Blood Defense Page 20

  A sudden bolt of anger shot through me. “What’s there to say? It’s a short, ugly story. Once upon a time there was an evil friggin’ bitch of a mother who hated her daughter and treated her like shit. The end.”

  Dale stared at me intently. “You really don’t like your mother, do you?”

  The bailiff came over. “Time to wrap it up, Counselor. The bus is here.”

  I nodded to him. “I’ll come by in the next day or so with an update.”

  Dale nodded. “Okay. Take care.”

  I headed for the elevator and thought about my sound bites. I was going to keep it short and punchy. When I got downstairs, I saw that the court-gawker crowd had dissipated, but the press was still there in full force. A sheriff’s deputy came over to me as I crossed the lobby.

  He stepped to my side and said, “Just stick with me, okay?” I nodded. “Can I ask you not to talk to the press?”

  “You can ask, but I have to do it. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

  Edie was at the front of the crowd. She gave me a sympathetic look and spoke under her breath. “Do you even want to talk? I know this must be horrible for you.”

  “Sure, I’ve got good news, actually.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Oh. Okay.” She nodded to her cameraman, then turned to me and spoke into the microphone. “This is very dire news for the defense. Jenny Knox’s murder, and now the prosecution saying he’ll offer it into evidence. What are you planning to do about it?”

  “Dale has an alibi for the night of Jenny Knox’s death. So that case should now be a nonissue. Dale joins me in hoping that Ms. Knox’s killer will be brought to justice very soon.”

  A chorus immediately rose up.

  “Who’s your alibi witness?”

  “What’s the alibi?”

  “Give us a name!”

  I shook my head and gave my charming “I’m-so-sorry!” smile. “I can’t get into the details right now, but I promise you’ll hear about it very soon!”

  I knew Zack would start calling the minute he heard my sound bite, but I’d tell him I wasn’t sure who I was going to put on the stand yet. I spotted Alex on the curb, next to his car. I waved to him and pushed my way through the crowd. Trevor moved toward me. “I hear you were talking to Geoffrey Brocklin. What’s your new angle?”

  I wanted to ask him who his source was, but there was no way he’d tell me. I noticed that Edie had left her cameraman behind and was pushing her way through the crowd to get to me. Brittany was right behind her. “What makes you think I’m working a new angle?”

  “Because the word on the set is that he was pretty tight with Chloe.”

  Edie poked her head forward. “Are you going for a jealousy motive?”

  Trevor threw an irritated glance behind him, then turned back to me. “What’s your angle?”

  I had no intention of using Geoffrey as one of my fall guys, and for his sake, I wanted to nip this one in the bud. But I couldn’t afford to dump any possibilities at this point. “Sorry, guys, I’m not able to discuss it just yet.”

  Brittany leaned in. “But it has to do with Chloe, right?”

  I needed to push them off the Geoffrey connection. If they kept digging into it, they might sniff out my real angle: Jaylene Thomas. I didn’t think she’d talk to anyone about our “meeting”—the last thing a dealer wants is publicity—but you never know. So I threw out the best mislead I could come up with. “Off the record?” They all nodded. “I can’t give you details yet, but my investigation has uncovered that Paige was the real target. Not Chloe.”

  I turned and hurried through the crowd before they could ask any more questions.

  Of course, that was bullshit. About the only thing my investigation had uncovered was a few lame straw men and some pretty shaky fringe witnesses. But hopefully, it’d make them let go of Geoffrey. More important, I hoped it’d make them focus on Paige.

  The idea of making Paige the focus didn’t just pop into my head. I’d been giving it some thought. If Paige was the target, then Dale was an unlikely suspect. He had no motive whatsoever to kill her. So the more I could beef up the Paige angle, the better. If I could come up with even one more witness to make that theory stick, I’d keep beating the Paige drum to the press every chance I got. And after hearing it on the news over and over again, the jury would be more inclined to buy it.

  As they say, a lie repeated often enough becomes the truth.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  I got into Alex’s car. “Get me out of here.”

  He pulled away. “How’d it go?”

  “It was nothing.” I told him what I’d said to the reporters about Paige being the target. “I just wish it were true.”

  “We might be able to make it true enough if we get something out of Marc’s buddies.”

  “Who’ve you lined up?”

  “Marc had a lot of friends, but only three had connections to Paige. Golden Crossman, Julie Berger, and Ashton Laflame. Golden’s a model, too, but Julie’s a graphic artist and Ashton’s a personal trainer.”

  “Who did you tell them we are?”

  “I told them the truth. As far as I could tell, none of them was real tight with Paige. So they may not love the idea of talking to us, but they don’t hate it as much as Paige’s buddies.”

  Good. It’s always easier that way. Especially if we eventually needed to drag them into court. “Where are we going?”

  “Silver Lake. I told them to meet us at the Starbucks on Sunset. It has an outdoor patio. We’ll probably get enough privacy out there.”

  No question about that. It was a typical March day: some blue sky peeked between the clouds, but the sun was too weak to take the chill out of the air. Only dedicated smokers would be sitting on the patio.

  “You didn’t schedule them all at once, did you? Even your damn book must have said—”

  Alex sighed. “Of course not. We should have Golden first, then Ashton—”

  “Ashton Laflame? Is that for real?”

  “Every bit as real as ‘Golden.’”

  As predicted, we practically had the patio to ourselves. Our only company was two young girls in tank tops and low-rise jeans who shivered over their cigarettes. Alex and I had just settled down at a table in the far corner of the patio with our grande-size coffees when Golden showed up. His blond hair was slicked back off a face so perfect it could only have belonged to a model. Beautiful skin; straight nose; a wide-ish, sensual mouth; and deep sapphire eyes. On him, the baggy, beat-up jeans; T-shirt; and flannel jacket looked like haute couture.

  Alex introduced us. Golden leaned back in his chair and gave us a measuring look. “I wasn’t going to meet with you. I was a friend of Paige’s, you know.”

  Alex stepped in smoothly. “We do know. And I understand completely. So if at any point you feel uncomfortable talking to us, just say so, okay?”

  That seemed to relax Golden. He dipped his head. “Fair enough.”

  I nodded at Alex, a signal for him to keep going. “Did you already know Paige before you met Marc?”

  “Yeah, we did an ad for JC Penney together.” He swiped a crumb off the table. “Paige was good people. We didn’t hang all that much, but whenever she came across possible gigs for me, she’d pass along the info.”

  Alex took out his notepad. “How’d you meet Marc?”

  “He lived in the guest house next door to my building. Part of his rent was walking the dog for the owners. I was heading out to the liquor store down the street one day, and he was like, ‘I could use a beer.’ But he was flat broke, so I spotted him the beer and we got to talking. He’d been bouncing around, doing whatever he could. At that point he was a busboy at Oasis, but the money was lousy and he was looking for a better deal. You’ve seen his photos?”

  I nodded. “He definitely had the looks for modeling. How come he didn’t think of modeling?”

  Golden shrugged. “It just wasn’t in his lexicon. He was twenty-two, born and raised in Blencoe, Iowa—popu
lation three—and he’d only been out here a year. Maybe less. I hooked him up with his first gig.” Golden paused. “Well, actually, it came from Paige. She’d offered it to me, but I was already booked, so I asked if she’d push for him. She did, he got the gig, and he started making real money.”

  “And she and Marc got to be friends?” I asked.

  Golden had a sad smile. “Of course. That was her thing, always looking out for the strays.”

  Like Chloe and Tonya. “Was it ever more than that?”

  “I seriously doubt it. Marc always claimed to be bi, but I think he played more for our team than yours. They might’ve occasionally been friends with benefits, but nothing more.”

  “Were you and Marc ever . . . ?”

  Golden shook his head. “Marc was too much of a player for me.”

  “How often did you see Paige?”

  “Not often. We’d hang out after a shoot, help each other find gigs. But we could go for weeks without talking. I guess you’d call it a work-ship. Work with a skosh of friendship.”

  I probably wouldn’t call it that—a little too cute. “Did she ever talk to you about guys she was dating?”

  “No.” He paused and stared at the table. “But I think I saw one of them. He rode a bike. I saw him pick her up at a couple of shoots.”

  “A bike, as in motorcycle?” Golden nodded. “You ever talk to him?”

  Golden shook his head and gave a little smirk. “He seemed like the macho type. Probably wasn’t all that excited about meeting some fag model.”

  If so, then Paige’s motorcycle buddy was an asshat. Good to know. “His loss,” I said. “What else can you tell me about Marc? I mean, besides the fact that he was a player.”

  Golden sighed and shifted in his seat. He took a moment before answering. “He was basically a good guy. He’d never screw you over or anything. And he was a lot of fun. Pretty artistic, too, had a good eye for color. He talked about getting into graphic design. But he was . . . reckless. He’d hook up whenever, wherever—at parties, in bars. Hell, he even wound up in bed with someone he met grocery shopping.” Golden shook his head. “I can’t say I expected something bad to happen to him, but it’s not that big of a surprise.”

  “Did you ever get the impression he did it for money?”

  Golden’s eyes flickered at Alex, then came back to me. “Sometimes, yeah.”

  I didn’t know where this was heading or if it had anything to do with Paige, but I decided to let it spool out. “Did he ever tell you about the people who paid him?”

  “No. Marc never named names. He just dropped hints every once in a while about having an extra income source. And he never expressly said it was money for sex, but I could read between the lines.”

  “Did he and Paige do a lot of modeling work together?”

  “I can’t say it was a lot, but it was more than Paige and me. I started getting more magazine work, so I didn’t need the online gigs as much.”

  “When was the last time you saw Paige?”

  Golden rolled his eyes. “God, it’s been a while. Three months? Maybe four.”

  “What about Marc?”

  “The last time I saw him was on March sixth. I remember because it was the day before my birthday. He came by with a couple of beers and we watched that reality show about the pawnshop in Vegas—he loved that show.” Golden smiled to himself for a brief moment, then his smile dropped. “Anyhow, that was a Monday. A few days later . . . Thursday, I think, the agency called and said Russell was looking for him.”

  “Russell?”

  “Russell Kitson, the photographer. He was calling around looking for Marc because he didn’t show up for his shoot. That’s when I knew something was wrong. Marc was a party boy, but he never bailed on work. About a week later, Ashton told me they’d found his body.” Golden pressed his lips together and blinked a few times.

  I gave him a few moments to recover. “Did you know of any friends Marc had in Malibu?” Golden shook his head. “When you saw him on Monday, did he mention any plans he had to go out there? Maybe to go to a party?”

  “No. That’s what was so weird to me.” He shook his head. “When I heard they found him in Malibu, I was like, seriously? It seemed so random.” Golden sighed. “But then again, Marc definitely did get around, so . . .”

  I asked some more questions, but Golden had run out of answers. When we’d finished, I thanked him for meeting with us.

  Golden looked from Alex to me. “Do me a favor? If you ever find out what happened to him, will you let me know?”

  “Sure.” Golden left and a few minutes later, Julie Berger and Ashton Laflame showed up—together. Julie, a thin, pale-skinned, black-haired Goth type, apologized. “Alex said you wanted to talk to us separately. But we’ve already been talking about it for months, so we figured, what’s the point?”

  I gave them a little smile. “You’re probably right.” I asked how they knew Paige. They’d met her through Marc, when they all went out for dinner after a shoot. But they didn’t know her well at all. “How did you meet Marc?”

  Ashton was buffed, but very lean and tan. “At the gym where I work.”

  “And I used to work at the juice bar next door,” Julie said. “That’s where I met Ash. He brought Marc over, and we all got to be friends.” Her mouth turned down. “I really miss him. He was such a blast, so funny . . .”

  Ashton nodded. “Kind of a wild child, but a really good guy.”

  “So he was into weight lifting?”

  Ashton shook his head. “Not at all. He came to the gym because the agency wanted him to put on some muscle. He was pretty skinny.”

  Ashton and Julie filled out the picture a little more but not much more. They both had the impression Marc’s family didn’t approve of his “lifestyle,” but that was a guess. He didn’t talk about his family much.

  The last time they’d seen him was the beginning of March, and he’d never said anything about having friends in Malibu or going to any parties there.

  Ashton tapped a finger to his head. “I do remember him saying he went to a beach house once.” He frowned. “But that was a couple months before he . . . died.”

  “And he just mentioned it that one time?” Ashton nodded. “Did he give you any details, like who he was visiting or where?”

  “No, sorry. But that was typical Marc. He’d just toss out stuff like, ‘I went down to the desert for the weekend,’ or ‘We went up to the mountains.’ In the beginning, I’d ask who he’d been with or where they stayed, but he always kind of dodged the question, so I got the message and stopped asking.”

  “Did you ever get the impression he was getting paid for taking those trips?”

  Julie shrugged. “It’s possible. He was pretty, uh, relaxed about hookups. And he always needed money. Don’t we all?” Julie paused and shook her head. “But Marc loved to party, and he could be a little . . . careless.”

  It all fit with what Michelle had read in the local news. A young guy who partied too hard one night and fell overboard. Or went for an ill-advised swim.

  “When did you first notice he was missing?” Alex asked.

  “Not till after they found his body,” Julie said. Ashton nodded. Julie’s eyes filled with tears. “I felt so bad for him. I just hope he wasn’t conscious. That he passed out and just . . .”

  Ashton took her hand and squeezed it. “We kind of hoped you’d be able to find out how it happened.”

  “We’ll try. And if we do, I’ll let you know.”

  We thanked them and headed back to Alex’s car. Alex took the freeway—which right now was an endless sea of red taillights. “It sounds like Marc died within a few days before or after Paige was killed. But other than that, I can’t see any connection.”

  “Me neither. But I’d like to take a run at that photographer. It sounds like he knew Paige.”

  “Russell Kitson.” Alex held up his phone. “Already got his contact info. Where to now?”

  I glanc
ed at Alex. Man, he was good. “Home sweet home.” Michelle had scheduled an interview for me at five o’clock with an actual paying client. Things might finally be looking up.

  But before Alex could make it to the freeway, I got a call. When I ended the call, I told Alex to turn around. “Dale’s in the infirmary. He’s been stabbed.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  We rode to the jail in silence. I couldn’t talk. My brain kept circling around How? and Why? Dale had said no one was giving him any trouble, and the guards were good to him. Not good enough. According to the nurse, Dale was stabbed multiple times.

  When we got to the infirmary, I saw that Dale was hooked up to an IV, and he was asleep. I studied his face. His skin looked gray, and there was a furrow between his brows. A nurse came over to check his monitors, and I asked her how he was doing.

  “He’s stable. But he’s in a lot of pain. He got stabbed three times. Luckily, no vital organs were injured.”

  I asked her if she had any idea how it’d happened, or who’d done it.

  The nurse shook her head. “I don’t know. We don’t have the report.”

  A few minutes later, Dale woke up. He gave me a weak smile. “Hey. I guess this is the benefit of having my daughter as my lawyer.”

  Ordinarily, civilians don’t get to visit inmates in the infirmary. I nodded. “What happened?”

  “On the way to dinner.” He paused to catch his breath. His voice was low and rough. I was about to tell him I’d come back later, but he waved me off. “Hallway was crowded. Someone came up from behind . . . shivved me.”

  “You didn’t see who it was?” Dale shook his head. “He didn’t say anything?” Dale shook his head again. “Where the hell were the guards?”

  “Not their fault.” He paused to breathe again. “Got there fast as they could. Saved me.”

  I was furious. I was going to sue everyone in this fucked-up jail. But I knew better than to rant about it here and now. “You sure you don’t have a beef with someone in here?”

  “No. No one. Keep to myself.”

  But he was a cop, and anyone could know that because his face was on television. They didn’t need any better reason than that. “How are you feeling?”