Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  I nodded. “Seems so.” We chatted about Tanner Handel and Gold Strike as we finished our breakfast, but Deleon didn’t have anything more to add. I thought his take on this Angelina woman was interesting. I wasn’t sure she’d have any useful information for us, but I’d at least have liked to give it a shot. The only problem was, I had no clue how to find her.

  We finished breakfast, and I picked up the tab and thanked Deleon. “If you happen to bump into Angelina again—”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll hang on to her.”

  But then Kingsford would get first crack at her. “Maybe you could give me a heads-up if you get her?”

  Deleon studied me for a moment. “Sure, give me your cell number.”

  I thanked him again. He gave me a mock salute, then headed for his patrol car. Alex and I had just gotten into his MINI Cooper when my cell phone rang. Alex laughed. “He bumped into her already?”

  I looked at the number on the screen. “It’s Dale.” Alex’s eyes widened. We both knew what that meant. Something had happened. I answered. “Hi, what’s up?”

  Dale’s voice was low. “They found a Porsche 911 registered to Tanner Handel.”

  A Porsche 911. Exactly the kind of car I’d expect him to drive. I didn’t like the sound of this. “Where?”

  Dale said, “In a ditch near the border of Arizona. Looks like someone was trying to hide it. The car was covered in dirt and branches.”

  I immediately reached for an innocent explanation. “Tanner could’ve buried it himself.” I’d been saying all along that he’d probably faked his own death so he could disappear with the money he’d stolen.

  Dale paused for a moment before answering. “Anything’s possible, Sam.”

  “What condition was the car in?”

  “Tires gone, hubcaps gone, it was almost completely stripped.”

  “Sounds to me like it got stolen by a pro,” I said. Someone who had a fence for all those parts. “Tanner might’ve left it in a place where it was likely to get stolen. That’d sure help him set up his fake death.”

  His tone was skeptical. “I guess that’s possible.” Three beeps sounded on Dale’s line. “I’ve gotta take this call. Maybe we should have dinner.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

  We set the dinner for Sunday. I knew that meant we were going to have a serious talk about Niko and what he might’ve done. I could weave all the alternative theories I liked, but simple logic said there were easier ways for Tanner to fake his own death than to leave his car in a place where he could only hope it’d get stolen.

  I couldn’t deny it. This latest discovery made it far more likely that Tanner had been killed.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Alex saw my expression. “What happened?”

  I filled him in. “They’ll analyze every millimeter of that car.”

  He knew what I was getting at. “But even if they find Niko’s prints or hair, that doesn’t mean anything. He must’ve been in that car a bunch of times.”

  A big splotch of rain hit the windshield. Then another and another. It was going to start pouring in seconds. I stared at a girl who was mincing across the street in Daisy Dukes and five-inch-high pink platform shoes—Minnie Mouse in porn drag. She was about to get drenched. Right now, I wished I were her. I wanted to be anyone but me. “Depends on what they find and where they find it.” Niko’s prints on the passenger side door? No problem. Niko’s prints inside the trunk, near bloodstains that came from Tanner? Big problem.

  Alex started the car. “The only thing we can do is keep moving. And hope we come up with something that takes Niko off the hook.”

  We could make the former happen. It was the latter that worried me. Alex asked if I wanted him to drop me at home so I could get my car. “Nah, I’ll just Uber home.” I hated to drive in the rain, and it was a luxury I could afford. My office was only about ten minutes away.

  When Alex pulled into the parking garage, he said, “What do you want to do about the Angelina angle? Think she’s worth some time?”

  I definitely did. “She seems to be pretty tight with Tanner. If there’s any possibility he’s still alive, she might know where he’s hiding out.”

  He parked, and we got out. He armed the car alarm. “You want to talk to Niko, see if he knows anything about her?”

  I nodded. So far, no one seemed to know anything about her other than her first name—that, and the fact that she was super hot. Not helpful. Niko was the only one I could think of who might know more. As we got into the elevator, I said, “I should be hearing from him any minute.” I looked at my watch. “His flight lands in about an hour.”

  Alex blew out a breath. “Fingers crossed.”

  When we walked in, Michy was hard at work on her computer. “You writing an angry letter to the IRS? If so, can I help?”

  She gave me a flat look. “I’m working on your billing.” She tilted her head. “Want to make more jokes?”

  I never mess with the person who’s trying to get me money. I held up my hands. “What jokes? I was serious.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the latest?”

  I told her about our interview with Deleon, what Dale had just told me, and what the discovery of Tanner’s car might mean. “And I’ll have to see Niko soon. Probably tonight.”

  Michy shrugged. “On the bright side, he might have some skinny on Angelina. And I assume you’ll tell him about them finding Tanner’s car.” I nodded. “So that’ll give you some cover.”

  I frowned. “Cover?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “For acting weird. Which you absolutely will be.”

  I had to smile. She knew me so well. “True. I guess that’s something.”

  I went to my office and called the D.A. on Angelo’s case. I tried to put the best spin on the matter as I could—starting with the sympathy gambit. “He’s just too scared to talk. He’s a sitting duck in that jail. He’s bound to piss off someone if it gets out that he’s cooperating—and we both know it always does. Unless you’re willing to give him a deal for no time—”

  The deputy D.A., Peter Shultz, interrupted me. “Not happening. Look, Sam, we know he doesn’t have anything to give us on a rich target. The only question was whether we’d give him a little less time. If he’s not talking, he either pleads to the sheet or we go to trial.”

  I’d had a feeling that would be his reaction. But if Angelo pled to all charges, he’d do more than eight years. His wife and children would be out on the street before he’d done six months. I played the only card I had left. “You’re forgetting I have a witness—”

  He interrupted me again. “Yeah, that shot caller—who also happened to be his customer? Pardon my arrogance for thinking I might be able to persuade the jury to agree that he’s a little less than credible.”

  “You never know, Pete.” Though we both did. Juries can be unpredictable at times—but probably not this time.

  “Do yourself a favor and let this one go. If he pleads to the sheet, I won’t ask for the max.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. That was probably the best I could do. “Okay, then. See you in court.”

  I ended the call, picked up my coat and purse, and went out to give Alex and Michy the news. When I finished, Alex said, “I can take another run at him if you want. But I don’t think he’ll budge.”

  “No, don’t bother.” This was do-or-die time. I’d have to handle this myself. I put on my coat. “I’ll go talk to him. Hopefully, he’ll sober up and realize he has to cooperate if he wants a deal.”

  Michy gave me a look of sympathy. “Seems unlikely. But good luck.”

  And on that cheery note, I headed for my Uber.

  The traffic gods were with me. I got to Twin Towers in just under an hour. If Angelo refused to come out again, I’d just have to give him the news when we got to court. But this time, he agreed to see me. He looked surprisingly good for someone who was in fear for his life. H
e’d gained a few pounds, which filled out his otherwise bony, narrow face, and he’d cut his long, stringy—often greasy—hair. He sat down and picked up the phone. I picked up my phone and said, “You seem to be doing okay.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  I told him what the deputy D.A. had said. “Basically, right now, I think your best shot is to plead out and let me make a pitch for leniency. Unless you’re willing to talk.”

  He shook his head. “No way. I’m not talking to no one.”

  I had a feeling he was going to say he wouldn’t plead, either. In which case, the only option left was to go to trial. “I’m going to warn you. If we go to trial on a slam-dunk case like this, the judge will probably slam your ass when it comes time for sentencing.”

  But Angelo surprised me. “I’ll plead. I don’t want no trial. You can do your lawyer thing. Beg the judge or whatever. I’m good.”

  I stared at him. This was a big shift in attitude. “You do know you might do more than eight years, right?” He didn’t blink. “I thought you were worried about your wife and kids.”

  He nodded calmly. “I was. But not no more. They’ll be taken care of.”

  Then I understood. “As long as you don’t talk.”

  “Exactly.” He pushed his chair back. “So that’s it?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  He thanked me, hung up, and called to the guard to take him back to his cell. I watched as he left, thinking this had probably worked out for the best.

  The ride back to the office was brutal. The traffic gods giveth and taketh away. I sat in a bumper-to-bumper stagnating line for an hour and a half. On the way, I got a text from Niko. He’d landed and was going straight to the hospital to see his mother. He asked if I could come to his place later. He’d make dinner. Even though, as Michy said, I had cover, I was still nervous about how I’d act now that I’d spoken to his brother, Ivan. But I had to bite the bullet sometime. I texted him back saying I’d pick up dinner at Greenblatt’s Deli and get to his place at six o’clock.

  When I got into the office, I told the troops about my visit with Angelo. “So, Alex, any sob-worthy story you can find in his past or present will be much appreciated.” I didn’t have the law card or the evidence card. All I had was the sympathy card. And hopefully Pete’s word that he wouldn’t ask the judge to max out his sentence.

  Alex didn’t look optimistic. “I’ll get on it right now. But speaking of sob-worthy, I dug up some gold for Jamie Stuart.”

  I took off my coat. “Hit me.”

  “When he was fourteen, his mother died of leukemia. His father had been in the wind for years. And he had two younger sisters—ages six and eight. The state put them all in foster care, where, as you might guess—”

  “They all got abused or molested.” It was such an agonizingly familiar story.

  Alex nodded. “Yeah, sadly. But when he turned eighteen, he got his sisters out of foster care. He was the sole support for the family for the next ten years. Then he got hooked up with a girlfriend who showed him the wonderful world of opioids.”

  “And thus began his life of crime.” This really was a pretty harrowing tale. “Even Judge Heart of Darkness might go for this one.” I’d ask for a probationary sentence that included rehab and community service, lean hard on the clear evidence that Jamie was someone who could pull it together, etc. It could work. “Nice job, Alex.” I glanced at my watch. It was after five o’clock already, and I’d told Niko I’d get to his place by six. I said Niko had called and that I was bringing him dinner.

  “You going to tell him about Tanner’s car?” Michy asked.

  Good question. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to see what kind of shape he’s in.” And what kind of mood I was in. I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with it right now. I pulled out my phone. “I’d better get going. I have to Uber home and pick up my car.”

  Alex said, “I’d offer to drive you, but I want to get the workup on Angelo done.”

  I agreed. “I want you to get it done, too.”

  My cell phone pinged to say Uber was on its way. I told them I’d let them know how it went with Niko and left.

  I pulled up the menu for Greenblatt’s on the way home. It was still raining, so I thought chicken noodle soup would be a cozy choice. I scrolled through the menu to see what I should order for the main course. If I’d been alone, I would’ve ordered the jumbo turkey leg dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy and corn-bread stuffing. But I’d be with Niko, which meant I’d have to listen to lectures about carbs and cholesterol. I ordered us each the turkey breast sandwich with coleslaw on the side and tried not to feel resentful.

  I was already late, so when the Uber dropped me off, I didn’t bother to go up to my apartment. I got into my car and headed for Greenblatt’s. I hate driving in the rain. The streets get oily and slippery, and no one seems to be able to see where they’re going. By the time I got to Niko’s place, I was tired, damp, and irritated with the world. I struggled up the walkway, dinner bags in hand, and tried not to fall on the wet concrete.

  But when Niko opened the door and I saw his stricken expression, I forgot about all that. I set the bags down on the kitchen counter. “What’s wrong?”

  He pressed his lips together. “Mom’s not . . . doing so well.”

  He told me that she seldom opened her eyes, and only for a few seconds at a time. And now she wasn’t making any sounds at all. What little progress she’d made before had been temporary, and she now seemed to be slipping backward. “Niko, I’m so sorry.”

  He sagged against the counter. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told her to invest with those con men, she’d be fine.”

  I understood his feelings of guilt, but he’d only meant the best for her, and he’d had good reason to believe she’d make a lot of money. He certainly had. “Niko, you’ve got to let it go. Come on, let’s eat. You must be starving.”

  We took the food into the living room and lit the fire. After dinner, he seemed to relax. I’d been so focused on getting him out of his funk, I’d forgotten to worry about how I was acting with him and my own feelings of guilt at having gone behind his back to meet his brother. But now, my anxiety was mounting. I could feel my palms start to sweat. I glanced at Niko. Had he noticed? He was staring into the fire. I didn’t think so.

  After a moment, he rubbed his face and looked at me. “I just realized, I was so messed up, I forgot to ask what was happening with the case.”

  My stomach clenched. This was it. I hadn’t been sure whether I should tell him about Tanner’s car. But now, I knew I had to. I repeated what Dale had said about Tanner’s car being found. As I spoke, I studied his face for any signs of fear that he’d been caught. But he seemed surprised. Genuinely? I couldn’t be sure.

  Shock spread across his face. “What do you think happened?”

  I spooled out my theory about Tanner faking his own death, then knocked it down with the more logical explanation: that it was likely Tanner had been killed. “Obviously, this isn’t great news.”

  He clasped his hands together. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  This was my opening. “Actually, there is.” I told him what we’d learned about Angelina. “Did you ever meet her?”

  He frowned for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t recognize the name, but I’ve seen Tanner with a lot of women.”

  Tanner was a player. But I already knew that. “You don’t remember seeing him with one in particular? One who was a real looker and had a Russian accent?”

  Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh wait. Yeah. I remember her.”

  But he didn’t know her last name or where she lived or . . . anything else. I tried another tack. “Did you go to any of Tanner’s wild parties?”

  He made a face. “Yeah, once. In London.”

  I smiled. “Not your kind of scene, I take it.”

  He harrumphed. “To put it mildly. And I had no idea those parties were a regular thing with h
im. But if you’re asking whether anyone I met there might know more about Angelina, the answer is: possibly. Liam Fallon. Tanner made a point of introducing us because Liam said he was a fan of mine. Liam manages a major hedge fund, and Tanner was trying to sweet-talk him into investing with Gold Strike.”

  That Tanner sure knew how to work all the angles. “And after meeting you, he did invest, right?”

  Niko’s expression was glum. “Yeah, he did.”

  I mentally reviewed the list of Gold Strike victims. “I don’t remember seeing his name on any of the papers.”

  Niko shrugged. “Maybe we don’t have all the investors’ names yet.”

  I thought about that. “Or maybe he doesn’t want his name out there.” If Liam lost a bundle, he might be a viable suspect.

  Niko frowned and shook his head. “No. Liam’s a good guy. There’s no way he’d ever kill anyone.”

  “Anyone can kill anyone. Especially when it involves the kind of financial hit people took in this case.” I couldn’t help but mentally add: Or, say, when it puts your mother in the hospital.

  Niko gave a heavy sigh. “I guess.”

  I asked, “So where does Liam live? Do you have a number for him?”

  He thought for a moment. “I think I remember him saying he lives in Westwood. His number . . . I think I might. Hold on.”

  Niko got up and headed for his study. I clutched my glass of wine and prayed he had it. We needed a break more than ever now. A few minutes later, he came back with a card in his hand. He sat down and looked me in the eyes. “He didn’t do it, Sam. Trust me.”

  I took the card from him. “I do trust you.” Well, sort of. “But I can’t afford to trust anyone else.” The card was made of heavyweight stock, and it was a buff cream color. The information on it was engraved. Everything about it said money, but in a classy way. I thought about how to approach a guy like this. “I need you to set up a dinner for the three of us.”

  Niko didn’t look happy about it. “Just promise me you’ll give him a fair shake.”

  I patted his knee. “Of course I will.”

  I’d give him a fair shake. And then go after him with everything I had.