Miguel placed a hand on the doorknob in front of them. “I guess I’ll be looking for a new bass player. We also picked up Rod Jeffers right after we got Raul. He’s confessed to his part in the murder—giving Raul a false alibi.
They entered the room, which was sparsely furnished with a table and four chairs. A reel-to-reel tape recorder was set up on the table along with a small microphone. Rosa sat down just as a middle-aged man, wearing a black business suit and carrying a briefcase, walked in, followed by Raul Mendez. The man introduced himself as John Fellows, acting legal counsel for Raul Mendez. Raul’s face looked impassive as he took a seat beside the lawyer and opposite Rosa and Miguel.
“Let’s get right to it,” Miguel said as he pushed the record button on the tape machine. He then stated the time and date and the names and occupations of everyone in the room, saying Rosa Reed was a Special Investigative Consultant by order of the Mayor’s office and the Chief of Police.
“Why did you kill Florence Adams?” Miguel asked.
Raul sniffed heavily. “She was responsible for the cruel and unnecessary death of my cousin Juan Mendez. She held his life in her hands and stonewalled the board of directors at the polio foundation repeatedly. You better believe that if Juan was white and his name was John, she’d have voted to fund the iron lung on the first day.
“Instead, she stalled until—” His voice constricted with emotion, first with grief, then malice. “It was the worst kind of betrayal. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to feel what Juan felt. Choking to death, clawing at his chest just to get a breath of air. Juan didn’t deserve to die, especially not like that.”
“How did you get the poison in her drink?” Miguel asked.
“I knew that we had the song ‘Autumn Leaves’ on our set list.” Raul looked at Miguel, who stared back questioningly. “There’s no bass on that song, you play it on your own on the guitar.”
Miguel nodded his head in realization, “Of course.”
“That gave me time to leave the stage while giving me somewhat of an alibi since the poison had a delayed reaction. No one would point me out as talking to the victim right before she started choking. It was an easy thing to offer Florence a drink from the open bar.” He scoffed. “Her glass always emptied fast.”
“How did you get her onto the end of the pier?” Rosa asked.
“That was not part of the plan. I wanted her to start choking in plain view of everyone as a testament to what happened to Juan. I knew the martini would spill onto the sand and make it irretrievable for the police should they suspect poison. By the way, I have to compliment your pathology team; apparently, it’s almost impossible to detect Onvocyn in the bloodstream, much less know what it is.”
Miguel glanced at Rosa and offered a subtle congratulatory smile.
“In any case,” Raul continued, “Florence got in some argument, and when I got back onto the stage, I saw her wander out onto the pier. It was about twenty-five minutes after she’d drunk the poison, so I suspected she would die out there—possibly even falling into the ocean, which would make the cause of death even harder to discern.”
“How was Rod Jeffers involved in all of this?” Miguel asked.
“He wasn’t, really. He was very close to Juan, they were good friends, and I did confide in him early on. He was in favor of killing Flo, at first, but as we got closer to the evening, he chickened out. I told him as long as he kept his mouth shut, he didn’t have to help me in any way.”
“That still makes him an accessory,” Rosa interjected. “He also tried to cover for you by giving you an alibi the night of the Brewster murder.”
Mr. Mendez shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Why did you then kill Jason Brewster?” Miguel asked, leaning slightly towards the microphone.
Mr. Mendez palmed his shirt pocket subconsciously as if looking for a phantom pack of cigarettes, then let his hands fall to his lap. “That was regrettable, but he threatened to go to the police, even though I told him that was stupid and would implicate him. Brewster had quite a thing for Florence, you know. I didn’t know this when I contacted him. He also didn’t know that she was the reason I wanted the poison.”
“So, you slipped it into his drink,” Rosa said.
Mr. Mendez snorted again. “I went over to try to calm him down, talk some sense into him, ya know, but he was a mess. I couldn’t risk him ratting me out, ya know? It was easy to slip the same poison into his orange juice when he wasn’t looking.
“How did you know about Onvocyn?” Miguel asked. “That’s a scarce drug.”
“It took me a long time to find it; long hours at the Los Angeles Public Library studying poisonous substances. I wanted one that would bring about the desired effect with about a half-hour delay.
“I knew Jason Brewster was supplying cocaine to Flo and had some connections to the black market. He supplied a lot of drugs to others here in the area, although I wouldn’t know who. Even with his considerable connections, it took months for him to get just a few capsules of the stuff and it cost me over a thousand dollars, but in the end, it worked.”
The room went silent, the last sentence hanging ominously in the air.
20
In bare feet and dressed in high-waisted, print shorts and a white T-shirt, twisted into a knot at her belly, Rosa ran down the long hallway of the Forrester Mansion. She headed toward the large study which had formerly served as Uncle Harold’s personal office and library when he was still alive. She dragged a long string with the little cloth mouse dangling on
