Who Killed Jenny Schecter? Ch. 04

Chapter 4 Nemesis

The Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department was headquartered in a five-story building on Maple Avenue in Torrance. Shane and Carmen checked in at the large lobby window and waited while a sheriff's deputy behind bulletproof glass called somebody upstairs. After listening for a moment, he cleared them to go to the elevator bank.

When they got off the elevator there was an older man standing there, apparently waiting for them. He wore baggy pants with suspenders and a sweater over an old but serviceable button-down shirt. He had an ID badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck and banging against his sunken chest. He looked to be in his sixties, Central Casting's idea of somebody's Midwestern grandfather. Carmen guessed he was a civilian aid retired from some dull lifetime of work as an accountant, or whatever, and who was now finding small bits of excitement hanging around a major police station during his golden years. His name tag said his name was Richard.

"You gals Morales and McCutcheon?" he asked, having no trouble recognizing them.

"Yes," Carmen said, smiling. She didn't mind being called a "gal"; she did many senior citizen gigs and liked older people.

"Follow me," he said, and turned away without looking back. "Marybeth's expecting ya." He made it sound like Marybeth was his long-suffering wife.

He led them from the elevator lobby to a wide bullpen area where a dozen plainclothes cops were working, typing on computers or talking on their phones. The LASD building was built on the open plan, with big cubby farms, all flooded with natural sunlight from the tinted windows. Individual offices and conference rooms were clustered in the center. Their escort led them down a long aisle with a right turn, past two smaller bullpen areas. As they walked Shane and Carmen read the name tags outside the various office doors they passed. It became clear they were in the LASD Homicide Bureau, and there were signs, posters and logos of the Homicide Bureau's locally famous "Bulldog" mascot everywhere. It was widely said in the LA region that the LASD homicide cops were tougher and better than their LAPD counterparts, and that's how they acquired their mascot and nickname.

Some room tags had only room numbers, some had names of people, and some had names of departments, often in impenetrable acronyms. They turned down another aisle, entered a small bullpen area, and off the bullpen the guide showed them to an office with glass walls. The sign by its door said Lt. Marybeth Duffy, Missing Persons Unit. Richard tapped on the door twice, perfunctorily, opened the door for Shane and Carmen, then stood aside so they could enter.

Lt. Duffy was talking on the phone and gestured to them to come in and sit down until she finished her call. She was going to a department luncheon that day and was dressed in her formal uniform instead of the plainclothes she usually wore. Her stiff, starched tan shirt had epaulets showing her rank on her shoulders, a formal plastic name tag pinned to the right side of her chest, and her badge pinned to the left side next to some medals and awards. She wore a black necktie. Carmen had never met her before, but Shane had described her quite accurately as a well-built woman who was not overweight or even "stocky," but who nevertheless looked solid and formidable. She had short dark hair, and carried herself with a regal air of military command and expected deference. A warrior princess type, Carmen thought. Her gaydar wasn't as sharp as Shane's (no one's was) but Carmen got no special vibes from Lt. Duffy one way or the other. The vibe Carmen did get was this was a woman you didn't want to mess with, much like her own overly protective housemate, Terri, whose first instinct was to demolish Shane right there on their doorstep.

"Right," Lt. Duffy said into the phone. "Right ... yes, that's a good idea ... work me up some budget numbers ... yes, okay, Frank, thanks." Lt. Duffy hung up her desk phone and pulled her Smartphone from her belt and immediately started inputting something. "Give me one more ..." - she thumbed more data into the phone without looking up - "... second ... there." She finished, looked up and stood behind her desk, leaning forward to shake their hands as they stood, too. "McCutcheon. Nice to see you again," she said to Shane without any warmth. "You must be Morales. Nice to meet you." Lt. Duffy gave Carmen a firm, brief handshake, and sat back down. "Sit down. What can I do for you?"

Shane and Carmen looked at each other for a split second, and then Carmen began their pitch, as they had agreed, because Carmen was the talker as well as the charmer, insofar as that talent might become necessary.

"We want to talk to you about our friend, Alice Pieszecki. We both believe she's innocent, that she had nothing to do with Jenny's death -"

"Homicide," Lt. Duffy interrupted. "Or if you prefer, murder."

"Okay, murder," Carmen said, refusing to be bullied. "Alice didn't do it, even though she confessed to it knowing she'd go to prison. We know it's a closed case as far as the police are concerned, and that's fine, we understand that. But even so, we believe in her innocence, and we'd like to look at the case files and all the forensic stuff, with a view toward conducting our own investigation. We have a theory that Alice suddenly and maybe even spontaneously decided to confess, which made your investigation suddenly came to a stop, too, which is perfectly natural - we're not criticizing in the least, certainly not criticizing you, personally, or anyone else working on the case." Carmen looked at Lt. Duffy for some sort of reaction, but got nothing but Duffy's polite attention. "What we think is that Alice's confession derailed your investigation, sabotaged it, and that if she hadn't done that you'd have kept working and identified the real murderer sooner or later, and most likely sooner."

Lt. Duffy said nothing, and just looked at her politely.

"So that's what we'd like to do," Carmen said, trying hard not to falter.

Lt. Duffy sniffed, some sort of indeterminate facial gesture. "You're not a policewoman or a private eye, past or present."

"No," Carmen admitted.

"No training at all in any kind of police work or criminal investigation."

"None," Carmen said.

"You're a DJ."

"Yes. And I work for a travel agency, I work on cruise ships."

"Olivia Travel and Royal Duchess Lines. You're Julie on the Love Boat. I did my homework." Duffy turned her attention to Shane with a casual flip of her hand. "You're a hairdresser."

"Yes, I used to be," said Shane, damping down her impulse to give Duffy some attitude. "I don't do much anymore myself, but I'm a partner in a chain of hairdressing and beauty salons. I do some professional photography on the side, too."

"That's right, I remember now," Duffy said. "Schecter bought you a whole photo studio right before she died."

"Yes," Shane said.

"Lucky for you," Duffy sniffed. "Too bad she didn't put you in her will."

"Her estate went to her mother in Illinois," Shane said quietly, wondering why Duffy was so hostile.

"Look, I know we're not investigators or police," Carmen said, wanting to get the conversation onto safer ground. "I know we're complete amateurs. But we need to do something. We need to find the real murderer and get Alice out of prison."

Duffy ignored Carmen and turned to Shane. "What did Pyewacket say when you visited her up at Humboldt the other day?"

"Who?" Shane asked.

"Pieszecki," Duffy said. Pyewacket was the name of Kim Novak's Siamese cat and familiar in the move Bell, Book and Candle, which of course Carmen knew very well and Shane never heard of.

"You know I visited her?"

"After you called to make this appointment, I checked. It wasn't rocket science. Why do you think Alice confessed if she was innocent?"

"She was trying to protect somebody she thought did it."

"Who?"

"Me."

"You're saying she thought you killed Schecter."

"Uh, well, um, yes. I guess so. But I didn't."

"No."

"No, really, I didn't. Carmen, help me out here."

"Shane, I know you didn't do it, but either of us telling Lt. Duffy you're innocent hardly constitutes evidence."

Shane's mouth hung open, but no words came out. There was roaring inside her head.

"Anybody else think you did it," Duffy asked, "or was Pyewacket the outlier on that?"

Shane had nothing and Carmen cut in. "Lieutenant," she said quietly, "we both know a lot of people had Shane as the primary suspect. And anybody who watches TV knows that the spouse or significant other boyfriend/girlfriend is always the number one suspect in a homicide, and yes, we all know that was Shane. And yes, we all know Shane had more motive than anybody except maybe Tina, because Jenny stole the movie film negatives that belonged to Tina's studio. But we also know Tina didn't do it, and we just have to get past looking at Shane, just like we have to get past Alice confessing and being convicted. And, while I'm at it, quite frankly, we both know you're just pulling our chains now, and we are not trying to pull yours."

Duffy relented and grinned, and sat back in her chair. "You're not going to let me have any fun at all, are you?" she said to Carmen. Carmen made a gesture with her hands, what can I say? Duffy leaned forward again and picked up her phone and punched in a couple of numbers. When somebody answered she said, "You freed up? Starsky and Hutch are here." She hung up and sat back. "Look," she said, "there's just no way the LASD is turning over the files and all the accumulated evidence to a pair of complete, total rank amateur outsiders, even if it is a closed case, as you correctly point out." She saw Shane and Carmen's faces fall, and held up a hand. "Also, I don't have the power to re-open a closed murder case, even if it was my case way back when, because this is the Missing Persons Unit. Yes, we're a division of the Homicide Bureau, but there are boundaries and lines, and the folks down the hall who are homicide cops would have my ass on a trash can lid. Simply put, I don't have any jurisdiction now, like I did when it was my case. Having said all that, there is Plan B."

"Plan B?" Carmen asked.

"Maybe you've heard of it. There's always a Plan B. What you guys need is a babysitter. And more than an ordinary babysitter, you need somebody with investigative training, and a badge would be a big help. Here comes Plan B now."

There was a quiet tap on the door and then Detective Lauren Hancock entered. She was a good-looking woman in her late thirties. She had high cheekbones, a wide, generous mouth that smiled easily, sleepy green-gray eyes, good coloring. Her brown hair was streaked with highlights and she wore it all pulled back into a tight ponytail that bobbed behind her head. She was in plainclothes, a dark gray pants suit with a matching vest over a man's shirt. She had her sleeves rolled up and somewhere in the world her suit coat was hung up on a hangar. She wore the gold, six-pointed, LASD star in a folder clipped to her belt on the left, and a holstered pistol on the right. Maybe 5'7" or 5'8. She had a good, athletic figure - Carmen thought it was a really good figure, maybe a 36C - and a clear, appraising, don't-fuck-with-me gaze. Carmen's pulse picked up a couple of points. Shane's mouth hung open again.

"Lauren," Duffy said, pointing to Carmen and Shane, "I think you already know Starsky and Hutch."

"Carmen," Lauren said, leaning forward as Carmen stood to shake hands, "Good to see you again. Shane, long time no see."

"Hey, Lauren," Shane said, also standing and awkwardly shaking hands. "Yeah, it's been a long time." Carmen watched them both, and could see Hancock was enjoying Shane's discomfort. Ex-one-night-stand, no doubt about it. Carmen was as amused as Hancock was.

Shane turned to look at Carmen. "You guys know each other?"

"Lauren came out to the ship to interview me about Jenny," Carmen said. "We had just pulled into Long Beach. It was a week after Jenny's murder."

"Starsky and Hutch?" Lauren said to Lt. Duffy as she walked to a credenza at the side of the room and leaned back against it, her arms folded. Her body language put her on Duffy's team.

"Cagney and Lacey seemed too obvious," Lt. Duffy said, "and I can never remember the names of those other two, the closeted lesbians. Risotto and Ivers."

"I understand," Lauren said. "Rizzoli and Isles."

"Whatever. Here's the deal," Lt. Duffy said, turning to Carmen. "Hancock is going to be your liaison and contact with the department. She'll stick with both of you day and night, if necessary. To cover her ass and mine, we're going to say that she's not in charge of this investigation, because there isn't any investigation, just you two wildcatters, and she's just hanging around to keep you out of trouble. She's babysitting you. That said, the three of you should work together, and you'd be damn fools to ignore her advice and suggestions, and if she tells you flat out to do something or not do something, then you do it. You follow?"

Shane and Carmen nodded.

"Good. I need to also tell you that since there is no investigation, everything is completely unofficial, off the books. It doesn't exist. And again, to cover her ass and mine, we're going to pretend she's taking some personal time, she's on vacation. There will be no paperwork, not unless you find something, and if so, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Meantime, Hancock reports to me, informally, as often as she thinks necessary. We all on the same page?"

"Yes, thank you," Carmen said, and Shane chimed in, "Yes, thanks."

"You can have access to any of the files and forensic evidence you may need, although there's not much of it. You'll have to review it all here in one of the conference rooms. Lauren has set that up for you. Nothing leaves the building unless it's in her custody, not yours, right? And neither of you goes anywhere or does anything without Hancock knowing about it and approving it. Like I said, she's you're babysitter, and both of you are going to be real good or Lauren will tell Momma, and you really don't want to piss off Momma, am I clear on all that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Shane said quietly.

"Got it, Mom," Carmen said, taking a risk.

"I knew you were going to be a smartass, Morales. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did."

Carmen glanced at Hancock and saw she was laughing, so knew it was all right.

"All right, now everybody get the hell out of my office. I've got some actual, real police work to do," Lt. Duffy said. "Hancock, enjoy your vacation. Try not to shoot them, but use your best judgment. Don't leave bodies, fingerprints, shell casings or DNA if you do." They filed out, Hancock winking as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

"This way, kids," Lauren said, leading them down the aisle and away from the Missing Persons Unit's bullpen. "I got us a conference room outside the unit so we could work without any of my colleagues sticking their noses in and wondering what we're up to."

"Cool," Shane said.

"So, how've you been, Carmen? You're looking good," Lauren said as they walked. She had slowed slightly so she and Carmen were side-by-side going down the hall while Shane trailed behind.

"You, too, Lauren. I've been good. Working too hard, as always, but to me that's normal. I just back from a cruise to Australia, so I've got a month or two off before I go back aboard."

"That's good. Seeing your family?"

"Yes, I'm staying at my mom's while I'm in LA."

"Always nice to have room and board and that great home cooking, huh?" Lauren said, smiling. Hancock ducked into a cubby for a second and came back out with folder and a legal tablet.

Shane's mind was absorbed watching Carmen and Lauren interact, how well they seemed to know each other. She had only just learned that Lauren had interviewed Carmen as part of Jenny's homicide investigation, but it was apparent they knew each other much better than a brief interview would have suggested. They seemed to be practically friends. Had they slept together? Aroused, she imagined Carmen kissing Lauren, Lauren kissing Carmen. It had been a full decade, but she remembered the night she herself had fucked Lauren, who was then a young patrol officer riding shotgun in a squad car in Topanga Canyon. She remembered their skinny dip one night in Harvey's pool, how she'd finger-banged Lauren as they held on to the side of the pool at its infinity edge, looking out over the lights of Hollywood, and then how they'd each masturbated against the Jacuzzi jets of water in Harvey's hot tub next to the pool. Then, inside the house, in her expansive guest room's king-sized bed, the veteran lesbian, 20-year-old Shane, teaching the inexperienced and nearly lez-virginal 26-year-old Lauren how to -

"Here we are," Lauren said, leading them into a small conference room. The room was furnished with a polished wood conference table and six chairs, and at one end there was a flat-screen TV set-up with a bank of recording equipment for show-and-tell work. There was a whiteboard on one wall with a tray holding colored marking pens, and one of the end walls was corkboard for pinning up photos and whatever else an investigative team wanted. On the table sat two cardboard banker boxes, and on the ends someone had printed in large magic marker, "SCHECTER, J" and "03/08/09," the date of Jenny's murder. There was also its case number, 51309. One box read "1 of 2" and the second read "2 of 2," with all the numbers circled.

"Grab a chair anywhere," Lauren said, putting a manila folder on the table in front of her. Shane and Carmen sat next to each other in two side chairs, leaving Lauren at one end. They stared at the banker boxes, one in front of each of them.

"I know you guys are coffee-drinkers. There's a coffee machine around the corner right next to a soda machine and a cookie/chips/candy machine if you've got the munchies. Help yourselves whenever you want. Coffee's free and it's surprisingly drinkable. Not great, but it won't kill anybody."

"I'm good," Carmen said, "thanks."

"I'm fine, too," Shane said. "What's in the boxes?"

"These contain everything we have on Jenny's murder. After you talked to Marybeth the other day she told me to pull them out of storage."

"Did you work on the case a lot?" Shane asked.

"No, hardly at all, in fact," Lauren said. "Um, how can I put this diplomatically? Because you and I had a prior relationship I had to tell Marybeth and she had to sideline me to another case. The only reason I was allowed to interview Carmen was because Sean Holden, the guy who was supposed to talk to her, came down with the flu, so after an unbelievable amount of consultation between a shitload of upstairs brass and the DA's office, it was decided I could take Carmen's statement, given she was 800 miles out to sea when the crime occurred, without compromising anything. Alice had already confessed, and the interview was just wrapping up a few loose ends the D.A. wanted."

Aha, Carmen thought to herself. Prior relationship. That could only mean one thing where Shane was concerned. She'd guessed right: Hancock was a blast from the past. And it told Carmen something else about Lauren: They played for the same team, as she had suspected from the first time they'd met.

"There's actually a lot less evidence than you'd expect. Both boxes are only half full. Even a relatively simple, straight-forward homicide usually produces three or four boxes of stuff. Jenny's case is unusually small."

"Why's that?" Carmen asked.

"Hardly any investigation, hardly any physical, forensic evidence, hardly any personal effects to collect. Alice's confession stopped everything dead in its tracks."

"That's what we told Lt. Duffy," Carmen said. "We think Alice deliberately sabotaged the investigation to keep you guys from digging deeper."