Chapter 7

The door to apartment 1514 was opened by a black woman in her mid-thirties. Her shoulder-length hair had been smoothed with a hair iron and whatever product she had applied to it, gave it a delicate shine. She was wearing a baby-pink bathrobe and flip-flops. Her toe and fingernails had been painted in a bright, lemon-yellow color. She looked distraught. In the background, a little girl of about four years old was playing with a plastic doll.

‘Are you Ms. Lewis?’ Hunter asked. ‘Rashana Lewis?’

Her gaze dwelled on Hunter for a few moments before she nodded.

‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD.’ He displayed his credentials.

‘Is this about what happened to Helen?’ she asked. ‘Miguel, the superintendent, told me she committed suicide.’ Her voice carried total disbelief.

‘Yes, it is about Ms. Webster,’ Hunter replied.

Rashana nodded. ‘Please come in,’ she said.

The apartment smelled of recently cooked food – fried onions, bacon, a little hint of garlic, and various spices. The living room was small, much smaller than the one in Helen Webster’s apartment, and lit by two table lamps at opposite ends of the room. They cast shadows just about everywhere. The two-seater sofa facing the small TV set was draped with a sheet that had once been red, but now, after so many washes, all that was left was a faded, pinkish tone. There was only one armchair, also draped with a faded red sheet.

‘Please, have a seat,’ Rashana said, indicating the sofa. She took the armchair.

The little girl stopped playing with her doll and looked up at the new visitor.

‘Hello,’ she said, waving her little hand.

‘Hello there,’ Hunter said, smiling.

‘What’s your name?’ the girl asked.

‘My name is Robert. What’s yours?’

‘I’m Rachelle, and this is Lenita.’ The little girl showed Hunter her naked doll.

‘Rachelle, baby,’ Rashana said. ‘Why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit? Mummy has to talk to the nice policeman here for a few minutes.’

The little girl pulled a worried face. ‘He’s not a policeman, Mommy. He’s not wearing a uniform.’

‘I’m a different kind of policeman, Rachelle,’ Hunter said, before whispering. ‘Like . . . secret.’

The little girl’s eyes went wide. ‘A secret policeman. How coooool.’

Hunter brought a finger to his lip and continued whispering. ‘Yes, but remember, it’s a secret.’

Rachelle nodded vigorously before pausing and facing her mother with a stern look on her face. ‘Are you in trouble with the police, Mommy?’

Hunter smiled. ‘No, Rachelle, your mommy is helping the police.’

‘Oh, how coooool.’

‘OK, baby. Now, to your room.’ Rashana pointed to the bedroom door.

The little girl disappeared through the door, while whispering something to her doll.

When the bedroom door closed, Rashana turned to face Hunter again.

‘I won’t take much of your time,’ he said. ‘Mr. Valdez, the superintendent, told me that you and Ms. Webster were friends.’

‘Yes, we knew each other,’ Rashana replied. ‘You could say that we were friends. She was one of my clients, but we got along really well. I just can’t believe that she would kill herself.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘Three days ago. Monday afternoon. She came here for a full treatment – haircut, manicure and pedicure. She told me that she had a possible new client – someone quite rich, actually – that she was meeting on Tuesday, so she wanted to look her best. It makes no sense that she would kill herself.’

Hunter noted something down.

‘Did she seem depressed to you at all?’ he asked.

‘Depressed?’ Rashana breathed out. ‘Not even a little bit. I know that sometimes she would get depressed for no reason at all. She told me she was bipolar, but Monday wasn’t one of those days.’

‘Do you know if she was worried, or scared because of something . . . or someone?’

Rashana paused and pinched her bottom lip for a few seconds, clearly pondering something in her mind.

‘She was a little worried about her ex-boyfriend,’ she finally replied. ‘He was a good-for-nothing loser.’

‘Ex-boyfriend?’ ‘That’s interesting,’ Hunter thought. ‘Why was she worried about him?’

‘Well, she dumped his ass about two weeks ago. Just after Valentine’s. And she did the right thing, if you ask me.’

‘Did Ms. Webster tell you what happened?’

‘Yeah.’ Rashana crossed her arms over her chest. ‘They were out one night and he got too drunk, again. Apparently he is one of those men who just can’t handle his liquor, you know what I’m saying? He gets too drunk, and then he starts being mean to everyone around. Helen told me that they were in this cocktail lounge somewhere in Long Beach. She was chatting to an old friend – a guy. Well, Jake had one cocktail too many and that was it. He pushed the guy to the ground and dragged Helen out of the lounge like a caveman. He called her a “no-good whore”, a “dirty bitch” and worse.’ Rashana shook her head in disgust.

‘Do you know if that had happened before?’

‘It had,’ Rashana nodded. ‘Just before Valentine’s. You see, they hadn’t been going out for too long, and you know how it is, at first everyone is on their best behavior.’

‘The honeymoon phase,’ Hunter said.

‘That’s right,’ Rashana agreed. ‘And us women know that that phase lasts about three months before the real colors start to show. And Jake’s colors were ugly, let me tell you. But no matter, because after that day in Long Beach, Helen dumped his sorry ass for good.’

Hunter noted something else down. ‘You mentioned that she was worried about him?’

‘Yeah. After she dumped him, he never stopped calling her. She told me that he called about four or five times a day, saying that he was sorry, that that night was the liquor talking and acting, not him . . . you know, the same old bullshit. But Helen stood her ground. And she did the right thing. No man is worth having to put up with that kind of crap.’ Rashana pulled a sour face. ‘But what worried Helen was that she had given him a set of keys to her place.’

Hunter wrote that down.

‘I told her to change the locks,’ Rashana continued.

Hunter knew that Helen hadn’t followed Rashana’s advice. He had checked the door locks in Helen Webster’s apartment. They weren’t new.

‘Do you know if Ms. Webster’s ex-boyfriend had threatened her at all?’ Hunter asked.

‘If he did, Helen never mentioned it,’ Rashana said. ‘But the guy was a psycho. Give him a few drinks and God only knows what he would do. Trust me, I know the type.’

Hunter wrote a few more notes down and closed his pad.

‘Thank you very much, Ms. Lewis.’ He stood up. ‘You’ve been of great help.’

Rashana walked him to the door, but as they passed the door to the kitchen, something caught Hunter’s eyes and he paused for an instant.

Flashback.

His thought process skipped from A to Z in a fraction of a second.

‘Something wrong?’ Rashana asked.

‘Not at all.’ Hunter smiled.

Chapter 8

Back on the twenty-eighth floor, Hunter met up with Officer Travis again.

‘Any luck?’ Hunter asked.

The officer nodded, handing Hunter the photo that was faxed to his car. Jake Goubeaux was an attractive-looking man, with short dark hair, a strong jaw, expressive eyes, and a hint of a cleft on his squared chin. A thin scar sliced through his right eyebrow.

‘It’s a match,’ Travis said. ‘Mr. Grant confirmed it. This was the man he saw leaving this floor late on Monday night. He even remembers the scar.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Hunter said. He told officer Travis about his conversation with Rashana Lewis. ‘And I now know how he did it. I know why the safety chain was securely in place when you and your partner got here.’