The Podcast

Chapter 13

Friday Early Afternoon

She shouldn't be here.

The extra swipes of Clé de Peau Beauté's fairest concealer feel heavy under her eyes. But she didn't sleep last night, the violent half-moons painfully obvious if left uncovered. She hoists her structured Christian Dior tote up higher onto her shoulder, clutching it across the front of her body like a shield. She can turn back now. Walk right to her car, rewind herself through the curving streets that make their way up into The Hills. This part of downtown Los Angeles feels like another planet.

But she's scared.

Not that she'll ever admit that. But she's not sure she can keep what she's discovered to herself. A game taken too far, a morbid recurring theme throughout her life. Perhaps she encourages it, brings it on herself. She's certainly not innocent. But this? The sheer impossibility of it, racing in a loop through her mind, will eat her alive from the inside out if she doesn't share the burden a little with someone else. Not that she's very pleased with the fact that someone else is going to be a brooding, rough-hewn LAPD Detective who doesn't take her seriously.

But he will now. And he's her only plausible option at the moment. Sumner West isn't a stranger to making deals with less than desirable terms. This life didn't come for free.

"Hello." Sumner's hands are shaking as she grips the handles of her bag tighter, her mouth suddenly dry. She'd always vowed to stay away from these places, to keep her engagements with the police only on her turf. Now, she's in enemy territory, the desperation crawling up the back of her neck. "I am here to see a detective about an ongoing case. He interviewed me yesterday and asked that I follow up if I think of any relevant information to share."

"Name?"

"Sumner West." The woman behind reception barely looks up as she clacks away at her computer screen, a panel of smudged glass separating them.

"And the detective?"

"Detective Lucas Saba." Sumner sees his face as she says his name, mentally chastising herself for having taken extra consideration in her clothing selection today. A fitted black sweater, high waisted pin-stripe slacks, and a three-inch block heel boot.

"ID."

"What?" Sumner snaps her head up from staring at her shoes.

"Need your ID, so I can scan it for a visitor badge."

"Oh right, sure." Sumner reaches into her designer tote, pulling her driver's license from the small built-in pocket sewn into the side.

"Okay, all set. He should be down in a few." The woman slides Sumner's ID back under the glass panel, reminding Sumner of a movie theater. In the summers she and her best friend would go, their first solo outing, meeting up with the boys inside. But of course she is thinking of her being in this place. How could she not? Sumner suppresses the thought, making her way toward a row of cheap gray-brown waiting chairs, the backs of her thighs clammy against her slacks.

"Well, that was quick." Lucas saunters into the LAPD' reception area, his posture lazy and arrogant but his dark eyes amused. A few shallow wrinkles line at their edge like he's smiling without his mouth.

"Hello." Sumner stands from the stiff faux-leather chair, hoisting her tote onto her shoulder. She runs her damp palms down the fabric of her slacks, hoping the move isn't too obvious. She can feel her limbs shaking, just slightly. She clears her throat but can't get any words out. Ironic considering her profession.

"Ready to come up?" Lucas gestures behind him toward an elevator, everything about his demeanor casual. Too casual, like he's inviting her up to his place. Sumner blushes at the thought, alarmed at her ability to even go there considering what she has labeled and organized into two binder-clipped stacks, inside her tote.