Killer in the Hills Read Free Page A

it.”
    Marsh lets the silence play out for a while, his eyes not leaving mine. It is in the nature of all policemen to be suspicious, and Marsh is nothing if not a policeman. He probably sleeps in LAPD pajamas. The walls of his office are lined with photographs of him receiving various citations, including the LAPD Medal of Valor, in the center of the wall of pictures, illuminated with a small spotlight in the ceiling.
    “Well, anything you can tell us would be helpful,” he says. He glances at Melvin. “I called Agent Beauchamp to give him a heads-up on your, ah, connection with Ms. Fletcher. Aside from your relationship with Mr. Beauchamp there’s really no reason to involve the Feds. This is a local matter,” Marsh says, and looks at Melvin.
    In other words, what the hell are you doing in my office, G-man?
    I look at Melvin, who sits still, relaxed, his eyes steadily on Marsh.
    “I’m here in an amicus capacity,” Melvin says. Marsh just looks at him, deadpan.
    “That’s Latin,” I say. “It means ‘friend.’”
    Marsh turns his flat gaze on me for a few moments. No one says anything.
    “How was she killed?” I ask.
    “Twenty-five caliber automatic, up close, behind her left ear,” Marsh says.
    “There was no blood on the bed,” I say.
    “We think she was killed somewhere else, and then moved,” he says.
    “Be a little awkward, carrying a dead body in through the lobby of the Chateau Marmont,” I say. “Usually they’re carrying them out.”
    Marsh’s face doesn’t move at all. If he has a sense of humor, it is locked away in a safe somewhere. Maybe behind the framed Medal of Valor. Maybe humor isn’t a prerequisite in individuals of true valor.
    “Our investigation is widening,” he says. I hear a soft sound from Melvin. He and I both know what Marsh really means: they have no clue where she was murdered.
    “Do you have any suspects?” I say. “Persons of interest? Hotel security video?”
    “We’re working on several leads,” Marsh says.
    “But I’m not one of them.”
    “No.”
    “Why not?” I say. “I was her husband, apparently. Don’t police always look at the husband when a wife is killed? That’s what they say on TV, anyway.”
    “Don’t assume we haven’t,” Marsh says.
    “You talked to Nicki,” I say, realizing what he means.
    “I spoke with her half an hour ago,” Marsh says. “She vouched for you, said you’ve been with her most every night recently, certainly long before Ms. Fletcher’s disappearance.”
    Smart. Marsh had waited to call Nicki until the last minute, so she wouldn’t have time to warn me. I had my cell with me but I had turned it off when I went to the crime scene with Melvin, and forgotten to turn it back on. Not that it mattered. I had assumed I would be a suspect when I got the phone call from Melvin in New York. That’s why I decided to come out to LA on my own—to beat LAPD to the punch, just in case I was a suspect. I could do without the publicity and coming forward right away is not something a guilty man would likely do.
    We sit there and let the rain backfill the silence. Then, abruptly, Marsh stands up.
    “Well,” he says. “Thanks for coming out.” He takes a card from a neat pile in a small box on his desk and hands it to me. “If you think of anything, or remember anything that could possibly help, call me directly. At the office or my cell, 24/7.”
    “Will do,” I say, and pocket the card and Melvin and I get up and turn to leave.
    “One other thing,” Marsh says. Melvin and I turn back to him.
    “According to hospital records, Ms. Fletcher gave birth to a baby girl eight months after you were married,” Marsh says. “She’d be fifteen now. We haven’t been able to locate her. Your name is recorded as the father on the birth certificate, and the girl’s name is recorded as Karen Penelope Rhodes.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    “ Amicus capacity?” I say to Melvin in the elevator as we ride down from Marsh’s