Jonathan Kellerman_Petra Connor 01 by Billy Straight Read Free Book Online

dropped, went indie, managed to pull some syndication. I think Ramsey owns the show.” He shook his head. “Thank God I never got called for it. Can’t you just see the fun some F. Lee Bombast would have with that?” His lips twisted, and he looked ready to spit as he turned his back on Petra.
    “What’s especially bad about the show?” she said.
    He faced her. “Wooden dialogue, weak story lines, no character development, Ramsey can’t act. Need more? It fills space in a late-Sunday time slot, so the station probably picks it up at budget price.”
    “Meaning Ramsey’s only a minor gazillionaire.”
    Stu thumbed a suspender and looked over at the body, now covered. “Ramsey’s ex means media carrion. While I call Schoelkopf, would you please go over to Ms. Rose and ask her to keep her mouth zipped till the bosses have weighed in?”
    Before she could reply, he started for their car. A uniform began waving frantically from the far end of the parking lot and they both hurried over.
    “Found this right over there.” The cop pointed to some brush near the entry gate. “Didn’t touch it.”
    A black ostrich purse.
    A tall young tech named Alan Lau gloved up and went through it. Compact, lipstick—also MAC; that made Petra’s stomach flutter. Loose change, a black ostrich wallet. Inside the wallet were credit cards, some made out to Lisa Ramsey, others to Lisa Boehlinger. California driver’s license with a picture of a gorgeous blonde. Lisa Lee Ramsey. The birthdate made her twenty-seven years old. Five-five, 115; matched the corpse. Address on Doheny Drive—an apartment, Beverly Hills. No paper money.
    “Emptied and tossed,” said Petra. “A robbery, or wanting to make it look like one.”
    Stu didn’t comment, just headed for the car again as Lau began bagging the contents. Petra returned to the body. Susan Rose was near the feet, capping her camera lens.
    “Finished,” she said. “Want me to shoot something else?”
    “Maybe the hills up there,” said Petra. “We’re waiting for the K-9’s; depends on what they find.”
    Susan shrugged. “I get paid either way.” She reached under her grubby sweatshirt, drew out a necklace, and began playing with it.
    Guitar picks on a steel chain. Bingo for Detective Connor’s intuition!
    “Play music?” said Petra.
    Susan looked puzzled. “Oh, this. No. My boyfriend’s in a band.”
    “What kind of music?”
    “Alternative. You into it?”
    Petra kept her smile within bounds and shook her head. “Tone-deaf.”
    Susan nodded. “I can carry a tune, but that’s about it.”
    “Listen,” said Petra. “Thanks again for the ID. You were right.”
    “’Course I was. But no big deal—you would’ve found out soon enough.” The photographer turned to leave.
    “One other thing, Susan. Who she is complicates things. So we’d appreciate it if you don’t talk to anyone about this until we work out a plan for handling the press.”
    Susan fingered the necklace. “Sure, but someone like this, everyone’ll know before you can say
senseless murder.
”
    “Exactly. We’ve got a narrow window of opportunity. Detective Bishop’s calling the brass right now, trying to get a plan. We’re also going to need to inform Cart Ramsey. Any idea where he lives?”
    “Calabasas,” said Susan.
    Petra stared at her.
    The photographer shrugged. “It was on that tabloid show. Like
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
Sitting in the Jacuzzi, drinking champagne, a little putting green. Her in some beauty pageant bathing suit competition or something, then, after he beat her up, with a black eye, split lip. You know, before and after.”
    “A beauty queen,” said Petra.
    “Miss Something. They showed her playing the saxophone. Look where her talent got her—hey, here’re the dogs.”
     
    Two K-9 officers, one with a German shepherd, the other with a chocolate Labrador, took instructions from Stu and started up the slope above the parking lot.
    Captain Schoelkopf