Guilt By Degrees

74

It was just an average house on an average street in Beverlywood, a neighborhood just south of Beverly Hills that, once upon a time, had been an upper-middle-class suburban enclave. But as the population grew, one neighborhood spilled into another, and the streets were no longer a place where young children played in the front yard or rode bikes to one another’s houses. That’s not to say it was a ghetto by any means, but it was frayed at the edges now, and the dangers of city life hovered more closely.

Guy and Pamela Rossmoyne looked like a matched pair. Of similar height, lean build, fair-skinned, and blue-eyed. Looking at Pam, I could see that at one time, she too had the mane of shining blue-black hair I’d noticed in Lilah’s photographs. Now it was dulled by age and unnaturally reddened by too many efforts at chemical enhancement. Her pinched features spoke of a lifetime of disappointment and bitter regret.

Though they’d been married for decades, to watch their behavior, you’d think they were two strangers waiting for a train. They didn’t touch or acknowledge each other in any way. Seated in separate matching wing chairs facing the sofa, they didn’t so much as look in each other’s direction.

Guy cleared his throat and leaned forward, speaking with a quiet intensity. “I only agreed to this meeting because I wanted you to know that Simon Bayer has harassed Lilah mercilessly over the past two years.”

Interesting how he repeatedly said “I,” not “we.” And I could already see why. While Guy seemed plenty exercised about it all, the way Pam was looking down at her hands said she was more concerned with her cuticles than the fact that her daughter was being harassed. Just minutes into the interview, I’d already learned a great deal about Lilah.

I couldn’t tell Guy that Simon was dead yet, so I couldn’t tell him he wouldn’t have to worry about the harassment anymore. But since his daughter likely had a hand in Simon’s murder, this didn’t weigh heavily on my conscience. “I didn’t know that,” I said. Though I believed and understood it.

Guy nodded. “For the first six months after the trial, he came by here every day.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He’d just sit outside, waiting for Lilah. Sometimes he’d leave letters for her.”

“And what would happen when he saw her?” I asked, making a mental note to get those letters when we finished the interview.

“He never did,” Pam replied. “She was never here. The minute she got out of custody, she left.”

“We told him she wasn’t here,” Guy said. “But he didn’t believe us. We called the police a few times, but they never did anything. Just gave him a ride back to…wherever.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I have no idea, I never asked,” Pam said breezily.

I believed her because she seemed happy not to know.

“She always did whatever she pleased, whenever and wherever she pleased,” Pam continued. “She didn’t want any reminders of that part of her life.”

It wasn’t just the words but the way she’d said them. It brought to mind what Rick had mentioned about Pam being jealous on many levels. I could hear them all in the line she’d just uttered. I also noticed that Guy looked away whenever Pam spoke. They had decidedly different feelings about Lilah, and probably everything else in their lives too.

“When was the last time Simon wrote to Lilah?” I asked.

“It’s been a while,” Guy said. “Maybe a year?”

Pam gave him a sharp look. It was the first time she’d acknowledged her husband since we’d arrived. Message received.

“Want to try again?” I asked.

Guy looked away, then gripped the arms of his chair till his knuckles went white. After a few moments, he answered.

“A month ago?” he said, peering up at the ceiling.

I looked at Pam for confirmation.

She nodded coldly.

“I assume you kept the letters in case something happened to Lilah,” I said.

I addressed the latter remark to Guy, because I got the distinct feeling that Pam couldn’t have cared less whether anything happened to Lilah. As long as it didn’t make Pam look bad.

“I’ll get them,” Guy replied. He left the room, casting a bitter look over his shoulder at his wife.

Pam turned back to inspecting her cuticles, and we sat in uncomfortable silence while we waited for him to return. Thankfully, a minute later he was back, a sheaf of envelopes in his hand.

“Here,” he said, giving them to me.

There was no postage or return address.

“He put these in your mailbox?” I asked.

Guy nodded.

“Did you read them?” Bailey asked.

“They were all the same. Telling her she’d go to hell for what she’d done. That he knew she was guilty and he’d find a way to prove it.” Guy stopped and shook his head. “She didn’t do it. But he wouldn’t accept that, had to keep haranguing her. Just couldn’t let her be. It wasn’t fair-a jury acquitted her, and they even said they thought she was innocent.” His hands shook and his features were dark with anger.

His behavior seemed a bit much, but maybe he was just the overprotective type.

“Which one was the last?” Bailey asked.

“I don’t have it,” Guy replied.

“He gave it to Lilah,” Pam added.

Guy glanced at Pam, and I saw a flash of anger cross his face. So they were still in contact with Lilah. And he hadn’t wanted us to know. “Did she come here, or did you go to her?” I asked.

Guy looked at the floor. In a barely audible voice, he said, “She came here.”

“Why did you give her that one in particular?” I asked, though I was fairly sure I knew the answer.

“Because it was different,” he replied. “Before, he only wrote about Zack’s trial and how he was going to find a way to make her pay for his murder. You’ll see,” he said, gesturing to the letters he’d given me. “But the last one, he said something about having evidence.” Guy paused, squinting with effort. “It was a lot of gibberish, most of it made no sense at all, so it’s hard to remember exactly. But he was more threatening, more immediate.”

Now we knew what set the wheels in motion that put Simon at the end of the killer’s knife.

“Did it say anything about a meeting place? Or how Lilah could contact him?” I asked.

Guy closed his eyes briefly, picturing the letter. “Not that I can recall,” he said, shaking his head.

Not that he was willing to recall. It was exactly why we’d waited this long to see these two. I had nothing to hang over his head to force him to tell the truth if he wasn’t so inclined. He didn’t mind sharing Simon’s letters, because they made Lilah out to be a victim. All except for that last one. The incriminating one. I could’ve had their house searched, but I knew it’d be a waste of time. Because I believed he did give Lilah the letter. What I didn’t believe was that he couldn’t remember what it said. But since I couldn’t force that issue, I got down to the bottom line.

“How did you reach Lilah to tell her about it?” I asked.

Guy pressed his lips together, his expression stony.

“Mr. Rossmoyne, this is a police investigation,” I said sternly. “If you don’t turn over that number, I’ll file a charge against you for obstruction of justice.”

He inhaled, and I could see that he wanted to tell me to go file my charges.

But Pam pointedly cleared her throat, having reached her limit of disgust and exasperation with this whole mess. “Guy, enough.”

His body momentarily went rigid. But then he slowly reached for the pad and pencil on the side table next to the telephone and wrote down the number. He handed it to me, then left the room without another word.

We thanked Pam for their time and said we were sorry to have intruded on their day. We told her to contact us immediately if they heard from their daughter. She promised they would. We were all lying.

The moment we’d driven fifty feet from the house, Bailey checked the number Guy’d given us. She got a busy signal.

“Daddy called her,” I said.

Bailey nodded.

We were in play. This visit was an open declaration of war, and now Lilah would know it.

“Game on,” Bailey said.