by Marcia Clark
I was elated and panicked at the same time. He sounded like his old self. Maybe I’d just been misdirecting, projecting my own feelings of distance on him. I needed to stop worrying about acting weird around him. “Not yet. Want to have dinner?”
A sexy smile was in his tone. “At least that.”
I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much I’d missed him. “I’m in.”
This time, I suggested we get together at my place. But Niko insisted on making dinner. “Don’t worry, it won’t be quinoa and tofu.”
Thank God. “I’m not worried. If that’s what you want, I probably won’t get home until around ten thirty.”
He laughed, and I told him I wasn’t joking. When we ended the call, everything seemed so . . . normal. Maybe it really was all in my head. And maybe Niko had nothing to do with Bryan’s death—or Tanner’s possible death.
It’d been a long day, and I was plenty tired by the time I got home. But I felt more relaxed than I had in quite a while. I hadn’t realized how much my worries about Niko had been weighing on me. I didn’t have any court appearances or meetings, so I decided to let myself sleep in.
When I strolled in at nine thirty the next morning, Michy raised an eyebrow. “Did someone get lucky last night?”
I laughed. “No, but someone might this weekend.”
She gave me an amused smile. “That sounds promising. You feeling better about what’s going on with him?”
I didn’t want to jinx it. “For now.”
I was just about to walk into my office when Alex emerged from his. “Some of us got in early, because some of us like to get things done.”
I turned to face him. “And because some of us are OCD.” He folded his arms and glared at me. I realized he must’ve found something, so I changed tacks. “A highly prized trait for which some of us are very grateful.”
He nodded. “Much better. I checked out Voltech.”
“You did?” I told him Niko had never heard Tanner mention it.
He pulled up the old secretary’s chair and sat down. “Turns out the company is just one guy. Chuck Montrey. He’s an IT consultant. And I just happen to know him, because one of his clients was the BMW dealership where I used to work. Chuck is the one who got me into IT.”
I stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He lifted his palms. “I know, it’s crazy, right? I couldn’t believe it, either. Though, to be fair, it’s not as big a coincidence as you’d think. Chuck has clients all over LA.”
Even so, it was nice to get a little boost from the universe once in a while—instead of the usual kick in the ass. “Does he know about your . . . legal issue?” Meaning, about how Alex stole two 750Lis and almost wound up in prison. Since Chuck had worked for the dealership when Alex stole the cars, it might make him less excited about helping Alex now.
Alex nodded. “He knows it all. And he was cool with it. So cool, in fact, he told me all about his last contact with Tanner.”
I wasn’t sure where this was going. “Am I going to be happy or sad when I hear this?”
He shrugged. “You be the judge. He said Tanner asked him to come over to the condo that night.”
“Before or after Niko saw him?”
Alex frowned. “Chuck couldn’t remember what time he went. But he did remember that he headed over there right after he got Tanner’s call, and according to the phone records, Tanner called him at six thirty-five in the evening.”
I replayed what Niko had said about when he’d gone to Tanner’s condo. “Then Chuck was there well before Niko.” Alex nodded. “So what happened?”
Now Alex smiled. “Tanner asked Chuck to destroy his hard drive. And he asked Chuck for a new phone.”
“Did Chuck destroy it?” I prayed the answer would be no.
Alex sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. But still . . .”
Yes, still. We were on a roll. We had a viable suspect in Sergio—who’d lied about where he was. And now this.
Clear evidence that Tanner was planning to run.
It was a good day. And now that I’d get to share this fabulous news with Niko, it was going to be a great weekend.
I told the troops this new find deserved a celebratory dinner. “I’d set it up for Saturday, but Niko’s coming over, so it’ll have to be next weekend.” It occurred to me I’d need to fix up the place. “Michy, remind me to pick up some Pledge.”
Michy gave me a thumbs-up. “Cleaning the place twice in one week. That’s gotta be a record for you.”
I shot her a dagger. “No it’s not.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Okay, when was the last time you did that?”
I couldn’t remember. She was probably right. “Uh . . . some other time. I’ll think of it.”
As I retreated to my office, she said, “Yeah, let me know.”
When I got to my desk, I actually spent a few minutes trying to remember, but I had nothing. I gave up and got down to work. It always went faster when I had something to look forward to. The first time I looked at my computer, it was noon. The second time I looked, it was five thirty. I love when that happens.
I shut down for the day and went out to Michy’s desk. “Adios. I’m outta here.”
She gave me a half smile. “Didn’t manage to remember any other times you cleaned up twice, did you?”
I sailed past her. “I will, don’t worry. Wish me luck.”
She called after me, “Luck.”
As I headed for my car, I thought about what to wear tomorrow night—something that looked like I hadn’t thought about it. The jeans and sweatshirt that were ripped in all the right places would do the trick: sexy, but believably “I just threw this on” looking.
The next day, I shopped for flowers—an uncharacteristically girlie thing for me to do, but it felt right for some reason—bought some good wine, and picked up some fancy cheeses and crackers for appetizers. I thought I’d given myself more than enough time to do everything, but as they say, plans were made to be ruined. The lines at the wine store were ridiculous, and I hit really bad traffic. By the time I got home, I barely managed to vacuum the living room and bedroom and wipe down the kitchen before rushing into the shower. And of course, Niko showed up early. My hair was still wet and my makeup was faded and smudged. Perfect.
I was self-conscious as I answered the door. “Hi, you. I’m a mess. I thought I left in plenty of time to get everything—”
Niko grabbed me by the waist and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I closed the door, and we kissed again. And I—of course—melted. Niko, as usual, managed to look like he’d stepped out of a magazine, even though he was simply dressed in low-slung jeans and a long-sleeve black T-shirt.
When we came up for air, I noticed he’d set down a grocery bag. “Want me to unpack?”
He stroked my face. “I’ve missed you so much. And no, I don’t want you to do anything. Except open the bottle of wine and pour for us.”
I ran my hand through his hair. “I’ve missed you, too.”
We hugged for what seemed like five minutes; then he picked up the bag and moved into the kitchen. “I made most of it in advance. I just need to get the rice going.”
“What are you making?” I tried to keep the note of apprehension out of my voice.
He heard it anyway and smiled. “Your favorite. Lamb stew.”
“Fabulous.” I could eat myself into oblivion with that stew. It was delicious. And he’d picked up a bottle of Opus One. Wow. Probably the most expensive wine I’ve ever had. I got the opener out of the drawer. “We’re really styling tonight.”
Niko laughed. “Yep. Uptown all the way.”
I poured us each a glass. He spooned the stew into a pot to heat up and got the rice cooking. It only took a few minutes for the smell of rich spices to waft into the air. “If I keep standing here, I’m going to grab a fork and eat out of the pot.”
His eyes sparkled. “I l
ove an appreciative audience. But let’s get you out of here.”
We took our glasses to the living room and snuggled on the couch. I’d forgotten to eat lunch, and it only took two sips for me to feel the buzz. I curled up next to him and laid my head on his shoulder. But the calm was suddenly shattered by someone pounding a fist—hard and repeatedly—on the door. I jerked up. “What the hell?”
Niko stood up. “I take it you weren’t expecting—”
A booming male voice interrupted. “Brinkman! I know you’re in there! If you don’t open this goddamn door right—”
I recognized that voice. And the look of fury and alarm on Niko’s face showed me he did, too. He crossed the room in two strides and yanked open the door. “What are you doing here?”
Ivan’s frame filled the doorway. He glared at Niko, then shifted his gaze to me. “Ask that little bitch girlfriend of yours!” He pushed past Niko and started toward me. “Why’d you fucking sic the cops on me?”
My throat was so tight, I could barely make the words come out. “I d-didn’t. What are you talking about?”
Niko put out an arm and barred his path. “Yeah, what the hell are you talking about?”
Ivan, who was shaking and red in the face, pointed at me. “Ever since she came around asking questions about you, they’ve been all over me.”
A look of shock crossed Niko’s face as he turned toward me. “You . . . went to see Ivan . . . about me?”
I swallowed hard. I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t find the words. Really, there was nothing I could say that would make it look like anything other than what it was. I’d been snooping around behind his back. Because I thought he might be a murderer. I finally managed to say, “I’m so sorry. If you just let me explain . . .” But I knew that any explanation I came up with would just make matters worse.
The look of shock on Niko’s face turned to hurt. But Ivan continued to rage. “That little snitch-bitch of yours has a big mouth. And if you don’t close it, I—”
Niko turned back to Ivan and grabbed him by the neck. “You heard her—she didn’t talk to the cops! And don’t you dare threaten her, you piece of shit!”
Ivan tried to pull away. “Her dad’s a cop, you fool!”
Niko shoved him toward the door. “Get the hell out of here. And don’t you ever come near her again!”
As Niko opened the door, Ivan twisted away. “Or you’ll do what? Kill me? Break my neck like you did to that shot caller?”
Niko spun him around, put a foot on Ivan’s back, and pushed him out the door with so much force, he stumbled and fell flat on his face. He picked himself up, but he didn’t come back for more. He gave me a menacing look—somewhat undermined by the scrapes on his nose and cheekbones—and limped away. Niko slammed the door behind him, but he didn’t turn around for several seconds. When he did, he had an anguished look on his face.
I wanted to die. “Niko, I just needed to find out . . . I mean, you never told me about that bar fight in Chicago, and I needed to know . . .”
His glance slid off my face. “Whether I killed them.” He stood staring at the floor for a few moments, then went to the kitchen table and picked up his keys. “I understand. I guess I should’ve known.”
No! This night could not end this way! I moved toward him. “Niko, I’m sorry. But you have to know how hard I’m working to clear you. I’m going to clear you! I’ve got evidence that Tanner’s in hiding. And I found someone else who might’ve gone after him, too!”
Niko slowly nodded, but he didn’t look at me. “I do know how hard you’ve been working to help me. And I appreciate it. I really do. But I . . . I just have to go. I’m sorry.” He moved toward the door. “You should turn off the rice in about five minutes.”
And then he left. I stared after him, feeling as though someone had taken a bat to my whole body. I guess I should’ve realized that this day might come. But the brothers lived in such separate worlds—seemingly by mutual agreement—I’d thought the odds of Niko finding out were almost nil.
But odds don’t always play out the way they should. I turned off all the burners, went to bed, and sobbed myself to sleep.
FORTY-ONE
That night, I discovered that devastation and heartache have an upside. Between the misery, the self-loathing, and the ocean of tears, I was so exhausted, I actually slept through the night.
But I couldn’t make myself get out of bed. I lay there and replayed last night over and over, wishing I could find a way to make things right again. And wishing I hadn’t been so hell-bent on digging into Niko’s past. But even now, as worn out and shredded as I was, I knew I couldn’t have done anything differently. I had to know the truth. It was in my nature. And it didn’t matter that the person I was investigating for murder was Niko. I believe anyone is capable of committing murder—especially when they have a good reason for it.
Admitting that to myself made me feel even worse—doomed, actually. I’d ruined the best relationship I’d ever had—or would ever have. I doubted I’d ever be able to make it work with anyone. I may as well get myself a dozen cats and chenille bathrobes right now. There’d be no happily-ever-after endings in my future. I turned onto my stomach and pulled the pillow over my head. I spent the rest of Sunday in some version of that position.
But the next morning, the question I’d had the night before came back to me. Why had the cops started circling Ivan all of a sudden? The shot caller had gone missing—probably gotten killed—more than ten years ago. Ivan’s appearance last night made it clear no one had come knocking on his door since then. Now the cops were all over him.
Neither Alex nor I had said a word to the cops, and I’d only told one other person about that shot caller’s likely demise. Dale. Would he have tipped off the cops? After promising me I could trust him, after swearing he’d never repeat anything I told him? I couldn’t believe he’d do it on purpose, but maybe he’d accidentally let something slip. I had to find out.
That—and the fact that I belatedly realized I had to be in court for Angelo’s case at ten thirty—got me out of bed and into the shower in ten seconds flat. I washed my face with cold water and did the best makeup job I could to cover the puffiness of my tear-filled night, then poured myself a vat of coffee and headed to my car. I called Dale as I merged onto the freeway. When he answered, I went straight to the point. “We need to talk.”
There was a note of surprise in his voice as he said, “I’ve got witness interviews scheduled after breakfast.” The din of voices mixed with the clatter of dishes in the background. “How about tomorrow night?”
I guessed he was at The Pantry. He liked to have breakfast there. It was a landmark downtown restaurant that was almost a hundred years old. I love their simple home-style food, but I had no appetite today. “No. Now. I’m about fifteen minutes away.” I wasn’t exaggerating. For a change, the freeway was working the way it was supposed to. Probably because it was late enough to miss the morning rush hour. I was flying—with one eye on the rearview because . . . cops.
After a long pause, he said, “Okay. Meet me in Pershing Square on the Fifth Street side by the fountain.”
Pershing Square was a small park in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. It was a perfect place for us to hide in plain sight. And if anyone noticed us, it wouldn’t look strange. The Police Administration Building, where Dale worked, was just blocks away, and so was the courthouse.
I got there in just under twelve minutes and found Dale sitting on the concrete surround for the fountain. There weren’t many people at the café tables nearby, but I supposed he was being extra careful. Fine by me. I sat down next to him, and he studied me for several moments.
I’d worn the biggest, darkest sunglasses I could, but they didn’t fool him. “What happened?”
I told him the whole story. “So I just need to know. Did you tell anyone about Ivan?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Not a chance. Why would I risk saying anything about Niko’s
past—to anyone, let alone a cop?”
He was right. It didn’t make sense. Dale was way on Niko’s side. “I just thought it might’ve . . . I don’t know, slipped out by accident.”
Dale lifted my sunglasses and lowered his head to look me in the eye. “Nothing slipped out accidentally. You know me better than that.”
I pulled back and readjusted the lenses. “Don’t do that.” The bright sunshine blinded me. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why they suddenly hit him up out of the blue.”
“Because you’re too upset to think clearly,” he said. “It’s pretty obvious. They want to use Ivan to get something on Niko.”
I really must’ve been a mess not to think of that. Even if they didn’t know Ivan and Niko were estranged, they had past police reports that showed the shot caller’s disappearance was still an open case—and that both Ivan and Niko had motive to kill him. If Ivan could give them anything that helped prove Niko had killed the shot caller, that would help fuel their case against him for Bryan’s murder. Especially if there was evidence the shot caller had been killed in the same bizarre way as Bryan.
Something else occurred to me. “That must’ve been what happened, because Ivan accused Niko of killing that shot caller by breaking his neck. How would he think of something like that? That shot caller disappeared. No one knows his cause of death. The cops must’ve told him about Bryan.”
“Right.” Dale had an expression of disgust. “Such cheesy police work.”
“And let me add to that—it’s also stupid. It’d be hard to find someone with less credibility than Ivan.” Not only did he have a big, obvious ax to grind with Niko, but he also had a motive to frame him if he could. Because Ivan could have easily killed the shot caller himself. He had just as much motive and much easier access. Niko was an undergrad at the University of California, Santa Barbara at the time the shot caller went missing. Ivan was in pocket, at home in Los Angeles. That didn’t mean Niko couldn’t get down to Los Angeles. It’s only an hour away. But still. Who’d take the word of a jerk like Ivan over . . . anyone?
