Chapter 1

“ ... and in L.A., another murder yesterday, bringing the total to seventy-three violent deaths for the year. The body of a black male in his early twenties, as yet unidentified, was found in the Sunset area with two bullets fired in a manner police describe as ‘possibly gang or drug related.’ No leads or other details are available at this time.”

James wanted to reach over and turn the radio off, or at least hit the snooze button again. But he just couldn’t get himself to move as the news program droned on.

“On an editorial note, it seems that the ‘perfect crime’ may indeed be possible, at least in Los Angeles. Statistics show that there are now approximately three times as many murders in L.A. as there were twenty years ago, although the number of homicide detectives has not increased significantly. Now less than fifty percent of the murders are solved, as opposed to eighty percent then. The percentage is dropping annually.

“In statewide news, the Governor today discussed the implications of Proposition 209 and its effects on...”

James finally pulled the covers off his head, determined to face the day. He had a busy schedule lined up, and it was no good even thinking about rolling back over until the snooze alarm blasted him again. He threw the covers off, letting the cool early spring chill jolt him fully awake. He rolled out of the warm king-sized waterbed, trying to stifle a groan but not succeeding.

James headed for the bathroom, where he got rid of a lot of the booze he had swilled down the night before. He turned on the water, adjusted the temperature to his liking, then stepped under the spray and slid the door closed.

He stood with the soothing, warming stream massaging him for nearly a minute, trying to remember why he had a moderate hangover. Oh, yeah. Another argument with Donna. What had it been about this time? Zack? No, James couldn’t remember anything their son had done recently to get them screaming at each other. Things he hadn’t done around the house? How little money was left in their checking account after all the bills were paid? No, none of the above.

Oh, yeah. The van. He hadn’t checked the oil lately, and Donna had been “forced” to take it to a service station to get a couple of quarts added. Another near disaster in their lives, cleverly averted by her quick thinking and willingness to take action. Unlike him, of course.

Christ, it was tough to maintain Perfection in Paradise.

How long had he been shampooing his hair now? Must be at least three minutes. Time to put in the rinse and finish up with the body. At forty-three, James Arnold still believed he was fairly trim and the muscles pretty firm, but the belly was definitely getting too flabby for his taste. Too much booze and food, and not enough exercise. Not that Donna ever complained – much!

As he scrubbed off, his mind drifted back to the news report on the radio that had woken him up. Another murder in L.A., the announcer had said. So what? What was new, different, or difficult to believe? They happened every day, or so it seemed. And on the rare occasions the killer did get caught, it seemed like they either got away with it on some technicality or got off very lightly.

It was a good thing for Donna he wasn’t the type to commit murder. It would be pretty damn easy to pick some night she had to stay in L.A. on one of her numerous business trips, fly down there, bump her off, and get back home in time for the late news. With no one the wiser.

James stepped out of the shower and grabbed the big, fluffy towel he enjoyed almost as much as the hot water spraying against his back. He rubbed himself luxuriously, taking his time. His head felt a little better, although he was still lethargic. Maybe he wouldn’t have to take any pain killers this morning.

What the hell, talk about the ‘perfect’ murder he thought as he gingerly dried his hair. As Marketing Director for a pharmaceuticals firm, he often had to go out to business dinners, many of which had very loose monitoring as to attendance. Now, let’s say some business exec in a similar situation was to have a desire to murder his wife; that would provide an excellent opportunity without leaving a very clear trail as to how it had been done. He absently threw the towel down on the floor, picked up the shaving cream and started lathering his face.

It would even be a great alibi, just in case one was needed. Everyone would think the guy was three hundred miles away when the murder was committed! If he did it right, there was a very good chance it would be blamed on a mugger robbing some wealthy looking woman in L.A., a regular occurrence.

“Ouch! Dammit!” He had been concentrating so hard on the details of this theoretical murder he had not paid enough attention to his shaving. Thinking of murder, however academically, had cost him some blood. Was Someone trying to tell him something? James chuckled at the thought – carefully, so as not to increase the throbbing in his head.

As James wandered thoughtfully from the bathroom suite back into the bedroom, the sense of something missing nagged at the back of his throbbing gray cells. Shit! It was the radio. It had already turned itself off, his signal to himself that he should be dressed and ready to leave for work. Was the relatively mild hangover making him that much slower than usual? Or had he been dithering about this murder plot so much he had spent far longer on everything than normal? Either way, he was late.

Trying not to think of anything at all, James threw on some clothes he hoped would match, grabbed two bananas on his way out the door, and stepped gingerly but quickly down the stairs into the garage. He jumped into the BMW and roared carelessly down the street, once again forgetting to close the garage door until he was out of range of the Genie’s signal. Dammit, Donna would ream him out again that evening. He wondered if he could find some excuse to get out early in order to be back home before she was.

Just in case, he grabbed a couple of pain killers from the glove compartment and popped them into his mouth. He created enough saliva to help ease them down his throat. On top of everything else he had screwed up that morning, no use taking a chance on a headache to start work.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so mad at you last night,” Donna said as soon as she walked through the door.

James looked up from the counter, where he had been mixing a salad from one of those packages already made up in the store. As usual, she looked dynamite in her business suit. Donna was nearly forty, but her only concession to age was having her auburn hair tinted once in a while. Her figure was still fantastic, her face showed very few lines, and James could still see why she had been a model in her late teens.

“It was my fault,” he conceded. “I really should pay more attention to the cars, especially the fluid levels. I’ll try to get myself on a program.”

He opened the package of Caesar dressing and poured it over the salad. He put the croutons aside to add later, as Zack didn’t like them in his salad.

“Hah! That’ll be the day. You on a program—other than a TV program. It’s just that I feel like I have to do everything around here, and at least you could take care of the cars.”

“I must have missed something,” James said with some irritation. “Was that an apology I heard or an excuse to get the argument going again?”

“Sorry,” Donna repeated. “It was an apology. I didn’t want to start it again.”

“Great. Then go and get changed. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

Donna walked over and gave him a kiss, then looked around the kitchen. “This is a nice surprise,” she said.

“Just consider it my way of saying sorry,” James shrugged.

“Well, it’s a very nice way,” Donna admitted. She gave him another, more serious kiss, then headed for the bedroom to change. James’s thoughts strayed for a moment to the pleasure of ‘making up,’ when he suddenly remembered he’d better check on the steaks before he caused another argument.

At that moment, Zack made his usual entrance. This involved dumping his backpack in the entry hall, walking directly over the deep shag carpets without removing his shoes, and heading straight for his room without saying ‘hello’ to anyone. At least he wasn’t bellowing out, “Mom, can you do this or that for me?” as he usually did as soon as he knew Donna was home from work. James decided to ignore it rather than get on him for breaking the house rules again.

He felt quite pleased with himself. Claiming a late appointment with a business prospect, James had left the office at 4:30, which was pretty early for him. He had stopped by the supermarket and picked up some nice steaks, mushrooms, two bags of salad, some fresh sourdough bread, asparagus, and a nice bottle of chardonnay. He made it home in time to get the steaks on, get the mushrooms sautéing in butter and garlic, and rinse the asparagus and get it into the steamer. As soon as he finished mixing the salad he would cut up the bread, by which time everything ought to be cooked the way Donna liked it.

In spite of his mild hangover, it had been a pretty good day at the office. He had wrapped up writing a major proposal earlier than expected, so he didn’t feel too guilty about leaving early. James felt very positive about the tone and the sales points he had made, and Tom Johnson, his boss, had signed off on it with virtually no changes. More than the “Good job!” he had offered verbally, James knew that for Tom to sign off without having to make his own mark in any significant way was high praise indeed. Tom was a good boss, but it wasn’t often that he failed to micro-manage on anything important that went out of the office.

Donna wandered back into the room just as James set the last dish down on the table.

“Yumm, this looks delicious!” Donna exclaimed as she plunked herself down. She lifted her wine glass. “To the chef—because he didn’t have to ask me once today what we should do about dinner!”

James ignored the jibe. “To a good day at the office,” he proposed. They tasted the wine, and Donna noted her approval at his choice. It seemed like it was James’s day to get praise.

“Is his highness going to join us for dinner?” James asked as he served himself.

“Now, don’t start on him. You know he’s got finals coming up soon, and I’m sure he’s studying. He’ll be out when he’s ready.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’s studying real hard. You’ll be pleased to know I didn’t even bother asking him to set the table. Wouldn’t want the kid to actually have to do any little chores around the house after he gets home from school that would cut into his relaxation time. After all, it’s not like either of us have to do anything during the day.”

“You know it’s a difficult time for him,” Donna insisted, as she took a large drink of wine. “Not only the usual teenage problems, but preparing for graduation.”

“Uh-huh. Did you at least let him know dinner was ready?”

“I knocked on his door as I came down the hallway. I’m not sure he heard.”

“I’m not surprised. I thought he was taking European history this semester, not the history of gangsta rap. How could he possibly be studying when his backpack is still on the floor—not to mention over all that noise?”

“It’s noise to you, but it’s music to him. And I’m sure he’s just using it as background noise,” she insisted, ignoring the evidence of the backpack.

“See?” James insisted. “Even you admit it’s noise.”

Donna was not amused. “Don’t start on me either, James,” she said, waving her fork at him for emphasis. “You may have had a great day at the office, but there’s more than one worker bee in this hive, you know.”

James decided to let it drop. He didn’t want to totally spoil his wife’s mood. After a good day as this had been, he still had high hopes for the evening. He decided to turn solicitous, instead.

“Something go wrong today?”

“Oh, just the usual. Martin trying to undermine my authority, split marketing off from my department and put it under his. Nothing important.”

“What did he do?”