“Try putting your face through a windshield,” the nurse muttered—more as a suggestion than a comment, Mendez thought. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand down over his mustache to hide his smile.
“The car didn’t stop,” Dixon said.
“No. I didn’t see it stop.”
“You didn’t see the license plate?” Mendez asked.
“No. For God’s sake, I was trying to stay alive!”
“Were there any other cars on the road at the time?” Mendez asked. “Anyone who might have seen what happened?”
“You don’t believe me?” Bordain said, incredulous. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh my God. You think I’m making this up?”
“It’s not that, Mrs. Bordain,” Dixon said. “Another driver might have a better description of the other vehicle or of the driver, or may have even gotten a plate number.”
“No,” she said, calming down marginally. “One of my neighbors came along a few minutes later. He’s the one who called nine-one-one.”
“Have you been drinking at all this evening, Mrs. Bordain?” Mendez asked.
“What? Of course not! I had a glass of wine with dinner. That was hours ago!”
“It’s just a routine question, ma’am,” Mendez said. “We have to ask.”
The nurse elbowed Mendez from behind and whispered in Spanish, “If she was a Mexican, she would be drunk.”
Mendez coughed into his hand.
“What’s going to happen next?” Bordain asked Dixon.
Dixon sighed and tipped his head like he was about to ram it into a wall. “There isn’t much we can do, Mrs. Bordain. With no license plate and no witnesses, there isn’t anything to go on.”
“Someone tried to kill me!” she said, tears spilling over her lashes.
“I understand that you’re upset.”
She turned toward the door. “Darren! Thank God you’re here!”
Darren Bordain came into the room with rain beading up on his blond hair and on his expensive trench coat. He looked at Dixon and Mendez.
“Gentlemen, we have to stop meeting this way. People will talk,” he said. “Are you finished grilling my mother? I’m sure she’d like to go home.”
“I have to have a CT scan,” his mother said. “I hit my head on the side window, and the airbag almost broke my nose. Someone tried to kill me, but no one is taking it seriously!”
While Dixon reassured her that wasn’t the case, Mendez nodded Darren Bordain into the hall.
“Why wouldn’t you take that seriously?” Bordain asked. “Someone sent her human body parts in the mail yesterday.”
“It’s not that we aren’t taking it seriously, Mr. Bordain,” Mendez said. “There just isn’t much for us to go on. She didn’t get a good look at the other driver or the license plate of the other vehicle. No one else saw the accident.”
Bordain’s perfect brow knit. “Do you think she’s lying?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“She’s usually a good driver.”
“She’s had a lot of bad things happen this week,” Mendez said. “She’s been upset. I’m sure she’s distracted, and she’s probably exhausted. Things happen. People get embarrassed. They don’t want to admit they just went off the road on their own or that they might have had a drink or two. The deputy should have done a Breathalyzer test on her at the scene, but he didn’t.”
“She had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner,” Bordain conceded, “but she was by no means impaired.”
“All right. We have to check every angle,” Mendez said. “There’s no offense intended.”
“I understand.”
“You had dinner together?”
“Yes, at Barron’s Steak House. My parents and I.”
“What time did your mother leave the restaurant?”
“Around ten thirty. We all left at the same time.”
“You came in separate vehicles?”
“Yes. I went home—to my house. My father had to go back to Montecito. Mother headed back to the ranch.”
“She’s staying out there alone?”
“No. Hernando and his wife—the caretakers—live on the property. And of course my father will come back now.”
Mendez jotted his notes. Despite the fact that Milo Bordain was a racist snob, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. Her husband didn’t seem to be giving her much in the way of support after all she’d been through this week.
“Is everything all right with your parents’ marriage?” he asked.
“Their marriage is no different than it’s ever been. You don’t think my father had something to do with this?”
“Like I said: We have to look at all possibilities.”
Darren Bordain shook his head. “They have their arrangement. Neither of them complains about it.”
“What arrangement is that?”
“They lead their own lives. My father has his businesses, he plays golf, he probably has a girlfriend here and there—although he is completely discreet. My mother makes a career of being Mrs. Bruce Bordain. She has her social circle and her causes. They still enjoy each other’s company when they’re together. It works for them.”
He looked across the hall as an orderly arrived with a gurney to take his mother for her CT scan.
“You know Gina Kemmer, don’t you?” Mendez asked.
“Yes, why?”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“She left a message for me yesterday afternoon to ask if I know anything about a funeral date for Marissa. She’s a mess,” Bordain said. “Marissa was like a sister to her.”
“Did she say anything about going out of town?”
“No, why?”
“We’ve been trying to get hold of her, that’s all,” Mendez said. “We want everyone who had contact with Marissa in the last week or so to come in and give us an interview so we can build a fuller, more accurate picture of the last week of Marissa’s life. I’d like to schedule a time with you, as well.”
“Sure,” Bordain said. “Call me tomorrow. I’d better go be a good son now and do some hand-holding.”
When he was halfway across the hall he turned back. “Is there anything new in Marissa’s case?”
“No, sir. Not at this time.”
“You’ll keep my mother apprised, though, won’t you? She may be a pompous snob, but she really is beside herself over Marissa’s death.”
“Sheriff Dixon will personally see to it,” Mendez said as Dixon came out of the room and Bordain went back in.
“I will personally see to what?”
“Mrs. Bordain,” Mendez said as they started down the hall.
Dixon gave him a look. “Jesus, Tony. What did I ever do to you?”
53
Sara had spent much of the evening curled into one corner of the sofa, wrapped in an afghan her
