by Marcia Clark
I played the footage another three times to give us a chance to study the size of the person. When I’d finished, I said, “What do you guys think? Could it be Niko?” I knew what I thought.
Michy sighed. “I mean, it does look like a man. And he is about Niko’s height.”
“I hate to say it, but I agree,” Alex said.
Exactly what I’d thought. Another link in the chain—that’d be wrapped around Niko’s neck if I didn’t get a break. And then something occurred to me. I opened a search window on my computer and began typing. After a few minutes, I found what I was looking for. I magnified the picture and leaned back to give Michy and Alex a clear view. “Do you see what I see?”
Alex smacked his forehead. “How’d I miss that? I spent practically the whole night with the dude. Yeah, you’re right, Sam.”
Michy peered at the photo. “That’s Tanner?”
I nodded. “What do you think?”
She cocked her head to the side. “I think he looks about the same size as Niko.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Then it wasn’t just me, hoping to prove Niko was innocent. They saw it, too. I pulled out my cell phone and showed them the photo I’d taken of Niko’s jacket earlier that day. “Do you think it looks like the one the guy was wearing in the video footage?”
Alex shrugged. “It looks similar. But you can’t see much detail in that footage. There’s no way to know whether it’s Niko’s jacket. At least, in my opinion.” He turned toward Michy. “You?”
She frowned at the photo. “If I were on a jury and the D.A. tried to get me to believe that was the jacket in the video, I’d think they were desperate. And incompetent.”
I was feeling pretty good about my theory that Tanner might be the man in the video. But I wanted confirmation. “Alex, can you get your hands on Tanner’s DMV records?”
“You want height and weight, right?” I nodded. “I’ll poke around. Niko’s about six feet tall, isn’t he?”
“Six one. And he weighs a hundred and seventy-five.”
Alex nodded. “Sounds right.”
He headed back to his office. Michy moved toward the door, then stopped. “It bugs me that the cops didn’t notice the guy in the video might be Tanner.”
It bugged me, too. “Maybe they did and just aren’t telling me.”
She looked skeptical. “Or they’re stuck on the theory that Niko killed Bryan.”
They sure seemed to be. Confirmation bias. It’s what happens when cops decide the killer “has to be” the husband, or the boyfriend, or the gangbanger next door, then only pay attention to the evidence that confirms their theory instead of following the evidence where it leads them. It screws up more investigations than anyone knows.
But I wasn’t convinced that was in play here. Kingsford was sharp. And he was under no obligation to share all his evidence with me. Not yet anyway. Not until Niko was actually charged. “My bet is they do know it could be Tanner, and they’re just playing it close to the vest.”
Michy sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Cops.” She went back to her desk.
I smiled. She was actually pretty pro-cop for someone who worked on the defense side. But every now and then, the cat and mouse game that was the perpetual dance between the boys in blue and me got to her.
I made myself dive into the motion—a hopeless argument asking the judge not to let the prosecution use my client’s prior conviction for burglary at trial—and was only three pages in when Alex showed up in my doorway holding his iPad. “You already managed to hack into the DMV? That was fast.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “It’s been two hours. And I’m sure I could’ve hacked the DMV in that time, but I didn’t have to.”
Two hours, and I only had three pages to show for it. I was definitely not myself. “What’d you get?”
Alex looked very pleased with himself as he sat down in front of my desk and opened his iPad. “Tanner’s gym membership. He was way into the body beautiful.” He smirked. “I think it had something to do with the trainer who worked there. She was, as they say, ‘smokin’.’ And she very helpfully kept records.” He handed me the iPad.
There it was. Tanner’s height: six feet and point five inches. And his weight: a hundred and seventy-two. “Does it show the date of his last weigh-in?”
Alex pointed to the top of the screen. “In the right corner.”
I saw it and looked at Alex with a smile. “That’s just a week before he disappeared.”
He leaned back and folded his arms. “Honestly, I’m so good I sometimes scare myself.”
I rolled my eyes as I handed back his iPad. “I’ve always said you scare easy.”
Alex sniffed and decamped for his office. It was a small victory. But we hadn’t had any in a while. I’d take it. For now.
EIGHTEEN
When I left the office that Friday, I’d hoped our little victory meant we were on a roll. And we were. The problem was the direction: straight downhill.
I’d spent most of the weekend catching up on errands and boring chores, like cleaning and laundry. Niko was busy taping his next video, and when he wasn’t, he was sitting at his mother’s bedside. I managed to join him there Sunday evening. Sophia still couldn’t move or speak, but she was able to open her eyes and make a weird croaking sound.
Niko pointed out these small improvements to Dr. Hoffman. “She’s getting better, isn’t she? So maybe she’ll recover.” The naked hope on his face was almost painful in its vulnerability.
Dr. Hoffman grasped his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “It’s important to hang on to hope. But it’s just as important to be realistic about her prognosis. This is very likely as good as she’s going to get. And it’s quite possible this progress is only temporary. I’m sorry.”
Niko’s expression hardened. “But people have recovered from strokes before.”
The doctor let go of his shoulder and looked away. “Yes, but from a stroke this severe?” He sighed. “I’ve never seen it happen. I’m not saying it’s impossible. Nothing’s impossible. But it’s important that you accept the truth of the situation. For your own sake.”
The stubborn look on Niko’s face told me that was unlikely to happen. It broke my heart to imagine how devastated he would be if—and most likely when—the doctor’s bleak prediction proved to be true.
It made me even more determined to prove he was innocent and get the cops off his back. So it was doubly upsetting when I got to the office Monday morning and found Dale sitting in the reception area, chatting with Michy.
The fact that he was here in person couldn’t be a good omen. It meant he had something to tell me that a) he couldn’t risk saying on the phone and b) required some discussion. Good news could be delivered in code on a cell phone.
And then, of course, there was Dale’s grim expression. I gave him a curt nod and gestured toward my office. “Let’s get it over with.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you, too.”
I gave him a flat look. “Obviously, it isn’t.”
I sat at my desk, and Dale took a seat across from me. He didn’t mince words. “Did you know Kingsford asked the crime lab to compare the fibers from Niko’s jacket to the fibers found in Bryan’s duplex?” I shook my head. “The report came in early this morning. They’re a match.”
Oh hell. But I reminded Dale, “No, they’re not a match—they’re consistent.”
Dale waved me off. “Yeah, whatever.”
But it mattered. Fingerprints match. DNA samples match. But fibers don’t have that kind of individuality. The most that can legitimately be said is that their characteristics are consistent. Still, “consistent” was bad enough.
Dale offered, “I’m sure Kingsford and O’Malley realize Niko could’ve worn that jacket at Bryan’s house on plenty of other occasions.”
I’m sure they did. Or at least, I was sure Kingsford did. He was no dummy. The jury was out on O’Malley. “But it
doesn’t look good.”
I didn’t know whether the cops would be able to enhance the surveillance video footage enough to prove that the jacket the man was wearing in the video matched Niko’s. Even if they couldn’t, the fact that it looked similar to Niko’s jacket and that the fibers from his jacket were consistent with those in Bryan’s duplex was problematic. Again, it was no smoking gun, but it added to the evidence that was steadily stacking up against Niko.
Dale frowned. “He’s still saying he didn’t do it?”
I folded my arms. “You know that’s privileged.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “Really? You’re playing the lawyer card? After I’ve leaked like a rusty colander for you?”
That was fair. Besides, I knew he’d keep anything I told him between us. He was squarely on Niko’s side. And, like me, he secretly had a few dead bodies of his own under his belt. “Okay.” I sighed. “Well, he could be telling the truth.” I told Dale about how similar in size Tanner and Niko were and pointed out that meant Tanner could’ve killed Bryan.
Dale nodded. “Assuming the guy in the video is the killer.”
We all know what they say about assuming things, but this assumption seemed pretty safe to me. “The neighbor who owns the video camera helped narrow down the timing. According to the time stamp on the footage, the guy showed up at Bryan’s back door at eight twenty-five p.m. The coroner said Bryan died between five p.m. and midnight, and his mother said he wasn’t answering his phone as of nine thirty. It fits. The guy in that video has to be the killer.”
“Okay. Then have you worked out a motive?”
That was the question. “I’ve got Alex working on that.”
“Keep me posted.” Dale grasped the arms of his chair and stood up. “Better get going. Those bad guys won’t catch themselves.” He headed out, saying he needed to grab some breakfast.
My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. I hadn’t had time to eat. Fond memories of the Scrumptious Café Bakery on Hayworth floated before my eyes. They had build-your-own omelets, and their parmesan scrambled eggs and croissants were a heavenly experience.
I walked out to the reception area and told Michy I was going to pick up breakfast to go. “Want me to get something for you?”
Michy winced. “I already ate. But those croissants . . .”
They really were irresistible. “You got it.” I glanced at Alex’s office. The door was closed. “Is he in?”
Michy blew out a breath. “Is he ever. I got in at eight, and he was already here. Said he got in at six thirty. He’s hot on the trail of something.”
Maybe he’d come up with some good news. I could use a little of that right now. I went to his office and knocked on the door. “Hey, NASA called. They want their satellite back.”
A few seconds later, an exasperated Alex opened the door. “Seriously? You promised you’d stop with those dumb knock-knock jokes.”
I gave him a mock glare. “I did no such thing.” He glared right back at me. “Okay, fine, maybe I did.” I told him I was picking up breakfast at Scrumptious. “Want anything?”
The glare gave way to a hungry look. “I’d love a ham and cheddar cheese omelet.”
I looked over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”
Alex half smiled. “What on earth do you expect to see?”
True. He did all his work on the computer. It was just a reflexive move. “Treasure maps. Come on, tell me.”
“Tanner. And if you stop screwing around with me, I may have some answers for you when you get back.”
“So why are you letting me? Go hit those keys.”
Alex rolled his eyes and shut the door, and I headed out to get some delicious breakfast things.
I—of course—ordered the scrambled eggs with parmesan and asparagus and some extra croissants because . . . I wanted them.
When I got back, I gave Michy her croissant and showed her there were extras. She shook her head. “You’re the devil.”
“That’s Miss Devil to you.” I saw that Alex’s door was still closed. I knocked. “Get decent, the Girl Scouts are here to sell Thin Mints.”
Alex opened the door with a world-class eye roll. “You just never stop, do you?”
I held up the to-go bag from Scrumptious. “Okay, cough up what you’ve got. No info, no breakfast.”
Alex folded his arms across his chest. “Holding food hostage is about as low as it gets.”
“Not true. I can go so much lower.” I entered his office, which was so Spartan, it reminded me of a cement bunker. That cliché about gay men being great with decor? Yeah, not so much. I sat down on the only chair—a wooden ladder-back that he’d probably found at a garage sale.
Alex opened the Styrofoam box and dug into his eggs. I didn’t object to waiting. He was a fast eater. And sure enough, he powered through the whole plate in two minutes. After a long drink of water, he hit a key on his computer. The screen lit up with what looked like an in-box. “I found a way into Tanner’s email. It took a while because he was a lot more sophisticated about his security than I’d expected. And he had multiple accounts with different passwords.”
I was out of patience. “For God’s sake, spit it out. What did you find?”
Alex shot me a narrow-eyed look, then turned back to his screen. “You were right, Sam. Tanner was in on the cryptocurrency scam all along. In fact, it seems it was his idea.”
I thought about what that meant. If Tanner knew the cryptocurrency trade was a total scam, then he had to have figured out that Bryan had stolen the money—and not long before the murder. The plan was so simple. Just pretend to do a big cryptocurrency trade, then claim the trade went south and split the money. All they’d had to do was create a realistic-looking paper trail. But what Tanner didn’t realize was that Bryan wasn’t into sharing. And he’d been stealing money for quite some time with his private holding company, BYO. So Tanner’s frantic visit to Niko’s house in the middle of the night was just an act. He was covering his ass, pretending he’d been duped so no one would catch on to the fact that he’d actually been the architect of the fraud. He was probably also hoping we could help him find Bryan so he could get his share of the loot.
Bottom line: Tanner had the best motive to kill Bryan. Not only because Bryan had ripped him off and he wanted to get his money back, but also because he needed to make sure Bryan could never bust him for setting up the scam.
Then another thought—a very ugly one—occurred to me. “He used that internal decapitation move in order to frame Niko.”
Alex nodded. “That was my thinking. And he knew about Niko’s mother, didn’t he?”
I nodded. “Definitely. Which made Niko a perfect fall guy.”
“Then doesn’t it make even more sense that Tanner’s not dead, that he’s alive and just hiding out somewhere?”
The logic was sound, but that didn’t make it true. And now I had a problem. “How am I going to get this news to Kingsford and O’Malley without getting you busted for hacking?”
Alex shook his head. “Good question.”
But it was a step in the right direction. A big one.
NINETEEN
We kicked some ideas around for an hour, but ultimately, I decided the only way to make sure Kingsford found out that Tanner had set up the scam was to just tell him and make it sound like my personal opinion, based on who Tanner is. Or maybe was.
Not exactly genius, I know. But sometimes, the simplest solution is the only solution. “We’ll see how long it takes for the cops to catch up with you, Alex.”
He smirked. “You mean how long—if ever.”
I laughed. “But speaking of cops, I should tell Dale about all this.” And I had a few thoughts I didn’t want to share with Alex or Michy. I went to my office and called Dale on his cell. “Are you anywhere close? I need to run something by you.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Just had breakfast at Blu Jam. But I don’t have a lot of time.”
I reas
sured him this wouldn’t take long. I went back to Alex’s office and told him to finish compiling the background on the Gold Strike investors. I wanted to broaden the list of suspects, and the investors seemed like a good place to start. Ten minutes later, Dale arrived, and I led him into my office. He sat down on the couch, and I closed the door. “So far, the cops are focusing on Niko for Bryan’s murder. But I’m sure they’re looking at him for Tanner’s possible murder, too. Right?”
Dale nodded. “But it’s tough. The only solid evidence they’ve got so far is that wineglass. It proves he was with Tanner that night—”
“Which he freely admitted—”
“And which would’ve been just fine if he hadn’t lied about having wine with the guy.” He shook his head. “Rookie move, by the way.”
I shook my head. “Tell me about it. He told me he just forgot they’d had drinks.”
Dale lifted his palms. “It’s possible. But don’t forget, he’s got just as much motive to kill Tanner as he does Bryan.”
I frowned. “But why kill Tanner? Tanner’s his alibi for Bryan’s murder. Unless . . .”
Dale raised his eyebrows. “Unless?”
I didn’t like where my mind had gone, but I’d come this far. I may as well share it all. “Unless Tanner wasn’t really his alibi.”
“Meaning, Niko didn’t have an alibi because he did kill Bryan.”
I hated to say it. “Yeah. Which means he might well have killed Tanner, too.”
Dale sighed. “So he used Tanner as his alibi, because he knew it was safe.”
I shrugged. “Dead men don’t talk.”
Dale frowned. “Somehow I can’t see Niko being that kind of calculating. That’s pretty cold. Killing Tanner just so he could use him as an alibi?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like him.”
I didn’t want to believe it, either. “Well, not just for that reason. Tanner did basically kill Niko’s mother. Niko didn’t have proof at the time, but I think he was pretty sure Tanner had planned to steal the money all along. And as it turns out, he was right.”
He sighed. “True.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “We’ll have to see how it plays out. We about done here? I actually have a day job, believe it or not.”
