“I told you the occult circles, and especially the devil-worship community, are closed to outsiders. Vic is either a member or he’s protecting his source.” Nick opened his passenger door for me. “Let’s give him some time to approach his pal with my offer.”
“I wish I had time to give. With Carla after me, I don’t.” I buckled my seat belt then took out my phone, turning the ringer back on. I opened voice mail and listened to Jarret’s message.
“Lizzie-Bear, please call me. I want to explain.”
Nick watched as I made a very unladylike gesture at the phone and hit “Delete.” He cocked his head.
“Jarret, trying to apologize.” I played the second message.
“This is Detective Pratt. I need to meet with you again, Dr. Cooper. Your attorney isn’t returning my calls. Let’s not make this difficult.”
I erased her message then smoothed the heel of my palm against my throbbing forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Nick said.
“That was Carla. I can’t avoid her for long. Maybe we should have told Vic about the symbol on Laycee’s body.”
“Bad idea.”
“You told Horus,” I said.
“I trust Horus. Putting word on the street about the symbol won’t score points with Carla and the LAPD.” Nick steered onto Griffith Park Boulevard.
I picked up my phone again and dialed Dad. As he answered, I heard people talking and dishes clattering behind him.
“Where are you?” I said.
“Eating prime rib sandwiches at the Pacific Dining Car,” he said. “We just left the morgue.”
Ribs? After the morgue? Theme lunch?
“What did you find out?” I said.
“The coroner’s office put a lockdown on the flow of information on the Huber case until after an arrest is made, though I did manage to dig up a few interesting bits of information,” he said.
“Wait. I want Nick to hear.” I hit the speaker button on my phone.
“Who’s on the phone, Walter?” Mom said in the background. “Is that Liz? Give me the phone. I want to tell her what—”
“Easy, Vivian. You can talk to her in a minute. Where’s the horseradish? I ordered extra horseradish,” Dad said. “Liz? Are you there? Can Nick hear me?”
Nick turned the car onto the Golden State Freeway entrance. “I’m here, Walter.”
“Good,” Dad said. “They did an autopsy on Laycee’s body yesterday afternoon.”
“That happened fast,” I said.
“Pratt requested the rush. They’re looking for fingerprints on the symbol on Laycee’s back, or a hair follicle dropped into her blood,” Dad said. “Smart thinking on Pratt’s part.”
“Don’t get so warm and fuzzy over Pratt’s cleverness, Dad. She thinks I’m the killer, remember?” I said.
“And if they find hair or fingerprints, you’re in the clear,” he said.
“Walter, give me the phone.” Another shuffle and Mom came on the line. “Your father is not telling you the best part. I did my own detective work at the coffee machine with the coroner’s intern, a nice college girl from Pasadena.”
“And?” I said.
“Well, Forrest Huber made quite the scene when they told him he had to wait to view Laycee’s body.”
“He’s grieving. I’m sure he wanted to—”
“Not a grieving scene, an I’ll-have-you-fired-for-this scene,” Mom said. “Forrest wanted to transport her body to Atlanta, and blew a gasket when he heard about the autopsy. He insisted on being present.”
“Pratt, the field unit, and the medical examiner are the only people allowed at the autopsy,” Dad said in the background.
“According to my little intern, Forrest is the only bereaved person who’s ever asked to watch,” Mom said.
“Morbid,” Nick said.
“Or a strategy to cope with his disbelief,” I said. “As a lawyer, Forrest should know the coroner owns possession of the body until the death certificate is issued.”
“Well, listen to this.” Mom took a dramatic pause. “After he signed for Laycee’s things, he tore her purse apart on the counter, complaining about her missing phone. The police kept it, of course. Of all things, why be angry about her phone?”
“Maybe he needed a reason to lash out. Forrest loved Laycee but he didn’t trust her. His jealousy is a familiar feeling, easier to manage than his anguish over her loss.” I remembered the fury in Forrest’s eyes as he clenched my arm in the parking lot. “He might be searching for Jarret’s cell phone number so he can confront him.”
“Aren’t Forrest and Jarret staying at the same hotel?” Mom said. “Should we warn Jar—never mind. Not our problem.”
I loved the new version of Mom. “Did Dad talk to his guy in the Field Investigation Unit?”
“Walter?” Mom repeated my question to him.
I sunk in my seat, listening to mumbles and fumbles on the other end of the phone—my parents at their chaotic best. “Remind me to teach them how to put a phone on speaker,” I said to Nick as we transitioned to the 134.
He threw me a doubtful look.
My father returned on the line. “No fingerprint results yet. No murder weapon. What happened at your meeting with the devil worshiper?”
“Oh,” Mom said in the background. “Walter, come and sit next to me. I want to hear.”