Breakdown, p.10
Breakdown, page 10
He saw me but didn’t interrupt his interview.
I kept going, closing in on the last thing I wanted to see.
—
Zelda Chase lay on her back, arms bent unnaturally, mouth gaping, face compressed in terror and pain. She wore a sweatshirt and jeans I recognized from the closet at the shelter. A breeze blew and flowers sweetened the night but the air around the body reeked.
Splotches of green and brown and yellow and rust spread beneath her, some of the clots dotted with whitish clumps I took to be maggots. Then I bent and took a better look and saw that the white granules weren’t larvae, they were shreds of undigested food.
Coconut.
The Mounds bar Sherry had given to her.
Blowflies can arrive at a corpse within hours. No insect invasion implied recent death. Meaning Zelda hadn’t eaten the candy right away. Despite her mental state, she’d been able to delay gratification.
I walked over to Milo. He gave a small head shake and said, “Doctor.” The formality was a signal: I needed to act official and objective.
“Lieutenant.”
The woman with him was around seventy, tall and thin with ramrod posture and well-molded features. Up close, the white hair was actually ash blond, just above shoulder-length, cold-waved in the style of another era. She wore a dark-green silk blouse, black slacks, lighter-green flats. Eleven p.m., with a corpse in her garden, she was dressed for casual hosting.
But her expression said this was no party. “Doctor? The coroner?”
Instead of contradicting her, Milo said, “Dr. Delaware, this is Mrs. DePauw, she owns this lovely home and had the misfortune of discovering the body. We were just beginning to talk about it.”
I extended my hand, received a cursory press of manicured fingertips. “Enid DePauw, Doctor. This is quite an experience.”
“Again, so sorry, ma’am,” said Milo. “It had to be a terrible shock.”
Enid DePauw glanced at the body and winced. “That poor thing is the one to be pitied. And in answer to your question, Lieutenant, I have no idea how she got in. As you can see, I’m walled and gated.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, those walls are scalable and I didn’t notice any surveillance cameras.”
“There are none, Lieutenant. It didn’t seem necessary, all these years, we’ve never had a problem. I do have an alarm for the house and with the exception of a gardener’s boy pilfering tools, everything’s been peaceful. And that was twenty or so years ago.”
“I’m glad, ma’am, but in the future you might want to install cameras, the new ones are inexpensive and they’re easy to install.”
“I used to have a dog,” said Enid DePauw. “Teacup poodle, not much use as a sentry, but he didn’t like strangers. The alarm is first-rate, goes directly to the police. I’d hate to deface the gardens or the house with technology and whatnot. So cold and my garden’s landmark-quality. Several interesting people have resided here, including Jean Harlow.”
“I understand, ma’am. Now if you could tell me exactly what happened.”
Enid DePauw bit her lip. “All right…I’d been away at my condo in Palm Springs, returned tonight just after dark with my housekeeper. As I often do when we return from the desert, I gave the girl the night off. Compensation for having to stay late for the drive back.”
“So you were here alone when you found the body.”
“I was. I usually am, Lieutenant.”
Milo looked back at the house.
“I know,” said Enid DePauw. “It’s far too much for me now that my husband is gone. But I’ve never had any problems. And the same appeared to be true tonight. The alarm was still set when I walked into the house, nothing at all amiss. I did the usual things. Going through the mail, taking a bath—desert grit can be adhesive. What next…hmm…oh, yes, I fixed myself a nightcap and relaxed in the library. My husband’s favorite room. The funny thing is when he was alive, I never spent much time in there, but now…life turns out funny, no?”
A glimpse at the corpse caused rouged lips to quiver. “Poor thing. Is she one of those homeless people? She doesn’t have a purse. Though I didn’t see any shopping carts like they usually have. Is it out on the road?”
“No, ma’am. What happened next?”
“Sorry, I’m prattling. What happened…I finished my cocktail and thought I’d watch a bit of TV after taking a little stroll in the garden. I find garden strolls relaxing. If you’re going to ask me what time it was, I don’t know precisely, but I can tell you that immediately after…finding her, I hurried back into the house and dialed 911, so that should inform you.”
“Your call came in shortly after ten, ma’am.”
“There you go.” Another sidelong peek. “Very few teeth in her mouth. She looks as if she’s led a hard life. What do you think happened to her?”
“We don’t know yet, Mrs. DePauw.”
“Those types can hurt themselves, no? But I didn’t see any wounds. Then again, I didn’t spend much time looking, just hurried inside and reset the alarm and called you people.”
A hand settled on her left breast. Floated away, fingers bending and straightening rapidly, as if attacking a piano étude. A noise brought our attention to the body. A tech scraping brick. Another stood nearby entering data on a handheld.
Enid DePauw said, “To end up this way, she’d need to be…out of sorts? Mentally, I mean.”
Milo looked at me.
I said, “That’s a reasonable assumption.”
“Terrible when that happens,” said Enid DePauw. “People like that should be cared for, not left to wander the streets.”
I said, “Have you noticed other homeless people in the neighborhood?”
“Just one, a man, a black man, pushing one of those supermarket carts piled high with who-knows-what. I notified Bel Air Patrol but by the time they got here, he was gone.”
Milo said, “How long ago did that happen, Mrs. DePauw?”
“Three years? Four? I can’t be sure. That experience was unsettling. As I drove by, he gave me a look. Which is why I called the patrol. But I haven’t seen him since. It really is quite wonderful here.”
She frowned. “How long do you people need to be here?”
“We’ll be as quick as possible, ma’am, but it could take a while.”
“Then I suppose I should go inside and let you go about your business.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She swiveled away, took another look at the body. “Life can be so unfair.”
Ascending to the top tier, she reached a bank of French doors that served as the house’s rear wall, paused to survey the scene, waved at us, and went inside.
Milo said, “Sorry it came to this, Alex.”
I said, “Do you have any idea about cause of death?”
“No bullet holes or lacerations, no bump on the head from a fall or a blow, no obvious strangulation. At this point, the working assumption is natural causes. Whatever that means for someone like Zelda.”
“She used heroin. Could be an overdose.”
“Or her heart just gave out due to bad living.”
“The look on her face,” I said. “She didn’t die peacefully.”
“Gloria said the same thing, she’s wondering about a seizure.” He placed a big hand on my shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to stick around.”
“Looks to me as if she hasn’t been dead long.”
“Gloria’s guess is within six hours but we’ll wait until the pathologist weighs in. Coulda been even uglier for ol’ Enid if she got home earlier. She’s come out for her stroll, Martini in hand, witnesses it actually happening and has a stroke or something and we’ve got two bodies. Imagine trying to make sense of that scene.”
Gloria began packing up. Milo and I walked over to her.
“Anything new, G?”
“A few specks of what looks like vomitus over there.” Pointing to a small staked area a few feet behind the body, just below the steps from the top tier. “Like she was walking and started to get sick and just collapsed.”
The tech with the handheld jogged over. “If you don’t need the body, Lieutenant, I’m ready to authorize transport.”
“Go ahead.”
Gloria said, “Good night, Milo. You probably won’t have much to do on this one.”
“Your mouth to some deity’s ears.”
She left. The techs began boxing their equipment and dismantling the lights.
The scene suddenly quiet. That made it worse.
I went home.
CHAPTER
15
Robin woke up when I slipped into bed. I kissed her forehead and made sure not to move too much. Next morning I told her about Zelda and she listened and asked if there was anything I needed. When I’d convinced her there wasn’t, she went to her studio and I resolved to concentrate on people I could actually help.
That faltered when my service phoned a little after two p.m.
“Stevenson Beal returned your call,” said the operator. “He used to be an actor on a show, I forget its name but I remember his.”
“SubUrban.”
“That’s the one. He said he’s in real estate now.”
“Sounds like you two had a nice chat.”
“Um…Doctor, I don’t want you to think I get too friendly with your patients. He’s kind of talkative, I figured I shouldn’t cut him off.”
“You figured right. Were you a fan of the show?”
“Not really. I watched it at the beginning but then it got stupid. That’s what always happens, right? They run out of stories.”
—
“Steve Beal, how can I help you?”
Booming baritone. No hint of the effeminate stereotype he’d played for two and a half years.
I told him about Zelda’s death.
He said, “Shit. Poor Zelda…shit. I was thinking you were interested in one of my listings but this is way way more important. Did she kill herself?”
“When you knew her, was she suicidal?”
“Not like openly trying to hurt herself, but if she did do it, I wouldn’t be shocked. Your service said you’re a shrink. Weren’t her issues obvious?”
His voice lowered. “In fact, why’re you calling me?”
“I was her son’s therapist and I’m trying to locate him, to make sure he’s okay. I haven’t found any relatives so I’m trying people she worked with.”
“You figured we’d know because we were her surrogate family?” said Beal. “Yeah, that’s always the official story, we bond. But let me take a wild guess: No one besides me called you back.”
“Not so far.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Doctor.”
“Any idea what Zelda did after the show was canceled?”
“I’m sure she brooded and got depressed like the rest of us. Though I guess for her it would’ve been a helluva lot worse. Because of her issues—listen, Doc, I’ve got a showing out in Tarzana, need to book. But if you want to get together later today and chat about Zelda, why not? It’ll allow me to flash back to my ahem days of stardom.”
We agreed to meet at four, at a café in Sherman Oaks named Le Fleur. I took a run, showered, logged onto a SubUrban video, filed Beal’s face mentally, and joined the onset of the rush-hour crawl up the Glen.
On the show, Beal had been in his late thirties, slim, with cropped dark hair and a pencil beard, prone to lisping, mincing, and bursting into show tunes.
The man waiting for me at a corner table was twenty pounds heavier, clean-shaven with longish graying hair, dressed in an oatmeal-colored suit, a chocolate T-shirt, tan Gucci loafers.
“Doctor? Hey, Steve Beal.” Both his hands remained wrapped around a coffee mug. He called the waitress over and asked what I’d be drinking.
I said, “The same.”
Beal said, “Also a couple of croissants, Tara—make mine with almonds.”
“Sure, Steve.”
“You’re not what I expected, Doc.”
“You figured Viennese with a cigar?”
He laughed. “Want me to be brutal? The shrinks I’ve known—and I’ve known a few—came across like people who didn’t get a lot of play in high school. Yeah, it’s pigeonholing, blame it on my former profession. Acting’s all about shortcuts but often they’re just as good as taking the long road.”
“Actors learn to make quick judgments?”
“TV actors do, we’re always under time pressure. Ever read a teleplay? Abbreviations, suggestions, the content is arranged around commercial breaks, it’s so the network can sell ad time. Anyway, you’re here to talk about Zelda. What you told me has totally bummed me out. What a messed-up waste.”
“She was talented?”
“She was as good as most—better. I’m not saying she was a Streep but she did have that thing with the camera you have to be born with. Transforming herself in a snap. People who can do that sometimes make the transition to the big screen but after her arrest I figured Zelda wouldn’t. Though being screwy hasn’t stopped others from making it big. You do know about the arrest.”
“I do.”
The croissants and my coffee arrived. Steve Beal raised his cup. “To Zelda and every other tortured soul trashed by the industry. Do I sound bitter? I kind of do, Doc. Thinking about her has flashed me back to my own servitude. I was six months old when I got my first job—soap commercial—then proceeded to sacrifice my childhood and my adolescence and a whole lot more because Mommy suffered from metastatic stage-door-itis. I barely got any education, so when Sub got canned and my agent stopped taking my calls, I was as marketable as a crippled quarterback. But it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He flicked a lapel. “Learned a real skill, now I get to actually accomplish something. Ever watch Sub?”
“A bit of video.”
“You catch me doing my thing?”
I nodded.
“So you’re probably surprised I’m not queer.” He pounded his chest. “Acting! Brrrilliance!”
I laughed.
“I dig that spontaneous reaction, Doc, apparently Steve-o’s still got it going on. So what do you want to know about Zelda?”
I said, “Tell me about her mental problems.”
“Okay…well, obviously, she was moody, everyone in the industry’s moody. But with Zelda it was more intense. She could sink real low real fast, then spring out of it and get hyper so fast you wondered if she’d been putting you on when she was down.”
“Did that cause problems on the set?”
“No, that’s the thing. If she had a scene to shoot, she was ready. It’s like she was…a machine.”
“How’d you know she wasn’t putting it on?”
He put his coffee down. “You’re saying she was a faker?”
I shook my head. “Just trying to educate myself.”
“How do I know? For one thing, I spotted her doing it when she thought no one was looking. More than once.”
“Doing what?”
“Going ultra-down, then ultra-up. Down would be sobbing in her dressing room and rocking like an autistic kid. Skulking off the set, face like a zombie. Up would be racing back and forth through a hallway, bouncing like a yo-yo, tearing at her hair while she talked to herself like a tweaking monkey.”
I said, “Could she have been tweaking?”
“Hmm, good question, Doc. I’ve known plenty of dopers in my day including tweakers, and I have to say this seemed different. But you’re the expert. I sure didn’t see any signs of her being a meth-head—her weight was stable, her skin was gorgeous—she was gorgeous. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded getting with her but there just wasn’t that vibe between us, you know?”
I nodded. “Did anyone else notice her swings?”
Beal’s eyes slitted. “You need backup for what I’m telling you?”
“Just wondering how obvious it was.”
“It wasn’t obvious at all. Everything I saw was in passing, it’s not like I was stalking her, it was my work ethic. I was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Ask anyone if I ever needed more than three takes.”
“Got it,” I said. “Did Zelda ever show signs of mental confusion—hallucinating, talking about unusual theories or ideas?”
“If she saw flying elephants I never heard about it. Who knows what goes on in people’s heads, right, Doc? In terms of nutty ideas, hell, yeah. She’d wander in late to the set, claim her plane got held up. But she’d never left town, we’d been taping continually. Then there was the religious shit, lots of that.”
“Born again?”
“More like reborn constantly,” said Beal. “One week she’s a Buddhist, the next she’s into Sufism. Then it’s kabbalah, she’s running her hand over a book to soak up secrets. Then it’s boom, back to Jesus, she’s wearing a humongous crucifix. It became a joke on the set, who’s Zelda’s God for the day. Once I asked her about whatever she was into, I forget, and she said she was being guided by an unseen spirit. I said like a guardian angel and she smiled and kissed my cheek and walked away. Like she’d seen the light but I could never hope to understand.”
He leaned forward. “I just remembered the weirdest thing she did. She told me she’d just learned she was God. We were sitting around between takes and she drops that on me. I figure she’s kidding, so I made a crack like, ‘How bout giving me some stock-market tips, Jehovah?’ She just stared at me and turned away and started doing some kind of crazy humming chant. But maybe all she meant was one of those new-agey things—God lives in all of us.”
“Did she ever talk about delusions that weren’t religious?”
Beal slapped his forehead. “You know, now that you’ve got me flashing back, stuff’s coming to me. Maybe that wasn’t the insanest thing she said, maybe another thing was.”
Picking an almond sliver off a croissant, he chewed, swallowed. “I’m not sure I even want to tell you, you might think I’m nuts.”
I smiled. “Promise: no diagnosis.”
