by Marcia Clark
Niko shook his head. “You’re impossible. Here, at least have an apple.”
I took the apple from him. “Thanks.”
I kissed him and said I’d check in on him later. It was almost eight a.m. when I left. Plenty of time to make a stop on the way and get to the office by eight thirty. I headed straight to the East Coast Bagel Co. and picked up a half dozen of those circles of goodness—three egg, three onion, and a tub of cream cheese.
I thought I’d be the first to get in, but when I arrived, I found Alex hard at work at his desk and Michy busily typing away on her computer. I held up the bag of treasures. “Unhealthy wheat and dairy products, anyone?”
Michy smiled. “Another Niko lecture, I see. I’m surprised you didn’t stop for Egg McMuffins, too.”
I’m a little . . . oppositional. That’s what my teachers wrote on all my report cards when I was a kid. And I still am. If you want to make sure I do something, just tell me not to do it.
Alex came out of his office. “What’s sick is, I already had breakfast, but I still can’t resist the siren song of those yeasty little wonders.”
Michy chose an egg bagel. “I assume the cops didn’t find anything at Niko’s.”
Because I’d have been a mess. “Waiting for test results. And for them to go through all the video footage and photos. They must’ve covered every millimeter of the place.”
Alex cut an onion bagel in half. “The cops sure seem focused on Niko.”
They really did. Not that I blamed them. “That’s why we need to find them someone else to play with.”
He spread a thin layer of cream cheese on his half bagel. “Not to mention find Tanner.”
I nodded. “And that, of course. Even if he won’t alibi Niko, we can at least take one dead body off the list.” I tore a piece off my onion bagel as I told them about my conversation with Niko the night before and about my theory that Tanner might’ve stolen the investor money before he disappeared. “So if we find Tanner, we might just find the money.” Which might help prove he was the one who killed Bryan.
“God, it’d be so nice to bail out those poor people who got screwed,” Michy said.
I swallowed my bite of bagel and wiped my mouth. “But we need to move fast.”
Alex dusted the crumbs off his slacks. “I’ll dig into the Gold Strike records. Maybe they’ll have some clues about where Tanner might’ve gone.”
“Or whether he might’ve stolen the money,” I said. “And while you’re at it, see if you can figure out whether Tanner was in on the scam from the start.” If we could prove that, it’d make it more likely he’d just gone into hiding. But there was a downside, too. I added, “If you do come up with proof that Tanner was in on it, try and see if anyone else knew.”
Alex gave me a long look, then nodded. He knew what I was thinking. If it turned out that Niko knew Tanner was in on the fraudulent transaction, it’d add to his already strong motive to kill Tanner.
I told Alex and Michy what Niko had said about Tanner’s travels. “I don’t know if he really was such a world traveler.”
“Maybe not,” Alex said, his expression grim. “But he might be now.”
True. With enough money, Tanner could buy a great fake passport.
In which case, he could be anywhere.
SIXTEEN
It felt good to be on the move and proactive about Niko’s defense. Niko’s defense. Damn. He was the last person I wanted to have as a client. But I might as well face it. From the moment Bryan was found dead, that’s how I’d been thinking of him.
And I was glad to be doing something about it.
That feeling lasted all day—until I got the phone call from Kingsford. His low, whispery voice chilled me to the core. “My partner tells me you two had words about civility, so I’m giving you a heads-up to try and keep things friendly.”
Friendly? With me? When pigs fly. I knew he couldn’t be calling me with good news, but I tried to keep my tone light. “I appreciate that.”
He cleared his throat. “We found prints matching Niko Ferrell’s in Bryan’s duplex. A few hairs that might be his, too.”
I could feel the phone receiver getting damp in my suddenly sweating hand. “So what? You probably found mine, too. We found his body, remember? And we were there a few days before the murder. Tanner was there, too. Matter of fact, Tanner was still there when we left.” Take that, asshole.
Kingsford was unfazed. “I agree. That’s neither here nor there. But we also got the footage from the building’s surveillance camera. It shows someone at the back door who looks a lot like Niko Ferrell. And he was wearing a jacket we found in his closet during the search. This heads-up is to let you know that we’re on our way to seize that jacket now.”
Shit! This time it was impossible to hide the tension in my voice. “What exactly did that surveillance video show? Can you see his face?”
Kingsford paused. “No. His back was to the camera. But the height and weight look right. And like I said, that jacket—”
“Looks similar. Got it. I’ll meet you at his house.”
“Better hurry. We just turned onto his street.”
I wanted to tell him what I thought of his so-called act of civility, but I didn’t have time. I had to get ahold of Niko and keep him from getting chatty again. But at this point, there was no way I’d make it. I pressed Niko’s number on my cell and prayed he’d answer. He did. I talk fast as a general rule, but I really rip when I’m stressed. I barreled through my report on Kingsford’s call like a bullet train. I concluded, “And this time, listen to me. Do not talk to them. Don’t even say hello.”
Niko didn’t sound nearly as concerned as I’d expected—or thought he should. “Not to worry. I’m not even home yet. I’m on my way back from the hospital.”
Perfect. For a change. I asked how his mother was doing. He said she was the same. Not the best news but not the worst, either. “Don’t go home. Wherever you are, just pull over and wait. I’ll call you when I get to your house.”
“Okay. But how can they say it was me on that video if—”
I grabbed my purse and ran out of my office. “We can talk later. Let me get going.” I ended the call, and as I headed for the door, I told Michy I was on my way to Niko’s place. “I’ll call you from the car and explain.”
And I did, as I broke all speed limits and practically ran a stop sign. I didn’t think Kingsford and O’Malley would break down the door, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I called Niko when I was one minute away from his house. “Okay, you’re good to go; I’m almost there.”
He pulled into the driveway and entered the garage seconds after I arrived. Kingsford and O’Malley were standing on the front porch. O’Malley held a brown grocery-size bag. Probably to transport Niko’s jacket. Both of them looked irritated. I loved seeing that. It made me so happy, I actually smiled as I said, “Thanks for the heads-up, guys.” I held out my hand. “Let’s see the warrant.”
Niko had gone into the house from the garage. He opened the door just as O’Malley brandished the search warrant. Niko had learned a few things since his chat with those two. He glanced at the warrant—which O’Malley was still holding. “I’d like to give my lawyer a chance to check that out before you come in.”
I held out my hand to O’Malley. “No one’s going anywhere or taking anything until I read it.” He gave me the warrant. It was pretty straightforward, but I took my time anyway. Just to rub it in a little. When I finished, I said, “This is my copy, I take it?”
O’Malley nodded. I moved past them and entered the house as I motioned for Niko to lead the way. I hung back and followed behind to make sure everyone stayed on the path to the closet.
I could feel my heart thumping hard against my rib cage as we moved toward the master bedroom. If that jacket was distinctive, it might be enough to justify Niko’s arrest. As we approached the closet, I took a look at Niko. He seemed pretty calm and collected. But he had one of the best poke
r faces I’d ever seen. For all I knew, he was ready to jump out of his skin.
The closet was a massive walk-in. As Niko opened the double doors, Kingsford took out a photo. He consulted it as he moved down the racks on the left, then turned a corner and scanned the clothes on the racks on the right side. Midway down, he stopped and pulled out a black waist-length jacket.
I’d hoped the jacket would turn out to be a standard-issue bomber or blazer style, the kind of thing you’d find in stores everywhere. But it wasn’t. The sleeves were wool, but the body of the jacket was leather, and the front zipper was set on a diagonal.
This was not good. I pointed to the photo in Kingsford’s hand. “Is that a still shot from the surveillance footage?” Kingsford nodded. “I’d like to see it.”
He gave it to me. “I’ll send you a link for the surveillance footage.”
I tried to keep my hand from shaking as I studied the photo. It was a shot from behind, so all it showed was the back of the jacket. It was waist length, and the shape was similar. But the quality of the photo wasn’t good enough to tell whether the sleeves were wool or leather. And the photo was black and white, so although the jacket looked dark, that didn’t necessarily mean it was black—as opposed to navy blue or brown. My breathing slowed. This was no smoking gun. Hardly the “gotcha” Kingsford had implied. I handed the photo back to him. “Unless you have some jacket expert who can say the stitching is one of a kind, this won’t do diddly-squat.”
Kingsford slid the photo into his jacket pocket. “In the eye of the beholder. Anyway, I think the footage is a little clearer than this still.”
I sure hoped not. “I’d like to get that link by the end of business today.”
O’Malley put Niko’s jacket into the paper bag, and Niko ushered them out of the house. I went to the living room and flopped down on the couch.
Although the jacket wasn’t exactly a slam dunk, I didn’t like the way these little details were adding up. The wineglass, the jacket, the person in the footage who was supposedly Niko’s size. And I worried more was coming. No single thing proved Niko had killed Bryan—or Tanner. But if more details like these kept adding up, the cops might be able to build a strong circumstantial case against him. People say a case is weak when it’s “only circumstantial.” In reality, circumstantial cases are usually a lot stronger than cases based on direct evidence.
A case based on an eyewitness is a classic example of direct evidence. But there’s nothing more unreliable—or easier to shred in court—than an eyewitness. Don’t believe me? Just watch what happens to them on cross-examination. How far away were you from the robber? Do you wear glasses or contacts? Were you wearing them at the time? How dark was it? You were leaving a restaurant; what were you drinking? Can you describe the gun the robber was holding? They usually can’t. Can you describe what he was wearing? Not usually.
And then, whatever is left of the eyewitness’s credibility will be trashed by an eyewitness identification expert’s testimony. So unless the prosecution has a bunch of eyewitnesses who all give the same descriptions—which never happens, because no two people see the same thing the same way—my chances of beating the case are pretty good.
But with a circumstantial case, I’m usually hosed. Because a circumstantial case doesn’t depend on an eyewitness or on any one piece of evidence. It’s a combination of a variety of sources, and it’s usually a web I can’t break through. I was worried now that Kingsford and O’Malley were weaving one for Niko.
I hid that fear behind a smile when Niko joined me on the couch. “Thanks for taking my advice—for a change.”
Niko nodded, his expression solemn. “Yeah, I guess I’ve learned my lesson. I just thought before that if I told them everything, they’d see I was innocent and move on.”
Just like so many of my clients. “Does this mean you’ll start listening to me about the virtues of french fries and Taco Bell?”
Niko gave me an incredulous look. “Why on earth would I do that?”
I shrugged. “It was worth a try.” I shifted gears and went back to the matter at hand. “Did you go to Bryan’s house that night?” I’d worded the question carefully to give him a chance to come up with an innocent explanation if he was the man in the surveillance footage.
He shook his head. “No. I didn’t. The jacket in that photo can’t be mine, and I don’t see how anyone can say it is.”
I didn’t, either. At least, not now.
SEVENTEEN
I had to get back to work, and Niko had meetings scheduled. He walked me to the door. “Thanks, Sam, for . . . everything.”
His gratitude made me a little uncomfortable. “Of course.”
He gave me a long hug, then opened the door. As I turned to go, he said, “Hey, when you get the link to that surveillance footage, will you forward it to me?”
I promised I would and told him to call me when he got done with his meetings.
The day was mild, with just a few thin clouds, and the palm trees swayed under a very blue sky. I rolled down my windows as I drove back to the office and tried to relax. But thoughts about that footage and what it might show kept my shoulders hunched around my neck. I couldn’t stop thinking, What if . . . ? What if the guy in the footage really looked like Niko? What if the cops came up with more evidence tying him to Bryan’s murder—and maybe Tanner’s? What if Niko had been lying to me all along?
How would I feel about it if I found out he had killed one—or both—of them? I knew I wouldn’t blame him. I knew I’d have probably done the same.
Because I had done the same—several times. Starting ten years ago, when Michy’s attacker got out of jail after his case got thrown out. He hadn’t been out for two days before he went back to terrorizing her. Banging on her window in the middle of the night. Leaving dead rats, snakes, and lastly a dead cat at her door. But Michy had no proof that it was him. She never caught him in the act and neither did any of her neighbors. The cops were sympathetic. They’d have loved to lock the asshole up. They just didn’t have the evidence.
Michy was losing weight—and her sanity. This couldn’t go on. I had to do something. I began to spend every spare moment tracking him, hoping I could catch him in the act. But after a week with no success, I began to consider a different plan. Over the next two weeks, I took note of his pattern of movements and where he’d be at certain times of night until finally, I was ready.
I remember sitting in my car, waiting for him to make his usual run to the local liquor store. I remember how my heart pounded, how a rush of adrenaline coursed through me as I watched him turn into the alley—the route he always took home. I remember how I lifted my foot and stomped on the gas pedal, how I barreled down that alley. How he turned to look back at the very last moment. How my headlights lit up his face, his look of disbelief and horror. But best of all, I remember the soaring feeling of smashing into him at full speed. The solid whomp of his body as it hit the grille of my car. It felt so good, I backed up and ran over him again. The case remains unsolved.
The next day—and for months afterward—I’d wondered whether the joy of that night would give way to depression and guilt. But as the days, weeks, and months passed, I realized that not only did I not feel any guilt, I felt at peace. There was something supremely fulfilling about lending justice a helping hand. So much so, I wound up doing it again and again—and again.
Bottom line: I had no moral qualms about it if Niko turned out to have given justice a little nudge. In fact, I’d love him even more. It only bugged me that he might be lying to me.
So I was apprehensive about what I might find when I opened the link. Michy—who, by the way, doesn’t know about any of my extracurricular activities, and neither does Alex—could see something was up the moment I walked in the door. She gave me a worried look. “What happened?”
“Nothing really.”
Alex came out of his office and echoed her question. I told them about the jacket and the link Kingsford had said
he’d send.
“Michy, could you check and see if we’ve got it?”
She opened the screen for the office email on her computer. “Nope, not yet.”
I looked at my watch. It felt like I’d been at Niko’s house all day, but it was only two thirty. Kingsford hadn’t even had time to get back downtown yet. “Guess I’ll go try and be productive.” I glanced at Alex. “Unless you have some news for me.”
Alex shook his head. “Working on it, though. Gold Strike didn’t have the most sophisticated security system. I’d expect that of Bryan. He was basically computer illiterate. But I thought Tanner was a little savvier.”
I was confused. “Then how come you haven’t broken through?”
He gave me a mildly exasperated look. “Who says I haven’t? It’s just that there’re a million files to go through.”
That made sense. With no new development to distract me, I was forced to get to work on some boring motions. I headed into my office.
I didn’t get the link to the surveillance footage until five thirty. I’d said I wanted it by the end of the day, and Kingsford had made sure it wasn’t a minute earlier. I went to my doorway and told Michy and Alex the link had come in. We gathered behind my desk and watched the monitor as I clicked on it.
A black-and-white shot of the area behind Bryan’s building filled the screen. Within seconds, I saw a figure approach. But—as Kingsford had said—it was only a rear view. The figure headed toward the spot where I assumed the back door was, but then it moved out of view. The footage ended there.
I sat back, puzzled. “Why doesn’t Bryan’s security camera pick up his back door?”
Michy said, “I thought that, too. But maybe it wasn’t his camera. Maybe it was a neighbor’s, and it just happened to cover some of his property.”
Alex agreed. “I was thinking the angle was wrong, too. If he had a camera, it should’ve been mounted on the wall of his building, so it would capture the guy’s face, not just his back.”
