Part 9: Confrontations
"Cheryl, again, I really appreciate your doing this," Mark said as they pulled into the Michaels' subdivision. "It was very thoughtful of you to offer, and I could just as easily have taken a cab."
"It's really no problem, Mark," Cheryl insisted. "Besides, the LAPD is part of the reason your car is still here, so . . . ."
Mark chuckled, and waved the comment aside. "I could hardly hold the rest of the force responsible for the actions of one man. Besides, from a certain view, he did have a point."
Cheryl shrugged, not committing either way.
"But it has been quite a day," Mark continued, focusing on the house as it came into the view. "And it was a fruitful trip, either way you look at it. I noticed a couple of things when I was here earlier that I was rather curious about."
The knowing grin he received in response told Mark that Cheryl was hardly fooled by his changing of the subject. "You do remember what the captain said, don't you?"
"Yes I do," Mark agreed readily. "I just thought I could maybe just hand off what I've found. Perhaps to aid in your investigation." He offered his best hopeful look.
Cheryl laughed as she pulled her car to a stop behind Mark's sedan. "Tell you what, I'll need to come and get a statement from Steve tomorrow. Why don't we talk then?"
"All right." Mark grinned, pleased with the suggestion. He climbed out of the vehicle and, leaned back down into the car. "Thanks again." He smiled, hoping to emphasize how much he truly appreciated her help then closed the door and headed for his vehicle.
As he crossed in front of Cheryl's car, moving toward his driver's side door, he spotted Kevin Masterson, again watching from his driveway. This time there was another man standing alongside him whom Mark suspected was a neighbor. Unable to resist the urge that overcame him, Mark waved and pointed toward the Michaels' beautifully manicured lawn.
"It's environmentally safe!" he called across the street. "I checked. I think I might refer him to a few of my neighbors in Malibu!"
Masterson reddened. Then murmuring something to the man at his side, turned on his heel and vanished into his home. The neighbor was left staring at Mark with his mouth open.
Mark chuckled, climbed into his car and headed home. As he did so, he recalled the business card that the young man who had been working in the yard earlier had given him. Carefully maneuvering the card from his pocket as he drove, he took a look at the address. It wasn't precisely on his way home, but he had told Masterson that he would be contacting the man. Could he help it if questions about the Michaels' came up in the course of the conversation?
~*~
The view of the ocean through the French doors was making him sleepy. Or at least, that was his story as his lids drooped and a blissful lassitude spread throughout his body. He refused to acknowledge the fact that his system had been through two traumatic events within the span of 24 hours, or that the administration of painkillers and antibiotics might be contributing factors as well. The injury, he told himself, hadn't been all that bad, and there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn't be able to focus on the case file in his lap.
Jesse had insisted on his remaining in the den where he could keep an eye on him, which had been just fine with Steve. He preferred to be in the thick of things, even though they hadn't been all that thick as Maeve and Jesse had gone out of their way to reduce the noise level.
A creaking step on the wood flooring leading up from the kitchen brought him back from the brink. He opened his eyes fully and smiled hazily at Maeve as she came into the room bearing a tray. He noted distractedly that another of those red and blue balloon covered straws was sticking out of the drink.
The smile faded, and he shot an 'I'll get you' look toward the kitchen where he was unsurprised to find Jesse leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his face. Jesse's grin became a full-fledged laugh as he returned back to the kitchen.
He turned back to Maeve, realizing belatedly that she was looking for a place to settle the tray. The side table near the chair was full of the rest of the files that he'd gotten from Cheryl. "Oh, sorry. Here, let me put this away." He gathered the pages of the file, preparing to make them into a neat pile before returning them to the folder.
Maeve's gasp brought his gaze to her, at which point he realized that she had gone pale as she stared aghast at the image at the top of the pile. He quickly shoved the papers into the folder; organizing would have to come later.
"I'm sorry," he apologized for his thoughtlessness. It was often easy to forget that his usual array of friends saw things that the average citizen rarely saw, like police photos of the Jarvis murder which had been lying open on his lap. When he'd asked Cheryl for that stack of cases for which they had no leads, he hadn't known of his father's plan to invite Maeve to stay with them. But that was no excuse. He should have known better, especially since Maeve had already been through so much in the past couple of days.
"No, wait." Maeve set the tray on a nearby chair and reached for the folder. "Can I see that again?"
"I don't think that's such a good idea." He placed the file on the stack that sat on the table at his side. "I shouldn't have just had it open like that."
"No," Maeve shook her head. "You don't understand. I know that man! He can't be dead! His name is Samuel Jarvis. I just saw him a week ago."
Steve looked at her in shock as the implications of that statement sifted through his mind. He retrieved the file from the stack and double-checked the man's first name. Not that he'd thought he was wrong, but he wanted to be absolutely certain. He imagined that women might have described Samuel Jarvis as tall, dark and handsome in life. If his own relationship was anything to judge by, the other man would be just Maeve's type.
Closing the folder, he looked up at her. "How did you know him?"
Maeve looked uncomfortably toward Jesse, who had come back into the den at hearing her news, and then down at her hands.
Steve shot Jesse a look, silently asking if he would grant them a little privacy. Jesse's nodded response as he headed out toward the deck answered his question.
While he waited for her to begin speaking, he shoved away the other thoughts that floated through his mind such as his only having been one of a crowd to her. It had been nearly a month since they had dated, and then it had only been a couple of instances. It shouldn't bother him any longer.
Maeve ran a hand along her forehead, obviously attempting to adjust to her own shock of discovering that yet another man in her life was dead. "I'm not sure where to start."
"The beginning is usually the best place. How did you meet?"
"Okay. Well, I met him, surprisingly enough, that day at the restaurant. Right after you left the table, he came over. He said that he hadn't heard exactly what we'd said, but he was sure that he had the jist of it when you walked out."
Steve remembered the occasion vividly. It was the day that he'd confronted her about her marital status. "So you dated him?"
Maeve nodded. "Yes."
"In your relationship, did you ever learn of any reason why someone might want to kill him?"
She shook her head. "How did he die?"
"He was shot on the front step of his condo four days ago. One of his neighbors found the body." He observed her as she took in that bit of information, then continued his questioning. "How well did you know him?"
A frown settled between her brows, and Steve wondered what it was that she didn't want to tell him. "I didn't really know him all that well," she said, finally.
Steve bit back an unprofessional comment that came to mind, and forced himself to refocus. This was a case just like any other. Besides, who was he to talk? Exactly how well had he known her before leaping into a relationship.
"When was the last time you saw him, exactly?" he asked, taking note of every nuance of expression that crossed her face.
Her discomfort level grew. "Last weekend. We'd gone out for dinner and dancing."
"And you haven't spoken to him since?" Steve pressed. He felt his frustration level rising. She was definitely hiding something from him.
"Steve, I didn't kill Sam, okay? You've got to believe that."
"I'm not saying that I think you're guilty. But you've got to tell me everything."
"All right. I broke it off with Sam that night. He turned out not to be the type of man that I thought he was."
"What does that mean?"
"He wanted more from me than I could give him. I tried to break it off and he became violently angry."
Steve's jaw tightened. "He hit you?"
"He knocked me down," Maeve clarified. "I wasn't hurt, but it did scare me. I got out of there, and went home. He called me the next day, and I told him that if he didn't leave me alone I was going to have to call the police. I haven't seen or heard from him since then. That was last Saturday morning."
"Where were you Tuesday night at approximately 8 p.m.?"
"Tuesday? I was . . . . I was in Santa Barbara at a home expo. I got back pretty late, maybe around ten that night. My friend Carla was with me. I dropped her off at home."
"What's Carla's last name?"
"Rivers. This sounds like you're questioning me as a suspect."
Steve paused in his noting of the woman's name in the file. "Just questioning. Did anyone else know about your altercation with Jarvis?"
"I didn't do this, Steve."
Steve ignored the comment and repeated, "Did anyone else know about your altercation with Jarvis?"
"Just Adam and my girlfriend Carla." Frustration grew in her voice.
"You and Carla talked a lot? You shared things with her?"
Maeve nodded. "Everything." She stared back at him, frustration changing to anger. "I'd sit in a favorite blue chair in my bedroom and we'd just chat like school girls. All the intimate details. Every encounter, every guy. We especially talked a lot about you."
Steve looked away then, unable to miss her meaning. "Look," he raised his hands in surrender. "I shouldn't be doing this. Um, I'm going to turn this back over to Detective Banks. She'll be by in the morning, she'll want to talk to you."
"Fine. So you're done with me?" She stood.
Steve blew out a breath, feeling his own irritation growing. "When people die, there are going to be questions. I suggest you get used to it."
She looked as if she might say something. Then shaking her head, she turned and left the room.
Steve watched her leave, a whole new set of worries settling in his heart. Could it be a coincidence that two of the men in Maeve's life had died within a week of each other? If Jarvis was a dirt bag, he'd probably had opportunity to offend someone else who had decided to end his miserable existence. But Steve didn't believe in coincidences, especially where murder investigations were involved.
He groaned and leaned his head against the back of the chair. Where were all the nice, normal, *available* women who weren't psychos or killers and why were they avoiding him like the plague?
"Cheryl, again, I really appreciate your doing this," Mark said as they pulled into the Michaels' subdivision. "It was very thoughtful of you to offer, and I could just as easily have taken a cab."
"It's really no problem, Mark," Cheryl insisted. "Besides, the LAPD is part of the reason your car is still here, so . . . ."
Mark chuckled, and waved the comment aside. "I could hardly hold the rest of the force responsible for the actions of one man. Besides, from a certain view, he did have a point."
Cheryl shrugged, not committing either way.
"But it has been quite a day," Mark continued, focusing on the house as it came into the view. "And it was a fruitful trip, either way you look at it. I noticed a couple of things when I was here earlier that I was rather curious about."
The knowing grin he received in response told Mark that Cheryl was hardly fooled by his changing of the subject. "You do remember what the captain said, don't you?"
"Yes I do," Mark agreed readily. "I just thought I could maybe just hand off what I've found. Perhaps to aid in your investigation." He offered his best hopeful look.
Cheryl laughed as she pulled her car to a stop behind Mark's sedan. "Tell you what, I'll need to come and get a statement from Steve tomorrow. Why don't we talk then?"
"All right." Mark grinned, pleased with the suggestion. He climbed out of the vehicle and, leaned back down into the car. "Thanks again." He smiled, hoping to emphasize how much he truly appreciated her help then closed the door and headed for his vehicle.
As he crossed in front of Cheryl's car, moving toward his driver's side door, he spotted Kevin Masterson, again watching from his driveway. This time there was another man standing alongside him whom Mark suspected was a neighbor. Unable to resist the urge that overcame him, Mark waved and pointed toward the Michaels' beautifully manicured lawn.
"It's environmentally safe!" he called across the street. "I checked. I think I might refer him to a few of my neighbors in Malibu!"
Masterson reddened. Then murmuring something to the man at his side, turned on his heel and vanished into his home. The neighbor was left staring at Mark with his mouth open.
Mark chuckled, climbed into his car and headed home. As he did so, he recalled the business card that the young man who had been working in the yard earlier had given him. Carefully maneuvering the card from his pocket as he drove, he took a look at the address. It wasn't precisely on his way home, but he had told Masterson that he would be contacting the man. Could he help it if questions about the Michaels' came up in the course of the conversation?
~*~
The view of the ocean through the French doors was making him sleepy. Or at least, that was his story as his lids drooped and a blissful lassitude spread throughout his body. He refused to acknowledge the fact that his system had been through two traumatic events within the span of 24 hours, or that the administration of painkillers and antibiotics might be contributing factors as well. The injury, he told himself, hadn't been all that bad, and there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn't be able to focus on the case file in his lap.
Jesse had insisted on his remaining in the den where he could keep an eye on him, which had been just fine with Steve. He preferred to be in the thick of things, even though they hadn't been all that thick as Maeve and Jesse had gone out of their way to reduce the noise level.
A creaking step on the wood flooring leading up from the kitchen brought him back from the brink. He opened his eyes fully and smiled hazily at Maeve as she came into the room bearing a tray. He noted distractedly that another of those red and blue balloon covered straws was sticking out of the drink.
The smile faded, and he shot an 'I'll get you' look toward the kitchen where he was unsurprised to find Jesse leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his face. Jesse's grin became a full-fledged laugh as he returned back to the kitchen.
He turned back to Maeve, realizing belatedly that she was looking for a place to settle the tray. The side table near the chair was full of the rest of the files that he'd gotten from Cheryl. "Oh, sorry. Here, let me put this away." He gathered the pages of the file, preparing to make them into a neat pile before returning them to the folder.
Maeve's gasp brought his gaze to her, at which point he realized that she had gone pale as she stared aghast at the image at the top of the pile. He quickly shoved the papers into the folder; organizing would have to come later.
"I'm sorry," he apologized for his thoughtlessness. It was often easy to forget that his usual array of friends saw things that the average citizen rarely saw, like police photos of the Jarvis murder which had been lying open on his lap. When he'd asked Cheryl for that stack of cases for which they had no leads, he hadn't known of his father's plan to invite Maeve to stay with them. But that was no excuse. He should have known better, especially since Maeve had already been through so much in the past couple of days.
"No, wait." Maeve set the tray on a nearby chair and reached for the folder. "Can I see that again?"
"I don't think that's such a good idea." He placed the file on the stack that sat on the table at his side. "I shouldn't have just had it open like that."
"No," Maeve shook her head. "You don't understand. I know that man! He can't be dead! His name is Samuel Jarvis. I just saw him a week ago."
Steve looked at her in shock as the implications of that statement sifted through his mind. He retrieved the file from the stack and double-checked the man's first name. Not that he'd thought he was wrong, but he wanted to be absolutely certain. He imagined that women might have described Samuel Jarvis as tall, dark and handsome in life. If his own relationship was anything to judge by, the other man would be just Maeve's type.
Closing the folder, he looked up at her. "How did you know him?"
Maeve looked uncomfortably toward Jesse, who had come back into the den at hearing her news, and then down at her hands.
Steve shot Jesse a look, silently asking if he would grant them a little privacy. Jesse's nodded response as he headed out toward the deck answered his question.
While he waited for her to begin speaking, he shoved away the other thoughts that floated through his mind such as his only having been one of a crowd to her. It had been nearly a month since they had dated, and then it had only been a couple of instances. It shouldn't bother him any longer.
Maeve ran a hand along her forehead, obviously attempting to adjust to her own shock of discovering that yet another man in her life was dead. "I'm not sure where to start."
"The beginning is usually the best place. How did you meet?"
"Okay. Well, I met him, surprisingly enough, that day at the restaurant. Right after you left the table, he came over. He said that he hadn't heard exactly what we'd said, but he was sure that he had the jist of it when you walked out."
Steve remembered the occasion vividly. It was the day that he'd confronted her about her marital status. "So you dated him?"
Maeve nodded. "Yes."
"In your relationship, did you ever learn of any reason why someone might want to kill him?"
She shook her head. "How did he die?"
"He was shot on the front step of his condo four days ago. One of his neighbors found the body." He observed her as she took in that bit of information, then continued his questioning. "How well did you know him?"
A frown settled between her brows, and Steve wondered what it was that she didn't want to tell him. "I didn't really know him all that well," she said, finally.
Steve bit back an unprofessional comment that came to mind, and forced himself to refocus. This was a case just like any other. Besides, who was he to talk? Exactly how well had he known her before leaping into a relationship.
"When was the last time you saw him, exactly?" he asked, taking note of every nuance of expression that crossed her face.
Her discomfort level grew. "Last weekend. We'd gone out for dinner and dancing."
"And you haven't spoken to him since?" Steve pressed. He felt his frustration level rising. She was definitely hiding something from him.
"Steve, I didn't kill Sam, okay? You've got to believe that."
"I'm not saying that I think you're guilty. But you've got to tell me everything."
"All right. I broke it off with Sam that night. He turned out not to be the type of man that I thought he was."
"What does that mean?"
"He wanted more from me than I could give him. I tried to break it off and he became violently angry."
Steve's jaw tightened. "He hit you?"
"He knocked me down," Maeve clarified. "I wasn't hurt, but it did scare me. I got out of there, and went home. He called me the next day, and I told him that if he didn't leave me alone I was going to have to call the police. I haven't seen or heard from him since then. That was last Saturday morning."
"Where were you Tuesday night at approximately 8 p.m.?"
"Tuesday? I was . . . . I was in Santa Barbara at a home expo. I got back pretty late, maybe around ten that night. My friend Carla was with me. I dropped her off at home."
"What's Carla's last name?"
"Rivers. This sounds like you're questioning me as a suspect."
Steve paused in his noting of the woman's name in the file. "Just questioning. Did anyone else know about your altercation with Jarvis?"
"I didn't do this, Steve."
Steve ignored the comment and repeated, "Did anyone else know about your altercation with Jarvis?"
"Just Adam and my girlfriend Carla." Frustration grew in her voice.
"You and Carla talked a lot? You shared things with her?"
Maeve nodded. "Everything." She stared back at him, frustration changing to anger. "I'd sit in a favorite blue chair in my bedroom and we'd just chat like school girls. All the intimate details. Every encounter, every guy. We especially talked a lot about you."
Steve looked away then, unable to miss her meaning. "Look," he raised his hands in surrender. "I shouldn't be doing this. Um, I'm going to turn this back over to Detective Banks. She'll be by in the morning, she'll want to talk to you."
"Fine. So you're done with me?" She stood.
Steve blew out a breath, feeling his own irritation growing. "When people die, there are going to be questions. I suggest you get used to it."
She looked as if she might say something. Then shaking her head, she turned and left the room.
Steve watched her leave, a whole new set of worries settling in his heart. Could it be a coincidence that two of the men in Maeve's life had died within a week of each other? If Jarvis was a dirt bag, he'd probably had opportunity to offend someone else who had decided to end his miserable existence. But Steve didn't believe in coincidences, especially where murder investigations were involved.
He groaned and leaned his head against the back of the chair. Where were all the nice, normal, *available* women who weren't psychos or killers and why were they avoiding him like the plague?