'Good,' the newcomer said, turning to the detectives. 'If you don't mind, I'd like a word in private with my client.'
'We'll be right outside,' Detective Sims replied before he and Taylor returned the way they had come.
'You're Victor?' Ali asked. 'My attorney?'
He nodded. Victor may have served as the attorney to some of Hollywood's 'beautiful people,' but beautiful he was not. Victor was a wide-load kind of guyJohn Candy widewith droopy jowls and a receding hairline. His suit may have been expensive, but it didn't quite meet around his considerable girth. In one hand he carried a scarred, much-used leather satchelstyle briefcase that was crammed to overflowing with papers.
'We left long before you did,' Ali said. 'How did you manage to get here first?'
'I chartered a plane from Santa Monica,' he answered. He led her back to the sofa and placed his briefcase on the floor beside it. 'Flew from Santa Monica Municipal to Jacqueline Cochran Regional here in Palm Springs. Believe me, at my hourly rate, it would be a total waste of your money for me to spend six billable hours driving back and forth to Indio. Now sit down here,' Victor continued, indicating a place next to him on the sofa. 'I need to know what's going on.'
Too tired to object, Ali sat. She had been through enough emotional upheaval in the course of the day that she was feeling frayed and close to tears. When Victor reached for his briefcase, she expected him to extract either a hanky for her or else a laptop computer for him. Instead, he removed a dog-eared tablet of blue-lined paper. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he retrieved a black and white Montblanc fountain pen.
Over the past few years, Ali had come to rely on computers more and more. Somehow, though, she found it strangely reassuring to see that Victor Angeleri was not a high-tech kind of guythat when it came time to do a job, he relied on brainpower and old-fashioned pen and paper. That was exactly what Ali Reynolds needed right thennot someone blessed with good looks or glitz or style, but someone with substancesomeone who would be big enough and tough enough to take on the combined girth of Detectives Sims and Taylor and win.
'All right then,' Victor said, removing the cap from his pen. 'Tell me everythingfrom the beginning.'
CHAPTER 4
CUTLOOSEBLOG.COM
It's after one. I should be sleeping, but I can't. I didn't expect yesterday to be a good day. You know before it starts that the day you go to court to get a divorce isn't going to be a red-letter day or a time for celebration. But I didn't expect it to be a disaster, either. I didn't expect it to end with a trip to the morgue.
Because, although my divorce wasn't finalized yesterday, my marriage ended anyway. My husband is dead. He didn't show up for our ten A.M. court appearance because he died the night beforedied after taking an early powder from his own bachelor party and departing the premises without telling anyone else he was leaving.
After spending hours in the company of a pair of homicide detectives, I now know how Fang died. His hands and feet were bound with duct tape. His mouth was taped shut. He was placed in the trunk of a stolen car that was left parked on the railroad tracks near Palm Springs. The vehicle with him in it was subsequently struck and demolished by a speeding freight train. He was ejected upon impact and thrown into the desert, where his body was found hours later. The autopsy won't be done until much later today. My hope is that he died upon impact.
And so, since the divorce was never finalized, the authorities consider me to be his 'next of kin.' For the first time in my life, I had to go to a county morgue to make a positive ID.
I expected the place to be dingy and cold inside. It wasn't, but the chill I felt had nothing to do with an overly active air-conditioning unit because the air-conditioning unit was barely functioning. As I stood there in the viewing room, waiting for an attendant to wheel out the loaded gurney, my blood turned to ice. And when I had to look down into that scratched and battered but oh-so-familiar face, it was all I could do to remain upright. I didn't exactly faint when I saw him lying there, but my knees went weak. Fortunately, someone helped me to a chair.
I didn't cry, couldn't cry. Mostly because I didn't know what I was feeling or what I was supposed to feel. Fang and I were divorcing if not divorced. Our relationship was over if not ended. And yet, this was a man I had loved oncesomeone vital and strong with whom I had hoped to share the rest of my life. It makes my heart ache to know that he is gone. And yes, it makes me sick to think that his unborn childa baby due within the next few weekswill never know him at all, will grow up without ever once seeing him. That's wrong. Leaving a child fatherless is WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!
After I'd done the ID, someonea clerkgave me a paper to signa form that says what's supposed to happen to Fang's remains once the authorities are finished with them. It seemed inappropriate for me to be the one deciding which mortuary should be brought in to do that job. I've been out of Fang's life for a long timelonger, it turns out, than the six months I've been out of the house. It seemed to me that Twink amp;No, correction. Make that, it seemed to me that his fianceethe woman who's expecting his childshould be making those decisions, but it turns out the very fact that we were still legally married automatically puts me in charge. So I looked in the phone book, tracked down the name of the mortuary that handled Fang's mother's services six years ago, and called them.
Two days agowas it just two days?I told you about my plan to pick up some new clothing on my way through Scottsdale so I could go to court looking like a bit of a fashion plate in something more sophisticated than what I wear hanging around home in Sedona. I even splurged on a haircut, a manicure, and a pedicure. I wanted to be able to put my best foot (and toes) forward when Fang and I stood in front of the judge to disavow our vows.
The irony is, when I came back to the hotel, I took off my courtroom duds and slipped into something comfortablea T-shirt, a pair of jeans, comfy tennis shoes. I took off my makeup and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. That's how I was dressed when two homicide cops came to ask me to ride along and see if I could positively identify the body of their dead victim. And that's how I looked hours later when the identification ordeal was finally over and I stepped back outside the Riverside County Sheriff's Substation in Indio to return to the hotel.
I have no idea who alerted the media to what was going on. I know for sure someone had already leaked Fang's name. As cameras flashed and reporters yelled questions, someone recognized me and called me by name as well. I'm sure my photo will be all over the news tomorrow, and I'll look as bedraggled as some of those awful mug shots that turn up when some celebrity gets booked for drunk driving.
It's one thing to stand outside the emotional box and report on someone's untimely death for whatever reason. It's something else to be living itto be inside that awful box and trying to make sense of it. Now, because of the way the media works, I'll no longer be reporting on eventsI'll be part of the story.
So this is an early warning for all my cutlooseblog.com fans. I'm sure all kinds of crap is going to hit the fan first thing in the morning. I just want you to know that I'm fine. And I'll keep you posted as we go.
Scrolling through her e-mail list, Ali could see more than a dozen comments lined up and waiting to be read, but she was too drained to face them.
Ali did go to bed then. Not only that, she surprised herself by falling asleep almost immediately. After what seemed like only a matter of minutes, the ringing phone awakened her.
'What in the world is going on?' Edie Larson demanded.
'What are you talking about?' Ali grumbled groggily. 'And what time is it?' The room's blackout curtains were pulled shut. In the pitch black room she had to turn over to see the clock, which read 5:35 A.M.
'Why didn't you call me?' Edie continued. 'What happened to Paul? And why did you have to do the identification? What about his bride-to-be who isn't?'
'Who told you all this?' Ali asked.
'You did,' Edie answered. 'In cutloose.'
Ali was astonished. It had never occurred to her that her mother might join the Internet world. 'You read my blog?' she asked.
