At First Sight

Chapter 33

DRIVING BACK TO THE LANGHAM HUNTINGTON IN PASAdena I wondered how I could have allowed myself to get talked into this. What on earth had I been thinking?

At the hotel, I gave the Mustang to the valet and took the elevator up to my room. When I walked in the telephone message light was on. I picked up the receiver, punched the right button, and listened to a recorded message from Peter Ellis notifying me that breakfast tomorrow was at 10 A. M. at the family offices on Wilshire Boulevard.

Then I played my second message. It was from Bob Butler.

"Mrs. Ellis, it's Detective Butler. I've been trying to reach you, but your cell phone must be off 'cause I'm going straight to voice-mail. Anyway, here's my update: The body and fender guy in Virginia remembers the car had New York plates and a Hertz sticker on the mirror. He helped me refine the sketch, which I'll be sending to you once the artist is done. I'm flying to New York to recheck the Hertz agencies there. I think I'm on the verge of solving this. Please call ASAP. God bless you."

I cursed myself that I'd left the damn cell-phone charger at home. I tried Bob's number, but he was either out of range or already on the plane. I finally stripped off my clothes and fell into bed. But, as tired as I was, I couldn't go to sleep.

The more I thought about my trip to the mountains with Chick, the more second thoughts I had.

I knew that impulsive decision was tied up with Chandler's death and a sense that I no longer fit in. I was trying to feel needed.

I tossed and turned and began to look for a way out. A way to renege. I got up, pulled some Evian out of the minibar, then turned on the TV and plopped back down on the bed and started absently roaming through the channels looking for something to take my mind off it. I stopped at The Late News on Channel Five, just as the blonde anchorwoman was saying:

"Evelyn Best, the slain wife of Internet exec Charles Best, was buried today at Forest Lawn Cemetery. While that event was taking place in front of several hundred family members and friends, across town the key suspect in her murder, Delroy Washington, was arraigned before the Superior Court Magistrate?'

The picture switched to a shot of Delroy being led into the courthouse in handcuffs. The insolent teenager glared at the camera.

"Assistant District Attorney Brent Briggs had these words for our KTLA camera outside the courthouse?'

The shot switched to a young D. A. with a serious expression. He was standing in front of the mahogany door to Superior Court Six.

"The physical evidence here is pretty overwhelming, and pending an arraignment on capital murder, we are going to ask that Mr. Washington be held without bail."

The shot switched to a black woman in her mid-forties wearing a print dress. She was with a heavyset man, who turned out to be her attorney. The anchorwoman's voice continued over the shot.

"Delroy Washington's attorney, David Atwater, had this to say… "

I was now sitting up straight in bed. I turned up the volume as the attorney spoke.

"Delroy Washington was at home with his mother when Mrs. Best's Mercedes was carjacked. This is just another example of police scapegoating. Because my client had a history of carjacking, they're trying to pin this crime on him, despite his alibi. This case is shortly going to be exposed for the rail job it actually is."

I thought of Chick and what he'd said at the funeral, how he had pledged himself to live a better life-use Evelyn's death to improve his life. I was suddenly ashamed about wanting to duck out. I decided anew to help him through this task in Big Bear. It was only going to take a few hours. I could certainly get through that.

I shut off the light and turned over on my side. Just before sleep took me, the same subconscious voice I'd heard earlier delivered another warning.

"Don't go," it whispered softly.