by Marcia Clark
Alex folded his arms across his chest. “When he was in London a few years back, he managed to get tight with some Saudi prince who was a kinkster.”
Ugh. “And was willing to pay megabucks for his fun.”
Alex nodded. “Tens of thousands per night for him and his friends to do . . . whatever.”
Sometimes—like now—I wished I didn’t have to know about all this ugly shit. “And Amber went along with it?”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “Tanner said if she could find a friend to join her, he’d give her a cut. Amber needed the money, and she had a couple of friends who fit the bill, so . . .”
Michy frowned. “But even if that prince paid fifty thousand for the night, how would that be enough to bail Tanner out? It sounds like he was in bigger trouble than that.”
Alex pointed at her. “Exactly. That’s why he intended to make it a regular thing. But he didn’t tell Amber that, and it turned out the Saudi prince was into some pretty painful kink. After the first night, Amber said she was out.”
What a horrifying scenario. “So she refused to do . . . whatever? Did she tell you what it was?”
Alex held up a hand. “No, and I didn’t ask. There’s only so much despicable behavior I can take in one sitting.”
I was puzzled. “You said their breakup was pretty gnarly. Doesn’t seem that gnarly to me.”
“Because that’s not what happened. When Amber said she was out of the kinky prince business, Tanner said he understood, that he was sorry it turned out to be so awful. He invited Amber and her friend to have dinner at his house to make it up to them. And then he roofied them.”
Oh God. An awful story had managed to get even worse. “And turned them over to the prince and his buddies.”
Alex gave a grim nod. “Amber and her friend woke up on the floor of her apartment, naked and bruised from head to toe. They were afraid they’d get busted for prostitution if they reported it to the police. But Amber quit her job at the club and never spoke to Tanner again.”
I’d thought trolling for women at Sex Addicts Anonymous was pretty low.
But that was probably the nicest thing that asshole had done.
FOURTEEN
Dale tore off a piece of pita bread and dipped it in the hummus. “You think her story’s legit?”
I’d invited him over for dinner to tell him about Amber and my now-crystallized theory about Tanner. For the sake of convenience—and safety—I’d decided to order in from our favorite Middle Eastern place rather than cook. Shawarma with rice and tabbouleh—and the best tahini I’ve ever had.
I took a sip of my pinot noir—one of my favorites from Ancien, a great winery in Napa. “I can’t see what’s in it for her to lie. She swore Alex to secrecy, so it’s not like she’s looking to get revenge.” The statute of limitations had probably run out anyway.
Dale refilled his glass of wine. “Agree. I buy her story. So you think Tanner killed Bryan?”
I nodded. “And then tried to fake his own death and took off.”
He picked up his wineglass and leaned back against the wingback chair. “It’s not a bad theory. Except that it makes me wonder why he didn’t do a better job of it. Mess his place up more, leave a few drops of blood. He just threw a couple of things on the floor and hit the road.”
It was a good point. “I don’t think he had any time for big, elaborate plans. And he’s not exactly a forensic expert.”
Dale swirled the wine in his glass. “But what about that comforter? Why would he take that with him?”
I hadn’t come up with an answer to that one yet. “Who knows? Maybe he rented a car and plans to sleep in it for a while.”
Dale sighed. “I guess. But you’re a long way from proving any of that.”
I didn’t disagree, but in my mind I added yet—and tossed the ball into his court. “Any news on your end?”
“So far it seems like Niko might’ve been one of the last people to see Tanner.” He gave me a warning look. “There’s no indication he used his cell phone or any credit cards after Bryan’s death. And none of the contacts we have for Tanner heard from him after that point.”
That didn’t punch any holes in my theory. “So what? Isn’t that exactly what Tanner would do if he wanted to disappear? I’d bet he’s got a burner phone.” Because . . . doesn’t everyone? I do. “Anything else?”
Dale only looked semiconvinced. “Just that Kingsford sent the glass and bottle in for testing. Put a rush on it.”
A wave of anxiety washed over me. “Which means we’ll get results when?”
Dale looked me in the eye. “Could be as soon as tomorrow night. You’re sure Niko’s being straight with you?”
I’m never sure anyone’s being straight with me. Ever. “I . . . Yeah. I think so.”
His expression was understanding. “Listen, whatever happens, I’m on his side. If my mother was on life support, I’d probably have killed both those shitbirds.”
I returned Dale’s gaze with a hint of a smile. “Yeah.” I would, too. If my mother had been anything like Niko’s—instead of the narcissistic, heartless, sociopathic robot I’d had for an egg donor.
We moved on to other topics: Dale’s current girlfriend, the CSI tech at the LA Sheriff’s Department he’d been seeing for the past year—a major-league hottie who was surprisingly funny—and stories about my clients and his perps.
It was a nice distraction from my worries about the test results, but when he left, the anxiety came rushing back. I took a hot shower, which usually soothes me, but this time it didn’t work. I got into bed, but I couldn’t relax. Finally, I caved and took a half milligram of Xanax. I’m not a big fan of drugs, but I’m a very big fan of sleep. I don’t function well—or, quite frankly, at all—if I don’t get at least five hours. If I spent the whole night angsting about what might happen with Niko, I’d be useless for the whole day.
The Xanax finally hit at about one thirty, and I slept until my cell phone alarm rang at seven the next morning. I was still tired, but a megadose of caffeine would take care of that. I showered, dressed, put my face on, and downed three mugs of coffee, then headed to the office.
I didn’t realize I was hungry until I saw the bag of bagels and tub of cream cheese on the table behind Michy’s desk. “Whoever thought of this gets to drink free on me tonight.”
Michy raised her hand. “And I get to pick the place.”
I pulled out an onion bagel. “Sold.”
I slathered on a thick layer of cream cheese and took the life-affirming deliciousness to my office. I savored the bagel as I scrolled through my emails, then dived into the usual mix of business for the day: phone calls, letters to the clients who were in prison, and a scan of the latest case decisions.
I was finishing up my last prisoner letter when Michy buzzed me to say Dale was on the line. I put the call on speaker and kept typing. “Hey. What’s up?”
His voice was low. “Take me off speaker.”
I’d been so focused on work, it took me a second to realize what Dale’s call—and his urgent tone—might mean. My throat tightened as I picked up the receiver. “Okay, tell me.”
“They got the test results back. Niko’s prints and DNA are on the wineglass.”
I dropped my head into my hand. “Shit!” I’d been afraid Niko’s denial would be trouble. But still . . . “They can’t bust him. They don’t even know whether Tanner’s dead.”
Dale whispered, “Maybe so. But that’s not their only option. Okay, I’ve gotta go.”
The three beeps said Dale was gone. Damn it! What did that mean? “Not their only option”? Then it hit me. I grabbed my cell and called Niko. The call went straight to voice mail. I gathered my purse and briefcase and flew out to the reception area. I spoke over my shoulder to Michy as I headed for the door. “I’m going to Niko’s.”
She stood up. “What’s wrong?”
“The cops are about to serve a search warrant on his place.” If they hadn’t already. “I�
��ll call you later.”
I ran out and hoped I could beat them there.
But when I turned onto Niko’s street, that hope died. His driveway was filled with detectives’ cars, and patrol cars lined the street in front of his house. I pounded the steering wheel. None of this would be happening if he’d just taken my advice and told Kingsford and O’Malley to go piss up a rope.
That wouldn’t have stopped them from identifying his prints on the wineglass. The feds already had his prints. He had a passport and Global Entry. But now it looked like he’d lied. Not good. Very, very not good.
I got out and headed for the door, where a uni stood holding a logbook. He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No civilians allowed.”
I was in a truly ugly mood, and I was A-OK with taking it out on a cop. “Yeah, well, I am allowed. I’m his lawyer.” I handed him my card and pointed to his logbook. “So log me in and get out of my way.”
He shook his head. “I’ll have to check with the—”
O’Malley came up behind him. “It’s okay, Van. Let her in.”
I moved past the uni and said, “I want to see the warrant.”
O’Malley gave me a sharp look. “You ever heard of the saying ‘you get more flies with honey than vinegar’? A little civility might make things easier for everyone—especially you.”
I glared at him. “If you want civility, then try showing some. Like by calling to let me know you were serving the warrant.”
He wasn’t required to tell me. But some detectives are decent that way. They don’t give me enough time to let my client dump evidence, but they do wait for me to get there and give me a chance to check out the search warrant. The fact that Kingsford and O’Malley hadn’t bothered to do that was a giant “fuck you.” And I planned to pay them back for it every chance I got.
O’Malley was unmoved. “Your client’s in the backyard.”
He turned and led me through the house. A videographer was filming in the kitchen. It was as much a method of gathering evidence as it was an ass-covering move in case Niko complained they’d damaged his property. As we walked through the living room, I spotted two crime scene techs examining the couch and the surrounding area. The pillows had all been pulled off and thrown to the floor.
As I stepped through the sliding glass doors to the backyard, I saw that the weather had shifted. The day had started out sunny, but a dark bank of clouds had moved in, and the air was cold and damp with the promise of rain. Niko was huddled on the stone bench surrounding the firepit. The zipper of his down jacket was pulled all the way up. He held some papers in his hand—probably a copy of the search warrant—and stared at the swarm of activity with a numb expression.
O’Malley peeled off, and I went and sat next to him. “How’re you doing?”
He shook his head. “I . . . don’t know.” He held out the papers. “It says I lied about drinking the wine.” He swallowed. “But I didn’t. I just forgot.”
I took the papers and quickly scanned them. I’d been right. It was a copy of the search warrant. “What have they said to you?”
He continued to stare at the search team. “Nothing. Just that they had a search warrant.”
Good. No one was talking about arresting him. Not that they had any right to. I skimmed through the affidavit, where the detective lays out his probable cause. There were no surprises. Bryan’s cause of death, Niko’s expertise in martial arts, his access to Tanner, his motive to kill Bryan and Tanner—though it was noted that Tanner might not be dead. And—of course—the fact that Niko had “lied” about drinking the wine with Tanner.
It wasn’t the strongest showing of probable cause I’d ever seen, but probable cause is a pretty low standard. If they managed to build a case against Niko, I probably wouldn’t get a judge to find the warrant invalid.
All I could do was hope the cops didn’t find anything. But they’d put together a pretty sizable search team, and it was poring over every inch of the house. If there was anything here, they’d find it.
I sat next to Niko and watched as the techs and cops worked—and tried not to imagine what might happen next.
FIFTEEN
It took them hours to finish—in part because Niko’s house is more than four thousand square feet. I hadn’t seen anything in the bags they carried out that looked incriminating. But I knew Niko was smart enough to get rid of anything obvious, and so did the cops. What worried me was what I couldn’t see, the small trace evidence that would only show up in the testing.
And that’s clearly what they were focused on. One of the crime scene techs carried out two plastic bags with Niko’s clothes. Most likely the clothes they’d found in the laundry hamper. And after everyone had cleared out, I saw that the techs had swabbed the hell out of all the showers and sinks. That figured. Dirty clothes and bathrooms were the most likely places to find traces of blood or hair that didn’t belong to Niko.
When the last car had pulled away, I poured us both a stiff shot of Patrón Silver on the rocks. “Let’s go sit on the couch.” Niko, who still looked shell-shocked, followed me into the living room. I turned on the gas fireplace and threw a warm mohair blanket over our laps. “Did Tanner or Bryan hang out here a lot?” If so, that’d help explain away any stray hairs or even small traces of blood the techs might’ve found.
Niko shook his head. “In fact, I think the only time other than when you saw them here was months ago, when I first started investing with them.”
Not what I wanted to hear. Neither of them had used the bathroom when I saw them at the house, and any trace they might’ve left when they visited months ago would be long gone. But that might not matter. “Did Kingsford or O’Malley ask you about that?” I held my breath and prayed for the answer I wanted.
He stared into the fire for a moment. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure they did.”
Again, not what I wanted to hear. I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t swear out loud. That meant if the techs found Tanner’s hair in the house—or worse, his or Bryan’s blood—the cops would have a decent basis for claiming it’d gotten there because Niko had washed it off after he killed them. I didn’t think Niko was putting all that together, and there was no benefit in my doing it for him. He was stressed out enough for one day—or for the next fifteen years. Right now, it’d be best to focus on something positive. Like the theory I’d been working on to get the heat off Niko. “Would you put it past Tanner to kill Bryan?”
Niko thought for a moment. “No. Not if Bryan really did steal all the money.”
“It’d be a great reason for him to fake his own death—or kidnapping.”
He sighed. “I guess so.”
Niko still looked numb. This probably wasn’t a great time to push for information, but I wanted to get things moving. May as well start now. “Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?”
Niko took a sip of his drink. “I first met him in London, and I know he traveled a lot.” He paused for a moment. “I remember listening to him talk about trips to Shanghai and Sydney. And I think the Gold Coast. But he never said what he was doing there. I didn’t think to question it at the time, but now . . . for all I know, he made it all up and just went to Palm Springs for a weekend.” He faced me, his expression sad. “I’m sorry I’m so useless.”
I put a hand on his cheek. “You’ve never been anything of the kind.”
He covered my hand, then kissed it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A smart-ass remark came to mind—involving the way he’d ignored my advice not to talk to the cops—but I just smiled and said, “Likewise.”
We snuggled under the blanket and gazed at the fire in silence for a few moments. Niko finished his drink and held up his glass. “I’m getting a refresher. How about you?”
I gave him my glass. “I’ll take a splash.” While Niko made our drinks, I thought about his remark that if Tanner thought Bryan had stolen all the money, he might’ve killed Bryan. When he returned with our dri
nks, I said, “Have you considered the possibility that Tanner wasn’t duped by Bryan? That he was in on the fraud the whole time?”
Niko settled in next to me. “Yeah, I have. And I’ve also been thinking that even if he wasn’t in on it to begin with, when he figured out what Bryan had done, he might’ve found a way to get his hands on the money.”
I nodded. “And just pretended that he’d been ruined by Bryan, like everyone else.” It was a distinct possibility. “Either way, he had a great reason to want to disappear.” And assuming we did find Tanner, I couldn’t count on him to tell the truth and back Niko’s alibi. Still, we had to try. If we found him, we’d at least have a shot. If we didn’t, we had no shot. “Too bad he’s your only real alibi.”
Niko shook his head. “Yeah, I sure know how to pick ’em.”
All at once, the stress of the day’s events landed on me. It was as though someone had hit me over the head with a club. I sagged against Niko as I felt my eyelids drooping. At some point—I couldn’t tell how long because I’d fallen asleep—we got up and stumbled into bed.
We both woke up at seven a.m. I jumped out of bed and hurried to the shower. I was nervous about what the search of Niko’s house would turn up. The only way to make sure the cops couldn’t arrest Niko was to find Tanner and hope he backed Niko’s alibi. The only other option was for me to come up with another suspect—one who’d look good for Bryan’s murder and possibly Tanner’s. I knew myself well enough to know that the only antidote for my anxiety was action. I wanted to get started. I had no patience for breakfast.
But Niko wouldn’t hear of it. He opened the refrigerator. “It won’t kill you to at least have a smoothie. I’ll put it in a travel cup.”
I hate fucking smoothies. And kale and arugula and all that green junk. “No thanks. Do you have any bagels?”
Niko put his hands on his hips. “Do you know how bad those wheat products are for you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, because you’ve told me a hundred times. You need to cut me some slack. We love what we love.” I took a travel mug out of the cupboard and filled it with coffee.
