Who Killed Jenny Schecter? Ch. 30

After a while, Shane said, "Everybody thought I did it." She meant, killed Jenny.

"I never did."

"I know. They told me."

"Who'd you think did it?"

"I don't know. I sort of thought maybe Bette. Jenny was really giving Bette grief. She was really trying to get Tina to break up. She was convinced Bette had cheated on Tina."

"Did you talk about it?" Carmen asked.

"Not much. You know how Jenny was. You couldn't really talk her out of something, once she got it in her head."

"No."

"I guess you know ... but Jenny was pretty different, back when you and she were, you know. And then she started to ... I don't know how to describe it."

"She got crazy. Over time. The money. The power, the fame. And her demons."

"Yeah. The worst thing that ever happened to her was that movie. Success."

"Can I ask ... there at the end ... were you really in love with her?"

Shane made a huffing sound. "You know me as well as anybody ever did. You know I never knew if I was in love with anybody, or not. Shit, half the time I didn't even know I was in love with you until I fucked it all up. And then it was too late."

Carmen thought about saying, no, it was never too late. But she said nothing.

"Can I ask ..." Shane hesitated.

"Me and Lauren?"

"Yeah."

Carmen sighed. "Hell if I know. I think that's the same answer I gave you in San Francisco when you asked about me and Robin. I told you a couple days ago, we haven't done anything. She says its unprofessional. She's working a homicide case. Police rules and regulations, blah blah blah."

"What about when it's over." She meant the murder case.

"Good question. I go back to San Francisco, get on a ship, and go to sea for eight or nine months. She stays in LA and becomes a lieutenant or whatever."

"Think she's a keeper? I think she could be a keeper."

"She has major keeper qualities," Carmen said.

"Be a shame to let her get away," Shane said.

Carmen turned her head and stared at Shane, but said nothing.

"Yeah, I know," Shane said, grinning. "Of all people, me, giving you advice about love. And about keepers. But I actually know a little bit about keepers. Turns out I'm fairly good at spotting them. I just don't actually try to keep them, that's all, but it doesn't mean I don't know one when I see one." She glanced at Carmen. "You know Alice claims I've slept with a thousand women?"

"It's been rumored," Carmen said, wondering in the world this crazy thread was going. This may have been the all-time craziest conversation she ever had with Shane.

"Well, I bet out of that thousand or so, a good couple hundred were keepers. Turns out, I like keepers. See, by definition keepers are sane. They aren't crazy. You can talk to them. You don't have to kick them out at 2 in the morning. They tend to be low maintenance. They can stay all night. They don't go ape-shit on you, like Jenny or Paige or Cheri Peroni, or her daughter, Clea, or Lacey Driscoll."

"So what's the score a the end of the day, keepers versus crazies?"

"About half and half, I guess," Shane said.

"Jesus," Carmen said. "Five hundred keepers? You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, no," Shane said. "Not 500 keepers. More like maybe 50 to a 100 keepers, and 50 to a 100 total crazies. Then maybe, what's left? About 800 or so somewhere in the middle. Not enough information on them. Quickies. Some I don't even know their names. Some that seem maybe okay, but I just never got to know them very well. Or very long, I guess. Then there's the one's like Paige. It takes a while before the crazy comes out. You have to know them longer than just a day or two. There's some, like Niki Stevens, you know they are crazies from the first 10 seconds, but it doesn't matter."

Carmen was utterly mystified were this was going.

"Then there was you," Shane said.

Ah.

Carmen looked at Shane, an eyebrow cocked. Shane grinned.

"I though at first you were in the crazy category."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, can you blame me? We had hardly even met, and 15 minutes later we're doing it in a major TV studio sound booth, with people all around, and you've got tats of jaguars on your ass and your father's a medicine man. Couple days later, we're doing it in a church at a video shoot. Couple days later, you ring my doorbell. I mean, what was I supposed to think? Stalker."

Carmen mulled it over. "Well, if you put it that way. Okay, I see your point. How long did it take to realize I wasn't a crazy?"

"Five years," Shane said. Carmen smacked her arm. "Okay, about two or three weeks. Watching you and Jenny." Shane was quiet for a moment, and then she said. "Out of what, a thousand women, you were the only one who went from probable psycho to absolute keeper. All-time Keeper No. 1. No question."

Carmen worked on it. "Wow," she finally said. "Keeper No. 1. And you still fucked it up."

"I know. But in my defense, look at Whistler. My father. Conning Helena out of ten grand. Me finding out, right before the wedding. Him running out on Carla."

"I know. I get it. I've thought a lot about it. I already told you, I know stuff now I never knew be--"

Carmen's cell phone rang, playing The Who's Who Are You, the opening theme song to CSI Carmen had picked for Lauren's cell phone ringtone. She punched the phone.

"We're here," she said. "You're on speaker. Shane's here."

"We hit Gabe's apartment at quarter to six," Lauren said over the phone. "He wasn't there. There's a couple who live upstairs. They say he's almost never there, but keeps all kind of crazy hours, driving a truck and making delivers, often one-and two-day trips all over the state. We found out where he works from pay stubs in his apartment, and went there. They said he he left yesterday making a trip down to San Diego. He checked in yesterday afternoon from El Centro, and they haven't heard from him since, but they said that's normal. He doesn't have to check in."

"Okay," Carmen said. She was relieved nothing bad had happened.

"We're going to stake out his apartment and his work. They say he should be back some time late today. We have a statewide BOLO out on him," Lauren said.

"Does his work know why you want him?"

"No. One of the local guys went in, low key, gave them a bullshit story about Gabe being an eyewitness to a fender-bender they were checking out."

"Suppose he calls, and they tell him that?"

"It's a risk," Lauren admitted, "but our guy asked them not to say anything. They seemed okay. But you never know."

"Okay. What next?"

"I'm going back to the apartment. The locals are tearing it apart, looking for evidence. I want to see if they found anything. You guys okay at the motel?"

"We're chillin' in the pool," Carmen said. "It's how we're washing our clothes."

"Put some of mine on and wash them, too," Lauren said.

"Shane and I have always wanted to get into your panties," Carmen said.

"I don't know why I keep giving you all the set-up lines," Lauren said. "I'm hanging up now."

***

Shane was asleep in a chaise lounge by the pool when Lauren rolled into the parking lot a little after 3 p.m. She'd been reading a paperback, but had nodded off. She woke when Lauren sat down in the chaise next to her. Lauren sat back, sighed, and closed her eyes.

"And?" Shane asked.

"Nothing," Lauren said. "Where's Carmen?"

"Taking a nap. Neither of us got much sleep."

"I think I'd jump in the pool right this second if I wasn't wearing my gun," Lauren said.

"Go change," Shane said.

"I will. Be right back."

Five minutes later she was back, dressed in a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt. She dove into the pool right away, and glided underwater to the other side. "Nice," was all she said to Shane, then sank back in and slowly breast-stroked to the far end and back. Halfway there she rolled onto her back and just floated peacefully.

Shane thought back to the time she and Lauren were in Harvey's pool. She was certain Lauren was thinking about it, too. It was hot, sitting on the cement deck in a chaise. Shane got up and dove into the pool, too. A minutes later Carmen came out of their motel room in her booty shorts and a T-shirt and dove into the pool, too. She surfaced near the middle and went to the edge. Shane and Lauren came over and the three of them rested their arms on the edge, rested their chins and extended their legs backward, almost floating.

"Is police work always this exciting?"

"It's usually more boring," Lauren said. "This is about as exciting as I've ever experienced. Swimming in a motel pool far, far from home. Doesn't get much better than that. You guys have lunch?"

"Peanut butter crackers and a bag of chips out of the vending machine," Carmen said.

"I had the peanut M&Ms," Shane said.

"Sauteed?"

"No way," Shane said. "we're in Napa County. I had them toasted with an infusion of diet Pepsi over an delicate pastiche of arugula, quinoa, and a plant I never heard of they imported from the side of a rock off Cape Horn. It may have been a lichen, but I'm not sure."

"Sounds a little trendy," Lauren said.

"I know. I'm starved," Shane said.

"Me, too," Lauren said.

"I know just the place for dinner," Carmen said. "After we shower off the chlorine we can catch the early-bird specials."

***

They went to the Oxbow Public Market, a popular indoor mini-mall in Napa that Carmen had visited several times before. It was only two miles up the street from Imola, on First Avenue. The building enclosed about twenty small shops and restaurants, including a micro-brewery, several wine stores, a bakery, shops that sold olive oil, cheese, roasted and unroasted coffee, chocolate, spices, produce, ice cream, and books, and a variety of restaurants featuring everything from sushi to an oyster bar to pizza and white-table-cloth fine dining. And it had an outdoor deck overlooking the Napa River. Hungry as they were, they had to browse the shops first.

"I love this place," Lauren said. "But now you've got to feed me. Anybody got a choice?"

"They all look good to me," Shane said.

"Car?" Lauren asked. "You're the local expert."

"They're all good, but my go-to is usually that Western Bacon Blue Ring, the giant hamburger with the beer-battered onion ring and the crumbled Point Reyes blue cheese on it. Plus, the bacon, of course. And they put it on a toasted egg bun. The sweet potato fries are dusted with a chili powder."

"O, M, G," Lauren said. "I'm sold."

"Ten-four, copy that," Shane said.

They ate outdoors in front of the market on a patio above street level, at a table under an umbrella. The Anchor Steam beers were ice cold and the hamburgers were huge, wide as well as tall, and you had to hold one with both hands. It was difficult to talk and eat, so they ate in silence, wolfing down the burgers and making small pleasure sounds. About a third of the way into her burger, Lauren's cell phone buzzed. She picked it up.

"Hey, Mike," she said. "Right ... right. Anything on the BOLOs? Okay, thanks." She hung up. "Napa police, the guy who led the raid this morning. The CSI people are all done at the house. They haven't found anything helpful. Place is pretty much clean as a whistle. They cracked the password on his desktop computer--"

"Let me guess," Carmen said. "The password was 'password.'"

"Very close. Password2015. Anyway, nothing much on it. Very little e-mail. Nothing in the contacts list or other places, nothing to or from Max, nothing about Jenny. Nothing about nothing."

Carmen nodded her head.

"What?" Lauren asked.

"He doesn't live there," Carmen said. "It's a convenience address. He goes there, stays some nights, so the neighbors see his face and know who he is. Some food in the fridge, box of cereal in the kitchen cabinet. Same thing with the computer. Put in some files, get some e-mail in and out. Download some porn. Make it look superficially like it's the computer he uses."

Lauren looked at Shane. "This one, she's good," Lauren said, pointing at Carmen.

"I have her do all my murder investigations," Shane said.

"Mike said exactly the same thing, as did all his crime scene people," Lauren said.

"So we're back to zero?" Shane asked.

"Not Square One," Lauren said. "Maybe Square Two or Square Three."

Halfway through her hamburger, Carmen paused, a frown on her face.

"Uh oh," Lauren said.

"Lauren," Carmen asked. "Something's been bothering me."

"Yes, Grasshopper?" To Shane she said, "Watch this."

"Lauren, why do you have a fake house? Not just a false address but an actual false house to go with it? Half the college kids in America have fake driver's licenses, but none of them has a fake house to back it up. So why have a fake apartment? Why keep it? What do you do with it? If you don't live in it, what's it for?"

Now Lauren frowned, too, as she worked on it. "Crap, I was really enjoying this hamburger," she said, putting it down and taking a sip of beer. "Okay, I just threw out about five lame answers. I don't know, why do you keep a fake house? My first thought was as a back-up, in case the cops raid your real one."

"That was my first thought, too, until I realized something. The cops don't know your real address. They only know the one on your driver's license, which is listed in every computer and database in the Western Hemisphere and can be found by even a rookie cop on his first morning at the police academy."

Lauren turned to Shane. "Here's where she gets spooky and mystical." She turned back to Carmen. "Okay, why do you keep a fake house?"

"To watch it. It's an early warning system. Like the canary the miners take into the mine."

"So it's a bird house," Lauren said.

But Carmen was on her path. "Go back a year. You've already murdered Jenny, and a day later Alice confesses, so nobody comes after you. A week later you murder two guys in Mexico, because one of them knew who you were and as soon as he learns Jenny was murdered an hour after being told Gabe McCutcheon was the blackmailer and was 20 yards away, he's going to tell that to the cops. So you kill him then you watch and wait, but nobody comes after you. Nobody connects the two guys in Mexico to Jenny, which is why you murdered them in the first place. You watch and wait, but there's basically no investigation of the guys in Mexico. But, maybe just to be sure, you change your identity and move to a different state. You don't have the computer skills to switch your photo or fingerprints, but you know somebody who does. It's the same person who helped you blackmail Jenny and Niki. Now you have a new identity and a new home in a different state. But there's one person out there who knows who you are and what you did ... and your new name and where you live."

"So you have yet another reason to kill her, too."

"Right. And you do kill her. And now you watch and wait to see if someone has figured it out and comes after you."

"At that new fake address, under that new name."

"Right."

"And if nothing happens and nobody comes after you, after some point you're home free and clear."

"Right. But how long do you have to watch and wait? Because you can't actually live in that house, in case they come for you in the middle of the night, when you've had six beers and you're sleeping it off. You can only be in that house for short periods of time, when you're awake and alert and you can run out the back door at the first sound of a siren."

"Got it," Lauren said. Shane nodded.

"And one other thing," Carmen said. "You know what else you are? It's something we learned almost from the beginning."

Lauren turned to Shane, her hand out, indicating Carmen. See? I told you she gets spooky." Shane just nodded. "I'll play, Lauren said. "What are you/"

"You're a watcher. At Whistler you sat on the patio and watched all of us, and learned who was who, and you spotted your mark. You hung out in the house behind Shane and Jenny's, and you watched what went on. Who came and went, who was fucking who, where Jenny went. You didn't watch all the time, because you lived hundreds of miles away, in Imola, but you went to LA once a month--"

"--On the sixth of the month, a date chosen because your work took you to LA regularly anyway--"

"Right. And you watched the house and you watched Jenny go to the bank to get the withdrawals, and you watched her take the money to the planetarium to make the drop. And in between times you had that inside source telling you what was going on, if there was something you needed to know. Lauren, he's a watcher. He's watching the house on Shurtleff Avenue, waiting to see if the cops are coming for him."

"And this morning they did. And he wasn't there."

"Right. And he was expected back there yesterday or last night or today anyway, according to that company he drives the truck for."

"So where is he? What's the thing cops say? In the wind?" Shane asked.

"No," Carmen said. "He's here. He's watching the house."

"He has line-of-sight to that house," Lauren whispered to herself. "Like he did Jenny's house."

"Yes. He has patterns. He's a watcher. He doesn't use a gun, and he makes his murders look like accidents, at least superficially. He has no great computer skills, but he used someone who did. And like a shark he came back to his favorite feeding grounds. First, Helena, and a few years later Jenny and Niki. He's patient, he doesn't mind getting his blackmail payments in installments. He has two favorite drop-off locations. He likes the sixth of the month, because he makes regular trips to LA."

"And then after the murders in Mexico, he has to break pattern, get a new identity, and move."

"Yes. But he still uses his reliable computer expert to help him do that."

"Until he has to get rid of him, too. There must have been a financial arrangement, and Max was desperate for money, which is no longer coming in."

"We don't know when Gabe got back into town, yesterday or last night or some time today. Lauren, if he had a police scanner, would he have heard anything on it?"

Lauren thought about it. "Yes and no. He wouldn't have heard anything this morning when we hit the house, because we were on tactical silence and using secure channels. But, like an hour or two later, when he wasn't there and we were tearing the place apart, I'm sure there was all kinds of chatter on police channels. People reporting in, advising they were departing, crime scene people radioing routine stuff back and forth. Unit 34 going to lunch. None of it would have used his name, the McKenzie name, but he wouldn't really need that. Some of it would have said Shurtleff Avenue."

"What's the range of a police scanner?" Carmen asked.

"Thirty miles, more or less. That's the figure most people use. It's line-of-sight, though. It doesn't bounce off satellites or anything like that. Also depends on mountain ranges, and weather. You get good transmission over water, which doesn't apply around here, inland. Sometimes with freak weather conditions you can get a transmission 200 miles away, but you can't predict it or rely on it. Then there's just cheap radios and bad cables."

"So if he's tooling up the road from Central Valley 200 miles away he wouldn't pick up anything until he got close."

"No. And I suspect it wouldn't matter. Even if he rolled into town today, he'd see a bunch of police cars in front of his place, and crime scene vans, and stuff. Cars and cops coming and going. Then nearly everybody packing up and leaving. After the sun came up, the neighbors were all out on the sidewalks, gawking and watching until they got bored and went to work, or whatever."

"So what would Gabe do? Leave? Run like hell?"

"Let's think about that," Lauren said. She picked up her burger and took a big bite. Carmen and Shane did, too. Everyone chewed.