Fourth Wall (An Anthony Carrick Mystery Book 8) Page 3

  I nodded. She had a valid point.

  “And, I might add, you never know the role that you play in that. I’ve met at least one woman who found the courage to leave her abusive partner because of the kindness and faith shown to her by a police officer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. Have you never felt that?”

  “Never. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I was thanked for what I did. One hand. And that’s for a decade on the job.”

  M nodded sadly.

  “I’m sorry. But believe me, it’s important work. I mean you’re entering into very difficult, volatile situations. Emotionally charged situations and people aren’t often in their right minds. But I know that they’re often grateful for the help after the fact.”

  I got up to take our plates back to the kitchen. M helped me. I took out the tiramisu and put it on the kitchen counter.

  “Continuing with our Italian theme,” I said.

  “And I suppose that’s not vegan,” she said. “Might be the last time I enjoy something like this.”

  “Well, other than the cream, milk, eggs and cheese, it’s all vegan,” I winked at her.

  “And you made this all yourself?” she asked.

  “With these eight fingers and these two thumbs,” I said, wiggling my digits at her.

  “You might just be a keeper, Anthony my darling.”

  I looked at her and grinned. She’d never called me darling before. That was something I could get used to waking up to every morning. I was going to bring attention to it. But that would have been immature. It would have made light of something wonderful. At least I hoped it was something wonderful.

  “You might want to reserve judgement until you’ve tried it,” I said. “How much?”

  “About half as much as you’ll take,” she said.

  I scooped out a generous serving for me and put another portion on her plate. Half as much. We headed back out to the dining room. She dug in.

  “This is really good,” she said. “I’m keeping you.”

  “Good,” I said, “I’ve always wanted to be a kept man.”

  She laughed.

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  I poured more wine and raised my glass for a toast.

  “To keeping this alive,” I said.

  She clinked glasses at me and winked.

  “Why Italian?” she asked.

  I looked at the plate of tiramisu.

  “Well, I couldn’t come up with anything other than potatoes and whiskey as an Irish meal.”

  She smiled.

  “What about the famous Irish stew?”

  “Yeah, that’s not bad, but it’s full of beef. The Irish aren’t known for their high cuisine. Beef, cabbage, potatoes and bread. Italians have got many more options.”

  “It’s one of my favorites. Do you know why?”

  “I can guess.”

  “Okay then, guess.”

  “Because they offer lots of vegetarian options in their cuisine,” I said.

  “I’m impressed, Anthony. How did you know?”

  “I cheated,” I said. “That girl at the health food store told me exactly that. Said her favorite foods were Indian, Thai and Italian for that very reason.”

  “It’s true, but they’re tasty too.”

  “I’ll eat to that,” I said, putting a big spoonful of tiramisu in my mouth.

  We finished up the rest of the wine and the tiramisu. It was a little after seven. We needed to get going soon.

  “I should get us a cab if we’re to arrive on time,” I said.

  “Not necessary,” she said. “I’ve got Uber coming to pick us up.”

  “Uber,” I said, frowning. “Is that your German ex?”

  I was jesting. I knew what Uber was.

  “No silly,” she said. “Uber is a car transportation service. Like a cab, but each person comes in their own car to pick you up. And you pay with the app, so you don’t need money on you.”

  “I know what it is. I was teasing you,” I said, smiling at her.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she said.

  We were sitting down on the living room couch together. I’d put the radio on to jazz. But you probably knew that already.

  “And I can see when our driver will be here,” she said, showing me the map on her app on her phone.

  “About five minutes then,” I said.

  She nodded and put her hand on my thigh. It stirred my loins. She looked at me tenderly, and I wanted to have her then, but we didn’t have the time. I swallowed and smiled at her like a knucklehead.

  “On a serious note though, Anthony,” she said. I looked at her. “You haven’t showed me around your apartment. I’m especially interested in the bedroom. Perhaps when we get back?”

  Somebody had sucker punched me in the gut. I think it was that little fat cherub with his bow and arrow. He packs a harder punch than you’d expect.

  “Well, it’s just a little hole in the wall, M. You probably wouldn’t like it. Dirty clothes all over the place, a cot for a bed.”

  “Well, I’d like to be the judge of that.”

  “So would I,” I said.

  Her eyelids got heavy and my heart beat faster. She was gorgeous. I couldn’t wait to see what’s under that dress.

  “I sense a little trepidation,” she said. “We’ve been dating for a while now. Aren’t you ready?”

  “I’ve been ready since I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Then what?”

  She was moving her hand up and down my thigh subconsciously. Only I knew exactly what it was doing to me. I coughed. Damn, I wasn’t expecting to be so excited and nervous about this.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s been a while. Not since Racquel and I split.”

  “That was in 2002, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, just after Aibhilin was born.”

  “Well, don’t worry, Anthony, I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  I frowned at her. She slapped my thigh gently.

  “You’re so adorable when you get confused. I’m kidding. I haven’t been with anyone since I broke up with my fiancé about five years ago.”

  I smiled at her.

  “That’s good,” I said, “because I hadn’t taken you for a woman of the night.”

  “I’ll show you a woman of the night later, mister. Be prepared.”

  THREE

  Original Muscle Beach

  IT was mid-morning and I was out at the pier. Not the pier proper. No, I was at what they called the Original Muscle Beach. Lots of dull silver poles and rings for gymnastic activities. It was Saturday and that meant all the bros were out. Though most of the real meatheads were at Venice Muscle Beach. The OMB was more for regular folks. I was leaning up against a wall out under palm trees. It’s the middle of June. Naked apes are swinging out on the rings and the monkey bars.

  Some of them are in great shape, but none of them are taking juice. The juice bar seems to have located down by the new Muscle Beach. And by juice bar you know what I mean. Vitamin S, and that ain’t no sunshine.

  I like to come down here. Sometimes I watch folks play chess. Today wasn’t one of them. Today I was watching the tide come in and out. Rolling in slow like I remembered M’s heaving bosom from last night. Slipping back out like the making of our love. The ocean reminded me of that. The heaving and sighing of the sea as it thrust itself upon the white sands.

  That had been the highlight of the night. The play had been better than I was expecting. But it was the night spent with M that had been one to remember. I took a large sip of my coffee. I hadn’t been this vulnerable with a woman in years. And it scared the hell out of me.

  I started walking down towards the beach, zig-zagging through the silver poles that held men and some women in various contortions the young kids call exercise. I took a last drink of my coffee and put the empty cup in the trash. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I leaned up against the last half wall befo
re the walkways opened up to the beach. I took off my shoes and put my socks inside of them. I rolled up my pants. There was nothing worse than sand in your shoes.

  I walked down the beach like a man intent on drowning himself in the ocean. But I was really just looking to walk along the firm wet sand lapped at by the tide. I didn’t make it too far along when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. It made me think of M. I figured she’d be on a break at work and decided to give me a call. She’d left early in the morning. Must’ve been around six. It was mid-morning now.

  I fished it out of my pocket, having stuck my cigarette in my mouth first. I looked at the number. It was my old friend Captain John Roberts.

  “Yeah,” I said, talking through my cigarette.

  “That anyway to talk to an old friend, Sid?” he asked.

  “Johnny Rotten, I’m on the beach with a cigarette stuck in my mouth, a phone in one hand and my goddamn shoes in the other.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your first world problems,” he said. “But we’ve got bigger things going on that I thought you might be interested in helping us with.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Meet me at 2319 Vallendais Avenue up in Woodland Hills. We’re here now, so put some hustle in it.”

  “Okay,” I said and hung up the phone.

  FOUR

  Woodland Hills

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d visited Woodland Hills. It was probably never, except maybe on idle drives I’d taken years ago. Not that it was far away. Maybe twenty-five minutes on a good easy drive like this late Saturday morning. The reason I’d never been up to Woodland Hills is I’d had no reason to. It’s a ritzy area and most of the folks I know don’t have enough money to live in ritzy areas.

  And I knew from this address that this little quaint corner of Woodland Hills was even more exclusive. I was right. Heading into Vallendais Avenue meant stopping at a guard booth with electric gates. He was a young black man in a suit, the suit which looked out of place for a guard. He was very friendly.

  “Good morning, sir. Who are you here to see?” he asked, beaming a smile at me.

  “I’m here to see the police at 2319,” I said. “Ask for Captain John Roberts and tell him it’s Anthony Carrick.”

  His smile slowly evaporated from his face. He picked up his cell phone and made a call. He nodded at the phone and then put it down after having said everything I told him to.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Carrick,” he said. “2319 is at the end in the cul-de-sac, just carry on straight.”

  I nodded at him and drove on through as soon as he opened the gates. The houses here were opulent. Large mansions that could probably house three generations without anyone getting in anyone else’s way. All had swimming pools and some had tennis courts. 2319 was one of those. It had a swimming pool and a tennis court. I could see the tennis court, it backed up against the hedge as I drove towards the driveway.

  You’d call it a Spanish Colonial Revival house. I’d call it just pretentious and expensive. It had a red tiled roof and a sand-colored stucco exterior. There were wrought iron bars outside most of the windows and I couldn’t tell if it was to keep the owners in or the riff-raff out.

  I parked at the curb on the street. The driveway was full with a couple of uniform police cars and a couple of ghost cars. The coroner’s van was there, but they were just leaving as I walked up to the front door, having passed a couple of uniforms and spoken my intentions. They pointed me to the front of the house and I made my way through immaculate interiors which were now messed up. My first thought was that this place had hosted a party the night before and the cleaners hadn’t been in yet. I didn’t know who lived here.

  Off the main living room were large glass doors that folded away against each other to create an open indoor/outdoor space. These doors were now open. I walked out onto a large patio with a tiled roof that offered shade. Just beyond that was a pool. It was a moderate-sized pool, most likely for privacy. Then there was a garden and beyond that to my right was the tennis courts I’d seen earlier.

  “Hey, Mike,” I said, to Mike Cardigan, the tall CID Investigator. He nodded at me.

  John Roberts was looking out over the garden with his back towards me. He turned around grinning.

  “Anthony, thanks for coming,” he said.

  “Where’s the party,” I said, “I haven’t seen any DBs yet.”

  He pointed at the pool.

  “She was in here.”

  I walked out, careful not to step on a broken mug that was broken on the patio tile, past the pool and stared back towards the house. The house itself backed up against the hills of Serrania Park. From this side of the pool you were hidden from any looky-loos walking trails in the park. Roberts joined me. He was wearing a gray suit with a light blue shirt and yellow tie patterned with silver coins of some sort on it.

  “Warm out here,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Anna Ancher was found dead in her pool. Looks like a drowning brought on by too much alcohol, but that’s yet to be determined.”

  “I just missed them,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “The ME’s people.”

  “Yeah, but not by much,” he said.

  “Was Dr. Stratham here?” I asked, wondering if I’d just missed M too.

  “Nope, she sent her minions I guess. I took photos though. Come have a look.”

  We went back into the shade under the roof of the patio and Roberts pulled out his phone. The first photo showed Anna face down in the pool. She had on a red bikini. There were a couple of other shots like that from different angles around the pool. There were empty champagne, wine and cocktail glasses around the edge of the pool, and what looked like a couple that had fallen into it too. They were floating. The broken coffee mug was in a few of the shots too. An unbroken mug was on the side of the pool with what looked like a dark chocolate stain in the bottom.

  “All these drinking glasses were plastic, were they?”

  “Yeah, except for the two mugs. Smart move nowadays for a party. Nobody gets hurt.”

  “Unless they get drowned,” I said.

  “Well, there’s that.”

  “What about the broken mug?”

  Roberts shrugged.

  “Don’t know about that yet. We’re having the small bit of coffee in it tested. Same with the unbroken mug. That one looks like it had hot chocolate in it.”

  There was also a champagne bottle by the edge of the pool. It had the signature gold foil envelope around the neck and the gold label of Cristal. From what I could see there was just a splash of it at the bottom of the bottle.

  The last couple of pictures were of Anna on her back next to the pool. I knew who she was when Roberts had said her name. She was a vibrant, charismatic, attractive movie star in her early thirties. Tabloids had recently put her going through a difficult split with long time boyfriend Rip Peso, lead singer of the Magnetic Maniacs.

  The thing about death is, it robs you of dignity. Not that the dead mind. But looking at the bloated, puffy pictures of Anna Ancher on her back by the pool, you’d never know she was once a living, breathing woman that teenage boys and young men fell in love with on the big screen. Here she was looking like a waxed moon colored grotesque doll. The eyes were open and cloudy with death. The lips swollen and the cheeks puffy. The only part of her that looked like it might be real was her wet, dark brown hair.

  Parts of her stomach, thighs, arms had the splotchy, purpled discoloration of pooled blood. I’d never gotten used to seeing dead bodies, even ones like this, the non-violent kind. I looked back at Roberts.

  “No signs of struggle?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Nope. Like I said, looks like a simple drowning maybe due to alcohol intoxication.”

  “So why am I here? Why is homicide here?”

  “You’re here because I miss your friendly bant
er. I’m here because in cases like this, and you know this, Anthony, high profile cases, we’ve gotta make sure we do a thorough investigation to fully rule out foul play. You do know who Anna Ancher is, right?”

  I nodded.

  “She was going through a tough split with her long time boyfriend Rip Peso, if you listen to the tabloids.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. And from some accounts Rip has an anger problem. Assaulted a fan last year and settled for six figures from what I heard.”

  “What was it over?”

  “Fan was getting into his grill at an after-party, abusing his privilege to be there. Acting too familiar with Rip and Anna and so Rip got into it with him. That’s the story.”

  “Got into his grill?” I asked, looking at my pal like he’d just tried to get into a rave.

  “Yeah, got into his grill. You’re not hip with youth culture anymore?” he asked.

  I smiled at him.

  “I know exactly what it means, I’m just surprised an old man like you does.”

  “Got it from Miles. He said I was getting into his grill over his homework. You know how kids are.”

  “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  “You’re in a feisty frame of mind,” he said. “Something got into your grill this morning?”

  He grinned at me.

  “I’m actually in a good mood,” I said. “Saw Emily last night. Went to the play.”

  “Is that right? I knew you had seen her a couple of times, but I didn’t know it was serious.”

  I bobbed my head from side to side.

  “I think it’s getting there.”

  Roberts nodded.

  “That’s good my buddy. I’m glad to hear someone’s taking the vicious out of Sid Vicious,” he said, gently slapping me on the shoulder. “I think she’ll be really good for you. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “A very long time,” I said. “Not since Racquel and I split.”

  Roberts nodded.

  “Well, when you’re ready, I know Jennifer would love to have you and Emily over for dinner.”

  I nodded at him.

  “I’d like it too,” he said.

  I nodded again.