proximity to two murder victims was pushing things way beyond coincidence.
“Cory introduced us a few weeks ago. She caught my set and liked the sound. We signed with her that night and that’s the only time I’ve ever spoken to her.”
“Did you know she was Hillary’s agent?”
“No . . . well, maybe yes. I don’t know. What difference does that make?”
He was upset and becoming emotional. Josie didn’t like what she was seeing. Supposedly, he hardly knew the dead woman, but he was behaving as if he’d lost a close friend.
She’d been a cop long enough to know when someone, even if he was her son, wasn’t responding the way he should.
But almost as quickly as David’s distress appeared, it vanished. He got up and walked around her to the door.
“Is it okay if I tell Cory?” he asked, before leaving. “So he doesn’t hear it on the news or the street.”
Josie didn’t care. She was more concerned about her son’s odd behavior and his connection to these people.
“Can I make a suggestion? Actually, it’s more than a suggestion,” she said before he could get away. He stopped and shrugged. She said in her captain voice, “Stay away from Cory Goldman until this investigation is over.”
“Sorry, Mom, not gonna happen, I’m not Dad. I don’t quit on people,” he responded and was gone before she could object.
Josie cleaned up the kitchen and sat alone in the den. She turned down the lights and poured herself a full glass of wine, the last of a really good Cabernet she had started a few nights ago. She flipped the switch on the CD player, and the disc was one of Jake’s, a Glen Miller big band classic, good drinking music.
She finished the wine, stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. Her intention was to relax and try not to panic about the avalanche of events coming perilously close to smothering her family.
FIVE
S he woke up on the couch at five a.m. with a stiff neck and a headache. When she went upstairs to take a shower, Josie noticed that Jake’s bedroom closet was nearly empty. All of his favorite suits and shoes and his workout bag were gone. Somehow he’d managed to pack his belongings and get out without her knowing when or how it happened. The big surprise this morning was that his departure didn’t devastate as much as sadden her. He’d left the closet door open probably to be certain she’d realize he was gone. She closed it.
The hot shower fixed her neck and coffee cleared her head. Josie needed to work. Running her division was the one thing that kept her sane. She was always in control there and knew how to make things happen.
It was so early she beat most of the rush-hour traffic and made good time driving to Hollywood. She got off the 101 Freeway at Cahuenga and made the quick jog onto Wilcox. She stopped at the light on Yucca, and was pleased to see the street was fairly clean with no sign of the homeless encampments that occasionally popped up during the night. The faded blue wall of the Palms was visible to her right. When the light turned green, she made a turn in that direction. She hadn’t been to this location for a while and was curious to see if the infamous Palms had changed. The three-story building with the painted-over graffiti, chipped stucco and peeling wood trim looked exactly like it did fifteen years ago when she’d worked the Narcotics division. The front yard was cement with a couple of untrimmed ugly bushes in a patch of dirt near the front door. A brick planter with dead flowers and thriving weeds was under the first floor windows.
There were several loose bricks in the planter where dime dealers kept their stash. Everyone knew that was where they hid the plastic baggies, but they still did it and always got arrested. This was where Hillary allegedly bought her drugs, an unlikely hangout for the rich movie star but an easy place to score. Josie knew Fricke thought of the Palms as an easy mark for catching heroin users. It wasn’t
“Cory introduced us a few weeks ago. She caught my set and liked the sound. We signed with her that night and that’s the only time I’ve ever spoken to her.”
“Did you know she was Hillary’s agent?”
“No . . . well, maybe yes. I don’t know. What difference does that make?”
He was upset and becoming emotional. Josie didn’t like what she was seeing. Supposedly, he hardly knew the dead woman, but he was behaving as if he’d lost a close friend.
She’d been a cop long enough to know when someone, even if he was her son, wasn’t responding the way he should.
But almost as quickly as David’s distress appeared, it vanished. He got up and walked around her to the door.
“Is it okay if I tell Cory?” he asked, before leaving. “So he doesn’t hear it on the news or the street.”
Josie didn’t care. She was more concerned about her son’s odd behavior and his connection to these people.
“Can I make a suggestion? Actually, it’s more than a suggestion,” she said before he could get away. He stopped and shrugged. She said in her captain voice, “Stay away from Cory Goldman until this investigation is over.”
“Sorry, Mom, not gonna happen, I’m not Dad. I don’t quit on people,” he responded and was gone before she could object.
Josie cleaned up the kitchen and sat alone in the den. She turned down the lights and poured herself a full glass of wine, the last of a really good Cabernet she had started a few nights ago. She flipped the switch on the CD player, and the disc was one of Jake’s, a Glen Miller big band classic, good drinking music.
She finished the wine, stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. Her intention was to relax and try not to panic about the avalanche of events coming perilously close to smothering her family.
FIVE
S he woke up on the couch at five a.m. with a stiff neck and a headache. When she went upstairs to take a shower, Josie noticed that Jake’s bedroom closet was nearly empty. All of his favorite suits and shoes and his workout bag were gone. Somehow he’d managed to pack his belongings and get out without her knowing when or how it happened. The big surprise this morning was that his departure didn’t devastate as much as sadden her. He’d left the closet door open probably to be certain she’d realize he was gone. She closed it.
The hot shower fixed her neck and coffee cleared her head. Josie needed to work. Running her division was the one thing that kept her sane. She was always in control there and knew how to make things happen.
It was so early she beat most of the rush-hour traffic and made good time driving to Hollywood. She got off the 101 Freeway at Cahuenga and made the quick jog onto Wilcox. She stopped at the light on Yucca, and was pleased to see the street was fairly clean with no sign of the homeless encampments that occasionally popped up during the night. The faded blue wall of the Palms was visible to her right. When the light turned green, she made a turn in that direction. She hadn’t been to this location for a while and was curious to see if the infamous Palms had changed. The three-story building with the painted-over graffiti, chipped stucco and peeling wood trim looked exactly like it did fifteen years ago when she’d worked the Narcotics division. The front yard was cement with a couple of untrimmed ugly bushes in a patch of dirt near the front door. A brick planter with dead flowers and thriving weeds was under the first floor windows.
There were several loose bricks in the planter where dime dealers kept their stash. Everyone knew that was where they hid the plastic baggies, but they still did it and always got arrested. This was where Hillary allegedly bought her drugs, an unlikely hangout for the rich movie star but an easy place to score. Josie knew Fricke thought of the Palms as an easy mark for catching heroin users. It wasn’t
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