Who Killed Jenny Schecter? Ch. 09

Chapter 9 Method

They met at a Chinese restaurant near the cop house. Lauren got there at three minutes to one, and took a booth near the back. She ordered an iced tea, waited fifteen minutes nursing it, and was about to text Lt. Duffy when she arrived, bucking the outgoing tide of cops and civil servants returning to work.

"Christ, you wouldn't believe my morning," Marybeth said. "I managed to squeeze in 45 minutes for lunch into my schedule, and that was 20 minutes ago. I fully intend to be half an hour late for my next meeting. Hancock, someday I may need you to remind me why I once wanted to be a cop. I can hardly remember the last time I did any actual police work, or even supervised any. Budget meetings. Personnel meetings. Community relations meetings. Meetings to discuss task forces. Task forces to discuss holding meetings about task forces. I've heard rumors my department is supposed to be finding missing persons, but I tend to discount office gossip like that—"

"Malcontents. Troublemakers. Taxpayers," Lauren said. "Pay no attention to it."

"Exactly. I am sorely tempted to bust myself down to beat cop, citing poor attitude. Who do I have to blow to get an iced tea around here?"

Lauren let her vent, knowing Marybeth was decompressing. After the waiter came and they ordered, Marybeth closed her eyes in some kind of Zen thing Lauren had seen her do before. After a minute or two Marybeth slowly opened her eyes, sighed, and said, "There. Okay. All better now."

"There was a time I was ambitious, and thought about working my way up the chain of command, getting promoted and moving into admin."

"Don't do it," Marybeth said. "Don't fucking do it. Go as high as you want, but stay on that side of the wall. Don't get into administration. Stay on the street. It's more physically dangerous out there where you are, but the side I'm on will suck your soul right out of your ear drum, right out of your skull, while you're sitting on your ass in a swivel chair in a perfectly safe, well-defended, well-lighted, climate-controlled office."

"So why do you do it?" Lauren asked, knowing she'd be going out on a limb with most superior officers, but knowing she could get away with it. Marybeth Duffy was as tough as any boss Lauren had ever had in the LAPD or LASD, but every once in a while Duffy let her humanity leak out. Not often ... but every once in a while. "Could you transfer back onto the street?"

"Why do I do it? I'm stuck, that's why. Somebody somewhere talent-spotted me for management. You know how bad they want every kind of minority there is to fly high as they can in the department, anything to demonstrate diversity and all that. The worst part is, I'm good at what I do. And so I got promoted and promoted, and now I'm stuck. And upstairs they all know it. Everybody knows I may make deputy chief someday. Everybody wants that."

"Except you?"

Marybeth shrugged. "I don't know. Some days, yes, I want it. Some days, no. Some days ... I just want to get in a squad car and go out and play cops and robbers, like you do."

Their lunches came.

"Okay," Marybeth said, opening a plastic packet of duck sauce and spreading it on her spring roll, and changing the subject to the real purpose of the lunch. "Where'd you leave Cagney and Lacy?"

"I gave them the morning off," Lauren said. "They're coming back in this afternoon. I had some work to do on other cases, plus I've got some paperwork to do on Schecter. I'm applying for warrants to look at all her finances."

"I had those warrants pending right after the murder, but we never got to use them and they expired."

"I know. They're in the file. I basically cloned them and re-filed them."

"Good. So where are we? Is McCutcheon still good for the murder?"

"I don't know yet," Lauren said. "It's way too soon to tell. I know she was our top suspect--"

"She wasn't our top suspect, she was our only suspect," Marybeth said. "We all made her for it right from the start."

"I know that," Lauren said. "That might have been our mistake."

"You don't think she did it?"

"I'm saying I don't know."

"But you're leaning away from it? You said last night you had some other suspects. I didn't know if you were saying that for their benefit, or what."

"I'm trying to keep an open mind."

"But...?"

Lauren shrugged.

"What?"

Lauren played with her chow mein. "Carmen doesn't think Shane did it. She's sure of it."

"Yeah? So? Carmen's her ex, for crying out loud."

"I know. But in a way, that's the point. Carmen knows her, probably better than anybody else. It isn't that Carmen thinks Shane didn't do it, or didn't have motive. Carmen even agrees Shane had more and better motive than anyone else. Even Shane knows she's got the most motive. Carmen just thinks Shane isn't capable of it. She made a pretty good point, that even if Shane had killed Schecter, she couldn't have covered it up. She'd have been immediately remorseful and shook up."

"Shee-it," Marybeth said. "A lot of killers go all to pieces right after, but a lot of them don't. Some of them go into immediate denial or shock or whatever the hell it is, and three minutes after the deed they're as innocent as lambs, because that's really what they think. Never underestimate denial."

"Yes, I know. And I think I'm taking that into consideration, I really do. And I know what's in the back of your mind, that because I had a thing with Shane ten years ago, that maybe that's affecting my judgment, or something. Maybe I'm cutting her some slack. But I'm not. If anything, it'd probably go the other way, since it was a one-night stand, and she's the one who broke it off after that. So if anything ... oh, shit. Look, here's the thing. McCutcheon is a pretty strange creature. She's not much like anybody you or I know, or ever ran into. She doesn't think like other people, including people who commit murder. She's wired differently than other people, lesbians included."

Marybeth had a fork full of fried rice halfway to her mouth, but stopped in midair.

"Different ... how?"

"Well, you remember our original impression of her? That she wasn't the brightest light bulb in the chandelier? In fact, we couldn't even figure out how she managed to get up in the morning, feed herself, get dressed and go to work. We thought she was the original space cadet."

"Yeah? And?"

"Well, Carmen says a lot of people think that, but it isn't true."

"Oh, Carmen says that, does she?"

Lauren sighed in frustration. "Look, Carmen is pretty smart. In fact, she's very smart. And she knows Shane better than anyone. And she knew Schecter about as well as anyone. And she was a thousand miles away with a rock-solid alibi and absolutely no motive whatsoever. So yes, I know it bugs you a little, but Carmen knows her shit. And she's honest, and ..."

"Whoa, hold up, Lauren."

"No, don't give me that shit, Marybeth. I know I sound like I have some schoolgirl crush on her, but I know her better than you do, so please give me a little credit here. Morales has all kinds of useful insight, that's all I'm saying, and we'd be fools to ignore it, that's all. She's by far our best resource on either one of them, Schecter or McCutcheon."

Lauren was ticked, and Marybeth let her alone for a few minutes as they ate in silence.

"So you do have a crush on her," Marybeth finally said.

"So fucking what?" Lauren said, angrily pushing food around on her plate and not looking up. "It doesn't affect my judgment, and it doesn't affect my police work. And nothing is going to happen, not one tiny fucking thing."

"Okay," Marybeth said softly. "I just wanted to get it out on the table."

"Well, it's out, okay? And it doesn't mean anything."

"Okay."

"Okay," Lauren repeated.

They ate in silence again.

"Anyway," Lauren said, "they're still in love with each other, and even if they weren't, Carmen won't date a cop, and who can blame her."

Marybeth stopped eating again and looked at her.

"What?" Lauren asked.

"They're still in love with each other? After all that crap that went down? Have they--"

"Shit, no!" Lauren said. "Yes, they're still in love, and no, they can barely stand to be in the same room with each other. Carmen has never forgiven McCutcheon. She says she never will, and I believe her. Meanwhile, Shane is so out of touch with her own feelings she doesn't even know she's still in love with Carmen."

"Ah, I see," Marybeth said. "Carmen doesn't know she's still in love with Shane."

"No."

"And Shane doesn't know she's still in love with Carmen."

"No."

"So the only one who actually thinks they are still in love with each other is you."

"Um ... yes, I guess."

Marybeth went back to eating.

"Stressing yet again that I'm keeping an open mind," Lauren said, "tell me again why we thought McCutcheon was good for it? And tell me why we still think it."

"I never said I still think it," Marybeth said.

"No, you didn't. But I know that's what you still think."

Ordinarily Marybeth got annoyed when people claimed to know what she was thinking, and she got even more annoyed when they were right, which Lauren was. She got annoyed because it was a cop thing, putting on this impenetrable front, pretending to be unreadable. Not all cops had it, but a lot of them did, and it was thought to be a desirable trait. But Marybeth wasn't annoyed with Lauren for a lot of reasons. Sometimes it was a good thing when your partner or members of your team knew what you were thinking. Further, Marybeth had known Lauren for several years, and was her mentor. Marybeth liked it when Lauren showed promise or did something especially well. She put down her fork, patted her napkin against her mouth, and organized her thoughts.

"Number one is just simple statistics, and I'm not saying anything you don't already know."

"Sure. Most of the time the killer is somebody close, very close, the spouse or boyfriend or girlfriend."

"Right, the spouse, the significant other, the lover, past, present or future, straight or gay, doesn't matter, but yes, the people immediately around the vic, the ones with an emotional and usually romantic attachment, even if that attachment has morphed from love to hate. Two sides of the same coin. And that describes McCutcheon. That's first.

"Second, there were seven of them there that night, plus Schecter, and all seven were pissed at her. But if you evaluate them, we agree McCutcheon had every right to be angriest. She had just discovered earlier that day that her ex-girlfriend, what was her name?"

"Molly."

"Molly. Right. She just discovered Schecter hid the I'm-sorry-let's-reconcile letter in a coat pocket and stashed the coat in the attic. So right there she's pissed enough to strangle Schecter. I know I would be. And then while she's in the attic she discovers the missing film canisters from the movie. She jumps to the reasonable conclusion that Schecter stole them and hid them there. McCutcheon doesn't care about the film itself, but she cares about the lies and deceit Schecter is guilty of, and all the harm she's caused, especially to her other friend Tina, who was the movie producer. Plus she's living in a house where there's stolen property in the attic. So alone of all seven women, only McCutcheon has two really good, really strong reasons to want to throttle the little bitch. You with me so far?"

"Yes."

"Motive. Method. Opportunity. That's always our litany. McCutcheon's got them all, in spades. Yes? No?"

"Yes," Lauren said.

"I gave you two reasons why she's good for it, not counting opportunity. Now, just to prove I'm not wedded to her as the killer, I'll give you two reasons why she didn't do it. You gave me the first one, that even if she did it she couldn't have carried it off afterward."

"And the second?"

"Because she's the one initiating this whole new investigation. She's the one who went up to Humboldt and came back all hot and bothered to get Alice out. Now, I grant you the possibility that Shane might have killed Schecter, and feels guilty not about the murder but about Alice being locked up for it. So whether she's the killer or not, she could want to get Alice off the hook. But here's what's significant: McCutcheon says she wants to find the real killer. She went up to Humboldt thinking Pieszecki did it, and she came back convinced Pieszecki didn't. Now, if McCutcheon was the killer she could still pretend to want to find the 'real' killer, like O. J. Simpson wanting to find the real killers, but that would require a one sneaky, devious, sly, and extremely narcissistic mind game. She'd be playing with us, pretending to want to find the killer, but secretly laughing at us and thinking she was outsmarting us."

"Well," Lauren said reluctantly, "that's a theory--"

"But it's a lousy one, I agree," Marybeth said. "Because such a person would have to be a really deep sociopath and a huge narcissistic personality, and that simply isn't McCutcheon."

"If you popped that theory to the other six suspects at that party, plus Carmen, plus me, that'd be eight women all laughing our asses off. McCutcheon as a devious O. J."

"Exactly. So when McCutcheon comes to us asking to re-open the case, it's because she's not only totally sincere and up-front, it goes even further, almost to a kind of naiveté, pretty much the polar opposite of devious narcissism. So that's reason number two: We both believe McCutcheon wants to get Alice out of prison for something Alice didn't do. She believes that somebody needs to find the real killer, but that is probably secondary. McCutcheon has concluded, correctly, that the one and only way to get Alice out is somebody needs to find the real killer. And Shane and Carmen conclude, again correctly, that they are the ones most highly motivated to do that. And to play that game, if Shane is the real killer then she also needs to find someone to pin it on in order to get Alice out. She'd have to set somebody up. Does that sound like something McCutcheon could pull off?"

"Now you're arguing the opposite side of the case from what you first thought," Lauren said.

Marybeth shrugged. "What's Carmen's motive? Just to help Shane?"

"I think that's the lesser part of it. She's been friends with Alice for years, and if she believes -- as she does -- that Alice is innocent, she'd want to help get her out. Morales is a do-er, she goes out and does things. She's pro-active, not reactive. And then there's the issue of her relationship with Schecter. Carmen may be motivated to find the killer simply on the basis of that alone. Catch the person who killed her ex-lover. It's not an academic problem, it's personal for her. And Carmen's a movie buff. She's Sam Spade wanting to find out who killed Miles Archer."

"Carmen as Sam Spade. Shane as O. J. Well, that's interesting. Am I right that Carmen and Jenny remained friends after their break-up?"

"Yes."

"No spats? No recriminations? No she-said/she-said arguments?"

"None I'm aware of, but all that happened a couple years before the murder. Before Schecter had her breakdown," Lauren said. "Anyway, they are lesbians, and lesbians love to remain friends with their exes. It's what lesbians do. Their version of the Four F's is Find 'em, Feel 'em, Fuck 'em, Friend 'em for Life."

"So Morales may be the only one who wasn't pissed at Schecter."

"No, she wasn't pissed, not on her own behalf, anyway, but she is certainly aware that Schecter had done bad stuff to everyone else. She seems to have no illusions about Schecter's behavior and mental instability. And until I told them otherwise, she believed that it was Schecter who stole the negatives and hid them in the attic. Neither of them knew it was Niki. Speaking of which, was there a reason you never told them, back when Niki confessed it?"

Marybeth sat her napkin down and sighed. "No. That's on me, I guess. Partly I was just generally disgusted with the case, and wanted to forget about it. Pyewacket had confessed, the DA's office was moving ahead on the prosecution based on a guilty plea, and I just wanted to walk away. I didn't think I especially owed them anything, and then a few days later the studio guy -- what's his name? Aaron something. He called, asked me when the negatives could be released from evidence, and said they were just going to quietly bury the movie, and weren't going to press charges against Niki. I told him I didn't care what they did with the negatives so long as they didn't destroy them, and they could be made available somewhere down the road, if need be. He said that was no problem. But notwithstanding that, my attitude was, fuck you, fuck your cowardly studio, fuck your Hollywood politics, fuck everything. So yeah, my job was done, the case was closed, everything was out of my hands, so I walked away. And, like, six hours later I had another homicide anyway, and it was back to the grindstone on another case."

"Okay, I kind of figured that," Lauren said. She glanced at her watch. "Aren't you going to be late for a meeting or something?" Lauren asked.

Marybeth laughed.

* * *

Lauren handed out photocopies to Carmen and Shane. "This is the autopsy report and the forensic stuff," she said. "I made copies so we can all read them together. I'm guessing you'll have lots of questions, because it's all in jargon. I've only skimmed it fast myself." She sat down at the head of the conference table and began to read.

"Jesus," Shane murmured, reading.

"Are all autopsy reports like this?" Carmen asked a minute later.

"Pretty much," Lauren said.

"At least she wasn't pregnant," Carmen said a minute later when she read it. "Good to know." Shane made a face at her. "Sorry."

"Blood alcohol, point zero two," Carmen said a minute later.

"She'd had maybe a half a glass of white wine," Lauren said. "Several of your friends confirmed it. That's a small amount, though, and almost statistically not even measurable. Not significant. Basically all it tells us is she wasn't blind drunk and didn't stumble off the deck in a stupor. Which no one thought anyway."

They read some more.

"Nothing in her stomach," Carmen said.

"We were both running around like madmen all day, getting ready for the party," Shane said. "I ran some of her errands to help her out. I'm not surprised she didn't eat. I don't think I did, either, until the party. I had some chips and dip, and a piece of celery with peanut butter." She paused. "It's weird, the things you remember."

"And the things you forget," Lauren said.

Shane looked at her. "What are you saying?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything. It's just that we know people often remember the littlest, tiniest, insignificant details, and forget the big, giant details. That's why we make them repeat their stories over and over again. Sometimes it shakes something loose."

They went back to reading. After a few minutes Shane put her copy down and starred at the wall. Then she picked up her phone and started checking her e-mail. Carmen and Lauren locked eyes, and Carmen shook her head no, just one millimeter. So Lauren said nothing, and continued reading.

"Scars on her legs," Lauren said. "Was she a cutter? I don't think I knew that. Some on her arms, too."

"She had a problem with it in college," Carmen said, "but she stopped. Then when she had her big nervous breakdown the morning Angelica was born, Shane and I found her in the bathroom. She had cut her legs and we took her to the hospital, and they treated the cuts and referred her to the psych ward, and that's how she went back to Illinois for residential treatment."

"I didn't know she did that in college," Shane said. "How'd you know? She tell you?"

"No, not at first," Carmen said. "But ... how can I put this? I got to know her body pretty well."