by Marcia Clark
I’d been skeptical when Kingsford theorized that Tanner might be lying in a pool of blood. But now, I was starting to think there might be something to it. This time, when he asked the supervisor to open the door, I didn’t object.
The foyer led into a living room with a 180-degree view of the city. It was an open-concept layout. The dining area was to the right of the living room, and it flowed into a gleaming white kitchen with the latest high-end appliances. But strangely, there was almost no furniture, and what few pieces there were—a sofa, a coffee table, two club chairs—looked like third-hand IKEA cast-offs that were way too small for the spacious, high-ceilinged condo.
O’Malley told us to wait in the foyer while they did a quick sweep. From where I stood, I couldn’t see any signs of a struggle or ransacking. A few minutes later, he came out and waved Niko over. “We need you to take a look around with us and see if anything seems . . . off.”
I wasn’t specifically invited, but I didn’t care. I followed closely behind Niko and ignored O’Malley’s glowering look. We headed down a short hallway, looked into a large—and completely unfurnished—guest bedroom, an adjoining en suite bathroom, and then entered the master bedroom.
Niko stopped and stared at the king-size bed. He pointed to the blue blanket on the bed. “That’s wrong. He had a gray comforter. I’ve never seen that blanket before.” He moved into the room and headed for a set of double doors. “Maybe it’s in here—”
Kingsford grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t touch anything.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a set of latex gloves. After he snapped them on, he gingerly grasped one of the doorknobs between his thumb and index finger and turned it.
I peered over his shoulder and saw that it was a walk-in closet. The hanging rod and shelves on the right were full, but the left side was empty. Niko scanned the space. Kingsford pointed to the empty spot. “Did he have clothes there before?”
Niko shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hang out in his bedroom. I only noticed that the comforter was missing because we passed by this room to get to the den.”
Kingsford and O’Malley shined their flashlights around the closet. There was no sign of the gray comforter.
O’Malley asked Niko to show them the den. He led us to a room at the end of the hallway. It wasn’t as big as the master bedroom, but it was the only one that seemed to have been furnished well enough to be comfortable.
A large burgundy sectional couch, with navy and burgundy pillows, and a matching ottoman and recliner faced a huge ninety-inch flat-screen. I didn’t know they made flat-screens that big. Game controllers in a shallow silver bowl on the square mahogany coffee table showed that this was where Tanner did most of his living, and probably entertaining.
But as I looked closer, I noticed a table lamp had been knocked to the floor, along with one of the couch pillows. On the side table between the ottoman and the couch, I saw a half-consumed bottle of beer and an empty wineglass. Tanner had had company. Possibly angry company. But I didn’t see any bloodstains. If the lamp and pillow were signs of a struggle, it didn’t seem to be a very violent one. I saw Kingsford and O’Malley exchange a look.
O’Malley put his hands on his hips. “You and Tanner get into a fight?”
Niko had been staring at the table lamp on the floor. It took a second for the question to register. “No. I mean, we argued. But it didn’t get physical.”
Kingsford homed in. “When was that? Before or after Bryan got killed?”
Niko seemed frozen for a moment. “A day or two after, I think.”
I saw O’Malley write that down. If that turned out to be the last time anyone saw Tanner, Niko had just managed to screw himself again. I tried to give him some cover. I asked, “Do you know whether Tanner planned to have someone come over after you saw him?”
He shook his head. “But he must have. ’Cause neither of us was drinking beer or wine.”
O’Malley gave Niko a sharp look. “Are you sure?”
Niko glanced at the glass. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Bad move. It’s always better to give a wishy-washy “I don’t remember” than a definitive “yes” or “no.” I couldn’t expect Niko to know that. And even if he had, with his mother hovering near death, he was in no shape to think clearly. But I got the feeling he had no idea how messed up he was.
I thought it was entirely possible he had drunk from that wineglass and just didn’t remember. Or that he had knocked over that table lamp during their argument and didn’t realize it. But the cops wouldn’t see it that way. If Niko turned out to be wrong, if they found his prints on the lamp or the wineglass, they’d see it as a deliberate lie—and evidence that he’d been the one who’d fought with Tanner. And possibly killed him.
O’Malley had pulled his cell phone out and was taking photos of the room—and particularly the beer bottle and wineglass. He asked Kingsford, “Do we take them with us? Or wait for a warrant?”
Kingsford studied the bottle and glass for a few seconds. I knew what he was thinking. If someone had kidnapped or killed Tanner, and his—or her—prints or DNA were on the items, the evidence would be admissible. The only person who had the right to object to the cops seizing evidence from Tanner’s condo without a warrant was Tanner. And he was unlikely to object if he was dead. On the other hand, if it turned out Tanner was okay, it wouldn’t matter whose prints or DNA were on the bottle and glass. Kingsford made his decision. “Take them.”
O’Malley nodded as he pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and snapped them on. “We need paper bags, right? Not plastic.” Kingsford nodded, and O’Malley left the room.
Kingsford took another look around the room, then asked Niko, “Do you happen to know where Tanner keeps his passport—or his valuables?”
“No,” Niko said. “The thing is, Tanner didn’t really own pricey stuff, as you can see.” He swept a hand behind him to indicate the whole condo. “He put on a good front in public, dressed well and all that, but for him, making money was an end to itself. He didn’t care that much about what it could buy.”
O’Malley came back with two brown paper grocery bags, and Kingsford carefully put the bottle and glass inside. He looked around the room. “Not much more we can do here for the moment.” He gestured for us to head out and started to pull off his gloves, then thought better of it. “Make sure not to touch anything. I’ll open the door.”
As we made our way out to the elevator, I considered what I’d seen in Tanner’s condo. It didn’t look like a killing scene. I leaned more toward the theory that he’d just gone into hiding. With the long list of irate investors on his tail, it’d be the safest thing for him to do. And if he’d been the one who stole all the investor money, he’d definitely be able to afford to buy a high-quality fake ID and disappear. Maybe buy a small island. Hire people to build him a villa, make him delicious feasts, serve him all kinds of exotic drinks . . .
I’d veered into my own fantasy. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that Tanner was on the run. As we headed for the elevator, I floated that theory to Kingsford. “We haven’t seen anything that even remotely looks like a crime scene, let alone a murder scene. Isn’t it just as likely that he’s hiding out?”
Kingsford didn’t respond until we were in the elevator and the doors had closed. “Can’t say it’s just as likely. Too many people had motive to off him, and I’m not sure he’s got the connects to get a fake ID good enough to get him out of the country. But obviously, I can’t rule that out.” He paused, then added, “Yet.”
THIRTEEN
Niko was silent as we rode back to his house. I could see he was in turmoil as he stared out the window, his expression a mix of sadness and anxiety. Was it just because of his mother’s condition? Or was he hiding something from me? Maybe something about Bryan’s death—or Tanner’s disappearance?
Niko had never given me the feeling that he was keeping anything from me before. But I was getting that fe
eling now. I knew Michy would say it was just my usual “issue.” She says my suspicious nature borders on paranoia, that I could find an ulterior motive for a late mail delivery. Fair enough. But as they say, even a clock that’s broken is right twice a day. I may be overly suspicious, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
When the cops dropped us back at Niko’s house, he said he wanted to go see his mother. I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a pretty stressful day. Don’t you want to chill out for a bit before you go?”
He seemed agitated. “Thanks, but I don’t need to rest; I need to see her.”
I knew better than to argue. “Call me later if you feel like talking. Or if you want me to come over, okay?”
He put his arms around me. “I’m so lucky to have you. I don’t tell you that enough, but I want you to know that I’m aware of it.” He leaned back and looked me in the eye. “And I think about it every single day.”
This kind of loving sentiment—especially gratitude—always makes me uncomfortable. Like an impostor. I don’t deserve it. I smiled. “I think you must’ve been with some real witches in the past if you think I’m all that.”
Niko returned my smile and sighed. “I hope someday you’ll be able to see the truth about who you really are.”
And now we were in territory I liked even less. “You’re not so bad yourself.” I kissed him and pulled away. “Keep me posted about your mom.”
Niko’s expression showed he knew this was making me uncomfortable. “Will do.”
I checked the time when I got into my car. It was six p.m. Early enough to put a dent in my in-box. I headed to the office and found Alex sitting on his blue exercise ball—one of those oversize, inflatable things that’re supposed to make you use your core—next to Michy’s desk. Michy was reading something to him that was on her monitor. Apparently it was hilarious because they were both laughing. I was in no mood for hilarity. “Nice to see everyone’s hard at work.”
Michy looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Nice to see you, too, Cruella. Actually, if you’d gotten here ten minutes ago, you’d have seen we were both slaving away.”
Alex swiveled to face me. “Did Niko have any idea where Tanner might be?”
I’d forgotten to ask him, but the answer was clear. “No.” I told them about Niko talking to Kingsford and O’Malley and our visits to Tanner’s office and condo.
Michy asked, “So you don’t think someone got to Tanner? You think he just took off?”
I shrugged. I couldn’t be sure of that, and I was annoyed at my own indecision. “I think so.” I asked Alex, “Did you dig up any more information on Tanner?”
“Not yet. But I will. I found his ex-girlfriend.” I opened my mouth to ask how he’d managed to do that. I didn’t think even Niko knew anything about Tanner’s love life. But Alex held up a hand. “Don’t ask. Just be thankful for the genius that is me.”
Michy folded her arms and glared at him. “Who never would’ve figured out how to find her without the help of yours truly.”
In spite of my foul mood, I couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, these two always managed to pull me out of a funk. “Well, however you did it, thanks, guys.” An ex-girlfriend can be a font of information. Especially if the relationship ended badly.
Alex’s cell phone rang in his office, and he went to answer it. Michy ran through the list of calls we’d received. Mostly just routine stuff, clients and their families asking for updates on their cases. But one was encouraging. Michy’s lips twitched as she read the message. “That D.A. on the Angelo Lopez case wants to meet.”
Angelo Lopez got busted with two AK-47s in his trunk. Not only are those guns illegal in California, but Angelo also had a felony conviction for second-degree burglary. So he wasn’t allowed to have any kind of gun. He insisted someone had put the guns in the trunk without his knowing. The problem with that story was that a passerby had reported seeing those guns when Angelo opened the trunk and showed them to the shot caller of a notoriously dangerous gang. The cops—rightly—deduced that Angelo was making a sale.
Angelo didn’t admit it to me—my clients almost never did—but this case had “loser” written all over it. If I didn’t get the D.A. to make a deal, Angelo was going to spend some serious time in jail. His wife and two little girls would most certainly wind up on the street.
I had just one ace in the hole. Angelo himself wasn’t a gang member. He was an entrepreneur. Albeit one who didn’t worry much about which side of the law his deals landed on. That meant he got around. A lot. I’d thought that might mean he was dialed in to some really high-level shot callers. I told Angelo that if he was willing to talk, I might be able to get the D.A. to give him a sweet deal. He didn’t like the idea. Not because he had any loyalty issues, but because snitching might very well land him in a coffin. It’d taken some pounding . . . uh, persuading, but when I pointed out what would happen to his family if he got convicted, Angelo had eventually agreed.
Then I’d had Alex pay a visit to the shot caller and ask, i.e., suggest, that the passerby who’d supposedly spotted the guns in Angelo’s trunk was actually a member of a rival gang who was out to get him and that there were no guns in the trunk, only car parts. The shot caller was happy to provide a written statement to that effect—in exchange for the promise of my free services the next time he got busted. I expected to have to deliver on that promise in the very near future. But in the meantime, I had ammunition to use with the D.A., and use it I did.
The fact that he wanted to meet with me now showed he was ready to deal. “So it worked. I love when that happens.”
Michy asked, “When do you want to go see Angelo?”
I needed to find out what information he could give to the D.A. But I’d have no trouble finding him. He hadn’t been able to make bail. “ASAP. Check my calendar for the earliest available date. I don’t want the D.A. to change his mind.”
I went to my office, sank down on the couch, and closed my eyes. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps and looked up to see Michy in the doorway. “What’s up?”
She sat down at the other end of the couch and gave me a knowing look. “You’ve been wondering whether Niko killed Bryan, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “And maybe Tanner, too.” After all the sweet things he’d said to me, it made me feel like a shithead to suspect him. But the possibility existed, and I couldn’t ignore it.
Michy sighed. “And you feel guilty for even thinking that.” I gave her a wan smile. “You know I’m usually the first to say that you’re so insanely suspicious, you’d think the dry cleaners were up to no good if they lost a napkin. But not this time. You think you’d be fooling yourself if you weren’t considering the possibility that he might’ve killed at least one of them.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes again. “You know, I always thought I’d be glad to finally hear you say you didn’t think I was pathologically suspicious.”
Michy shook her head. “Sorry.”
Alex knocked on the doorframe. “I’ve got news.” He walked in, turned the chair in front of my desk around so he could face me, and sat down. “Tanner’s an asshole.”
I rubbed my throbbing temples as I glanced at him through half-open eyes. “Really? The guy who trolls for women at Sex Addicts Anonymous is an asshole? No way.”
Alex opened his iPad. “That’s nothing. I just heard back from his ex, Amber Simmons. She’s kind of a piece of work herself. But she told one hell of a breakup story. They met when she was working as a cocktail waitress at a pricey gentlemen’s club.”
I stared at him. “Really? You can’t just say strip club?”
Alex gave me a flat look. “Why on earth you’d think that is beyond me. I say what I mean.” He tapped a few keys on his iPad, then handed it to me. “Not a pole or a stage in sight from what I could tell.”
I scrolled through the photos. He was right. It actually looked like one of those old-school “men only” clubs where the waiters wore white coats and
black pants and carried a white linen towel over one arm. Persian rugs, potted palms, expensive-looking leather and cherry-wood furniture, and lots of brass accents. I handed the iPad back to him. “When did they get together?”
Alex paused, then said, “About ten years ago.”
That meant Tanner had been in his twenties at the time. “How did he score a ticket to a place like that?”
“The manager. Amber wasn’t clear on the details, but she remembered Tanner bragging about how he’d talked the guy into investing in some commodity stocks and made him a bunch of money.”
I’d expected to hear he’d framed the manager or had some dirt on him. “Was that for real? Or did he scam the manager?”
Alex shook his head. “No, it was for real.”
Not exactly Tanner’s style, but now that I thought about it, that made sense. “Even if he didn’t really have some great tip on commodities and just paid the guy out of his own pocket, it would’ve been worth it to get access to all those rich old guys. So what happened with the girlfriend?”
He crossed his legs and set the iPad on the chair next to him. “You were right. Tanner worked the club members hard and got a few to invest with him. Things went well at first. But he got greedy and jumped into riskier and riskier deals. He kept weaving them stories about all the money they were making, but he was losing money hand over fist.”
Tanner was consistent. I’d give him that. “How does all that tie in with Amber?”
A look of disgust crossed his face. “Some of the investors wanted to take their profits and run. But of course there were no profits, so Tanner needed to come up with some cash fast.”
I had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Don’t tell me he—”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, he pimped Amber out.”
I felt my gut clench. “How?”
