“I read the report. I meant, what was he like?”
She hesitated. “Calm.”
“Calm?”
“Like it was no big deal. Like this was a regular thing to him.”
“He surprised you in the bathroom?”
She crossed her arms. “As I was getting out of the shower. He was standing there.”
“Anyone have keys to your house, codes for the alarm?”
“My housekeeper. A few friends. The man I’m seeing.”
“Could one of them—”
“No.”
“Can you remember what he said to you? Specifically?”
Do me a favor and don’t scream, okay, sister?
Sophie said, “He asked me about Daniel, where Daniel was. He threatened me, told me that he wouldn’t enjoy it, but that he would hurt me.” Her voice mechanical.
“Did he say anything about Maine?”
She stiffened before she could catch herself. Looking up at Waters, she could tell that he had caught it. Sloppy, sweetie. Very sloppy. Well, no point bluffing now. “He asked why Daniel was in Maine. If he knew anybody there.”
“And you said?”
“I said I didn’t know that he was in Maine.”
Waters nodded. “I did.”
This time she controlled her reaction. “Oh?”
“In a town called Cherryfield. A little place way up north.”
“I see.” Her mind racing. So much to put in order. Daniel would need a first-rate criminal attorney, stat. The media had already crucified him in absentia; now that the he’d been arrested, the whole cycle would start again. God, it was going to be the trial of the year, had all the elements: sex, violence, money, celebrity. “When will he be transferred back here?”
“He won’t.”
“He’s entitled to a—”
“Daniel isn’t in custody, Ms. Zeigler.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A sheriff’s deputy responding to a Teletype spotted his car and tried to arrest him.”
Tried? What does that mean?
“Your client, you know what he did?” Waters knuckle-leaned into her desk, looking down at her. “He assaulted the officer, then drove his BMW through a hotel sign and led the deputy in a high speed chase. More than a hundred miles an hour.” Waters paused, let his words sink in. “The officer fired on him.”
There was a tentative knock on the door, and her assistant Mark poked his head in, coffee cup in hand, “Here you—”
“Not now,” she snapped. Mark looked wounded, but she ignored him, spoke to Waters. “Did he— Is Daniel all right?”
Waters paused, straightened. He shot his cuffs. “We don’t know.”
Sophie leaned back, put her fingertips to her temples. Flashed on a Thanksgiving years ago, one of her Hollywood Orphan dinner parties for those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go home for the holidays. Someone telling a joke and Daniel laughing at it, laughing that particular way he did, starting with a hand clap like he was marking the scene. He’d laughed that way as far back as she’d known him. It was a gesture that stayed the same while his body aged around it, while both their lives changed, while time plodded forward. She thought about how seeing that clap and hearing his laughter had given her a glow in her chest that was neither exactly lustful nor precisely maternal, but somewhere in between; a desire to help and protect him and relish the pleasure of his progress.
“Another thing,” the sheriff continuing, relentless. “Daniel had an office, right?”
“In Studio City. He didn’t use it much.”
“Last night someone broke in—”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding. Wait, let me guess. You’re thinking Daniel did it, right?”
“—and when he was surprised by the security guard, beat the man to death with a rock.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open. The retort withered on her tongue.
“Got your attention now? I understand that he’s your client, and your friend. I do. But this is the second murder he’s tangled up in. So please. Help me.”
“What.” Her voice came out a croak. “Why do you think—”
“The guard was in Daniel’s office. The rock had been used to break the window. Daniel’s fingerprints were all over.”
“It was his office.”
“I know. But it still places him there.” The sheriff sighed. “Look, I’m sure he didn’t want to kill the guy. Probably didn’t even mean to. But you know Daniel has a temper. Everyone he worked with said so. Said he was the nicest guy in the world, but that he could pop, go off.”
It can’t be true. Daniel wouldn’t—he couldn’t— Oh, sweet boy, tell me this isn’t true. “He yells. He never hurts anyone.”
“He never hurt anyone before. But now he’s scared. Desperate.”
“Wait. I told the LAPD officers that the man who broke into my house was asking about a necklace. You know that Laney bought a necklace, an expensive one, the day she died. He’s who you should be looking for.”
The sheriff nodded. “I agree.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. And we are. But you need to understand. The way Daniel is acting, he’s not giving us any choice. Even if this other guy is involved, right now it looks like Daniel was working with him. Until he talks to us, he’s going to look guilty.”
His words triggered a memory, one she’d tried a hundred times to ignore. The middle-of-the-night panic of a ringing phone. Daniel, his words running together, slurring drunk. Far past crying. Sobbing, the wet and choking sound of raw misery. Of a person torn in half. And barely audible between the shuddering gasps, his voice saying, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.
She kept her mask in place. He was drunk. It doesn’t mean what this cop would think it means. She looked at the detective, calm in his suit, eyes sharp and hard, mind already made up. And she couldn’t blame him. Everything he said, it made sense.
“Sophie. Please. Is there anything else you can tell me?” But Daniel was still her boy.
“It’s Ms. Zeigler. And I have no information about Daniel Hayes’s whereabouts, nor have I had any—”
“Fine,” he said, going rigid. “As you like. But, Ms. Zeigler, you might remember this. You know when people are most likely to get hurt by the police?” He paused, then spoke with careful enunciation. “When they run from us.”
She opened her mouth, closed it.
“I’ll see myself out. But if you really want to protect Hayes, you’ll help me.”