Web of Evil

CHAPTER 4

CUTLOOSEBLOG.COM

Saturday, September 17, 2005

It's after one. I should be sleeping, but I can't. I didn't expect yesterday to be a good day. You know before it starts that the day you go to court to get a divorce isn't going to be a red-letter day or a time for celebration. But I didn't expect it to be a disaster, either. I didn't expect it to end with a trip to the morgue.

Because, although my divorce wasn't finalized yesterday, my marriage ended anyway. My husband is dead. He didn't show up for our ten A.M. court appearance because he died the night beforedied after taking an early powder from his own bachelor party and departing the premises without telling anyone else he was leaving.

After spending hours in the company of a pair of homicide detectives, I now know how Fang died. His hands and feet were bound with duct tape. His mouth was taped shut. He was placed in the trunk of a stolen car that was left parked on the railroad tracks near Palm Springs. The vehicle with him in it was subsequently struck and demolished by a speeding freight train. He was ejected upon impact and thrown into the desert, where his body was found hours later. The autopsy won't be done until much later today. My hope is that he died upon impact.

And so, since the divorce was never finalized, the authorities consider me to be his "next of kin." For the first time in my life, I had to go to a county morgue to make a positive ID.

I expected the place to be dingy and cold inside. It wasn't, but the chill I felt had nothing to do with an overly active air-conditioning unit because the air-conditioning unit was barely functioning. As I stood there in the viewing room, waiting for an attendant to wheel out the loaded gurney, my blood turned to ice. And when I had to look down into that scratched and battered but oh-so-familiar face, it was all I could do to remain upright. I didn't exactly faint when I saw him lying there, but my knees went weak. Fortunately, someone helped me to a chair.

I didn't cry, couldn't cry. Mostly because I didn't know what I was feeling or what I was supposed to feel. Fang and I were divorcing if not divorced. Our relationship was over if not ended. And yet, this was a man I had loved oncesomeone vital and strong with whom I had hoped to share the rest of my life. It makes my heart ache to know that he is gone. And yes, it makes me sick to think that his unborn childa baby due within the next few weekswill never know him at all, will grow up without ever once seeing him. That's wrong. Leaving a child fatherless is WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

After I'd done the ID, someonea clerkgave me a paper to signa form that says what's supposed to happen to Fang's remains once the authorities are finished with them. It seemed inappropriate for me to be the one deciding which mortuary should be brought in to do that job. I've been out of Fang's life for a long timelonger, it turns out, than the six months I've been out of the house. It seemed to me that Twink amp;No, correction. Make that, it seemed to me that his fianceethe woman who's expecting his childshould be making those decisions, but it turns out the very fact that we were still legally married automatically puts me in charge. So I looked in the phone book, tracked down the name of the mortuary that handled Fang's mother's services six years ago, and called them.

Two days agowas it just two days?I told you about my plan to pick up some new clothing on my way through Scottsdale so I could go to court looking like a bit of a fashion plate in something more sophisticated than what I wear hanging around home in Sedona. I even splurged on a haircut, a manicure, and a pedicure. I wanted to be able to put my best foot (and toes) forward when Fang and I stood in front of the judge to disavow our vows.

The irony is, when I came back to the hotel, I took off my courtroom duds and slipped into something comfortablea T-shirt, a pair of jeans, comfy tennis shoes. I took off my makeup and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. That's how I was dressed when two homicide cops came to ask me to ride along and see if I could positively identify the body of their dead victim. And that's how I looked hours later when the identification ordeal was finally over and I stepped back outside the Riverside County Sheriff's Substation in Indio to return to the hotel.

I have no idea who alerted the media to what was going on. I know for sure someone had already leaked Fang's name. As cameras flashed and reporters yelled questions, someone recognized me and called me by name as well. I'm sure my photo will be all over the news tomorrow, and I'll look as bedraggled as some of those awful mug shots that turn up when some celebrity gets booked for drunk driving.

It's one thing to stand outside the emotional box and report on someone's untimely death for whatever reason. It's something else to be living itto be inside that awful box and trying to make sense of it. Now, because of the way the media works, I'll no longer be reporting on eventsI'll be part of the story.

So this is an early warning for all my cutlooseblog.com fans. I'm sure all kinds of crap is going to hit the fan first thing in the morning. I just want you to know that I'm fine. And I'll keep you posted as we go.

Posted 1:07 A.M., September 17, 2005 by Babe

Scrolling through her e-mail list, Ali could see more than a dozen comments lined up and waiting to be read, but she was too drained to face them.

Go to bed, she told herself, switching off her computer. Tomorrow's another day.

Ali did go to bed then. Not only that, she surprised herself by falling asleep almost immediately. After what seemed like only a matter of minutes, the ringing phone awakened her.

"What in the world is going on?" Edie Larson demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Ali grumbled groggily. "And what time is it?" The room's blackout curtains were pulled shut. In the pitch black room she had to turn over to see the clock, which read 5:35 A.M.

"Why didn't you call me?" Edie continued. "What happened to Paul? And why did you have to do the identification? What about his bride-to-be who isn't?"

"Who told you all this?" Ali asked.

"You did," Edie answered. "In cutloose."

Ali was astonished. It had never occurred to her that her mother might join the Internet world. "You read my blog?" she asked.

"Of course I do," Edie said. "Why wouldn't I? Every morning while I'm waiting for the sweet rolls to rise and when there's no one here in the restaurant to keep me company, I read the whole thing. When Dad and I got Chris that new Mac, he gave us his old one. Hooked it up here in the office, got me an Internet account, the whole nine yards. My Internet handle is sugarloafmama, by the way, but I didn't call to talk about me. I want to know what's going on with you. Tell me everything, and hurry it up. We open in a few minutes."

So Ali told her mother as much as she could rememberthe parts she had put in the blog as well as the parts she'd left out. The truth is, after sitting through the statement she'd given to Detectives Sims and Taylor, Victor had advised her to say nothing in her blog about any of itnothing at all. Feeling a certain loyalty to her readers, Ali had written her blog entry anyway, saying only what she thought would pass muster. She never came right out and said that she had ridden to Indio in the company of the two homicide detectives. And she never breathed a word about hitching a ride back from Jacqueline Cochran Airport with the newest member of Ali's burgeoning troop of attorneys.

In talking to Edie, however, Ali corrected this deliberate oversight by mentioning Victor Angeleri by name, while at the same time somehow glossing over the criminal defense portion of his curriculum vitae.

"You say his name's Victor, Victor Angeleri? What kind of a name is that?" Edie wanted to know.

"Italian, I suppose," Ali answered.

"And he flies his own plane?"

"No. He chartered one." And on the way home, to take my mind off my troubles, gave me an in-depth lesson on Jacqueline Cochran, the lady the airport is named after, and on the Women Airforce Service Pilots of World War II, Ali thought.

"What's he like?" Edie asked. "Old? Young? What?"

"About the same age as Dad, I suppose," Ali said. "And big. He had to use a seat-belt extender in the airplane."

"I don't care one whit about his size," Edie declared. "What I want to know is whether or not he's any good. Now what kind of attorney is he again? Not your divorce attorney," she added. "That's Myra somebody."

Ali wondered how it was Edie Larson could somehow play dumb while simultaneously and unerringly sniffing out Ali's every attempt at subterfuge.

"Not Myra, Helga Myerhoff," Ali corrected. "She was the one handling the divorce proceedings. Victor specializes in criminal defense."

"But why on earth would you need a criminal defense attorney?" Edie wanted to know. "Do the cops think you had something to do with Paul's deaththat you're somehow responsible? How could you be? You were miles away at the time."

Ali remembered the pulsing, telltale glow from that long line of emergency lights that had lit up the desert floor as they streamed through the night toward the scene of the wreck.

Not nearly as many miles away as I should have been, Ali thought.

Victor hadn't wanted her to mention seeing those flashing lights in the course of giving Detectives Sims and Taylor her taped statement, but since they already knew what time she'd left Phoenix and since they already knew what time she'd checked into the hotel, that meant they also knew the approximate time she would have been passing Palm Springs. Consequently, it seemed pointless to skip over that part. The truth was she had seen the flashing lights. She would have had to have been blind not to, and lying about that in an official statement seemed both pointless and stupid.

"The cops probably do suspect me," Ali said, trying to deliver the words in a casual, offhand manner that she hoped would throw Edie off course. "But Victor says not to worry. It's just routine. That's what homicide detectives do. To begin with, they look at everyone. Then gradually they eliminate the ones who didn't do it until they arrive at whoever did."

"So you're saying for sure that Paul was murdered?" Edie asked.

Ali sighed. "Yes. When Victor and I left Indio, they hadn't yet released any details about the case because April hadn't been notified, but I'm sure she has been by now. If that's the case, the story is probably all over the airwaves. I was asleep, though, so I haven't had a chance to check."

The idea that the questioning was routine did nothing to calm Edie's outrage. "This is unbelievable!" she announced. "I should never have let you drive over there on your own. Never. The subject came up before you left. Dad said I should probably pack up and go along, but then I let you talk me out of it. Big mistake. There are times women need their mothers with them, Alison. This turns out to be one of them."

In the background Ali heard a door open and close. "Speak of the devil," Edie said. "Here's your father now. I'm in the office, Bob," she called to her husband. "Ali's on the phone. Come listen to this. You're not going to believe it."

Briefly Edie began to recount everything Ali had told her. Halfway through, though, the story came to an abrupt stop.

"My word!" Edie exclaimed. "I completely lost track of time. The first customers just pulled up, Ali. We have to go now. I'll call again later, but you take care of yourself. Don't let those turkeys push you around."

Once Ali put down the phone, she dozed for a little while, but by seven when she was wide awake, she called room service and ordered breakfast and newspapers. She managed to jump in and out of the shower before her breakfast tray showed up.

Sipping coffee, she went through the newspapers, where the homicideyes, a Riverside Sheriff's Department spokesman actually used the H-wordof prominent television news executive Paul Grayson was front-page news. So, unfortunately, was Ali's picture, which turned out to be every bit as bad as Ali had predicted it would be. The caption stated: "Former L.A.-area newscaster Alison Reynolds, accompanied by noted defense attorney Victor Angeleri, leaves the Riverside County Sheriff's Substation in Indio after identifying the body of her slain husband, Paul Grayson."

Trying not to look at the tabloid-worthy photo, Ali turned her attention to the accompanying article. Despite the use of a banner headline and the expenditure of lots of front-page column inches, there was surprisingly little content, and hardly anything Ali hadn't already gleaned on her own.

Today was supposed to be Paul Grayson's wedding day. Instead, the prospective groom is now a murder victim, having fallen victim to a bizarre kidnapping/murder scheme in which he was left bound and gagged in the trunk of a stolen vehicle that was abandoned on a railroad track near Palm Springs. The stolen vehicle was subsequently struck by a speeding freight train, killing Grayson on impact. An autopsy has been scheduled for later today.

A joint homicide investigation by the Los Angeles Police Department and the Riverside County Sheriff's Department is attempting to establish the exact chain of events from the time Grayson abruptly departed a posh bachelor party being held in his honor to the time an eastbound Burlington Northern freight train slammed into the vehicle in which he had been imprisoned.

Ali scanned the next several paragraphs, which mostly contained information she had already learned. She slowed and read more carefully when she reached the part that discussed the ill-fated bachelor party at the Pink Swan.

"We were all at the Pink Swan having a good time," said bachelor party host and former NBC executive Jake Maxwell. "I remember someone saying there was a call for Paul. I believe he went outside to take it, and he never came back. I finally went outside looking for him and noticed his Porsche was missing from the parking lot. I just assumed he'd decided he'd had enough and gone home."

Early yesterday afternoon, Mr. Grayson's Porsche Carrera was found stripped and abandoned in an apartment parking lot in Banning. The Camry destroyed by the speeding train had been reported stolen earlier in the day from a vacant-lot private-vehicle sales location in Ventura. The Riverside Sheriff's Department is asking that anyone with information on either vehicle contact them immediately.

Mr. Grayson was in the process of divorcing his wife, former local television news personality Alison Reynolds. He was due at a hearing to finalize their divorce at 10 A.M. yesterday morning. It was his failure to appear in court that prompted his fiancee, April Gaddis, to contact LAPD's Missing Persons Unit, which immediately began conducting an investigation.

The story continued on page two, but Ali didn't bother following it. There was nothing new here. She tried two other papers with similar resultsmuch the same story with no additional information and with equally bad photos of Alison Reynolds. Disgusted, Ali gave up, poured another cup of coffee, and turned on her computer. Once it booted up, she logged on and went to check out her new mail. Scanning the subject lines, she saw that three of them were addressed to Fred, the guy who had objected to the fact that Ali was divorcing her husband.

Dear Fred,

You are an ignorant asshole. I hope you die.

So much for reasoned discussion. That one was unsigned, and Ali simply deleted it.

Dear Fred,

You sound just like my first husband, and you know what? It's been years now and he still hasn't figured out how come I took the kids and left him. I tried to tell him his actions were pulling us apart, but he didn't want to hear itso he didn't hear it. It was a struggle, but money isn't everything. I know the kids and Itwo daughters and a sonare all better off.

CONNIE IN MI

Dear Fred,

Let no man put asunder? God must have heard what Fang did to Babe, and She smacked him a good one. Maybe She'll smack you, too. Sounds like you deserve it.

CASEY THE OLD BAT

Casey was someone who wrote in often. Usually Ali posted her comments, but this time they were a little too close to the "hope you die" one. Ali deleted Casey instead. As she was about to move on, a click announced a new e-mail, this one also addressed to Fred. But what caught Ali's attention was the sender's address, sugarloafmama.

Dear Fred,

I agree with you. Marriage vows are sacred, but they need to be kept by both parties involved. It reminds me of that old song, about Frankie and Johnny. "He was her man but he done her wrong." All I can say is, good riddance!

SUGARLOAFMAMA

Laughing, Ali posted Edie's comment. Anyone who lived in or around Sedona would know exactly who Sugarloafmama was. And the fact that Edie Larson held some reasonably strong opinions on any given subject, especially her former son-in-law, wouldn't be news, either.

Google sent me here. I thought this was a health care site. If I wanted advice to the lovelorn, I'd go to Dear Abby. You guys should get a life.

That one was unsigned and it went away. After that Ali read a whole series of comments that were essentially notes of condolence to her. One in particular stood out.

Dear Babe,

I understood exactly what you meant when you said you didn't know what to feel and that you couldn't cry. My divorce had been final for only two weeks when my husband committed suicide. He always said he would but I didn't believe him. I needed him out of my life. He was into meth and gambling both, and watching him destroy himself was killing me. But I didn't mean for him to die. For a long time I thought his death was my fault. It took three years of therapy for me to come to terms with what happened.

So please accept my condolences. I'm sure you loved Fang once. According to my therapist, I had to grieve not only for the man who was gone but also for the man who never wasand for the dream I once had about how our life together would be. Grieving for the dream is as hard as grieving for the person. Don't be afraid to seek help if you think you need it. But it's hard work. Harder than anything I've ever done.

I've been a cutloose fan for a long time. Through the months I know you've focused a lot of your anger on Twink even more so than on Fang. I understand that, as far as you're concerned, Twink is "the other woman," but I also suspect that she's much younger than you are and not nearly as smart. She isn't going to have the emotional resources you have to deal with this tragedy. Try to remember that her dreams are in ashes today, too, right along with yours.

Since your divorce from Fang wasn't final when his death occurred, I expect that you and Twink will find your lives intertwined in unexpected ways. I hope you can find it in your heart to be kind to her and to her innocent baby as well.

Remember, God will see to it that you reap what you sow.

PHYLLIS IN KNOXVILLE

Ali was in tears by the time she finished reading Phyllis's note. There was so much hard-won wisdom in the words and so much caring that it took Ali's breath away. She posted the note in the comments section and then sent Phyllis a personal response.

Dear Phyllis,

Thank you for writing. Thank you for your kindnessfor knowing what I was feeling and giving me comfort; for giving me much needed guidance when I was in danger of losing my way.

BABE

Several of the other notes were in the same vein. Ali responded to them all, but the one from Phyllis was the only one she posted. That was the one that said it all and said it best. When her cell phone rang a little later, she expected the caller to be one of her parents or maybe even Chris. She didn't expect to hear the voice of Dave HolmanYavapai County homicide detective Dave Holman.

"I just talked to your mom," Dave said grimly. "Is it true? Do the cops out in L.A. think you're involved in Paul's murder?"

In the years before Sedona had built its own high school, kids from Sedona had been bused to Mingus Mountain High School in Cottonwood. Dave Holman had been a tall skinny kid a year ahead of Ali in school. After graduation, he had joined the Marines. He went to college later, studying criminal justice. He was both a detective in the sheriff's department and a captain in the Marine Reserves who had served two tours of duty in Iraq. He was also a much valued breakfast regular at Bob and Edie Larson's Sugar Loaf Cafe.

Ali felt an initial stab of resentment that her parents had spilled the beans about what was going on in her life. Then she remembered her blog. Maybe Dave read cutlooseblog.com the same way Ali's mother did. Maybe that was where he was getting his informationeverything but her phone number, that is.

Why was it I wanted to have a blog? Ali asked herself.

"They didn't come right out and say so," Ali replied. "Not in so many words."

"What words?" Dave asked. "Tell me exactly what was said."

"They took my statement," Ali said.

"With your attorney present, this Angel guy?"

Obviously Edie had given Dave a complete briefing on Ali's conversation with her.

"Angeleri," Ali corrected. "Victor Angeleri, and yes, he was there."

"Edie says you told them about driving past the crash site, seeing the emergency vehicles, all that?"

"I had to," Ali said. "It's the truth. I could see those lights from miles away. Coming past Palm Springs at that time of night, I couldn't not see them."

"Great," Dave muttered. "What else did they have to say?"

"I don't know. They asked a bunch of questions. I answered them. End of story."

"What did they say when the interview was over?"

"What do you mean?" Ali asked. "You mean, like, did they say good-bye?"

"No, I mean like, Don't leave the state without letting us know.'"

Ali paused. "Well, yes," she said at length. "I suppose they did mention something to that effect. They told me they'd be pursuing all possible leads but it might be best if I stayed around L.A. for a while. I told them that was fine. That I had planned to be here several more days. They hinted it might take a little longer than that for them to get all their ducks in a row."

"I'll just bet," Dave said. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm glad your mother is on her way."

"Mom is coming hereto L.A.?"

"Yes. Edie Larson is riding to the rescue. Didn't she tell you?"

"No," Ali said. "As a matter of fact she didn't. I'll call and tell her not to come."

"That's probably why she didn't mention it to you, and by now it's too late, because she's already on her way. I may show up, too," Dave added. "I came to Lake Havasu to see the kids this weekend, which means I'm only four and a half hours away."

Ali knew that since Dave's ex-wife and her new husband had taken the children and moved to Lake Havasu City, Dave had spent at least one weekend a month going there to see them.

"Really, Dave," she told him. "That's not necessary. What about your kids?"

"What about them? I already did what Rich wanted me to do this weekendwhich was to get him signed up for his learner's permit. As for Cassie and Crystal? They'll be glad to have me out of their hair. Spending weekends with me is more of a hassle for my daughters than it is anything else. I'm not nearly cool enough to suit them."

"But it makes no sense for both you and Mom to drop everything and come running to California," Ali argued. "I'm sure this is no big deal."

"No big deal?" Dave repeated. "Are you kidding? Being accused of murder is always a big deal, even if you end up getting off. Ask O. J. Simpson. Ask Robert Blake. And since you obviously don't want me to do this for you, let's just say I'm doing it for your folksfor your mom. This is my cell phone, by the way," he added. "Feel free to call me on it anytime if you need to."

The truth of the matter was, Ali still had Dave's cell phone number stored in her phone. She had needed his help once, desperately, when the abusive husband of one of her cutloose fans had come looking for Ali. But there was no way she was going to admit that to him, especially not right then.

"I still think this is silly," she said.

"Everybody's entitled to his or her opinion," Dave returned. "I don't have enough available cell phone minutes to waste time arguing about it."

"All right," Ali said, capitulating. "You know where to come?"

"Edie gave me the address. Rich is putting it into MapQuest right now. Unfortunately my Nissan Sentra doesn't come equipped with the fancy-schmancy GPS you have in your Cayenne. I can't leave until a little later, but I'll be there."

He hung up. Ali was still holding the phone in her hand when it rang again. "Ali?"

Helga's near-baritone usually made people think they were talking to a man. Ali knew better. "What's up?" Ali asked.

"Are you decent?"

"Not exactly."

"Get that way," Helga ordered, "and then meet us downstairs."

"Us?"

"Victor and me," Helga said. "We have an appointment with Ted Grantham half an hour from now."

"With Ted?" Ali asked. "What for?"

"With Ted and with Les Jordan," Helga replied.

"Who's Les Jordan?"

"Paul Grayson's estate planning attorney."

Far be it for Paul to have one attorney when he could have two, Ali thought. Then she realized she had no room to talk.

"Why are we meeting him?" she asked.

"For a reading of the will."

"Now?" Ali wanted to know. "Don't people usually read wills after funerals instead of before?"

"Under normal circumstances that's true," Helga said. "But these circumstances are far from normal. Meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes."