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And I thought about Rae Bergen, divorced mother of one, seen in Los Angeles’s hottest playgrounds, known as a party girl with writing talent that might eventually pay off.
I was dying to meet this woman who’d been having a long-term affair with her sister’s husband. It wasn’t unheard of but it was uncommon. Is that why Rae had put me off until now?
I reached the Frickes’ house about fifteen minutes after leaving home. A moment later, Richie’s old Bronco rolled up the house’s curving driveway and braked behind me. He got out of the car, handed me a container of coffee, and I smiled. The kindness of this man.
I said, “You didn’t sleep, either?”
“It wasn’t the case,” he said. “It was Cindy.”
“What about her?”
“She was flipping. Flopping. Getting out of bed. Coming back. Kicking the mattress. Talking in her sleep.”
“It’s not about you, Richie. It’s about marriage in general. She never imagined it for herself. You know this.”
“You didn’t sleep, either,” he said to me.
“Joe had a big assignment from Steinmetz. He didn’t get home until about three.”
“Apocalypto?”
“Bingo,” I said. “All good. St. Vartan’s is back in business.”
“Thank God.”
Richie crossed himself, sighed. “Details?”
“I wish. Joe fell asleep while talking.”
We both laughed.
“I’m going to sleep all day tomorrow if I have to go to a hotel,” he said.
I said, “Great idea. Meanwhile …”
“Yeah. Will Rae talk to us? Or will she not? Do you get why she wouldn’t talk?”
“I think so. My guess is, she loved Holly and Jamie, both at the same time. Or, the obvious: something she doesn’t want to tell us. We’ll find out, but it would be easier if she didn’t live in Malibu.”
I took a deep breath, then said to Richie, “After the funeral she’s going home.”
Rich put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze. “She’ll talk to us,” he said.
Most of the time, Rich was right. He had sharp instincts and could tease out the truth from a sphinx. But no onescored 100 percent on breaking down a suspect without having leverage and in a short time. Not even my partner.
We walked up the pathway to the front door, then I reached out and rang the doorbell.
CHAPTER 82
ARTHUR BEVAQUA OPENED the front door.
“Sergeant, good to see you.”
“Same here, Arthur. You remember my partner.”
“Of course. Inspector Conklin. Come in.”
I asked Arthur, “How are you doing?”