Marlena pressed the end button on her cell phone and tossed it in the back seat of her car and hoped that no one called her for a few hours. She parked her car and waited for Detective Browning. She closed her eyes and turned on the radio to a jazz station.
The air conditioner blew cold air on her face and neck. Her dirty-blond hair was blown straight today but it was no easier to handle than it was curly. It kept getting in her face and was now starting to frizz slightly in the dry Nevada heat. She pulled a headband from her consol and slid it on. Then she reached for her new pack of Parliaments that she hid underneath the driver's seat, took one out and put it between her lips. She lit up with a lighter that she concealed in a lipstick holder. She took a few drags and relaxed a little. After the cigarette was half finished she put it in the ashtray balanced on her cup holder, folded her arms on her steering wheel and put her head down to nap, like an elementary school student playing Seven-Up in a dark classroom.
Kenyon Browning finally arrived in his Impala half an hour later, looking suave in a slate blue suit, his hair now looking more blue than black in the sun. He slicked his hair back with a comb like a fifties greaser and sauntered up to Marlena Reagan's Dodge Ram and peered in. She was out like a light. He tapped on the driver's side window. When Marlena didn't move, he knocked louder, which stirred her.
"Good morning," he said.
Marlena winced, stretched and rolled down her window, "You're late."
"You were asleep," Kenyon retorted.
"At least I was here on time," she grumbled as she stepped out of her car after snubbing out her Parliament and popping a couple of Altoids in her mouth.
"I thought you quit smoking," the detective said.
"That's just what I tell Catherine. She's anal about smoking. At least Grissom never bitched," Marlena yawned. "I thought we were here to bug Layla Feldman. What am I doing on trial here?"
Kenyon gave a smug smile, gave a playful shove and the pair went to find Layla Feldman.
Layla Feldman's apartment complex was as ritzy as one in Beverly Hills. It was peach-colored stucco and had glass doors. There was a doorman in a clean-cut burgundy uniform and all the tenements had balconies and large picture windows. Flowers and other ornamental shrubs and trees decorated the entrance of the development. It was figured that Sean Gentileschi obviously paid well.
Layla lived in number 622 and when she opened the door, Marlena was surprised to find that she towered over her.
No more than five feet tall and easily only a hundred pounds soaking wet, twenty-one-year-old Layla Feldman had a caramel complexion, straight chin-length red hair and striking dark blue eyes. Freckles dusted the crests of her cheeks and across her button nose. She wore small frameless glasses. Her dress was casual: blue denim jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a yellow camisole with a matching cardigan. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted party-girl pink.
"Hello," she greeted Marlena and Kenyon with a sweet-pea smile.
"Hi. Layla Feldman?" Marlena asked.
"That's me. You are?"
"CSI Marlena Reagan, Las Vegas Crime Lab and Detective Kenyon Browning from the Las Vegas Police Department."
Layla's eyes widened, her eye brows raised and her arms crossed. "I had a feeling one of you would be here eventually."
"Oh…did Keil Anson call you by any chance?"
"Nuh-uh. I think one of your colleagues called for my boss a few days ago, a guy; he had an interesting name…"
"Sasha Zarek?"
"That's it," Layla leaned against the doorframe. "So, what can I do for you, CSI Reagan, Detective Browning?"
"We just need to ask you a few questions concerning your boss, Sean Gentileschi," Kenyon said firmly.
"Sure. Come on in," Layla stepped aside and let Kenyon and Marlena through.
"So, you're Sean Gentileschi's secretary?" Marlena asked as they stepped inside the apartment.
The living room was very large, roomy, done in pastels of purple, blue and pink. Every seating area appeared so cushy soft it looked as if it could swallow someone. There was a small kitchen to the right of the front door with a pass-through window leading towards a dining area for six with high-backed chairs and a heavy glass table, on top of which a sleek white cat was curled up, eyeing the intruders. There was a small corridor leading towards the bedroom, of which the door was slightly ajar. It seemed a bit grandiose for one person, especially a college student. From somewhere in the apartment, soft contemporary music played. Layla had opened her balcony and let the soft breeze play about the room. Wind chimes tinkled faintly as well.
"Yes," Layla replied after a beat. She closed the door behind her. "I've been working for Sean for almost four years."
"You call him by his first name?" Kenyon raised an eyebrow
Layla shrugged, "He insisted. Come sit at the dining table. Want anything to drink? I don't have any coffee but I got some sweet tea already made."
"That'd be great, thanks," Marlena smiled.
"Sure," Kenyon agreed.
Before going into the kitchen, Layla shooed the cat off the table, "Come on, Clapton. That's not polite."
"Clapton?" Marlena smiled.
Layla smiled too as she set the cat on the floor, "Like Eric Clapton? I love him, my folks love him…I was named after one of his songs."
"Oh… as in, 'Layla, you got me on my knees'?" Marlena asked and Layla chuckled.
"Enough about me. Sit down, I'll get the tea."
Layla went into the kitchen. Kenyon and Marlena looked around the living room, admiring the elaborate entertainment center of white Formica and glass. A large mass of books occupied her shelving units along with some knickknack statuettes behind the see-thru doors. Photos were displayed and from the looks of it, they were mainly of Layla and her family and friends. But some caught Kenyon's eye that made him very confused.
"Marlena?" Kenyon asked. "What's wrong with these pictures?" He picked one up and handed it to her.
Marlena was dumbfounded at Kenyon's find. There were half a dozen or so photographs of Layla and Sean. Not in casual, at-work, employer-employee poses, but in arms-around-each-other-lovey-dovey poses. She subtly began to sing softly, "One of these things is not like the other" from Sesame Street. Kenyon tighten his lips closed to keep a chuckle from escaping.
"Oh…you've seen my pictures," came Layla's crestfallen voice. Marlena straightened and turned to face her. Kenyon followed suit. Layla held one tall glass tumbler of sweet tea in each hand and looked sort of frightened.
"Yes. They're very interesting…I had no idea that you and Sean were so close," Marlena said coolly, trying not to be rude to this sweet girl.
"Please," urged Layla, "sit. I can explain the lot of it."
Marlena and Kenyon meandered over to the glass table and sat. Layla put a glass of sweet tea in front of each of them and Marlena couldn't resist, her throat was parched. She took a long sip. Kenyon, however, didn't touch his glass but moved it to the side a bit and folded his arms on the glass table.
"You have to promise not to tell Keil, though," Layla implored. "She might have Sean fire me and it's such steady work and the income is exceptional…"
"And you can't beat the benefits," added Kenyon with sarcastic undertone.
Layla hung her head, "Well…"
"You know he's married?"
Her head shot up, "To Keil? No, he and Keil were never married."
"Don't you know about Sara?" Marlena asked.
"Sara?" Layla pursed her lips.
"Yes…Sean's wife?" It then dawned on Marlena that Sean never told Layla about Sara. Alarmed, she shot Kenyon a doubtful look. "You don't know Sara, do you? You know Evie, right?"
"Evie? Yes. I thought she was Sean and Keil's daughter."
"No, Sean and Sara."
"Oh…"
"Layla," Marlena said calmly, "I think you better start from the beginning."
"Well, I've been working for Sean for nearly four years, as I said before," Layla sighed, "and our affair has been going on for nearly two. It's just so easy to be to be with him, where Keil can walk in at any given moment. But she very rarely comes into the office and she's almost never home—she's always shopping. But I organize Sean's schedule daily."
"So, you can confirm Sean's alibi?" Kenyon pursed his lips.
"If I have to."
"Sean is a suspect in a serious murder investigation, Layla," Marlena explained. "So if you could recall…"
"Murder?" Layla put her hand to her mouth. "Sean wouldn't…he couldn't…why?"
"We're trying to figure that out. But meanwhile, we can't go any farther on his case if we don't have you confirm his alibi. Now, October ninth?"
"October ninth. I came at seven-thirty in the morning. I immediately went to his office where he told me that he was going to Las Vegas to see an associate, Gil Grissom, and I was to cancel all his appointments until five PM. So I did."
"Gil Grissom?" Kenyon repeated.
"Yes…you know him? Sean didn't say all that much about him."
Marlena blinked a few times in disbelief. "Layla," she said, "Gil Grissom was my boss. He was the one who was murdered."
Layla's face fell, "Really?"
"I wouldn't lie."
"Oh God…now I feel awful."
"Why? You didn't do anything."
"If I hadn't cleared Sean's appointments…"
"Never mind about that, Layla. It's over and done with; it's not your fault. Now, when did Sean say he was leaving to see Mr. Grissom?"
"Eight. He left exactly at eight, gave me a ton of things to do and told me to 'be nice' to Keil and to make reservations for him and Keil at Stepping Stones. He also left me with a list of people to call to cancel and reschedule appointments. My ear was ringing by the end of the day from people yelling at me like it was my fault Sean didn't want to see them. Then he left, carrying his boots."
"Wait…He carried his boots?"
"Yeah, they're this weird, expensive Italian brand that he loves. It's very rare that he's seen with out them. I think they're ugly as sin, but I'd never say that to his face," Layla gave a nervous laugh. "Keil left the house around a quarter to ten to go shopping with her sister Kerry. I didn't see either of them until about four-thirty. Sean or Keil that is."
"What happened at four thirty?"
"Sean and Keil came back home and then they left to pick up Evie and came back a few hours later. While they were out, I left to go get myself something to eat at Starbuck's and I was back before they were. Sean had me order in dinner for them and I left at nine."
Kenyon nodded.
"Well," Marlena sighed, standing up. "That's really all we need."
Somewhat frightened, Layla rose slowly as if on her way to execution. Kenyon was not far behind.
"You won't tell anyone about Sean and me?" Layla asked in almost a whisper.
"That depends," Marlena said.
"On what?"
Marlena screwed up her mouth to the side of her face. "I'll let you know when I find out. In the meantime, you've been very helpful."
When Marlena got back into her car, she sat in silence before sticking her key into the ignition.
"Marlena?" Kenyon was leaning against her car.
"What?"
"What do you think?"
"We got nothing on Sean. Not yet. He already confessed to being at Grissom's place of residence with a steel baseball bat. You were there."
"Yep."
"But there's nothing to go by. Grissom died of strychnine poisoning, not blunt force trauma. That would accredit Sean to the murder, indubitably."
"So?" Kenyon folded his arms across his chest.
"Unless we find strychnine at the Gentileschi place, we're gonna have to try a different route. I'm suppost to meet Breeze there with a warrant so now I gotta go back to HQ and wait for it."
"Okay. See you later, then?"
"Sure."
Kenyon flashed Marlena a smile, put on his sunglasses and went back to his car. Sighing, Marlena started up the car and turned up the radio. The first song that played was the last one Marlena felt like hearing at the moment:
"I make the best of the situation before I finally go insane…please don't say you'll never find your way and tell me all my love's in play…Layla, you got me on my knees…Layla, I'm beggin' ya darlin' please, Layla…darlin' won't you ease my worried mind? Layla…you got me on my knees…Layla, Layla…"