Dial Emmy For Murder Part 6

I could feel that old familiar feeling. Adrenaline. Here I was, deja vu all over again.

"Henri," I called. This time I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was a mess. Somebody had been fighting or maybe looking for something. I listened but couldn't hear anyone moving around. It looked to me like a three-room apartment. I was in the living room, and I could see a small kitchen. There was one other doorway, possibly to a bedroom. There were also French doors opening to a small balcony. No one was out there. I walked to it and found it locked.

Okay, I thought, the bathroom.

I moved to the other doorway and looked inside. The bed was made, dresser drawers were hanging out, no laundry in sight. I moved inside and crossed to a closed door I felt sure led to the bathroom.

"h.e.l.lo? Henri?" I knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. "Henri?"

That was when I started to become concerned. I had three choices: Get out, call 911 or open the bathroom door.

I opened the door.

Of course.

When Jakes walked in, he stopped to talk to the two cops before coming over to me. I was sitting on Henri Marceau's sofa. He was dead in the bathtub, where I had found him about an hour before.

"Let's go out on the balcony," Jakes said.

"Okay."

He slid the door open for me, stepped out after me and closed it. The balcony overlooked the front of the building.

"What the h.e.l.l, Alex?"

"What? You asked me to help."

"Don't play stupid. What are you doing here?"

"Henri does-did-my hair on the show."

"So you came to his apartment for . . . what? A haircut?"

I gave him a look.

"Okay," he said, "why don't you just tell me what you were doing here."

"Henri wanted to talk to me," I said, "only he said he couldn't talk at the studio. He wanted to talk in private, so he asked me to come here."

"Talk to you about what?"

"Jackson Masters."

His eyebrows went up. "He knew somethin' about Jackson Masters?"

"I suppose so."

"And he wanted to tell you?"

"He wanted to tell somebody."

"Did you think to recommend the police?"

"He didn't want to talk to the police."

"He might have a record," he said. "I'll check on it. So you came here and . . . what? How'd you get in?"

"His door was ajar."

"No, I mean how'd you get into the building?"

"Oh, uh, well, I rang the bell, and while I was waiting for him to answer, another man came running out. I realized after the fact that he could be the killer. . . ."

"Or he could be just another tenant. I'll find out who they are."

I grabbed his arm and then realized what I was doing and released it like it was hot.

"How was he killed?"

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't been in there yet. Look, stay here and wait for me. I just want to go inside and get the lay of the land."

I looked down at the street, filled now with vehicles with flashing lights. I could see my car, blocked in by the others.

"I've got nowhere else to go."

"Okay, then. I'll be a few minutes."

He slid the door open and then stopped and looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You know," he said, "you find more bodies than any civilian I know."

"I didn't find Jackson," I reminded him. "He fell on me . . . almost."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you're right about that. Okay, I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here," I a.s.sured him as he went back inside.

I meant it when I said it, but then I got bored so I walked down to the yard, toward the bushes and pathway the guy who had run by me had used. Who knows? Maybe he had dropped something. I was just trying to make myself useful.

Chapter 12.

I didn't find anything except dog p.o.o.p and an old piece of chewing gum, so I went back to the balcony and watched the action through the sliding gla.s.s door. Men in blue, men in white, men in suits came and went. Every so often Jakes would look over at me and signal with his finger that he'd be done soon or would join me soon, or maybe he was telling me that I was number one.

I finally got tired of watching the comings and goings of the LAPD and turned to study the buildings across the street. People were at their windows, watching the action. They were probably wondering what the h.e.l.l was going on. Lucky me, I was in the know. I had found the body.

I wasn't that experienced at finding bodies. Marcy last year, her husband a few days later, and now Henri. Jackson didn't count. I didn't find him; he sort of found me.

Suddenly I started to sob, and tears came into my eyes. I felt so overwhelmed. Another murder was bad enough, but I had yet to deal with Randy. I found myself looking over my shoulder for him. Maybe I should tell Jakes. As if on cue two arms enfolded me from behind and turned me around. I cried into Jakes's chest. I still didn't understand my feelings for him but it felt pretty good.

I was settling in a little too comfortably so I jerked away. "I'm sorry. How girlie of me."

"That's okay," he said. "You are a girl, aren't you?" He said this with appreciation. I did feel so female with him and wished he was still holding me. My nose was running. He wiped it with a tissue he'd pulled from his pocket.

"You're in shock. Let's go someplace and have a drink."

"My car," I said. "It's blocked in."

"I'll drive. By the time we come back, some of those vehicles will be gone."

"Um, you want to talk to me some more about the . . . the murder?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do, and I don't wanna do it here."

We didn't discuss anything until we were seated in a small cafe near the beach.

"I haven't had dinner; have you?" he asked.

"No."

He smiled. "Then why don't we have dinner?"

"Will I have to make a statement about today? A written statement?"

"Sure," he said. "You can do it after dinner or come to Parker in the morning. Your choice."

I scratched my head. "If I do it tomorrow, it'll have to be very early. I have to go to work."

"Early's no problem," Jakes said. "But why don't you tell me what you know now?"

"I've already told you everything."

"Tell me again," he said. "Start from the beginning, when you first spoke with Henri today. And try to do it word for word."

Chapter 13.

I repeated everything I'd told him already, trying to remember Henri's exact words.

"And that's it?"

"That's all of it," I said, playing with my shrimp scampi. "We didn't say much at the studio-we never do. I mean, it's not like we're friends."

"Really? I thought women were always friends with their hairdressers."

I gave him a withering look. "That's such a cliche," I said. "He doesn't really talk to anyone."

"But he talked to Jackson Masters," Jakes said. "That's what he wanted to tell you."

"Yes."

"But he never got the chance."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Okay," he said, "so you get to his building and . . . what?"

"I rang the bell, there was no answer, but like I told you, the other man came out and I caught the door."

"Okay, we'll deal with this other guy later," Jakes said. "What happened when you got upstairs?"

"The door was ajar. I knocked, called out, but got no answer. That's when I started to worry."

"So that's when you should've called 911."

"And told them what? That a man didn't answer his door? No, I had to go in. I mean, he could've been hurt and needed help." We both knew I was tap dancing. When I saw the mess the apartment was in, I could have called 911.

"Tell me what you saw."

"A messy apartment. When I got to the bathroom, I found him there in the bathtub, just . . . lying there."

"And then you called 911?"

No, I thought.

"Yes," I said.

I didn't tell him that my innate curiosity and fascination with all things dead got the better of me. I admit it: it's a character flaw. But it's my character flaw. And besides . . . I might have found a pulse.

"Alex, did you touch anything?"

"Of course not! What do you take me for? Don't answer that!"

"Not even a doork.n.o.b?"

I just looked at him. "No."