Chapter 70
APRIL
When it was obvious that Eddie was dead, I took a moment to look down at him and gloat. Well, maybe not gloat, but take satisfaction that I was still standing while he was on the ground, dead as a doornail.
I’m sorry, Eddie, but this has gone too far. The odds were slim that we’d manage to avoid detection on a second murder. Nothing personal—you’re just collateral damage.
And then I was back to business.
I had two more quick things to do before I got the hell out of there.
I scrolled through Eddie’s phone and saw that he’d texted with some guy named Mark earlier that day.
It was something about going to a Laker game.
I had to make sure Mark was a friend. It would look very suspicious if “Eddie” texted Mark, who happened to be his gardener and came by the house once a month.
That was not the case. Mark appeared to be a real friend.
I texted the following.
Hey, Mark. I hate to text you this so late, but just in case something happens to me, I wanted this out there.
I told Lucy I wanted a divorce tonight, and she didn’t take it very well.
She was furious and kicked me out of the house.
I got a flat tire and had to pull over at a Little League field.
I had no other choice, so I called Lucy to come pick me up, but now I’m a little worried.
She was as angry as I’ve ever seen her. Hopefully, I’m wrong, and this is nothing.
Sorry to have burdened you. Looking forward to that Laker game.
I was wearing gloves, but I still wiped down the cell phone several times with the towel that Eddie had supplied.
Thanks for the towel, Eddie. You’re such a thoughtful co-conspirator.
I approached his corpse and slid the phone into his pocket.
I then made my way to Eddie’s car. I took out a huge tack I’d brought from home, and punctured Eddie’s tire with it. I even moved it around ever so slightly to make sure the tire would lose some pressure.
Lastly, I pulled what I considered my coup de grace. I walked to my car and removed two things. A piece of cloth and a small piece of cellophane.
I went to the other side of Eddie’s car and slid the cloth around the passenger-side door handle, making sure to cover its underside.
Eddie and Lucy were a married couple. It would only make sense that Lucy had handled the passenger door hundreds of times.
I took out the gun and pressed the cloth up against it several times. I was hoping to leave one smidge of Lucy’s fingerprint at least. With modern science, that would be enough.
I then took the cellophane, pressed it onto the top of the door handle, and held it there for a bit. When that felt long enough, I removed it and pressed it against the gun’s barrel for a good fifteen seconds, hoping that would ensure a partial fingerprint transfer.
Sure, time was of the essence, but I’d shot Eddie a good three minutes ago. If the cops were coming, they’d have been here by now. Plus, there was nothing next to this Little League field. It was doubtful anyone heard anything.
I took the gun with me—I had a better place to drop that—and drove away from the crime scene.
A crime scene where Lucy Sykes killed her husband, Eddie, because he was trying to divorce her.
Let’s hope the LAPD bought it.
I had high hopes.
They’d bought all the other bullshit I’d fed them so far.
My adrenaline was at an all-time high as I exited the Little League field.
I’d killed a man for the first time in my life. Sure, I had a part in David’s death, but I didn’t do the actual killing. But there was no getting around this one. I’d pulled the damn trigger.
I reminded myself to drive slowly. The last thing I needed was to be pulled over so they had a record of me being in the area when they found Eddie’s body—presumably tomorrow.
There had to be gardeners or manicurists or somebody who went by the fields in the morning.
About a quarter mile north of the Little League field was a long row of trees that hugged the road, leading to a small ravine below. Yes, Los Angeles was mostly an asphalt jungle, but we do have vegetation other than palm trees.
Making sure no car was approaching or behind me, I quickly stepped out of my car and, with my gloves still on, threw the gun past the trees, hearing it slide down the shallow ravine.
I got back in my car and headed home, thinking I’d spearheaded another perfect murder.
Once I got home, I took the duct tape off my license plate and poured myself a drink. That’s when the first doubts started to creep in.
Had my text from Eddie’s phone sounded too hokey? Would the cops ever find the gun? And would the cloth and cellophane actually transfer any part of Lucy’s fingerprint onto the gun?
That’s when I realized I’d made a mistake.
In my hopes of getting everything perfect, I’d overlooked something so obvious.
I was framing two people.
The text and the gun are meant to frame Lucy Sykes. And yet, in the dirt next to Eddie’s body would be sized 11 shoe prints.
Goddammit, April!
Maybe I wasn’t the criminal mastermind I’d envisioned.
Now what?
Should I head back to the crime scene? No, that was too risky.
I’d just have to hope that print was one of dozens of prints, and the LAPD couldn’t tell which was most recent.
I had another factor in my favor. Whoever found the body, and hopefully it was a few people, would likely walk over the shoe prints, making them useless. And maybe the LAPD would do the same. It’s not like they were flawless at their jobs. Far from it.
I decided it was all going to be okay and started to pour myself a second drink.