cept Faye?”

  “Do me a favor,” Tucci said, clenching his teeth and willing himself to remain calm. “Leave my wife out of this conversation.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah—your wife,” Lee said mockingly. “Faye’s too fuckin’ good to mention.” A ribald laugh. “Face it, Tucci, she’s got your balls in a lather an’ your dick strapped to her left tit.”

  “That’s enough,” Tucci said, his face reddening. He knew that Faye and Lee had a history of sorts. She’d gone on a date with Lee once, long before she met him, and Lee had behaved badly. She wouldn’t reveal the details, but suffice to say that whenever Lee’s name came up she made a disgusted face.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lee said, cracking his knuckles again. “So show me where you found the dead broad. Shit, I’m sorry I missed out on this babe. Wouldn’t’ve minded an in-the-flesh close-up of those tits.”

  Tucci decided he’d had enough. As soon as he could, he was making an appointment to see Captain Marsh and requesti
ng a new partner.

  chapter 5

  DIANA LEON PULLED UP outside the Four Seasons, left her car with a parking valet and entered the hotel. She felt oddly apprehensive. It was the first time she would be with Max Steele on her own. And yet, why not? Max and Freddie had worked together for many years, and she’d always had a friendly relationship with her husband’s partner—although deep down she knew it was more than that, and now it was time they both voiced something that was becoming painfully obvious.

  Yes, Max, she hoped she had the courage to say. I’m married to Freddie, but it’s a marriage in name only. And since you’re not attached to anybody right now, and you’re departing I.A.A., I suggest that I leave Freddie and come with you.

  Diana was forty-three years old and this was the boldest move she’d ever made. She had been married to Freddie for fifteen years. Now, finally, she was doing something on her own without getting Freddie’s permission.

  She giggled nervously to herself, feeling like a silly schoolgirl. If Max was in agreement, could she leave Freddie? Would she leave? The situation was in Max’s hands; she would have to feel her way carefully.

  “Mrs. Leon,” the maître d’ greeted her warmly. “How nice to welcome you again to the Four Seasons. Mr. Steele is waiting.”

  Oh, God! She was having breakfast with Max Steele, a notorious womanizer. What must people think?

  As she approached the table, Max stood up to greet her. She experienced a fleeting moment of sheer panic. Max was so unlike Freddie, who was always in control. Max was an unpredictable wild card and he excited the hell out of her.

  “Hi, Diana,” Max said.

  She noticed that his hair was slightly mussed in a most attractive way, and that his suntan, as usual, was glowing. He was dressed all in white from his pristine pants to his casual summer cashmere sweater.

  “Hello, Max,” she said, hoping that she’d picked the right outfit. The girls he dated were always outrageously underdressed in flimsy little mini-dresses and barely there tank tops. This morning, after much thought, she had chosen a Calvin Klein blue blazer, worn over a pale-blue silk shirt and beige linen slacks. Casual, elegant and understated—that was her look and she wore it well.

  “I was kind of surprised to get your call,” Max said.

  “Well,” she answered, choosing her words carefully as she sat down, “I was surprised and upset about what happened last night.”

  Max nodded his agreement. “Yeah—that husband of yours,” he said, picking up a coffee spoon and tapping it on the table. “Couldn’t say what he had to say in private. Had to do it in front of that fucking— I’m sorry, in front of Ariel. She’s not my favorite person.”

  “Nor mine either,” Diana said quickly. “In fact, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t have her in my house. She’s duplicitous. I’m sure she got to where she is by sleeping with Billy Cornelius.”

  Max laughed. “C’mon, Diana,” he teased. “I’ve never heard you talk like that about people. You’re always Miss Straightlaced.”

  “Is that what you think of me, Max?” she said, giving him a bold look.

  Max was no fool; he caught the signals. Diana Leon was flirting with him. “Uh … never really thought about it,” he said, wondering where this was leading. The waiter came over and hovered by their table, order pad in hand. “What’ll you have, honey?” Max asked.

  She liked the way he called her “honey.” It was casual, yet extremely intimate. “Maybe some tea.”

  “No toast? Eggs? Waffles?”

  “No, just tea. Earl Grey,” she said, speaking directly to the waiter.

  “The lady wants tea,” Max said. “And bring me another orange juice, two eggs, sunny-side up, one slice of crisp bacon, three pieces of toast, not too well done, and more coffee.”

  “Yes, Mr. Steele,” said the waiter.

  “So,” Max said, leaning back and surveying the room. “What can I do for you, Diana?”

  You can ravish me, she longed to say. You can take me to bed and do all the things to me that you do to your numerous girlfriends. And I will love you, care for you and be the faithful woman forever by your side.

  “I wanted to say, Max, that whatever happens, you have my full support.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said, his wandering eyes checking out a pretty brunette with long tanned legs on her way out of the dining room. “The truth is, Diana, I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind?” she repeated, not sure what he’d changed his mind about.

  “Freddie and I have been through so much together; there’s no way I can leave the firm. I simply can’t do it to him.”

  The waiter returned and refilled Max’s coffee cup.

  Diana waited until he had left before speaking. “I’m sure you’re aware that in the Times today there’s a story about you taking over at Orpheus Studios,” she said.

  “It’s all bullshit,” Max said sharply. “They write these stories before anything’s signed. I spoke to Billy Cornelius this morning and told him the deal is off.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, honey. Y’know, on reflection, I reckon I was going through some kind of midlife crisis thing. Freddie’ll understand.”

  “But, Max, if you feel you can do better elsewhere, then you should move,” she said, a slight tinge of desperation creeping into her voice.

  “Hey, hey—” Max said, with a half smile. “Don’t encourage me.”

  “I’m encouraging you to be yourself,” Diana said, her expression earnest.

  “Did Freddie send you?” he asked curiously.

  “No, he didn’t,” she responded indignantly. “As a matter of fact, Freddie failed to come home last night. I have no idea where he was. He walked in when I was leaving this morning, looking dishevelled.”

  Max stared at her disbelievingly. “Freddie, dishevelled?”

  “Yes, Freddie.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s got a broad … I mean, no disrespect to you, Diana.”

  “There’s no one else, Max,” she said confidently.

  “If you say so …”

  “The truth is,” she leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Freddie doesn’t like sex.”

  “Doesn’t like sex, huh?” Max said, storing that little piece of information away for future use.

  “I can speak to you in the strictest confidence, can’t I?”

  “Sure, baby,” Max said agreeably. Hey, bonding with Freddie’s wife was a kick. This way he could get the inside track on everything.

  Diana wondered if she had said too much. No. Why shouldn’t she confide in Max? He would never betray her. “Freddie’s not a sexual being,” she said. A long, meaningful pause. “But I am…”

  Oh, Jesus. Was she coming on to him? Freddie’s uptight wife? No way. And yet… she had that predatory look, a look Max knew only too well. Women on the make … he’d had more of those than he cared to remember. Usually actresses. Hey, it wasn’t his fault if he was irresistible to women.

  “Diana,” he said carefully. “I’m not sure you should be here with me.”

  Her slate gray eyes stared boldly into his. “Why not?”

  “Because … uh …” he began, thinking fast, it wouldn’t do to insult her by telling her he wasn’t interested. “Because I … uh … well, I guess I’m very attracted to you,” he lied.

  Her face lit up. He had said the right thing. “You are?”

  “Yes, Diana, honey. But, believe me, this is not the time for either of us to do anything about it.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, bedroom eyes materializing out of nowhere.

  Oh, shit! She wasn’t going to give up easy.

  “Trust me. It’s not.”

  Tentatively she reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. “I’ve waited so long for this moment, Max. Something told me it was inevitable.”

  He slid his hand out from under hers, indicating the approaching waiter with his eyebrows. “Be cool, Diana,�
�� he said in a low voice. “The tabs have spies everywhere. You’re an important Hollywood wife—you’re news. So am I right now. We shouldn’t even be seen together like this.”

  “I know,” she said. “But for once I don’t want to do the right thing. I want to do what makes me happy.”

  Freddie’s wife was on a roll. Jesus! What had he done to deserve this?

  “Diana,” he said, attempting a serious voice. “I have too much regard and respect for you to allow you to jeopardize your future.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We all know Freddie has a vindictive streak. If he even suspected you had eyes for another man …”

  “I don’t care,” she said stubbornly.

  “I do. I’m trying to protect you here.”

  “When I’m with you, Max, I don’t need protecting.”

  This kind of response was exactly what he didn’t need. “You might think you don’t,” he said sternly. “But trust me, you do.”

  He imagined Freddie’s face if Diana went to him and informed her husband she was running off with Max Steele. The shit wouldn’t just hit the fan, it would explode all the way from Beverly Hills to Bel Air. Christ! How to get out of this one?

  Then it came to him. The perfect solution. “Diana,” he said, with a perfectly straight face. “I think you should be the first to know. Last night I got engaged.”

  chapter 6

  FREDDIE LEON THOUGHT OF himself as an in-control and reasonable man, but in view of what had happened over the last twenty-four hours, he could not remain calm. His faithful partner Max Steele had betrayed him, and it infuriated Freddie that Max had manipulated him in such a way. The disloyal son-of-a-bitch.

  Freddie stood under the powerful jets of his shower, soaking his body. After a night away from home he felt the need to thoroughly cleanse himself. Hotel rooms disgusted him—however luxurious. The late Howard Hughes had had the right idea, covering his shoes with Kleenex and walking around with a hospital mask over half his face.