Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  I briefly wondered whether Bryan would have the know-how to fake a paper trail well enough to fool Tanner. But then I realized that he already had. And besides, how much know-how did it take to dummy up some paperwork and invent a fictitious seller? Especially for someone who’d been in the investment business as long as Bryan had. No, the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the trade had been a bullshit deal all along. But I hadn’t discussed any of this with Niko. He had enough on his mind, and I didn’t want to get him fired up about going to the police again. At least, not yet.

  I considered talking to Tanner about my theory that the cryptocurrency trade was a scam but decided to wait and see if Alex came up with any proof one way or another. We hadn’t heard from Tanner since the night we’d broken into Bryan’s safe. I assumed he was lying low, hoping to find Bryan—and trying to figure out what to do if he didn’t.

  I’d picked up a hamburger and fries on the way home, knowing that I had nothing edible in the fridge. I headed back inside, sat down on the couch, and turned on the television. Finally, I had a chance to scarf junk food. Niko “your body is a temple” Ferrell never touched the stuff. After four days of total abstinence, it tasted especially good.

  When I’d finished, I took a shower, poured myself another three-finger shot of Patrón Silver, and took it to bed with me. Another habit I couldn’t indulge in with Niko around. True, I fell asleep after one sip. But it’s the fact that I had the choice that mattered.

  I was so tired and distracted by all that’d been going on, I completely forgot to worry about having the nightmare. Which is why it was bound to happen.

  It’s always the same. I’m lying in bed in a dark room I don’t recognize. The thud of heavy footsteps grows louder and louder. I’m terrified, and I want to get up and run, but I can’t seem to get untangled from the blankets and sheets. Trapped, my heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe. And then Sebastian stands over my bed.

  Somehow, I manage to break free from my bedding. I jump up and stab him, over and over again. But he doesn’t die. He doesn’t even bleed. He gets bigger and bigger until he turns into a twenty-foot monster who pins me to the wall. As he opens a gaping maw of a mouth, I realize he’s going to devour me. My knife disappears as I kick and scream and try in vain to twist out of his grasp.

  That’s when I wake up, gasping for breath, the sheets damp and wrapped around my body, my throat scraped raw from screaming out loud in my sleep.

  The kicker is, when I have the nightmare, I never get to wake up at a normal hour. It’s almost always three or four o’clock in the morning, when it’s still dark and the rest of the world is asleep. And even though I’m awake and fully aware that it was just a dream, I feel the same isolation and loneliness that marked my childhood.

  I never want to try and go back to sleep or linger in bed after one of these sessions. I’m too afraid the dream will pick up where it left off, and between the damp sheets and my sweaty body, I’m usually freezing anyway. I looked at the bedside clock. It was almost five a.m. Not bad for me. But that was probably because I’d been so damn tired when I went to bed.

  I dragged myself into the shower and made the water hot enough to sting as I did my best to wash off the memories that dream evoked. I got dressed, made a pot of coffee, and had breakfast. My usual two fried eggs and half an onion bagel. I waited until six thirty, then put in a call to Niko. I got his voice mail and left a message. I hoped he was sleeping—but I doubted it.

  I was pouring my third cup of coffee when the strains of Oliver Nelson’s “Stolen Moments” played on my cell phone. It was Niko.

  He sounded a lot better. Definitely not upbeat but pretty steady. His mother was still on life support, but there was room for hope. And he had some news—sort of. “I got ahold of Bryan’s mother. She swears she doesn’t know where he is.”

  Which didn’t necessarily mean it was true. “What do you think?”

  Niko sighed. “It seemed to me like she was telling the truth.” He paused. “But who knows? If anyone would cover for him, it’d be her.”

  So interesting, this man in his fifties who was still that close to his mother. Niko was close to his mother, too, but he didn’t hang out with Sophia on a regular basis—or call her every day. “I guess that leaves us at square one.”

  Niko agreed. “Unless she’s actually telling the truth.”

  I said I’d put that possibility at the bottom of the list.

  But I was wrong.

  The next morning, as I was getting ready to leave for the office, I got another call from Niko.

  His voice was tense. “I just heard from Gwen.”

  Distracted—I’d been checking my calendar to see if I had a court appearance tomorrow—I couldn’t place the name. “Who’s Gwen?”

  “Bryan’s mother. Seems she really meant it when she said she didn’t know where he is. She’s freaking out. She wants to get into his place, but she’s afraid to go alone.”

  I assumed she had a key to his place. “So she asked you to go with her?” Niko said she had. “Why you? Why not Tanner?”

  His tone was flat. “She hates him.”

  Gwen was either a good judge of character or, given how tight she and Bryan were, she was the jealous type. Maybe both. “I’m going with you.” Niko started to protest. “Don’t even go there. Another pair of eyes could only help. Remember, I was the one who found that safe in his office.”

  Niko gave an ahem. “Technically, I did—”

  Uh-uh. Not having it. “Whose idea was it to—”

  He interrupted. “Fine. You can come. I’ll pick you up.”

  An hour later, we found Gwen—a zaftig, perfectly coiffed woman dressed in St. John’s slacks and sweater, holding a black Gucci bag—standing in Bryan’s driveway. I approached her. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Posner.”

  But as I got closer, I saw that she was in no shape for politesse. Her eyes were wild, and she swallowed convulsively as she spoke. “He’s never gone so long without calling me. Never!” With that, she turned and headed up the walkway.

  When we reached the door, her hand was shaking so badly, she couldn’t get the key in the lock. Niko reached out. “Here, let me do that for you.” As he opened the door, I studied the lock and doorframe for signs of disturbance. I didn’t see any.

  We stepped inside, and I scanned the living room and kitchen. Everything seemed to be in its place. Gwen began to wring her hands. “I’m afraid. It doesn’t . . . feel right.”

  I gestured to the couch. “Do you want to wait here?”

  She looked up at me, her expression painfully anxious. “Yes. Yes, I think so.” She sank down and clutched her purse in her lap.

  Niko and I moved through the living room and down the hallway. There was a bedroom on the right that looked like a guest room. The bed was neatly made. An abstract painting hung above the headboard and a lavender diffuser on one of the nightstands. No sign of trouble. Nothing was even slightly askew. Farther down the hall on the left, we found what I assumed was the master bedroom—because it was all white. A big, fluffy white duvet covered the California king bed, and the nightstands on either side of it were bleached wood. But again, everything—from the vase on the dresser to the framed photographs on the wall—was pristine.

  I pointed to a closed door on the left side of the room. “The master bath?”

  Niko shrugged. We moved to the door and opened it. I heard the scream almost before I could process what I was seeing. Bryan’s body—naked and bloated—was floating under the water in the large jetted bathtub. Judging by the condition of his body, he’d been there for hours. A nearly empty bottle of wine stood on the floor next to it. Gwen must’ve followed behind us. She’d screamed at the sight of her son—who was clearly dead. And now, tears streaming down her face, she couldn’t stop screaming. “My son! Oh my God! No!” She sagged to the floor as she sobbed.

  I leaned down and put an arm around her as I stared at Bryan’s half-closed eyes. Wa
s this an accident? Or—given all that’d happened—was it a suicide? Or . . . murder?

  I couldn’t really say I mourned his loss. Not after what he’d done. But it was a sad, strange feeling, seeing him lying there, dead, when I’d just sat next to him on the couch in Niko’s living room.

  I looked up at Niko. He was staring at Bryan, his expression frozen. I tapped his leg with my left hand—Gwen was gripping my right—and said, “You need to call the cops.”

  He nodded slowly, then pulled out his phone.

  TEN

  We gave the responding officers from the Beverly Hills Police Department the most minimal statement we could—leaving out what we knew about Bryan’s investment scam. They could figure that out on their own. I had a feeling the BHPD wouldn’t be handling this case for long.

  The death of a wealthy white man from Beverly Hills—even if he was a con artist—was a fairly big deal. It was possible that the elite Robbery Homicide Division—also known as RHD, where Dale worked—would take it over. I told Niko I’d give Dale a call later tonight and find out what he knew. Niko headed to the hospital to see Sophia, and I went back to work.

  Michy left me a message saying she’d gone out to buy office supplies (and put the phone on automatic answer), and Alex was tracking down a witness on my carjacking case. So the office was quiet. Usually it’d be a great time to get things done. But it was almost impossible to concentrate. I deal with homicide cases every day, but it’s not every day I actually find the dead body myself.

  After a couple of frustrating hours trying to put the sight of Bryan’s blue-tinged face out of my mind, I put in the call to Dale. I made my voice as pleasant and nonchalant as I could. “Hey, how’ve you been?”

  Dale’s voice was flat. “About the same as I was when you asked me to run that witness’s license plate last week.”

  I definitely did ask him for information now and then. Okay, maybe a little more often than that. But that road stretched both ways. He’d picked a bad time to play the “you only call when you need something” game with me. “So I guess that’d be about the same time you asked me to look over your search warrant for that yakuza gang house in Koreatown?”

  Dale sighed. “Don’t tell me—let me guess. You want to know what we’ve got on the Bryan Posner death.”

  The fact that he already knew who I was calling about was good news. It meant RHD was looking into the case. “That’d be nice.”

  Papers shuffled in the background. “Preliminary blood testing showed a BA of 0.12 percent.”

  It was a pretty high blood alcohol level. But I’d seen higher. “He wasn’t blasted, then.”

  Dale grunted. “But if he hadn’t eaten in a while, it was probably enough to let him fall asleep and drown.”

  That did seem possible. And yet . . . “You think they’ll say it’s accidental?”

  “As opposed to suicide? BHPD didn’t find a note—not that that rules it out. But according to the mother, he’d never off himself. Of course . . .”

  That’s what the parents always say. “Yeah.” I noticed Dale hadn’t mentioned anything about the recent investment debacle. For a change, I might be out ahead of him on this one. “Anyone fill you in on his cryptocurrency trade? It tanked, and he wiped out a lot of people.”

  “Hadn’t heard about that trade specifically. But BHPD said they’d been getting calls from some investors involved in Gold Strike about a week ago, demanding an investigation. Hang on.” He clicked off, then came back. “Gotta go. It’s the BHPD captain. Call you back.”

  “Wait, tell me—” But he was gone. Damn. I’d been about to ask if RHD was taking over the case.

  I hate when he does that.

  A few minutes later, Michy came back. I went out to her desk. “I’ve got news, but let’s wait for Alex.” I didn’t want to tell the story twice.

  Half an hour later, Alex appeared, looking irritated. He didn’t take even the smallest failure well. “No luck with the witness?”

  He gave a disgusted snort. “I know where he hangs. I think his homies are just keeping a look out. But don’t worry, I’ll get him.”

  I waved him off. “I know you will.”

  Michy pulled a bag of Doritos out of her purse and held it up. “You mind? I didn’t have time for lunch, and I’m starving.”

  I hadn’t eaten, either, and I happen to love Doritos. I lived on them when I was in undergrad. “Hell no, I don’t mind. If you don’t mind sharing.”

  She took a few chips and held out the bag. “So what’s the big news you couldn’t tell me until Alex got here?”

  I reached into the bag and grabbed a few. “Bryan’s gone to that great big Ponzi scheme in the sky.” I told them about how we’d found his body.

  Michy shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like.”

  Alex, who’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, said nothing. I had a feeling he didn’t have any trouble imagining what that was like. I posed the question that’d been on an endless loop in my head all day. “What do you think? Accident? Suicide? Or a homicide dressed up to look like one of the above?”

  Michy wiped some chip crumbs off her chin. “I think it could be any of the above.”

  “Same.” Alex paused with a chip in hand. “And I actually made some headway on that trade. Your hunch was right. There was no trade. Bryan just straight-up stole the money. Dummied up some paperwork and diverted it all into a private account.”

  That definitely tilted my view on Bryan’s death. “Any chance the other investors figured that out?” Getting bilked out of life savings was as good a motive for murder as any.

  Alex shrugged. “Like you always say, anything’s possible. But I got the impression no one except Tanner even knew about the cryptocurrency trade.”

  Michy plucked another chip from the bag. “Do you think Tanner figured out that there was no trade?”

  He certainly had a better chance of getting that information than the investors. But I wasn’t sure it mattered. “If we’re thinking Tanner might’ve killed Bryan, he didn’t need to know that the cryptocurrency trade was bullshit to have a motive. Finding out that Bryan had been stealing investors’ money and all the Gold Strike profits would do the trick.” The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. “Alex, could you—”

  He stood up. “Yes, I can definitely look into Tanner.”

  Alex headed to his office, and I went back to mine and called Dale. Now that Bryan was dead, there was no reason to avoid the cops.

  I told him what’d happened the night we went to the Gold Strike offices and what we’d learned about Bryan’s financial scam.

  He was less than thrilled to hear that we’d broken into Bryan’s safe. “Burglary, malicious mischief, theft. Let’s see, have I left anything out?”

  “Trespassing and hacking. Technically speaking. You’re complaining? It would’ve taken you guys a week just to get into his office, let alone his safe—”

  He interrupted, “One day, tops.”

  “You wish the cops moved that fast. And where’s the gratitude? We just gave you a prime suspect. Assuming the coroner says this was a homicide.”

  “Yes, assuming that minor detail. So you think Tanner did it, right? Because he found out Bryan ripped him off.”

  He had that semibored “I know you think you’re smart” tone that always pisses me off. “Yeah. And was planning to disappear with the money.”

  His tone was sarcastic. “Awesome. That does it. Case closed.”

  He can be so annoying. “It’s damn good evidence of motive. And there’s more.” I told him about the fake cryptocurrency trade. “I think Tanner was the only one who even knew about that trade. Which turned out to be fake. And which he could’ve found out before anyone else. So there’s even more motive.”

  “Just one problem, Columbo: time of death. None of that spells motive unless the coroner puts the time of death at some point after Tanner found all that out.” He paused. “Again, assuming th
e coroner even says it’s a homicide.”

  I replayed Tanner’s behavior the night he’d pounded on Niko’s door. He’d already seemed pretty sure that Bryan had ripped him off. But he’d been so frantic, so crazed about finding Bryan. Could that have been an act? If so, it was a pretty good one. And a slick move to kill Bryan, then pretend he didn’t know where Bryan was. “That’s what we need to find out, isn’t it?”

  “Not ‘we.’ Me. Unless you plan to file a wrongful death lawsuit for Bryan’s next of kin.”

  “An excellent idea. I hadn’t thought of it. Thanks. Even more reason why you should look into Tanner. It’d help me out.” Dale sighed. “Listen, I just think it’s a little too convenient that Bryan happened to check out after pulling off a multimillion-dollar scam. And Tanner knew Bryan best, knew where he lived, knew his habits and probably how to get into his duplex. Might even have had a key.” Of course he’d claimed he didn’t have one. But I saw no reason to take his word for that—or anything else.

  I heard computer keys clicking in the background. “Fine,” Dale said. “I’ll have him checked out. Now tell me you wore gloves when you broke into that office.”

  Ordinarily I would have. But I hadn’t expected to do a full-on search of the damn place. “Uh, no.”

  “Shit, you’ve got to be kid—”

  I interrupted. “Give me some credit. I wiped everything down. They won’t find me anywhere.”

  He swore under his breath. “They’d better not.”

  This time I saw it coming. I pressed end—just in time to hear the three beeps telling me that he’d beaten me to it. Again.

  I was on my way to go talk to Alex about the question Dale had raised, but just as I stood up, Alex appeared in the doorway, iPad in hand. “I’ve got some interesting background on Tanner.”

  I waved him in. “Perfect timing.” He flopped down on the couch and opened his iPad. “Could Tanner have figured out that Bryan had scammed him before you hacked into his computer—I mean, for sure?”