The Next To Die Part 21

"It's kind of ironic. I might be defending him for murder, and in the movies, he'll be playing a man I defended for murder." Sean sighed. "I tell you, only in Hollywood."

She hovered over her husband, shaving him and talking over the buzz of his cordless razor. Dan sat propped up in bed, a towel tucked under his chin. Sean was still in her bathrobe. "He said on the phone last night that Gary Worsht sang my praises. Plus he's been reading up on the case-all my old clippings. His regular attorney is one of those smooth-talking entertainment lawyers, not at all qualified to handle a murder trial. Unfortunately, Mr. Cooper very quickly agreed when I suggested that perhaps, in a rape-murder case like this one, he was indeed better off represented by a woman rather than by a crew of high-priced, slick male lawyers. It bothered me, he saw an angle in that."

Dan smiled, and mouthed the words: "You're the one who suggested it."

"Yeah, I know." She chuckled. "But he didn't have to be so quick to agree. Anyway, I have to admit, he came across as a real sweet guy on the phone, but his alibi is one for the birds. Really shaky. I just don't know...."

She switched off the razor, then reached for the Old Spice aftershave-a present from Danny last Christmas. Sean shook some into her hand, then smoothed it over Dan's face and neck. "Hold on, sweetie," she said, pulling out a Kleenex. "You have a little glop in your eye here." She dabbed it away. Dan joked to her and the kids about his "sleepy peas," but he'd been a handsome and somewhat vain man before all this had started. She knew it killed him to have mucus around those once-beautiful eyes. The blinking reflex was just another part of his body shutting down.

"There now." Sean tossed the crumpled Kleenex on the nightstand, then leaned back to look at him. "All finished."

Sean read his lips: "This sounds like a high-profile case. Could make a lot of money, help you build up a reputation, a client base..."

"I know." She sighed. "But it'll keep me busy day and night. I'm away from you and the kids too much right now as it is."

Dan's eyes wrestled with hers. "This is about your future, honey," he said, visibly straining to form the words. "It's about your career. We owe money. I want you to be okay when I'm gone."

Sean touched his cheek. "You know I hate that kind of talk."

Those clear blue eyes were beautiful for a moment as he focused on her. His lips moved again. "So you can't play nursemaid. If I leave this world knowing you're building a future for you and the kids, that's something I want, that's something good."

Sean felt herself tearing up, and she quickly hugged her husband. He smelled of the Old Spice aftershave, and she inhaled it, cheris.h.i.+ng every breath.

RECOOPERATING: Actress, Joanne Lane, 32, (wife of TV and Film Star, Avery Cooper, 34) is recovering after a fall into the pool of her Beverly Hills home early yesterday morning. The Tony-nominated actress had recently suffered a miscarriage. She was heavily sedated at the time of the accident. Upon discovering his wife unconscious in the pool, Cooper called paramedics. Lane was rushed to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, and held overnight for observation. She is expected to be released later today. Actress, Joanne Lane, 32, (wife of TV and Film Star, Avery Cooper, 34) is recovering after a fall into the pool of her Beverly Hills home early yesterday morning. The Tony-nominated actress had recently suffered a miscarriage. She was heavily sedated at the time of the accident. Upon discovering his wife unconscious in the pool, Cooper called paramedics. Lane was rushed to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, and held overnight for observation. She is expected to be released later today.

So said the blurb in the entertainment section of U.S.A. Today U.S.A. Today. Avery tossed the dog-eared newspaper back on the security guard's desk. "Thanks," he muttered to the lanky, uniformed black man. Avery was sitting beside him in a folding chair outside Joanne's hospital room. Her door was closed.

Most papers ran similar versions of yesterday's incident. None of them mentioned the murder of Libby Stoddard. Avery figured the police would officially question him within the next day or two. He had an appointment with Sean Olson later this morning, but he couldn't give the case much thought beyond that. He had enough on his mind with Joanne.

The hospital's head psychiatrist, Dr. Wetherall, had mentioned possibly transferring Joanne to a sanitarium if her condition didn't improve. He'd been in the room with her for the last half hour. The door finally opened, and Dr. Wetherall emerged. He was a wiry, handsome, balding man in his late forties. "She'll see you, Avery," he whispered. "Only a couple of minutes. Okay?"

Avery stepped into the room. Joanne lay very still, staring at him as he approached the bed. She was pale, and her unwashed hair had been brushed back. She must have bitten down on her lower lip too hard, because it was bleeding a little. "Hi, sweetheart," Avery said.

She wiggled her hands to show the straps around her wrists. "Was this your idea?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"Of course not," he replied. "They're just worried you'll hurt yourself."

She sneered at him. "Yes, I'm a dangerous character."

"Are you getting any rest at all?"

She said nothing. She gazed up at the ceiling.

"Joanne?"

"You know who I feel like right now?" she said at last. She sounded as if she were in a trance. "I feel like Natalie Wood in Splendor in the Gra.s.s Splendor in the Gra.s.s. She just got crazier and crazier, and couldn't help it. Remember how they finally had to send her away to that sanitarium? Actually, it looked nice, the art therapy cla.s.ses, the sprawling lawns, people in rocking chairs..."

She turned and gave him an icy stare. "Why don't you send me away to a place like that?"

Avery shook his head. "You don't mean that."

"I'm tired," she said, closing her eyes. "You can go now."

"Joanne-"

"GET THE f.u.c.k OUT!" she screamed. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Dr. Wetherall hurried in, then he steered Avery toward the door. A nurse rushed in after them. Down the hall, Avery could still hear Joanne screaming.

Later, he sat in a stupor as Dr. Wetherall gave him a folder for Glenhaven Spa in Palm Springs. The doctor knew the facility, very private with a tranquil environment and a top-notch staff. He talked up the place as if it were a Shangri-la for nutcases. Dr. Wetherall said that it was almost inhumane almost inhumane to keep Joanne here, drugged and strapped to a hospital bed, when they could do so much for her at Glenhaven. to keep Joanne here, drugged and strapped to a hospital bed, when they could do so much for her at Glenhaven.

Avery wandered out of the doctor's office, the folder under his arm. He hadn't signed anything yet. He pa.s.sed by the hospital's newsstand gift shop, where the clerk was placing the new issue of People People on the magazine rack. On the cover was a flattering photo of Joanne and him, wrapped in each other's arms. They looked so healthy, decked out in jeans and crisp white T-s.h.i.+rts, standing in front of their pool. He was kissing Joanne on the cheek. on the magazine rack. On the cover was a flattering photo of Joanne and him, wrapped in each other's arms. They looked so healthy, decked out in jeans and crisp white T-s.h.i.+rts, standing in front of their pool. He was kissing Joanne on the cheek. AVERY COOPER & JOANNE LANE AVERY COOPER & JOANNE LANE, said the caption. HOLLYWOOD'S HAPPIEST & s.e.xIEST COUPLE HOLLYWOOD'S HAPPIEST & s.e.xIEST COUPLE.

Sean heard a knock on the anteroom door. She put down the new issue of People People, stashed it in her desk drawer, then sprang to her feet. "Come in!" she called. Her chestnut hair pinned back, she wore a burgundy suit with an ivory blouse-a chic, professional look. Guilty or innocent, Avery Cooper was her first potential client here, and she needed to make a good impression.

They met in the doorway. "Hi, I'm Avery," he said, very somber as he shook her hand. "Thanks for agreeing to see me." He wore a denim s.h.i.+rt and khakis. His black hair was a bit mussed. She noticed the scratch marks on his left cheek.

Sean only knew Avery Cooper's public persona: the cute, happy-go-lucky guy next door. Considering the purpose of this visit, she'd figured "happy-go-lucky" wasn't on today's menu. But she hadn't expected him to be so d.a.m.ned attractive. Or perhaps she was simply drawn to his sadness. Sean had to remind herself that he was the suspect in a murder-rape case.

She briskly pumped his hand. "Come in, sit down. Did you have a tough time finding the place?"

"No," he said, settled on her sofa. "Though I thought you were kidding on the phone when you said your office was above a hair salon."

She paused by her mini-fridge. "Are you sorry now that you didn't go for a crew of high-priced, slick male lawyers?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"Something to drink?" She opened the refrigerator door. "I have Evian, Evian, Diet c.o.ke, Evian, Evian, just plain c.o.ke, and Evian."

"Evian, please."

Sean poured Evian into two gla.s.ses, and handed him one. She sat down across from him in the easy chair. "So tell me your story, Mr. Cooper."

"Call me Avery." He tried to smile, but his eyes watered up, and his voice cracked. "I've never been in this type of trouble before. And my wife, she's..." He trailed off, then wiped his eyes and took a sip of water. "d.a.m.n," he muttered, looking down at the carpet. "I'm sorry. It might work better if you just started asking me questions."

Sean's heart broke for him. "Would you rather do this some other time?"

He waved the question away. "No, this is good. Really, I'm all right. Ask me whatever you want to know."

Sean studied him, at the way he held back. "You-" She was about to say, You remind me of my husband You remind me of my husband. But she cleared her throat, and asked, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, straightening up.

She reached for a recorder on the coffee table. "Mind if I tape this?"

Avery shook his head. "No problem."

Sean switched on the machine, then sat back. "I've thought about what you told me over the phone yesterday, Avery, and maybe you can explain a few things to me. First, can you think of anyone who might have seen you at that park-I mean, besides the woman who scratched you?"

"No. And I probably wouldn't recognize her again. She wore these weird gla.s.ses. I'm afraid I didn't catch a good look at her-um, getaway getaway car either." car either."

"Did she she drive off?" drive off?"

"No, someone picked her up. I saw her duck into the pa.s.senger side."

"On your way to this park, did you sense someone was following you?"

Avery sighed. "Not at the time. Everything was so muddled. That was the day Joanne had a miscarriage-"

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry," Sean interrupted gently. "Avery, one of the most d.a.m.ning pieces of evidence against you is that you received that scratch at just about the time Libby Stoddard was fighting and clawing her killer. Under her fingernails, they found skin tissue matching your blood type, and traces of a certain makeup they use backstage in NBC Burbank Studio B, where you'd filmed The Tonight Show The Tonight Show earlier that day. Do you have any explanation for that?" earlier that day. Do you have any explanation for that?"

Frowning, he shrugged. "Only a vague, half-baked theory. To be honest, I've been so worried about my wife these last couple of days, I haven't given much thought to anything else."

She smiled sympathetically. "I understand. But I'm going to steer you back to my question earlier. Even if it's 'half-baked,' I want to hear your theory about those scratch marks and the skin tissue under Libby's nails."

Avery leaned forward. "You'll think I'm nuts, but I figure someone was following me, waiting to catch me alone. And-this is the crazy part-they must have been watching Libby too. They saw a chance to frame me for Libby's murder. I think the woman in the park was sent there to scratch my face. I don't know forensics, but is it possible they could have transferred my skin tissue from that woman's fingernails to Libby's?"

"I suppose." Sean studied him with uncertainty. "But that would mean Libby was raped and murdered for the specific purpose of framing you."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Avery said. "For a while now, someone's been trying very hard to make me look bad. They stole that home video, then distributed copies of the d.a.m.n thing. At first, I blamed Libby. In fact, I told several people that I'd like to see her dead. If you were going to kill someone and frame me for it, Libby Stoddard was the perfect victim."

"Let's put the theories on hold for a minute," Sean said. "Last night, on the phone with me, you said that you were hesitant about furnis.h.i.+ng the police with a sperm sample. Why? If you're really innocent of this rape-murder, a sperm sample would eliminate you as a suspect."

"I know that," Avery replied. "But I'm afraid my sample will somehow match with they've found."

Sean slowly shook her head. "I can buy the skin tissue transferred from under one set of fingernails to another. But manufacturing this other piece of evidence requires some cooperation from you, Avery."

"I know it sounds hokey and paranoid-"

"I'm sorry," Sean interrupted. "But if these people want to destroy you, they're sure going at it in a very roundabout way. They killed an innocent woman for the sole purpose of framing you for murder? Wouldn't it be a lot easier just to kill you?"

"But it's not about killing me. h.e.l.l, they've broken into my hotel room and my home. They could have gotten at me any time. No, these people want to bring me down, ruin my reputation, make me look horrible."

"Why do you think they're doing this?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know for sure. I was in a TV movie a couple of months ago that ticked off a lot of people. Joanne and my commercials for gun control have made us a lot of enemies too."

"So-you think the same group that's after Dayle has targeted you?"

Avery squinted at her. "What are you talking about?

"You mean, you haven't talked to Dayle Sutton?" Sean asked.

He shrugged. "We've exchanged e-mail about the movie-"

"Dayle hasn't told you about these people who want to kill her? She hasn't mentioned a possible conspiracy linking the deaths of Tony Katz, Leigh Simone, and Maggie McGuire?"

Avery slowly shook his head.

For a moment Sean studied that guileless expression on his handsome face. Somehow she knew he was a good, honest man. She'd felt the same way when she'd first set eyes on Dan. "You're telling me the truth," she said.

"Well, yes, of course," he replied.

"You said a minute ago that the police would probably find a match if they tested your sperm alongside what they discovered in Libby. How do you think these-conspirators were able to pull that off?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, since I'm going to be your attorney, Avery, we'll have to figure out an answer to that question."

Tom waited for Hal in front of his apartment building. They had a noon appointment. He had a rolled-up Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times in his hand. The headlines told of an ambush on Dayle Sutton's limo. There was nothing about a shooting death outside a deserted chemical plant in south Los Angeles. But on page two, they carried a blurred photo of Maggie-from that stag movie. The caption read: in his hand. The headlines told of an ambush on Dayle Sutton's limo. There was nothing about a shooting death outside a deserted chemical plant in south Los Angeles. But on page two, they carried a blurred photo of Maggie-from that stag movie. The caption read: MAGGIE MCGUIRE, EARLY s.e.x FILM BLOT ON A DISTINGUISHED CAREER MAGGIE MCGUIRE, EARLY s.e.x FILM BLOT ON A DISTINGUISHED CAREER.

Leaning against the entryway, Tom felt so tired. Last night, Hal had given him something to make him sleep. It was probably still in his system. Killing that man had been like watching himself in a movie. Reality hit him a moment after pulling the trigger. Then he threw up. Drops of vomit-and the man's blood-had gotten on his clothes, so Hal made him strip. Tom was s.h.i.+vering, nearly naked, standing in a darkened, deserted cul-de-sac. He tried not to cry. They gave him a pair of coveralls, and the "cleanup" crew took his clothes away. Thank G.o.d Hal's sleeping pills had worked. For a few hours, he'd forgotten everything and slept.

Hal had said he needed to work on his aim; and so they were heading out to the desert for target practice this afternoon.

A white Corsica pulled up to the curb. Hal was behind the wheel. Tom reluctantly climbed in beside him. He saw coffee from 7-Eleven in the cup holder. Hal held up a bag. "Cream and sugar. Plus a couple of donuts. If you took those pills, you probably slept through breakfast."

Pulling into traffic, Hal announced that there was a cooler of beer in the trunk for later. He cranked up the air conditioner, and popped in a Glen Miller tape. "I also have Perry Como here, and Sinatra. I wasn't sure about your taste in music."

Tom said nothing. He wondered why this sudden VIP treatment.

Hal kept his eyes on the road. "You did well last night," he said. "I know it was rough, but you really proved yourself. Our SAAMO officers were impressed. Are you comfortable? Is the air-conditioning too cold?"

"It's fine. Thanks." He pried the lid off his coffee.

"So-what do you think of your old girlfriend's p.o.r.n movie?" Hal asked, glancing at the newspaper on Tom's lap. "Have you seen her little epic?"

Tom cleared his throat. "No, I haven't," he replied. "She-she must have needed the money very badly. You weren't behind this, were you?"

"Behind what?"

"Releasing that old stag movie, making her into a joke. Is your SAAMO group responsible for that?"

"Why, no. Like I told you, Tom, we were investigating Maggie. But we didn't release the p.o.r.n tape. Someone else must have."

Tom wasn't entirely convinced.

Hal briefly smiled at him, then studied the city traffic. "I'm glad you asked me. Until now, we've had to keep you in the dark about certain things, and I'm sorry. We don't want you left out of the loop anymore. If there's something on your mind, just ask."