Chapter Eight
The Motives
Prof Plum and Mrs. White
Brass dispensed with any polite formalities and got right to the point. "Fred Coast was your son."
Corky Miller's eyes grew wide, full of astonishment and surprise. "How'd you find out?"
"DNA," the captain said simply.
Corky nodded, "Ya know, I was afraid that might happen."
She had changed out of the costume of the itchy maids uniform and was wearing loose jeans and a light peach colored blouse.
"Why didn't you tell me when I interviewed you?" Brass asked.
"What was the point? I gave him up for adoption right after he was born. I've only known him for about six months. Only found out he was my son just a few weeks ago."
Brass's eyes narrowed, and he took his time with his next question, letting Corky worry over his reaction. "How'd you find out?"
"Fred told me."
"He told you he was your son? How'd he know, if you didn't?"
Corky licked her lips, her eyes finding the corner of Brass' desk. "He told me his mother –his adoptive mother- had pointed me out in one of my old movies."
Brass was confused. "What?"
"I was young when I had him, and back then, things weren't as secretive as they are now. Not as bound up in red tape, ya know?" She shrugged as she explained her actions of all those years ago. "I found out the name of the people who adopted him, and sometimes… Sometimes I'd go check up on him. Make sure they were treating him right."
"You stalked the family?" Brass was almost amused.
"Well, it wasn't called stalking then, but no, that's not what I did. I'd go to the park; his mother took him there almost every day. I started shopping at the same grocery store as she did, it was miles away from my house, just in hopes that I'd get a glimpse of them once in a while."
It sounded like stalking to Brass. "Did the adoptive mother see you?"
Corky shrugged. "She must have." Her eyes found his. "I was at that park a lot."
Brass flipped though the file on his desk, "This was in LA, right?"
"Yes. Then one day, they were just gone. Not at the park. Not at the market. I drove by the house, and there was a for sale sign up." She choked back tears at the memory. "They were gone."
"What happened?"
"I didn't know. I never knew, until…"
"Until Fred told you."
"Right."
"Ok," Brass began, "I'm still confused. How did Fred know you were his biological mother?"
"He told me that his adoptive mother -Sylvia her name was- the agency told her who I was… I wasn't much of a star, but I'd been in a couple of movies, even had a few lines in one of them, and that was a kind of … selling point."
Brass kept quiet, Corky took the hint and continued.
"Anyway, Silvia had seen me at the park, knew that I was keeping an eye on him, and I guess she mentioned it to her husband. From what Freddie said, he threw a fit. Put the house up for sale and moved the family here, to Vegas."
"And you've been in LA all these years?"
Corky nodded, "Until Fred came out there and offered me this part."
"And you didn't know who he was?"
"Not at the time, no." She looked at her hands; ashamed she didn't know her own son when he showed up on her doorstep.
"So, what? He offered you the part to get closer to you? To spend time, get to know the mother he never had?"
Corky belted out a sad laugh. "No." She met Jim's eyes as the laughter died in her throat. "He offered me the part to punish me."
--
Teddy Simpson had a book open, his elbows on the table, the book obscuring his face. He was engrossed in its words. Greg watched him for a moment, and wondered if Prof. Plumb's choice to change into a bright purple golf shirt was conscience or not.
The actor mumbled to himself under his breath, and Greg almost felt bad about disturbing him.
The young CSI cleared his throat politely. Teddy glanced up, and finding himself no longer alone in the room, quickly closed the book shut, laying it on the table in front of him.
"Greg Sanders, Las Vegas Crime Lab." Greg introduced himself.
"Theodore Simpson" the actor replied. "And you're here to ask me about Fred."
"Right," Greg agreed, taking the chair directly across from Teddy. "How 'bout you tell me about Freddie?"
"He was a jerk. But it was a good job, not a bad show." After a moment, he added, "Great benefits."
"You seem to be the only happy cast member." Greg commented.
"Really?" Teddy drummed his fingertips on the book cover. "I find that hard to believe."
Greg noticed the movement, then realized Teddy kept glancing down at the book. That peaked the CSI's interest. He flipped open the file in front of him and pulled out one of the crime scene photos "Take a look at this for me," he handed it to Teddy, making the actor take his hand off the book. "What're you reading?" Greg's hand was already on the book sliding it across the table before Teddy even realized it. Teddy made a grab for the book, but Greg effectively kept it out of the actors reach.
As Greg lifted the book, he opened it, the pages flipping with the movement, a folded up piece of paper fell out, landing in Greg's lap. The CSI glanced over the table, the color drained out of Teddy's face, but ever the actor his features were nonchalant.
"What's this?" Greg asked casually, despite his heart beating hard in his chest. He grabbed the paper and glanced at it. Directing his gaze back to the suspect, Greg arched an eyebrow. "You play the ponies?"
--
"Punish you?" Brass asked gently.
Corky nodded. "He had it rough he blamed me. Said if I'd kept him, he'd have had a better childhood."
"How's that?" His voice was still gentle.
She took a deep breath, reliving the pain she'd had when Fred had told her all this, erratically switching between screaming and sobbing. "His father," she stated simply. "When they moved to Vegas, he began drinking," she twitched her head, "and gambling. What savings he didn't lose, the drinking soaked up. He became depressed…angry at the world…and he took it out on his family."
"He beat Fred?" Brass' voice interrupted her thoughts, and she blinked, staring at him as if she wondered when he'd gotten there.
"Yes. He beat Fred…and Sylvia," she added, as if the abuse of her son's mother was less important. After a moment, she continued, "He died when Fred was 16, his liver finally gave up trying to keep him alive. And a few years ago, Sylvia was diagnosed with cancer… ya know, back in the 60's, everyone smoked. She never stopped. Guess it helped her with surviving the beatings." She paused for a moment, her eyes glazing, focusing back three decades. "One night, she and Freddie were watching an old movie on TV…it must have been Bikini Bingo, it's the only one I ever spoke in. Sylvia recognizes me and tells Freddie, 'there's your mother'" Her eyes refocused and she looked at Brass. "He didn't know until that moment that he was adopted."
Brass' eyebrows twitched, but not wanting to break the spell she'd put herself under, he said nothing.
"Sylvia told him the whole story, about my showing up – stalking them – about his fathers decision to move to Vegas. And he started to blame me for his life. Then Sylvia died, and he….had more time to focus his hatred."
"That why you were leaving the show?" Brass asked quietly.
Her demeanor changed with his voice. She sat up straighter, no longer forlorn and wondering what might have been, she focused back to the reason she was in the captain's office. "Yes. And no. Fred fired me."
"He lost interest in torturing you?"
She thought about the question as if it was something she hadn't considered before. "Possibly. But more than likely, he knew that I'd put a stop to Dicky's misery before he was done with him."
"Yeah." Brass began, "Dicky, Fred's daddy."
--
"This is Vegas, it's not illegal." Teddy protested.
"How do you make out?"
"What?" Teddy asked, misunderstanding the question.
"Do you win? Lose? Break even?"
"I do ok," Teddy said, his mouth forming a tight line, and he reached up, scratching his hawk-like nose.
He's lying Greg knew instantly.
"Ok, huh?" Greg flipped open the file folder and held it up so Teddy couldn't see what he was reading. "That's not what your financial records say."
Teddy sat forward, "What've you got there?"
Greg glanced over the folder, meeting Teddy's eyes. "Your bank and credit card companies were kind enough to fax over their records."
"You had no right!" Teddy stood.
Wow Greg thought, not expecting such a reaction, and wished he really did have Teddy's financial records. Steeling his nerve, Greg said as authoritatively as he could, "Sit down Mr. Simpson." To his surprise, Teddy did.
"You lose. A lot, isn't that right?" Greg closed the folder and put it back on the table, folding his hands over it again.
"Yeah," Teddy sank back into his chair, ashamed. "I haven't won in months."
"How much are you in for?" Greg leaned in, eager to get to the truth.
"Twenty grand, to the wrong people."
"The wrong people? The mob?"
"Yeah, they're getting…impatient with me." Teddy chose the word carefully. "I guess you found my prints on the candlestick huh?"
Greg tried hard not to look surprised. "Yes. Yes we did. Wanna tell me about it?"
"It was a part of the play when Mrs. White and Mr. Green are scheming. I took the moment when the audience's attention was elsewhere, and stepped over to the fireplace mantel. I'd been thinking that maybe I could get enough money from the candlesticks to keep the dogs at bay, as it were."
"You were gonna hock the props?" Greg asked amused.
Teddy shrugged. "They were some kind of plastic ceramic anyway, wouldn't have brought in near enough."
"And Fred's head wound?" Greg prompted.
Teddy put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean it, I swear, it was an accident."
"What was?"
"When I killed him." Teddy said his words muffled by his hands.
--
"Freddie seemed to enjoy torturing him as well, only poor Dicky didn't know why. He didn't remember me, much less have any idea Freddie could be his son." Corky said quietly.
"You never told him about the pregnancy?"
She shook her head. "No, he was a big star back then, and after Bikini Bingo wrapped, he was off to Europe to film that Bond rip off crap. He'd forgotten my name long before I knew Freddie was on the way."
"And you still didn't tell Dicky, even when you learned the truth a few weeks ago?" Brass just didn't understand.
"Do you have any idea how humiliated I was at the first cast read through, when Dicky didn't remember me at all? Treated me as if I was a stranger? I remember Fred introduced us, and he…he laughed when Dicky said 'Good to meet you'" she glanced away, blinking the tears in her eyes. "Now I know why."
"You still love him- Dicky?" It was more of an observation, but Brass formed it as a question.
She looked to the ceiling, "God help me, I've always loved him."
"Freddie's death puts Dicky in a better position to regain his lost career, something he's desperate for. Maybe your love for the man overcame your motherly instincts…" Brass let the question hang in the air.
Corky met Brass' gaze, understanding his allegation, "He may have been a monster, but I didn't kill him."
--
Greg swallowed hard. "You killed him?"
Teddy lifted his head and wiped his eyes. "It slipped. The candlestick…it slipped and fell onto the back of Freddie's head." He ran the back of his hand under his nose. "At first, I thought he'd jump up and ruin the show. But he didn't. And then I saw there was some blood. And I knew I'd killed him." Teddy started to cry again.
Greg sat back in the chair, disappointed. "Mr. Simpson," he began, speaking a little louder so the actor would hear him over his own sobs. "Mr. Simpson, the head wound wasn't the cause of death."
It took a moment for Greg's words to sink in, Teddy's tears slowed. He lifted his head out of his hands and met Greg's gaze. "What?"
Greg smiled slightly. "The head wound wasn't the cause of death."
"Then I didn't kill him?"
Greg cocked his head, "Well, that remains to be seen."
Thanks for the reviews, witchbsword, Blood of Darkness, bo, Svadilfari, rojaji, and of course, my adored AlwaysWrite. I hope you enjoy the final few chapters still to come.
