Sue Grafton - K Is For Killer

I settled in at my desk. I hadn't transcribed and consolidated my notes since the second day I was on the job, and the index cards I'd filled then seemed both scanty and inept. Information accumulates and compounds, layer upon layer, each affecting perception. Using my notebook, my calendar, gas slips, receipts, and plane ticket, I began to reconstruct the events between Tuesday and today, detailing my interviews with Lorna's boss, Roger Bonney, Joseph Ayers and Russell Turpin up in San Francisco, Trinny, Serena, Clark Esselmann, and the (alleged) attorney in the limo. Now I had to add Danielle's contention about Lorna's involvement with Clark Esselmann. That one I'd have to check out if I could figure out how. I could hardly ask Serena.

Actually, it cheered me to see how much ground I'd covered. In five days I'd constructed a fairly comprehensive picture of Lorna's lifestyle. I found myself getting absorbed in my recollections. As fast as I filled cards, I'd tack them on the board, a hodgepodge of miscellaneous facts and impressions. It was when I went back through Lorna's finances, transferring data from the schedule of assets, that I caught something I'd missed. Tucked into the file with her stock certificates was the itemized list of the jewelry she'd insured. There were four pieces listed-a necklace of matched garnets, a matching garnet bracelet, a pair of earrings, and a diamond watch-the appraised value totaling twenty-eight thousand dollars. The earrings were described as graduated stones, one-half- to one-carat diamonds, set in double hoops. I'd seen them before, only Berlyn had been wearing them, and I'd assumed they were rhinestones. I checked the time. It was nearly eleven, and I was startled to discover I'd been working for almost two hours. I picked up the phone and called the Keplers' house, hoping it wasn't too late. Mace answered. What a dick. I hated talking to him. I could hear some kind of televised sporting event blasting away in the background. Probably a prizefight, from the sound of the crowd. I stuck a finger up one nostril to disguise my voice. "Hi, Mr. Kepler, is Berlyn there, please?"

"Who's this?

"Marcy. I'm a friend. I was over there last week."

"Yeah, well, she's out. Her and Trinny both."

"You know where she's at? We were supposed to meet up, but I forgot where she said."

"What'd you say your name was?"

"Marcy. Is she over at the Palace?"

There was an ominous silence from him while in the background someone was really getting pounded. "I'll tell you this, Marcy, she better not be over there. She's over at the Palace, she's in big trouble with her dad. Is that where she said to meet?"

"Uh, no." But I was willing to bet money that's where she was. I hung up. I pushed the paperwork aside, shrugged into my jacket, and found my bag, pausing only long enough to run a comb through my hair.

When I opened my front door, a man was standing just outside.

I leapt back, shrieking, before I saw who it was. "Shit J.D.! What are you doing out here? You scared the hell out of me!"

He'd jumped, too, about the same time I had, and he now sagged against the door frame. "Well, damn. You scared me, I was all set to knock when you came flying out." He had a hand to his chest. "Hang on. My heart's pounding. Sorry if I scared you. I know I should have called. I just took a chance you'd be here."

"How'd you find out where I live?"

"You gave Leda this card and wrote it right here on the back. You mind if I come in?"

"All right, if you can keep it brief," I said. "I was on my way out. I've got something to take care of." I moved back from the door and watched him edge his way in. I don't like the idea of just anyone waltzing through my place. If I hadn't had some questions for him, I might have left him on the doorstep. His outfit looked like the one I'd seen him in before, but then again, so did mine. Both of us wore faded jeans and blue denim jackets. He still sported cowboy boots to my running shoes. I closed the door behind him and moved to the kitchen counter, hoping to keep him away from my desk.

Like most people who see my apartment for the first time, he looked around with interest. "Pretty slick," he said.

I indicated a stool, sneaking a look at my watch. "Have a seat."

"This is okay. I can't stay long anyway."

"I'd offer you something, but about all I've got is uncooked pasta. You like rotelli, by any chance?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," he said.

I perched on one stool and left the other for him, in case he changed his mind. He seemed ill at ease, standing there with both hands stuck in the back pockets of his jeans. His gaze would hit mine and then flicker off. The light in my living room wasn't as kind to his face as the light in his own kitchen. Or maybe the unfamiliar surroundings had created new lines of tension.

I got tired of waiting to hear what he had to say. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, well, Leda said you stopped by. I got home around seven, and she's pretty upset."

"Really," I said, giving it no inflection. "I wonder why."

"It's this business about the tape. She'd like to have it back, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind a bit." I moved over to the desk and removed it from the manila envelope Hector had tucked it in. I passed it over to J.D., and he put it in his jacket pocket without really looking at it.

"You have a chance to listen?" he asked. He was being way too casual.

"Briefly. What about you?"

"Well, I know pretty much what's in it. I mean, I knew what she was doing."

I said, "Ah," with a noncommittal nod. Inside, a little voice was going, Wow, what's this about? This is interesting. "Why was she upset?"

"I guess because she doesn't want the police to find out."

"I told her I wouldn't take it to them."

"She's not very trusting. You know, she's kind of insecure."

"That much I get, J.D.," I said. "I'm just wondering what's got her so uneasy she'd send you all the way over here."

"She's not uneasy. She doesn't want you thinking it was me." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, smiling with embarrassment, using his very best "aw, shucks" routine. "Didn't want you puttin' the hairy eyeball on me. Scrutinizing." If there'd been a little dirt on the floor, he'd have stubbed the toe of his boot in it.

"I scrutinize everyone. It's nothing personal," I said. "In fact, since you're here, I have a question for you."

"Hey, you go right ahead. I got nothing to hide."

"Someone mentioned you went into Lorna's cabin before the cops showed up."

He frowned. "Somebody said that? Wonder who?"

"I don't think it's any secret. Serena Bonney," I said.

He nodded. "Well. That's right. See, I knew Leda'd put the mike in there. I knew about the tape, and I didn't want the cops to spot it, so what I did, I opened the door, leaned down, and clipped the mike off the wire. I wasn't even in there a minute, which is why I never thought to mention it."

"Did Lorna know she was being taped?"

"I never said anything. Tell you the truth, I was embarrassed by Leda's behavior. You know, by her attitude. She treated Lorna kind of snippy. She's young and immature, and Lorna's already giving me a hard time about her. It I told her Leda was spying on us, she'd have either laughed her butt off or gotten pissed, and I didn't think it would help their relationship."

"They had a bad relationship?"

"Well, no. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't that good."

"Leda was jealous," I suggested.

"She might have been a little jealous, I guess."

"So what are you here to tell me? That really everything's all right between you and Leda, and neither one of you had any reason to want Lorna out of the way, right?"

"It's the truth. I know you think somehow I had something to do with Lorna's death…"