Shoot from the Lip

10

The next morning, before I went to the hotel for Emma’s meeting with Kravitz, I scanned the family photo and used Photoshop to produce a decent headshot of her mother.

I had no idea what time Kate came in last night, but she’d showered and left for work without even sticking her head into my office to say good-bye. That told me she didn’t want to discuss her “get back on the horse before nightfall” approach to her love life. She couldn’t avoid me forever, though. We needed to talk. This was way out of character for her.

I put several of my new Christine O‘Meara photos in my bag, bade farewell to the animals and left for Emma’s hotel. On the way, I called DeShay and got his voice mail. I didn’t leave another message. He’d get back to me when he had something on any unidentified bodies from ’97 or arrest records for Christine.

When I arrived on Emma’s hotel floor, Sergeant Benson was waiting for the elevator as I got off. He let the elevator leave without him when he recognized me.

The man was built like my daddy, short and stout, with a similar cheerful demeanor-like he owned a permanent smile. Nice if you can get it working homicide. He smelled like cigarettes rather than like Daddy’s cigars, and had an unhealthy-looking ruddy complexion. Probably headed for a heart attack, too.

“How you doing, Ms. Rose?” he said.

“Great, Sergeant. You learn anything new to tell Emma?”

“Nope. They just finished processing the crime scene this morning. I came to check on her after her accident.”

“A courtesy call?” He’d probably come for more than a medical report.

“Ah, you’re a sharp one. Ms. Lopez needs to make a trip to the ME’s office. I’d give her a lift but Don and I got a call. Maybe you can drive her over there.”

“Did they find something identifiable about the baby’s remains? Clothing, maybe?”

“Don’t I wish. We gotta have an ID on the infant for court. Ms. Lopez needs her mouth swabbed for DNA to verify kinship. Has to sign up at the county morgue for the privilege or I’d take the sample myself.”

“For court?” I wondered if progress had been made that he wasn’t talking about.

“If we ever get there. Judges are happier when they know who the victim is for absolute certain. By the way, I hear you’re working the mother angle for Ms. Lopez.”

“She hired me even before the baby was found. Venture Productions may think money is all Emma cares about, but that’s not true. She realized too late that they want to air information Emma would rather keep private, and I’m trying my best to run interference for her-find out about her missing mother before the production company does. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. Girl can hire whoever she wants. But let me give you a heads-up. My partner? Very territorial. Don’s got a heart of gold, but he pisses a ring around our cases. He might give you a hard time.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll try not to step on any toes,” I said.

“From what Ms. Lopez just told me, it’s clear you want to help this family,” he said. “But maybe you could share anything you learn with us.”

“Sure. I worked with the police on a case not long ago.” I held out my hand and we shook.

“Now go talk to your client,” Benson said. “She was worried you wouldn’t arrive before the reporter did. But he’s running late-as you’d expect from someone so friggin’ important.” He grinned and jammed the elevator’s down button.

A few seconds later Emma let me into her suite. She’d switched to a simple sling to support her arm. She said, “Glad you got here first. Kravitz called and he’s on his way up. Don’t let me say anything I shouldn’t, okay? Wink or clear your throat or do whatever you think is necessary to shut me up.”

“He probably knows everything already.” And probably knew about Xavier Lopez’s wife and sons, too. I should have discussed this with Emma yesterday and-

My thoughts were interrupted by a staccato knock, and Emma opened the door.

I recognized Paul Kravitz at once, but he wasn’t alone. Beside him was an older, petite woman, and behind them stood Stu Crowell.

Emma said, “I-I thought you were coming alone… to meet me first.”

Nothing like a crowd of unwelcome faces when you were expecting only one. “She’s not exactly up for a meeting that requires stadium seating,” I said.

Kravitz smiled. “This is only a preinterview. Mr. Crowell is here to check sound and lighting as well as a number of other technical issues.” Kravitz, a tall, lanky man, looked down at Emma. “Good to finally speak with you in person. I can’t convey how sorry I am about the circumstances that brought this story to our attention.”

“I appreciate that,” Emma said, sounding wary. She nodded at me. “This is Abby Rose. She’s a-”

“Private detective. I know.” Kravitz held out his hand. The man was skeletally thin, and I was sure I felt all hundred-something bones in his hand when we shook. He wore a sports jacket, crewneck shirt and worn jeans.

I turned to the woman Kravitz had failed to introduce.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.”

“Sandy Sechrest.” She smiled warmly. Judging by the age lines on her square face, I’d say she was in her late fifties, early sixties. She carried a black suitcase-briefcase size, only thicker-that bore her gold initials.

Emma led the way into the living area.

Kravitz said, “Stu, where should we set up?”

Emma, who seemed bewildered by this invasion, said, “I don’t understand. You said you wouldn’t be taping today. You said-”

Stu cut her off. “The armchair will work. We can close the drapes, turn on the lamp. Create a nice soft look for Emma.”

“Sandy, will that work?” Kravitz asked.

The woman nodded.

“Sandy is our makeup artist,” Kravitz said. “We want to see how you’ll appear on tape, but I have a feeling you won’t need much help. Your skin is perfect and you won’t wash out.”

“You promised we’d talk first and tape later.” Emma’s jaw was tight, her words clipped.

“We won’t use anything we tape today on the air,” Kravitz said. “I have another story in Ohio to wrap up. I need an initial interview, will take the tape with me and go over your story. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Emma lowered herself onto the sofa-not the chair Stu had chosen. “Why can’t anyone be straight with me? You hide information from the beginning, say one thing and do another; then you come here after promising-”

“I wasn’t the one who hid information from you.” Kravitz took one of the leather chairs across from the sofa. Stu, meanwhile, was opening and closing the drapes, checking out the dining area, no doubt deciding if there was a better option than his first choice for the taping.

Sandy Sechrest took the other armchair next to Kravitz while I sat next to Emma, a glass coffee table between us. A white china coffeepot, three mugs and various pastries rested on a silver tray. The sweet cinnamon smell hit me in an unexpected way, reminding me how much I missed Jeff and his ever-present Big Red gum. How would Jeff handle Paul Kravitz?

“Listen, Paul-I can call you Paul, right?” I said, taking in Kravitz more fully. If I’d met this guy on the street, I might have thought he’d recently had chemotherapy. On the tube he looked distinguished and sharp. In person, without makeup and lights, he had charcoal shadows beneath his eyes and his posture spoke of fatigue. I guessed his ash brown hair had been dyed, because the stubble on his clefted chin was steel gray.

“I think first names are a good start toward building a relationship.” Kravitz looked at Emma. “Is that okay with you?”

She nodded.

I said, “Emma’s interactions with Venture haven’t gone well since she learned that her missing baby sister was mentioned in the anonymous letter Reality Check received.”

“I heard about that from Erwin,” Kravitz said. “I would have handled things differently, but from what he told me, not telling her the full contents of the letter was an oversight. He had no reason to withhold information.”

Emma said, “I don’t believe you. The man’s a controlling, egotistical-”

I rested a hand on her arm. “An apology from Mr. Mayo would go a long way.”

Kravitz laughed. “Erwin believes apologies might possibly be redeemable for cash in the future; thus he holds on to them. Never heard him apologize for one damn thing. But if it helps, I’m sorry you weren’t fully informed.”

Ah, the charming Paul Kravitz, the one I knew from TV, had appeared.

Emma repositioned her arm with a grimace and leaned back against the sofa. “I should have been told what was in the letter before I signed the contract.”

Kravitz nodded. “You’re absolutely right-but legally, Reality Check was under no obligation.” He reached inside his sports jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Would it help if you saw a copy?”

I sat up straighter and held out my hand. “You’re damn right it would.”

He passed the letter to me and I unfolded it so Emma and I could read it together. Meanwhile, Kravitz motioned to Stu to come closer.

The letter had been written on lined notebook paper in a lefty back-slanting style. It read:

Someone good for your show is Emma Lopez in Houston. She’s a good girl and works so hard. Her mother used to leave her to take care of everything lots of times. Then CPS took Emma and the other kids. When she was sixteen Emma was raising her brothers and sister herself. Still is. I been watching her and she doesn’t know about me. They have a little house in Crystal Grove, this falling down place. Your show helps strong, good people like Emma. She’s so beautiful and puts everyone ahead of her. Her mother had another baby that disappeared right after it was born in 1992. Maybe you could find this other kid for Emma, ’cause she’d want to know where the baby went. You don’t need my name. Please just help Emma.

I looked at Kravitz. “This is all they had to go on when they decided to sign Emma for Reality Check?” I noticed that Sandy had put her case on her lap and opened it to reveal dozens of pots of makeup as well as brushes, foam wedges, and Q-tips.

He said, “The research team does extensive work before they decide on a deserving family. We’ve learned pretty much everything about Emma.” His gray eyes stared straight into mine. “Everything. We didn’t anticipate the discovery of the bones, however. How could we?”

“Do you think I did?” Emma said almost to herself. She was staring at the letter I’d put down.

I poured myself a mug of coffee, thinking I understood Kravitz’s unspoken message. He knew about Gloria Wilks and her sons.

Kravitz said, “This begins our preinterview, Emma. First Sandy will dust you up with some makeup, enough to take away any shine. Then Stu will roll-but again, I promise you, none of this tape will be used by anyone except me. I will study the preinterview and decide if I’m going in the right direction. The actual interview will be far more thorough. Our investigators are still working in case the Reality Check researchers missed anything.”

“Forgive my paranoia, but I want your promise in writing not to use any of this preinterview,” Emma said.

I swallowed my second sip of the truly disgusting coffee and set down my mug. “Good idea. I’ll get some paper.”

While Sandy went to work on Emma, and Stu moved the chair she’d vacated to a different position with the lamp table beside it, I made up a minicontract on hotel stationery.

Kravitz, looking amused, signed it willingly. I served as a witness. Emma then moved over to the chair, looking more relaxed than I’d seen her all morning. Having a morsel of control seemed to have helped.

Kravitz told Stu to roll and said, “Emma, do you recognize the handwriting in the letter I just showed you?”

“No.”

“We have a handwriting expert examining the original. The person who wrote this is either left-handed and uneducated or they were faking one or both of those traits,” Kravitz said. “Does that information help you in any way identify the person who wrote it?”

“No,” Emma said.

I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I did anyway. “Shouldn’t the police be given the original? Maybe the letter writer knows more about the baby’s disappearance. There could be DNA or fingerprints and-”

“Close to twenty people have handled that letter since we received it. I doubt there’s any usable evidence.” Kravitz didn’t seem bothered by my interruption; in fact, he seemed to welcome it. “Besides, the police haven’t asked for anything from us yet.”

“Right,” I said with more than a tinge of sarcasm. “And why give up anything without a request?”

“I was a print journalist before Crime Time. Forgive me if I’ve learned to keep information to myself. Offering to let Emma see the letter is a good-faith gesture,” he said evenly.

“And I am grateful,” Emma said. “Seeing the words in black and white is very different from hearing about this from Mr. Mayo. It seems much more real. Someone knew all about us. Someone was watching. But I can’t think who that could have been.”

“You have no clue?” Kravitz said.

“None. No one knew about the baby but me and my-” Emma’s free hand flew to her lips. “Oh, my God. My mother.”

Kravitz’s satisfied smile told me he’d gotten exactly what he wanted by producing that letter.

“You think Emma’s mother sent this?” I asked Kravitz. I was angry with myself. I hadn’t seen this coming.

“Could there be a more logical person? She may have abandoned her family, but we’re betting she hung around, checked up on you and your siblings, and when guilt got the better of her, she sent this to Reality Check.” He gestured at the letter.

I nodded. “Makes for a great story. Doesn’t quite explain the baby under the house, though.”

“In my experience interviewing more than a hundred criminals, I’ve come to understand that many of them want to be caught-their conscience at work, when they have one. Emma’s mother is probably no exception. She sent the letter, subconsciously hoping we’d track her down.”

This wasn’t working for me. Why did Christine O’Meara wait five years to disappear after the baby’s death? And I didn’t buy that she’d want to draw attention to a crime she may have committed, subconsciously or not. However, I decided not to question Paul Kravitz on these points. I liked him better than Chelsea or Mayo, but he sure hadn’t earned my trust yet.

Emma looked at me. “If my mother wrote the letter, that would mean she cared at least a tiny bit about us, wouldn’t it, Abby?”

“Do not get your hopes up about that,” I answered. “Think about it, Emma. Are you ready for a reunion with her while America watches? Because that’s what they’re setting you up for.”

Emma closed her eyes. “No, no-”

“Abby, Abby, Abby,” cut in Kravitz. “You have no idea how we work. We’re here to help solve a mystery.”

Sandy, who had been watching us all carefully, looked at Emma and said, “I’ve done makeup with Paul for years. He wants the truth; that’s all.”

I could tell Sandy believed that. It was nice to have a normal, self-possessed grandmother type in the room. She was so un-Hollywood.

Emma said, “Can we finish this?”

“Tell me what you know about your father,” Kravitz said.

Emma started right in, happy to talk about this subject.

“So,” Kravitz said when she’d finished telling him how he’d left her the house and the trust, “you never tried to find your extended family?”

Emma’s eyes hardened. “I did. But when I found out my father was married when he died, I took it no further.”

“You know about Gloria Wilks, your father’s widow?” he said.

“She knows,” I said. “What does Mrs. Wilks have to do with any of this?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Kravitz. “Maybe nothing. But background is important.”

“I didn’t even know her new married name,” Emma said. “I didn’t want to know.”

“You didn’t want to meet Xavier Lopez’s sons?” Kravitz said.

Despite Sandy’s great makeup job, Emma’s face paled, making the patches of color on her cheeks look like brush bums. But she recovered quickly. “Now that this story has become a hunt to find out what happened to my sister, I don’t see how meeting my brothers has any relevance. My father died long before the trouble with my mother, and I’d like him left out of all this.”

“I need every morsel of information I can collect, whether it turns out to be relevant or not,” Kravitz said.

“But-” Emma started.

He held up one of those long, skinny hands. “Let me finish. We may never use this part of your history. But I won’t put that in writing.”

A short, tense silence followed, Emma’s gaze trailing back to the letter.

Kravitz said, “Sandy, what kind of vibe are you getting from Emma? How do you think our viewers will receive her?”

Sandy smiled at Emma. “She’s well-spoken, which you would expect from such an intelligent young woman, and you know as well as I do that the camera will love her. She will come across as very sympathetic, because, well, she is.”

“I agree,” Kravitz said. “Now, I’d like to hear about your sister’s birth, her disappearance and all that followed. Forget about the camera. Just start talking.”

Emma had repeated the story so many times this week, her words ran together. She also lost focus more than once, and I had to help her get back on track. She was probably unnerved to have her half brothers brought up. I blamed myself for that. I should have felt her out before these people ever showed up.

When Emma was finished talking, Kravitz stood. “You’re looking overwhelmed, but you’ve given me good ideas on how to present this mystery to the public. I’ll keep you up to speed on the next steps, report anything new I might learn from the police.”

Telling Emma not to get up, I walked them to the door and out into the hallway. Stu and Sandy went on to the elevator after I asked to speak to Kravitz alone.

“Why’d you have to bring up the brothers?” I said.

“All the facts should be on the table. That’s the way I work. Did she even know about them?”

“I don’t know, but wasn’t it obvious she wants her father’s family out of the loop? They don’t need to be dragged into this mess.”

“No promises on that, Abby.”

“You’re pushing, Paul. The girl’s been traumatized enough in the last few days, and now you want to pile on something more?”

“No one tortured her into signing that contract,” he said. “Remember that the next time you’re feeling sorry for your client.” He turned and strode off to join Sandy and Stu.

I knocked on the suite door and Emma let me back in.

“That wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated,” she said.

Oh, yes, it was, I thought. “Did you know about your half brothers?”

“You probably read the same obituary I did,” Emma said.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I said.

“Discovering my father was married was bad enough. I didn’t want to picture him with his family. See, I had this little private dream that if he’d lived, he would have come back to us and everything would have been different. No drinking, no babies born in bathtubs, no-”

“And maybe he would have rescued you, but you’ll never know,” I said softly.

“H-he never got the chance to tell me the truth, and for some reason, I believe he would have. A girl’s got to have something to hang on to, right?” Her eyes were bright with tears. “Thanks for talking to Mrs. Wilks for me. The last thing I want is to intrude on her life. I can only hope Paul Kravitz agrees there’s no story there and stays away.”

I smiled, resting a hand on Emma’s good shoulder. “You spoke your mind, and that’s all you could do. You know, I’m learning a lot from how you handle things. You’re tough. And now I believe you need a ride to the county morgue.”

She smiled. “How did you know?”

“I’m a detective, of course.”