Kiss of Death. P.D. Martin
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Gabriella. She’s…dead. Murdered.”
Gabriella responds in Spanish and makes the sign of the cross before moving to Desiree and stroking her cheek gently. She’s obviously close to the family, close to Desiree.
Desiree manages to speak. “How…how was she killed?” She turns around.
“We’re still waiting for an official cause of death from the coroner.”
While the statement is true, Sloan is purposefully leaving out the details of blood loss and puncture marks.
“Was she…” Desiree takes an audible gulp. “Was she raped?”
“Again, we’re not able to say conclusively at this stage.”
We sit out the silence until Desiree and her mum both manage to sit down.
“Please, your coffees.” Mrs. Jones motions to the tray. A good host, even in distressing times.
“I’m sorry we have to give you this news.” I sit down. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
They both nod and after several seconds of silence Mrs. Jones motions to the coffee again.
I take a cup and add a generous amount of milk. “How long have you known Sherry, Desiree?”
“We met in middle school.” She bites her middle fingernail. “At Edna Hill Middle School. And we’ve been best friends ever since.”
“How often did you see her?” Sloan scoots back on the couch and takes a sip of the coffee she’s just poured.
“Pretty much every day.”
“The girls were inseparable. They were either over here with me or at the Taylors’ with Mandy most days. Plus the girls are at college together, too.”
“UCLA?”
“Yes.” Desiree nods her head, but she’s barely present in the conversation. “We’re both studying theater…acting.”
Mrs. Jones bites her lip. “I can’t believe…can’t believe she’s gone. She was such an amazing young woman. Vivacious, kind, charismatic.” She gives Desiree a squeeze.
“When did you last see Sherry?” I ask Desiree.
“Friday afternoon.”
“You didn’t see her last night?”
“Desiree was here.” Mrs. Jones shakes her head. “My husband just got back from a one-week business trip and I wanted the family to be together. Maybe if I hadn’t insisted…”
Desiree puts her hand on her mother’s knee. “Mom, Sherry didn’t ask me to go out with her or anything.”
Mrs. Jones nods and strokes her daughter’s cheek.
“So, what did you do Friday?” I ask.
Desiree rests her elbow on the couch arm, moving closer to her mother, who’s sitting on the arm with her hand resting on Desiree’s shoulder. “We met at UCLA and rehearsed for a performance we’ve got coming up. After that we went for a bite to eat at Noah’s and then came back here and hung out for a bit.”
I nod. There’s a Noah’s Bagels in Westwood Village, close to both UCLA and the FBI building. On the odd occasion that I go there for a bagel, the place is packed with students. “What time did she leave here?”
“About eight.”
“And what about last night?” Sloan takes a sip of her coffee. “Sherry went out…do you know where? Or who with?”
“She had a date.”
“What?” There’s a hint of annoyance in Sloan’s voice. “Did you tell Mr. and Mrs. Taylor this?”
Desiree hangs her head. “No. Sherry swore me to secrecy. Told me it was someone new and it was just a date.”
“Honey, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell Mandy and Brian when they called this morning?” Mrs. Jones stands up and starts pacing.
I keep my voice even so Desiree doesn’t have all three of us coming down on her. “Do you know who the date was with?”
“No. It was some guy she met recently.”
“Where did she meet him?”
Desiree lets out a tearful sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me.” She looks up at her mum. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“But she didn’t come home, Desiree. What were you thinking?”
Desiree bursts into tears. “I thought she must have stayed over at this guy’s house, and I couldn’t tell her parents that….” She takes a gasping breath between sobs. “And…now…Sherry’s…dead.”
Mrs. Jones lets out an exasperated sigh but then kneels down next to her daughter, holding her hand. “It’s all right, honey. You weren’t to know.”
“And the Taylors called you at seven-thirty this morning?” Sloan asks.
The phone call must have been part of the missing persons report, because it’s not something we discussed with the Taylors.
“Yes. But it was so early. If she’d stayed the night with this guy…”
It’s fair enough. A Saturday-night date could easily run into the early hours of the morning.
“So you weren’t worried when her parents told you they couldn’t get her on her cell?” Sloan crosses her legs.
“No.” Desiree sweeps a chunk of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I figured she forgot to charge her cell or turned it off for, you know, privacy.”
There’s something Desiree’s not telling us and I don’t know if she’s hiding it from her mum or from us. I contemplate the direct approach. I could just ask Mrs. Jones to leave the room, tell her I want to talk to her daughter alone. But it may backfire and make Desiree clam up.
“Do you know if this guy went to UCLA?” Sloan asks.
“I don’t think so.”
I lean forward. “Did you ever see him?”
Again she shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
The two girls seemed to tell each other everything, so it’s unlikely that Sherry would hide a date from Desiree without good reason. A married man, perhaps? Or someone from the Goth world that Sherry was hiding from her friends and family.
I take out my card. “If you can think of anything else, Desiree, about Sherry or her mystery date, please call us. It’s very important.”
Sloan and I offer our condolences again and thank Mrs. Jones for her hospitality before heading back to the street and my car.
“She’s hiding something,” I say to Sloan once we’re inside.
“Agreed. But what? And is it something that could get Sherry killed?”
Sunday, 3:30 p.m.
Todd Fischer lives with his mum in E 219th Street, Merit-Carson. Their small house is nestled between two much larger and newer properties. And while the houses on either side show off new paint jobs, new roofs and are both double-story, the Fischer residence is single-story with a pebble-mix finish that was once perhaps a high contrast of white, black and gray stones, but is now decidedly gray all over. The red tiled roof is in need of repair; however, the small front garden is neat and well kept. The house is very different from the Taylor residence.
I look at the house. “I wonder how Todd and Sherry met. Doesn’t seem to me like they’d move in the same circles.”
“No.” Sloan gets out of the car and pulls down her suit jacket, which has ridden up. “Do you think he knows?”
“Not