Who Killed Jenny Schecter? Ch. 29

Chapter 29 A Woman Scorned

As they left Palos Verdes and headed back downtown, Lauren checked her messages as she drove, speaking on her Bluetooth when she needed to reply. Carmen looked out the window. When Lauren had stopped using her cell, Carmen didn't notice.

Lauren glanced over quickly once or twice, and let Carmen work on whatever she was working on.

"You about ready?" Lauren finally asked.

"Huh? What?"

"I said, are you about ready to tell me what you're thinking about. You've been having an out-of-body experience for about ten minutes now."

"I have? Oh, yeah, I guess. I was thinking about Shane."

"How so?"

"I was wondering what it felt like to Shane to have a cold-blooded murderer for a father. Somebody who drowned her friend and lover. To have every cop west of the Mississippi on the lookout for him. To be the daughter of a murderer. To be one of the key people trying to find him, get him arrested, convicted and sent to Death Row. I think, what if it was my father or my step-father, you know, or somebody else in my family. And it's not one murder, it's now four. That's a lot of weight to carry."

"Yeah," was all Lauren could say.

"Then I think about the families of the mass shooters, like Columbine, Sandy Hook, Virginia Tech, that guy in Las Vegas at the concert. Sometimes they are gun nuts themselves, the relatives, I mean. And sometimes they just know that the relative is a little out of whack, and they aren't too surprised when he goes nuts and kills fifteen people. They suspected he was dangerous, but there was nothing they could do about it. And then other times it's a total shock. They had no idea he was planning something."

"Gabe McCutcheon doesn't seem to fit anything like that, though," Lauren said.

"Can I ask you a question? When you worked homicide, how did the relatives of the murderers feel? Did you ever work a mass shooter?"

"No, not exactly. I worked a gang drive-by, three dead, two more shot-up. But that's not the same thing, either. Most of the homicides I worked with Marybeth, I guess the relatives' reactions ran the gamut," Lauren said. "They felt horror, some of them. A lot of self-protective denial. Disbelief. Shock. Not my little boy. Not my friend. Not my father. Not my neighbor. Once in a blue moon you'd get somebody who said, 'Yeah, I'm not surprised. He was a bastard. I knew he was going to do something one day.'" She drove for a minute. "Here's something I sometimes think about. What's worse, being the relative of the victim who got shot and killed, or the relative of the shooter who did it, and then he either went to jail for 20 years, or got shot himself. Two people dead and two families destroyed, and often more than two families, but is one family more hurt than the other? I've decided you just can't tell. Some families are completely shattered. Some find a way to heal, or deal with it, and eventually move on. There's some people even just blank it out, like it never happened. Grieving is hard enough, but how do you grieve for a family member who just killed seven people at his workplace and then got shot dead by police? Shane is going to be far different, because her family, such as it is, barely even exists. There's no real family there to shatter, no grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, except her brother, who she hardly knows any better than she knows Gabe. There's just you guys, her friends, and herself."

"It's gotta be harder on her than most people," Carmen said. "Shane is hypersensitive. Whatever her reaction is, it's going to be, like, ten times worse for her than for other people."

"I can't read her like you can," Lauren said. "What do you think she's feeling?"

"Anger. Hatred. Which is funny, because she's not good at either of them. She's got less anger and hate in her than just about anybody I ever met. I doubt she feels any embarrassment because she's related to Gabe. He's just DNA, a total stranger to her until a week before the wedding, and he went back to DNA right afterward. He's basically a very distant acquaintance she once met for an hour or two, but on the other hand also somebody who hurt her, repeatedly. A serial abuser, in a way. An abuser from afar. Is that even a thing? Well, that's what he was. A long-distance, far-away DNA-related abuser. And then a murderer."

"So how's she processing it?"

"I don't know. There's lots of stuff we can't talk about to each other. We're on thin ice like ninety-five percent of the time with each other."

"Everybody can see that."

"Is it that obvious? Yeah, I guess it is. And something this big, she's going to take a long, long time working on it. Mostly not working on it, more likely. When it's all over, we're going to have to keep an eye on her so she doesn't go off on a drug-and-alcohol three-week bender. That's how she deals with this kind of stuff. Self-medication."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. What I worry about is, when it gets to the crunch, can we count on her?"

"No. You can't. You need to know that right away. She won't help Gabe, if that's what you mean, but I don't think you do. She'd be the last one to help him. But if it gets to the crunch, whatever it may be, it'll be just you and me. Shane's a coward. She'll freeze, or she'll run. Or both. You need to know that."

Lauren said nothing for a while. "My turn to ask a question. You own a gun?"

"No. I'm not allowed to have one on the ship, and it would be really silly anyway. I spend three-quarters of my life on board now, so I'm not even home all that much. When I am home I'm usually working a club, and they have their own security guys. And it's hard to carry a Glock 19 when you're wearing DJ booty shorts or leading a yoga class. I mean, where would I put it? No, don't answer that. And in the Castro in San Francisco, the definition of gang violence is when two queens scratch each other's eyes out. But the other answer you want is, yes, I know how to shoot a gun. Which brings up an painful story."

There was silence. "Well, Jesus Christ, you're not going to stop there," Lauren said. "Want me to pull over and beat you senseless, speaking of pain?"

Carmen laughed. "No, I was just replaying it in my head. It was one day when Shane and I were together. She had cheated on me with Cheri Jaffe, and then I cheated on her with Robin."

"That's your San Diego won't-come-out-of-the-closet Robin?"

"That's the one. Anyway, I had been giving Shane grief off and on for a while because she never talked about herself, never told me much of anything, and hardly ever asked me anything. So this one day she was in a pretty good mood, and she says tell me something about yourself. And I said I shot a gun once, it was loud. And Shane says she shot one once, too, and what else have I done? And then for no good reason except maybe revenge I told her I had cheated on her. And then, you know, it all went to hell. She pretended not to care and wouldn't talk to me, giving me the silent treatment, and then we were arguing and then we had fantastic make-up sex in the shower. That's how we finally got past the cheating-with-Cheri-Jaffe thing."

Lauren said nothing for a while. "Not a helluva lot about guns in that story."

"Mmmm, nope, guess not."

"Any idea when Shane shot the gun?"

"No. But the odds are about ninety-nine percent she was fucking somebody who owned a gun. Maybe a cop, maybe some sort of security person, who knows. But somebody who had a gun and they went out to a range somewhere and the woman showed Shane how to shoot. They probably went through a box of ammo and then fucked their brains out in the car in the parking lot, and Shane never saw her again."

"What about you? Where did you learn to shoot?"

"I told you my Uncle Mike worked at movie studios as an electrician. He knew all the other backstage technical people, and that included the armorers' sections. Some studios have their own in-house props departments that handle weapons, but many of them just hire companies that specialize in weapons. Production assistants like me call them up and we say, 'We're filming an episode of NCIS Los Angeles or Life or whatever, and Sarah Shahi needs a Glock 19 and this week's bad guy needs a SIG-Sauer P229R. And then you discuss whether they need rubber guns or real ones firing blanks, and how many shots, and what kind of training does the actor need, and you hire a trainer to work with the actor, and you hire an armorer who actually has on-site custody of the guns. They even have practice ranges if your actor needs one. Hollywood studios all have extensive props departments and any kind of shoot that's a cop show or a military thing has all kinds of gun stuff going on in the production department. What kind of finish do they want, blued, chromed, fancy, plain, a pimp's gun, a soldier's, sniper scope, and a thousand other details. So pretty often not only do the actors get training, but us production assistants are there when they get trained, and sometimes we do, too, so we know what we're doing. Anyway, one day Uncle Mike was working a job when they had this well-known quick-draw guy coming in to train some actors in a cowboy movie, and he brought my sisters and me to work so we could watch. It was terrific, and we met the actors and the quick-draw guy, and my sisters were flirting with the actors, you know, they were 18 or 19, and I was only 15--"

"--And not interested in guy actors--"

"—And not interested in guy actors, but there were a couple of dance hall girls on the set, plus some wardrobe and makeup women who ... well, never mind. Anyway, you know I've always loved cowboy movies. So, yeah, one way or another I've had all kinds of experience being around guns, and shooting them on gun ranges. I can tell an AK-47 from an AK-56, because it is lighter and has a hooded front sight, and I can tell an AK-47 just from the sound. A Glock 19 is shorter than the Glock 17, and has a pistol grip, so it's better for concealed carry. More than half of cops who carry Glocks carry the Glock 22, which has a 15-round, .40 caliber, double-stack magazine, metal slide but polymer frame for light weight. I know all that because I worked on some cop shows. I sometimes get annoyed when I'm watching an older Western and everybody's got Colt Peacemakers, they're just such cliche guns in movies, and they weren't in use until 1873 and the movie is set, like, in the 1850s or something."

"I bet you're just a ton of fun on a movie date."

"Oh, I am! But afterward, if you know what I mean. Not so much between the opening credits and the last kiss. Anyway, that's how I know a lot about guns. What about you? How good are you?"

"How good am I? We're still talking about guns, right? I'd say I'm pretty good. I've entered some police shooting contests from time to time, finished, like, 14th. The cops who win those things just practice, practice, practice, way more than I ever wanted to. You have to be really dedicated, it has to be your job and your hobby and your lifestyle. Me, I practice enough to qualify and get by, and maybe ten percent more, but after that, I'd rather lay on the beach, read a good lesbian sex novel, and eat Tex-Mex in the barrio."

"Wow, me, too!"

"Yeah, but you also love being a DJ, and going on cruises and having hot, sweaty monkey sex."

"Don't you?"

"Me? First, I'd make a terrible DJ. Second, I've never been on a cruise. Third, um, well, I don't get all that much hot, sweaty monkey sex."

"Well, no wonder. You have all these ethical scruples about being a highly professional law enforcement person."

"I know. It's a bitch being me."

"So why haven't you ever been on a cruise?"

"Oh, lots of reasons. Never had all that much time off, and you have to book a cruise months in advance. Never had anyone to go with. Always had something else to do."

"Ah, I understand. That's four reasons, which I would have to rank as bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and bullshit. Hope I'm not offending you."

Lauren laughed. "No, you're right."

"Remember that detective in Bakersfield? He was away on a cruise the week Max was murdered. Marybeth and her husband went on a cruise to Alaska. And I've heard rumors there were things called 'singles cruises,' where you don't even have to go with someone, because the ship is filled with other singles. I've even heard there are lesbian singles cruises."

"I'm amazed. Do they have hot, sweaty lesbian sex on those cruises?"

"I have no idea," Carmen said, "because like you I am a consummate, highly professional employee, a DJ and cruise entertainment director like Julie on the Love Boat, and am not allowed to have sexual congress with passengers."

"Sexual congress?"

'It's a technical term of art we professionals use."

"I see. Good to know. These professional ethics things are a dilemma."

"Not if we moved out to San Fernando Valley and became porn actresses."

"Aren't we a little old for that?"

"Not if we become MILFs."

"Somehow I don't see myself as a MILF," Lauren said. Carmen was debating how to reply as they pulled into the LASD parking lot.

***

Marybeth was on the phone but waved them into her office to sit down. She finished her call. "So? Progress?"

"Yes, a lot," Lauren said. "We've established that Jenny was told about three hours before she was murdered that Gabe McCutcheon was the probable blackmailer, and that he'd been seen at the house behind Shane and Jenny's house. Harry and his wife were in Ensenada on vacation, but Harry had a field guy doing legwork. He's the one who saw the white panel truck in the driveway behind Shane and Jenny. Jenny and Harry were texting, and Jenny claimed to have everything under control. Harry told her to be careful, don't do anything dumb, call the police if necessary to get Gabe out of the house behind her. It seems pretty obvious she ignored that. We can't account for her whereabouts from about 7:15 or 7:20 p.m. to shortly after 9 p.m. when she was killed, but we think she went to confront Gabe, possibly to negotiate a deal, exchange the blackmail tapes for the stolen movie negatives. We think she discovered they were in the attic, but we don't know it for a fact. We also know Harry gave her a burner phone, which we never found and until now didn't know existed. I'm going to get a warrant for the burner phone's records, but Harry kept a pretty good log of his contacts with Jenny, so we know what they said. Sometime after 9 p.m. Jenny went off the upper deck, and Gabe rolled her into the pool. He got her burner phone, and we think that's how he found out about Jenny texting Harry back and forth. So Gabe sees his identity is blown, so he goes to Mexico, finds Harry and kills him. The fishing boat captain is collateral damage."

"Good stuff, but still circumstantial," Marybeth said. "Anything come back on the BOLO for Gabe?"

"No, nothing yet. I'm not surprised. He's really in the wind. He's got four murders under his belt and a two-year head start, although he probably doesn't know we're on to him."

"Why is Carmen frowning?" Marybeth asked.

"Maybe we're looking for the wrong person," Carmen said.

Lauren glanced at her. "Spicy Wan Kenobi, Yoda moments she has. Having one now, she is."

"I see that," Marybeth said. "Will she tell us what she means?"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Carmen said.

"Has it always been this difficult working with her?" Marybeth asked Lauren. "Does she do this often?"

"From time to time, yes. I've learned how to deal with it," Lauren said. "But in her defense, she comes up with some good stuff. In a way she's like Shane, you just have to let her work it out. But she's way faster than Shane. By orders of magnitude."

"I'm in the room, you know. I can hear you," Carmen said.

"So who got scorned?" Marybeth asked.

"Carla."

"Who's Carla?"

"Gabe's wife. Or maybe ex-wife. She was his wife when they came to Whistler for the wedding. Gabe swindled ten grand from Helena and took off with some bimbo he met in the bar. Carla went to pieces, and dumped her son, Shay, on Shane, then from what I heard she went back into drugs. She and Gabe were both addicts, way back. I've never even been sure she was Shay's biological birth mother, and I never talked to Shane about it. But what I mean is, it may be easier for us to find Carla, and maybe Carla has some idea where Gabe is. Or at least she may know something about him that may help find him. And maybe she's motivated to burn his sorry ass."

Marybeth looked at Lauren. "I see what you mean about her moments."

"I told you she was a keeper."

"Yeah, you did, and we offered her a job but she wanted weekends off and to telecommute from the Libido deck of the S.S. Sappho."

"It's the Lido deck," Carmen said to Marybeth, "and I thought you were the one who didn't like comedy bantering."

"I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. Now, go on, get out of here. Go find Carla."

Lauren gave Marybeth a mock salute and headed down the hall. Carmen paused at the door. "Libido deck," she said. "That was a good one."

"I, too, have my moments," Marybeth said.

***

Lauren was already seated in the conference room, logging in to her laptop, when Carmen got there. Carmen looked at her watch. "It's 5:30. Want to come over for dinner?"

"Gee, as much as I love your mom's cooking, I think I have to say no. But thanks. I've got a ton of stuff to catch up on. First, start tracking down Carla. Then checking my warrants and BOLOs. I'll catch something a little later."

"Bullshit," Carman said, but smiling. "You're gonna be here 'til midnight, aren't you?"

"Yeah, probably," Lauren said. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Anything I can do to help? I'll stay, if you've got something for me to do."

"No, it's all cop stuff. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Okay, I'll catch you later, then," Carmen said.

But Lauren was already deep into her computer. "Huh? Yeah, okay," she murmured. She never saw Carmen leave.

Carmen went home all right, but she was back an hour later. She stood in the doorway of the conference room, holding a large cardboard box, waiting for Lauren to look up. "Ahem, cough, cough," she finally said.

"Hey, I thought you left."

"I did. I'm back." Carmen set the box on one of the few bare spots on the conference table. "Go ahead, ask me what's in the box."

"What's in the box?"

"Mom's Yucatan chicken, your favorite, four helpings. Two for you, two for me. Tortillas I can zap in the microwave to warm them up. Mom's Mexican rice, your favorite. Plates, napkins, silverware. I thought about a bottle of wine and a couple of candles, but I thought it would send the wrong message, so there's a couple of Dos Equis in there instead. Anyway, you're working, so I didn't want you to get too, you know. Frisky."

"Sleepy, you mean," Lauren said. "Don't tell me your mom made all this up in the last hour."

"Oh, hell no," Carmen said. "She started marinating the chicken yesterday. Oh, there's pickled red onions, scallions and lime slices for garnish."

"Jesus," Lauren muttered. "You really are a keeper. Shane's a fucking idiot."

"You say the sweetest things," Carmen said, picking up files and clearing space for them to eat. She began laying out plates, napkins, and silverware. She left to zap the tortillas and the Mexican rice --the chicken was packed in a thermal bag that kept it warm -- and returned a minute later. She began serving up the dinner.

"Oh, my god," Lauren whispered. The chicken was red-orange, thanks to the marinade and sauce and had been barbecued, so the skin was crispy and had barbecue char and grill marks. The conference room took on the faintly citrus smell of oranges that were in the sauce. Plus the smell of the chicken, And tortillas. And Mexican rice. And garnishes. Carmen twisted the tops off two bottles of beer and set one in front of Lauren. "You're gonna need this," she said.