Blood Defense Page 26

  Edie gave a little laugh. “I’ll see what he says.”

  I gave her a quick statement and headed for the town car. I wanted to relax, maybe even take a quick nap, but I couldn’t stop the wheels from turning. I mentally reviewed my opening statement. I’d done my best to stitch together what little fragments of evidence I had into a quilt that looked like reasonable doubt—but I knew it wouldn’t hold up. If something didn’t break my way soon, I’d be standing next to Dale listening to the judge put him away for life.

  Michelle was at the office when I got back. Alex had dropped her off and headed out to Scott’s place—a small duplex on the east side of Hollywood. Zack told me he was going to start with the neighbors tomorrow. Janet and Nikki were two-hundred-pound boulders; they couldn’t be pushed around. All I could do was use them to point out possibilities, like: Isn’t it possible Dale was just looking for the burglar when he was driving around the neighborhood? And isn’t it possible someone else came to the apartment that night?

  And that got me thinking about my last conversation with Scott. I knew he’d been lying when he told me why he’d chosen to burglarize Chloe’s apartment. I thought I’d figured out the truth. I stood up and stretched, then saw that it was almost ten o’clock—and heard Michelle still typing at her desk.

  I walked out and put my hands on my hips. “Michy, what are you doing here?”

  She stopped and stared at me. “Getting a facial. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “No word from Alex?” She shook her head. “Remember I was wondering why Scott chose Chloe’s apartment to break into?”

  “Yeah, what’d he tell you?”

  “That he chose her apartment because he knew she was famous and figured she’d have good stuff. I knew he was lying at the time, but I let it go. Then it occurred to me. He doesn’t live that far from their apartment. He’s a dealer, and so is Chas Gorman—the guy who lives a few doors down from Chloe and Paige. It’s just a hunch, and it might be a coincidence. Maybe Chas and Scott don’t know each other. But if they did, it’d explain how Scott happened to target the girls’ apartment.”

  “Makes more sense than Scott’s story, that’s for sure.” Michelle’s brow furrowed. “You think Chas told him to rip them off?”

  “No, he liked the girls. And he really liked Paige. I think it was all Scott’s idea. He either saw Chloe at the building, or maybe Chas told him she lived there.”

  Alex finally came back. “I knocked, I waited, I knocked again and waited some more. No answer.”

  Damn it. “Does it look like he split?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It felt empty, though.”

  I was good and pissed. “That friggin’ asshole.”

  Alex held up a hand. “Before we make any moves, let me have another day or so.”

  “I’ll give you two days. If we don’t have that phone by then, I’m getting off the case. But I do have an idea of where you might want to look for him.” I told him about my Chas Gorman theory.

  Alex smiled. “My stoner buddy. I miss him. And I bet you’re right.” He shook his head. “Small world. Want me to go out and see him now?”

  “It’s after ten. Take the rest of the night off. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  The truth was, tomorrow was soon enough because it was probably already too late.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I’d thought—hoped was a better word, I guess—that I wouldn’t have the nightmare. I was bone tired and the past two nights had been peaceful. But it came back with a vengeance. This time when his hands clamped around my arms, I felt a hot laser beam drilling into my stomach. When I woke up—at five a.m.—I was clutching my belly. I didn’t even want to try for any more sleep and give that dream a chance to come back.

  But on the upside, it gave me time to pound a lot of coffee, so I was fully operational with all systems go by the time Xander picked me up at seven thirty. Nikki—the Pussycat Doll of the neighboring building (I could just picture her singing, ‘Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?’)—and Janet Rader were scheduled for the morning session. I ran into them just outside the snack bar across the hall from the courtroom.

  Nikki was ready for her close-up—false eyelashes, plunging neckline, and all. This was her chance for major-league camera time, and she wasn’t about to waste a second of it. When she saw me walking up the aisle, she approached me with a nervous look. “Where do they have the camera?”

  It was tempting to lie and watch her pose for the wrong angle, but I decided to give her a break. “It’s in the wall above the jury box.”

  You’d think she’d be grateful, but she just nodded and turned away. I should’ve gone with my first impulse and lied. I headed into the courtroom and knocked on the door of the holding tank. The bailiff let me in and warned me, “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Dale looked a little better today. His eyes weren’t so red. “I see you managed to get some sleep. Nice tie.”

  He nodded and looked down as he straightened it. “Thanks. My next-door cellie picked it out.”

  “The juicehead? Really?”

  “Yeah, he’s got surprisingly good taste.” Dale smiled. “Kidding. What’s on today?”

  “Nikki, Janet, and then some crime-scene cops and techs.”

  “Have you heard back from the stuntman yet . . . what’s his name—”

  “Storm Cooper.” Dale nodded. “No, we haven’t. He’s got a website, but it doesn’t look like he ever updates it.”

  “And he’s not with an agency?”

  “Not anymore. According to our research, he fired his last agent a couple of years ago. I guess he’s doing okay on his own.”

  “It’s weird that the IO didn’t track him down.”

  “Kind of. But Wayne Little isn’t exactly a fireball. And from what I’ve heard, Storm was kind of a fringe player in Paige’s life.”

  The bailiff tapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s move. The judge’s about to come out.”

  I nodded and whispered to Dale, “Remember, no laughing, no smiling, no frowning.”

  Juries always watch defendants for their reactions. Laughing is never okay. No innocent man on trial for murder laughs. At anything. And unless someone tells a riotous knee-slapper, smiling’s off the table, too. Frowns make them look—you know, like a murderer.

  I noticed that Zack had his main man, Detective Wayne Little, with him today. I’d wondered more than once if he was the one who’d leaked the rape charge. He struck me as the lazy but ambitious type who’d pull a stunt like that. But he had a lot to lose if he got caught. Hard to imagine he’d think it was worth that risk.

  The gallery was so packed I didn’t see two inches between the bodies. I noticed Edie and Brittany weren’t there. They were probably still at Chloe’s apartment building doing standups. I’d seen Edie on the morning news before I left for court. She’d been gesturing to the apartment building behind her and speaking in tragic tones about the first day of testimony.

  The air in the courtroom crackled with energy, and the voices of reporters and spectators created a dull but rising roar. It should’ve come to a grinding halt when the bailiff announced the judge. But instead, the roar only lowered to a loud hum.

  Judge Traynor stomped up the stairs to the bench and stood glaring at the crowd, looking like Moses on the Mount. He thundered, “You will be silent or you will be banned from this courtroom.”

  All voices stopped abruptly. Then one titter leaked out. The judge zeroed in on the source and pointed to a young guy in a brown bomber jacket. “You. Leave my courtroom now. And don’t come back.”

  I could see the furious red spread across the young guy’s face as he stood up and sidestepped out of his row. The courtroom was silent as a tomb. The only sound was the chafing of his jeans and then the squeak of his sneakers as he moved down the aisle. When the door closed behind him, the judge sat down and scanned the gallery. “I want you all to make note
of this silence. This is the way it will be from now on—whether I’m on the bench or at sidebar.” He looked at Zack. “Call your first witness.”

  That episode had a chastening effect on everyone. Like a bunch of third-graders after the class cutup gets sent to the principal’s office, everyone sat up and looked straight ahead. You could practically see the haloes over their heads.

  Zack did the typical prosecutorial trick of calling a family member to pull on the jurors’ heartstrings. And Chloe’s little sister, Kaitlyn, was the perfect one to do it. She was a sweet, somewhat paler version of Chloe. She testified to her phone conversation with Chloe the night of the murders.

  I could’ve objected when Zack asked her if Chloe said she was going to break up with Dale during that phone call, but I let it go. I knew it’d come in when Janet Rader testified. And Zack returned the favor by not objecting when I got Kaitlyn to say that the jewelry stolen in the burglary—a gift from an unknown admirer—belonged to Paige.

  Next up was Nikki, who acted like a slightly less slutty version of herself, though when the judge told her not to answer until he ruled on the lawyers’ objections, she looked up at him and batted her eyelashes, Marilyn Monroe–style. Still, I got her to admit Dale might’ve been looking for the burglar when he was driving around, and she cut back a little on her “creepy” description of him.

  When we broke for lunch, I called Michelle at the office. “Have we heard from Alex?”

  “Yes. He went to the apartment building and talked to Chas Gorman this morning. You were right. Scott was a friend of his, but he swore he didn’t know where Scott was hiding out.”

  “Where’s Alex now?”

  “Staking out Scott’s place. We tried to find an address for his brother and sister, but the ones listed in Scott’s last probation report are no good.”

  This sucked. I had a plan, but it was drastic—and risky. It might lose me any chance of ever getting my hands on that phone. I decided to hold off for now and told Michelle I’d call when I got out of court.

  Zack put Janet Rader on the stand. I tried like crazy to get her to admit someone could’ve come to the apartment after Dale left, but she refused to budge. My only hope was that someone on the jury would be skeptical of her absolute certainty.

  The rest of the day held no surprises. Crime-scene testimony is always a combination of boring and horrifying. But since none of today’s witnesses were there to talk about test results, there were no fireworks.

  When we broke for the day, I told Dale I had to get moving.

  “Sure, okay. How do you think we’re doing?”

  “Pretty much as expected. It’s way too soon to get a grip on what the jury’s thinking. For now, just try to get some rest, okay?”

  Dale nodded and I stood up to go. “Samantha? I just wanted to tell you again that I’m sorry I lost it like that when you told me about Sebastian—”

  I sat back down and looked around. “Careful.” We couldn’t talk about it at Twin Towers in case they decided to file charges against him. But it wasn’t that much safer here.

  Dale scanned the area behind me then whispered, “And I don’t want you to think that’s how I got with Chloe. I was mad at her, but not like that. I don’t know what made me hit her. I’d never done that before. Maybe it was because I was a little drunk. But . . . anyway, that’s what I’ve been wanting to say. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry in my life. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  I looked into his eyes. I didn’t know whether to believe him about Chloe—or whether he’d ever been that angry before. But I knew his fury had been genuine. “It’s okay. I . . . I kind of appreciated it in a way.”

  The bailiff put his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Time to go.”

  I stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I wanted to skip the circus act with the press. I had a lot of work to do to get ready for the witnesses tomorrow, and I was anxious to see if Alex had found Scott. But I didn’t dare piss off the reporters—or miss a chance to counter whatever Zack had been saying.

  I slapped on a smile and got through it as fast as I could, then called Michelle from the car. “And?”

  “Nothing. Alex doesn’t think he’s been home since he got released OR. There’re some fliers and throwaways on the doorstep.”

  “Where’s Alex now?”

  “Still staking out the place. What do you want him to do?”

  I stared out the window at the passing cars on the freeway. “Good question.”

  FORTY-NINE

  I called Alex and told him to stop. “Let me handle it.”

  But he wanted to stay. “You gave me two days, remember? If I can’t get him after tonight, I’ll give up. I promise.”

  I had to give in. “Fine, but if he’s not there by midnight, I want you to pull the plug.”

  “How about two thirty? After the bars let out?”

  “No. Midnight. And I want you to call me.” Not that I would be able to tell from his voice whether he was still at Scott’s place. But it might be harder for him to lie about it if he had to talk to me. What the hell, it was worth a shot.

  Alex sighed. “Okay, I’ll call you.”

  Michelle was smiling when I got back to the office. I glared at her. “What’s with the happy face? Knock it off.”

  “We might have a paying customer. A real one.”

  As opposed to the one who had threatened to kill Dale. “No way. Who? What?”

  “It’s white collar. Computer and bank fraud.”

  “Ugh.”

  Michelle gave me an indignant look. “White collar is where the money is. And you have Alex now. He’ll handle the workup.”

  He’d probably love it. “How do we know he has money?”

  “She, you sexist. I asked for all her numbers—checking account, credit cards, debit cards, the works. Nina Lederman is in good shape.”

  “Assuming those accounts aren’t all fake.”

  “Go work on your trial. You’re bumming me out.”

  At six o’clock, we got a delivery. A big FedEx box that’d been designated for overnight delivery. I put my ear to the box to listen for ticking, then frowned at Michelle. “What on earth could this be?”

  Michelle handed me a pair of scissors. “Gee, if only there was a way to find out.”

  But she looked puzzled, too. The only deliveries we ever got were from Staples. I sliced through the tape, feeling apprehensive. As I pried open the box, my mouth was dry. I had a lot of haters lately. But this was an awful lot of trouble and expense to go to. I hesitated before pulling out the filler paper. Maybe it was a dead animal? I didn’t smell anything. Or maybe it was some of those ugly posters people had been waving outside the courthouse? Or maybe there was a spring-loaded bottle of acid inside? Was there even such a thing? Enough. I made myself pull out the paper.

  And there lay a pile of gorgeous suits. The packing slip said they’d come from Barneys. As I pulled each of them out, I could feel the richness of the fabric. These suits cost more than a year’s rent. They were the right size, too.

  I was furious.

  Michelle examined the packing slip. “Who . . . ?”

  “Fucking Celeste. That’s who.” I’d been taking some heat in the press for my somewhat battered, hugely out-of-date wardrobe. “She’s embarrassed because people are saying her daughter looks like a rag doll.”

  Michelle sighed and nodded. “But you know what? Free clothes are free clothes. And your wardrobe could use a little . . . refreshing.”

  “I don’t care. Screw her. I’m not wearing this shit.” I repacked the box and closed it up. “How do I return this?”

  Michelle folded her arms. “I am not going to help you cut off your nose to spite your face. Figure it out on your own.”

  I didn’t have time to fool around with this. “Fine.” I stomped into my office and threw the box on the floor.

  I went back to work. But an hour later, my cell phone rang.
It was Jack, my stepfather. “Are you still at work?” I said I was. “Guess you’ll be burning the midnight oil until it’s over. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and finding a way to get some rest.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I’m trying.” Jack was always doing this—showing me how a normal parent behaves. It would’ve been easy for Celeste to put on a better act. All she had to do was copy him. But that would never occur to her. “I hope all’s well with you?”

  “Fine, just fine. Look, I know you don’t have time for jibber-jabber; I just wanted to make sure you got the package.”

  “The FedEx package?”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s the one. I hope the suits are the right size. I asked your mother. Do you like them?”

  Jack bought them? I glanced at the box. “Uh, yeah. I mean, who wouldn’t? They’re gorgeous. Thank you, Jack.” But I was suspicious. Jack was no fashion maven. He didn’t even shop for his own clothes. “How’d you pick them out?”

  “I . . . uh . . . got some advice from the salesperson. Good. I’m glad they worked out.”

  When we ended the call, I told Michelle that Jack said he’d bought the suits. “I think he’s just covering for Celeste. He knows I won’t wear them if they came from her.”

  Michelle raised an eyebrow. “But you can’t be sure of that. And if he really did buy them and you send them back, you’ll hurt his feelings.”

  I picked up the box. This was one hell of a bind.

  Michelle smirked. “I’d say Jack played that nicely. Now hang up those suits before they wrinkle.”

  I shot her a dagger, but I took them out and laid them across a chair. Then I buried myself in fingerprint and DNA evidence for the next four hours. At ten thirty, I told Michelle to go home. “Someone around here should get some sleep.”

  “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

  She had that don’t-mess-with-me look I’d known since seventh grade, so I didn’t bother to argue. “Want me to go pick up some dinner?”

  A police siren that’d been a distant wail was getting louder and louder. I glanced at my watch. Right on time. This was when our Barrios Van Nuys gang neighbors tended to get busy. Michelle looked out the window and shook her head. “Probably not a good time for us to be out walking around. I’ll order pizza.”