Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

The cops… after leading them through the empty living room, Anderson ushered them into the only room he’d furnished since the divorce, the den. Should he offer them coffee? He only had instant. He better not, it would only encourage them to stay longer.

“So. What’s this all about? The eggs? I didn’t see a thing and, luckily, my SUV hasn’t been a target… probably some kids.”

“Mr. Anderson, it’s not about eggs.” The tall one in the sports jacket was doing all the talking. He’d taken out a little spiral notebook from somewhere and held a pen in his right hand, poised over the paper. The tan guy, Kolker, looked straight at him. He never seemed to blink. That was disconcerting. Especially this early in the morning.

Damn. He was like a lizard. The guy never blinked. Scott Anderson waited for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t have to wait very long.

“When did you start your affair with Fallon Malone, and when was the last time you saw her?” Kolker changed neither voice inflection nor facial expression. And he still didn’t blink.

What the hell? How did they know about Fallon?

Scott knew the shock registered on his face. Kolker continued.

“We know you two got together sometime last week, but we’re trying to pinpoint just how many hours after you saw her she was murdered.”

Anderson stood up. “Murdered? Fallon murdered? What are you talking about? She’s fine… I’m supposed to see her…”

“Sit down, Mr. Anderson,” Kolker interrupted. “If you could just focus on the last time you were with her. You seem to be the last one to see her alive.”

Anderson sank down into the leather center of his pit group. He stared blankly at the morning edition of ESPN.

“I can’t believe she’s dead. What happened?”

“You don’t watch TV?” All three cops looked pointedly at the jumbo-tron just feet away, already up and running at 7:30 a.m.

Anderson leaned forward to pick up the remote control sitting on the thick, glass-top coffee table. He clicked the TV off.

“I do. But only ESPN. And nobody’s said a thing about Fallon. Did you say murdered?” He’d never had a girlfriend murdered. Not that he knew of, anyway. This was a first. Scott Anderson took a deep breath and tried his best to look broken up.

“She was shot execution-style. Single bullet to the back of the head. And according to video surveillance in the hall of her apartment, you were there in the twelve hours before the ME set time of death. We’re waiting on lab results right now. If the coroner finds sperm…”

“Sperm?” The thoughts in Anderson’s head were all crashing together like a pile-up on the interstate, one plowing into the other and into the other without ending, each one as violent a crash as the one just before it.

“Then it’s only a matter of time before we get a DNA match.”

Anderson showed absolutely no expression whatsoever. He’d seen just enough true crime on TV to know that any expression was likely to be construed as guilt.

“I don’t know anything about DNA.” He looked up to meet Kolker’s gaze. “I was there just to return her sunglasses. I gave her a few golf lessons out at the club, and the last time she was there, she left her glasses. I was heading into the city anyway, so I dropped them by. As a courtesy.”

“You weren’t having an affair? That’s not what her driver tells us.”

That S.O.B. Scott had instinctively disliked Fallon’s driver. Sitting there flanked by cops, he tried hard to remember just what had gone on in front of the driver… not that much, as he could recall.

“And, while we’re here, Mr. Anderson, were you acquainted with Leather Stockton?”

Scott answered quickly, “The actress? The blonde? The Leather Stockton that was on the TV show? The cop show?”

“Yes… That would be the one.”

Anderson didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not. Never met the lady.”

The three cops exchanged looks across the coffee table. They were surreptitious about it, but Anderson caught them. He acted like he didn’t.

“Well, think back. We were just flipping through a few videos of Miss Stockton and happened to spot you out at the Pebble Beach Open last year. Oh, let’s see, how long ago was it?” Kolker looked at the short, stocky one. And actually, Hailey had been the one to spot it. She’d volunteered to go through reams of videos while the cops worked the streets.

“Lemme think, Lieutenant.” The cop acted as if he actually had to think… as if they hadn’t talked about it the whole drive out to Scarborough. “Pebble Beach… Pebble Beach… That woulda been a few months ago. Yeah… I’m pretty sure.”

“You were on camera with her at the ninth hole. She was interviewed about the charity throwing an event. You even put your arm around her. I believe you said a few words into the camera yourself. Any of this ringing a bell, Mr. Anderson?”

Kolker locked onto him with those eyes. They were just barely blue. The irises were actually more white than blue, like a husky dog. Creepy.

“Well, as a golf pro I do travel around the country for different golfing events… Let me think… Now that you mention it, I do believe I recall Ms. Stockton was there.”

“She was there all right. And you had your arm around her.”

“Did you happen to know Prentiss Love, too?”

Anderson knew when it was time to clam up. This had gone too far. He should never have let them in the door. He didn’t have to. He knew that much from before. Back before he was married, one of the women he was dating had charged him with battery. She had always been a pain in the backside anyway, always complaining. He didn’t know why he dated her in the first place. It was nothing, and in the end, she dropped the whole thing. It never even went to court.

It had taken quite a bit of “convincing” her on his part, though.

After that, Scott Anderson knew all about the cops. They were all asses and they were stupid to boot. He, Scott Anderson, didn’t have to say a word.

“Hmm. Prentiss Love… Prentiss Love… that name rings a bell. A singer, right? Or was she on one of those soap operas? I don’t know who she is… You know, gentlemen, I’d be happy to talk to you some more, but I have to get to work.”

“It’s our understanding you don’t have a lesson scheduled until around noon today.”

Damn! Had they called the club? Just what he needed… to have his bosses in on this whole thing.

“Oh yes, that’s right. But paperwork. You know how it is, officers, the damn paperwork…” His voice trailed off and his face remained completely unconcerned.

He was pulling it off.

“What paperwork?”

Damn! What the hell?

“Oh, the usual,” Anderson answered without a pause. “Time sheets, PR work, the usual.”

“So, you did or you didn’t know Miss Love?”

“No, I never met the lady.” Oh crap… he’d said it again. That was the same thing he’d said about Leather. He quickly added on, “If I’m even thinking about the right lady… ”

The cops sat silent for a moment as if they were giving him a chance to reconsider his answer. He didn’t.

“Mr. Anderson, do you own a gun?”

“Well, I do, but it’s been so long since I’ve held it in my hands, I can’t even tell you the caliber.”

“Think back.” They weren’t letting go.

Scott Anderson pinched his lips together and looked down at the floor as if he was deep in thought.

“If you’ve got it handy, we can just take a look at it.”

“Actually, it’s at the club.”

“Okay, we can ride along with you and take a look there.”

“Now that I think about it, I believe my ex-wife, Rachel, took it with her. That’s right… she’s got it. She pretty much cleaned me out of house and home when we split.”