to be the coup of the century according to professionals in the art world.”
“Somebody has to win the lottery.”
“And this incredibly lucky young woman also just happens to have a birth certificate naming one Darren Bruce Bordain as the father of her child?” Dixon said. “Are we supposed to believe that’s a coincidence, Bruce? Because I have to tell you, in case you didn’t know it, I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”
Bordain rubbed a hand across his face and scratched behind one ear, looking off to the side and at the floor.
“And we still haven’t gotten to the heart of this, have we?” he said.
“Was she blackmailing you?”
“That’s not it,” Bordain said. “Come on. Go for the big one, Cal.”
“Mr. Bordain, where were you on the night Marissa Fordham was murdered?” Mendez asked.
“I was in Las Vegas the entire weekend.” He pulled his wallet out and withdrew a business card. “If you’d like to speak to my companions for that night, call this number.”
Mendez took the card and looked at it. Pinnacle Escorts. “Pay up front,” Mendez said, “not later.”
“Apparently, my son needs to learn that lesson.”
“You’re going to leave your son hanging out to dry on this, Bruce?” Dixon asked. “I didn’t peg you for that.”
“He has to take responsibility for his own actions.”
“Oh, he has,” Mendez said.
“Then there you have it.”
“Last night he owned up to being gay.”
Bordain came halfway out of his chair and jabbed a finger at Mendez. “That’s a fucking lie!”
“It would be if it wasn’t true,” Mendez said.
“My son is not a faggot! He’s—He’s—He’s just trying to get out of this!” he said, pointing to the file folder. “It’s his kid. The woman called him and told him she was pregnant. He sent her a check to get an abortion. She didn’t do it. Then she showed up here with the baby. I’m not having my son marry some hippy artist with a love child. He’s got a future to think about.”
“So you paid her off,” Dixon said. “Does Milo know why she’s writing those checks?”
“Of course she knows.”
“And she’s fine with that?”
“Milo knows her job. She’s protecting her son.”
“That’ll be the best spin you can put on the story,” Dixon said. “Darren got a woman pregnant. Boys will be boys. And that definitely proves he’s a boy’s boy. Then the family took the woman and child in to support them. Very magnanimous. Definitely the right thing to do.
“The problem is, Bruce, the girl is dead.”
“I didn’t do it,” Bordain said. “I was in Vegas.”
“With access to a private jet and a bevy of handsomely paid alibi witnesses,” Mendez said. “Is that going to hold up?”
“Like the fucking Hoover Dam,” Bordain said. “Because it’s true.”
“And Darren couldn’t have done it,” Mendez said. “Because he was busy fucking his gay lover.”
A huge vein bulged out on Bordain’s forehead, throbbing. “That’s a lie! You shut the fuck up!”
“You can’t have it both ways—so to speak,” Mendez said dryly. “Either Darren fathered this woman’s child, got tired of the blackmail and killed her, or he couldn’t have killed her because he was in bed with his boyfriend. Which is it, Mr. Bordain? Which of those is the lesser of evils for you?”
“You could both take a paternity test,” Dixon said. “Then there’s no question who did what to whom.”
“Last I knew we had an amendment to the Constitution protecting us against self-incrimination,” Bordain said.
He stood up again. This time he really meant it. “We’re through here. If you want to speak about this further, Cal, call my attorney. He’s in the phone book under ‘Fuck You.’”
88
“If Bruce Bordain did it—or had it done,” Hicks said, “why would he turn around and send the breasts to his wife? Or try to run her off the road?”
“To make it look like someone has it in for the family,” Campbell said.
“But it looks like someone just has it in for the wife,” Trammell pointed out.
They helped themselves to doughnuts if for no other reason than to perpetuate the stereotype. The war room smelled like grease and coffee.
“My money here is still on Darren,” Mendez said. “Unless Mark Foster steps up, he’s got no alibi. And even if Foster comes forward, it’s like he said himself last night: ‘So what?’ That’s like uncorroborated accomplice testimony. It’s useless. Why wouldn’t his lover lie for him? Isn’t that part of the job description?”
“And your mother wonders why you’re single,” Campbell said.
“Well, come on,” Mendez said. “Really. Wouldn’t you rather have people think maybe you bat from the other side of the plate than have them suspect you of murder? You go to prison for murder.”
“A pretty boy like Bordain goes to the can he’ll find out all about being a good boyfriend,” Trammell said.
“Say he thinks he’s Haley’s father—or he finds out that’s been a hoax all along—either way,” Mendez went on. “He kills her and makes it look like some lunatic did it. He sends the breasts to Mom for good measure. Then he tells everybody he couldn’t have done it by admitting to something that’s so scandalous no one would ever think he was lying about it.”
“Right,” Dixon said. “And who believes Milo Bordain knows about all of this and is just blithely writing the blackmail checks while treating Marissa Fordham like her long-lost daughter?”
Hamilton issued a low whistle. “These people would make Shakespeare’s head spin.”
“Tony,” Dixon said. “You and Bill go up to Lompoc with that photo array and add a shot of Bruce Bordain. If one of them sent that box, there’s our killer.”
“That’s a great plan, boss,” Hicks said. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Shit. How did that happen?” Dixon scowled.
“What about Gina Kemmer?” Trammell asked.
“No change in her status,” Hicks said. “The doctors aren’t very hopeful.”
“Then we don’t have a choice. We need to speak with Milo Bordain.”
“The problem with that is going to be that Milo Bordain isn’t going to want to speak with us,” Mendez said. “There’s no way her husband will allow it.”
“She’ll do it if she thinks she can move everyone around the chessboard the way she wants them,” Dixon said. “I’m going to offer her the opportunity to set us straight. I think she won’t be able to resist.”
“Good luck, Boss,” Mendez said. “Just one question: Are you up-to-date on your tetanus shots?”
“I’m fine. What about you?” Dixon asked, heading toward the door. “You’re coming with me.”
89
