Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  “Or they’re just playing it safe for now.” But this wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. I’d been worried they’d say something about having a person of interest. The minute they did, the press would go full bore to find out who it was—and it wouldn’t take long for someone to leak Niko’s name. “This case is too juicy for the press to ignore. They’ll keep pushing.” And the harder they pushed for answers, the more the cops would feel they had to show some progress. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Alex gave me a sidelong glance. “Do you think Niko knows that?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Because I told him to expect it.”

  We drove on in silence. Alex got off the freeway at Los Feliz Boulevard and drove to King Street. I pointed to a spot down the block from Angelina’s house. “How about there?”

  Alex turned left and found a parking space just steps away from the first house we planned to hit. I looked up and down the sidewalk. “I don’t see any street surveillance cameras, do you?” LAPD was expanding the reach of its wireless network, and some residential neighborhoods—albeit usually the ones that had a homeowner association—had begun installing them, too. Alex shook his head. Scratch that option.

  He consulted his cell phone, then nodded toward a small bungalow across the street. “Jennifer Arbagian is a stay-at-home mom with two kids. Our only hope is that she’s so bored, she’s desperate enough to want to talk to two strangers.”

  But it was much more likely that she’d refuse to come to the door. Safety first. Especially with two young children. Surprisingly, boredom won. Jennifer answered the door with a harried expression. I could hear a baby crying in the background. I’d decided I could tell these neighbors a version of the truth. After introducing Alex and myself, I said, “We’re hoping you can help us. Two weeks ago, a man assaulted a young woman on this street. By any chance, do you remember hearing or seeing anything unusual? It would’ve been around ten p.m.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Ten o’clock? I haven’t managed to stay awake past eight since my first kid was born. I’d love to help you, but I’m sorry. By that time, I was dead to the world.”

  I scanned her front doorstep. “Do you have any kind of surveillance camera?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “We really should. We talk about it, but somehow we never get around to doing it. You should check with the others on the block, though. I’m sure someone else does.”

  She was right. A few neighbors actually did. But their camera range was either limited to the porch and a few feet of the front walkway or picked up too little of the sidewalk to be of use. And Jennifer’s response—that she hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual—pretty much set the tone of the answers we got from everyone else as we moved up the street. At least, those who answered the door. A lot of them didn’t.

  All in all, the neighbors we did speak to were a friendly lot—with one exception: the registered sex offender, who’d been busted during his senior year in college for taking part in a group gangbang of a semiconscious sorority girl. I didn’t really consider him to be a likely suspect. I was pretty sure that whoever attacked Eliza had been a guest at Angelina’s party, and she’d told me that none of her neighbors were ever invited to her parties—for obvious reasons. But I couldn’t completely rule out the possibility that Eliza’s attacker had been someone who didn’t attend the party. And a registered sex offender who lived on the block where the assault was committed made for an interesting suspect.

  I’d been planning to subtly ferret out his alibi, but he took the matter right out of my hands when I asked him if he’d seen or heard anything on the night in question.

  “No, I didn’t fucking see or hear anything. Want to know why? Because I was in the hospital! For three fucking days! Some shit-for-brains dad saw me talking to his little princess and almost ruptured my spleen.”

  I was delighted to hear it. “I’m very sorry.”

  But he wasn’t finished. “What kind of insane, uncivilized world are we living in nowadays? I mean, all I did was say hi to that girl, and this Neanderthal asshole jumps me.” A disgusted look crossed his face. “She wasn’t even that hot.”

  Alex would check to see if he really had been in the hospital at the time, but his story—and the heated, spontaneous way he’d volunteered it—felt legit. As we headed across the street, Alex said, “I don’t think that father hit him hard enough.”

  I wholeheartedly agreed. “Yeah, I was tempted to kick him in the spleen myself.”

  I’d noticed that, as we moved up and down the street, Alex was taking photos. Now, as he paused to take yet another one, I asked, “What are you doing?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a crime scene. A good investigator always takes photos of a crime scene.”

  He’d been reading one of those damn Investigations for Dummies books again. “I told you to knock it off with those stupid How To’s. They’re written by wannabes who never were.”

  Alex gave me a superior smile. “You’re so going to regret saying that.”

  I didn’t think so, but I saw no point in arguing. We hit the other side of the street. It was no better. I pointed to the last three houses we had left. “I say if no one else has anything for us, we forget about the door knocking. If no one on this block saw or heard anything, then I can’t imagine that anyone who lives farther away would have.”

  “Yeah, this is pretty much a bust.” He consulted his iPad. “The next house is . . . another sex offender.” He looked at me. “Please try not to piss him off.”

  I punched him on the arm. Our sex offender’s house, like many others on the block, had a Ring doorbell. I motioned for Alex to step back, and when I pushed it, I stood as close to the camera as possible. I had a feeling that our buddy Ken Lorimar—who’d been busted for statutory rape of a sixteen-year-old girl—would be more likely to answer if he thought a lone woman was at the door.

  I stared for a moment when Ken opened the door. He was as close to a mouse as a human could get. Short, slender, thinning hair worn slicked back, and tiny eyes behind wire-frame glasses. He had a half smile when he saw me, but it vanished when he noticed Alex standing a few feet away. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stammered, “C-can I help you?”

  He was so nervous, I wondered why he’d answered the door. “We’re investigating an assault that took place two weeks ago on this block. A young girl was attacked. There was a big party going on across the street at the time. Can you tell us if you saw anything unusual that night?”

  He licked dry lips. “No, I didn’t see a thing. I—I was busy. I’m a day trader. I was at my computer all night.”

  That he’d been home—and maybe on his computer that night—was believable. In any case, I wasn’t concerned about his alibi. He didn’t fit the description of the attacker. But he was suspiciously shaky. He had to be hiding something. I took a quick look at his home—what I could see of it over his shoulder. And spotted the reason for it.

  There was a telescope in the kitchen window that was positioned to face the street. “Really?” I pointed to the telescope. “Seems to me you had a perfect view—and one you enjoy an awful lot.”

  Ken blinked rapidly. “There’s nothing illegal about watching the street! It’s a public place.”

  I looked him in the eye. “True. But I bet your probation officer would love to talk to you about it.” I’d had a hunch that the reason he’d opened the door was because he thought I might be a probation officer. “Especially after I tell him about the girls who hang out there.”

  Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “Okay, okay. I do watch that house. But I’ve never gone over there!”

  Still, it didn’t look good for him, and he knew it. “What did you see, Ken?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just . . . I don’t want to have to go to court.”

  On that score, I could reassure him. “You won’t. I promise.”

  He peered at me between more rapid bli
nks. “I thought I heard a sound like a scream, but soft. Like someone had a hand over their mouth. I couldn’t tell whether it was a guy or a girl. I turned the ’scope to try and see who it was, and that’s when I saw a tall guy get out of the back seat of a Bentley.”

  A Bentley. Our attacker had definitely been at the party. “Can you describe the man?”

  Ken bit his lip. “Tall, a little over six feet. Medium build. That’s about it. I only saw him for a few seconds.”

  Alex asked, “Where was the Bentley parked?” Ken pointed to a spot a few doors down, on the same side of the street as Angelina’s house. “Can you describe it?”

  Ken thought for a moment. “It was white, and it looked fairly new.”

  I had to ask the next question, though I had little hope of hitting pay dirt. “Did you happen to get the license plate number?”

  Ken shook his head. “I wasn’t really sure what had happened. Weird stuff happens all the time up here.”

  I knew that was true. It was a great neighborhood, but it was still Griffith Park. A public place that all kinds of people had access to. “Can you describe the girl?”

  He stared out the window. “I couldn’t really see her. When she got out of the car, she ran up the street.” He pointed toward Angelina’s house. “That way. She was kind of bent over, and she had her arms wrapped around her waist. It all happened really fast.”

  I went back to the attacker. “Did you notice what the man was wearing?” Ken shook his head. “What about his hair? Anything unusual?”

  “Just that he had some,” he said. “I didn’t notice the color.”

  Which probably meant it wasn’t white or silvery gray, or it would’ve stood out. “Did you get a hit on his age? Did he seem young, like in his twenties? Or older?”

  Ken pondered that for a moment. “Definitely not twenties. Maybe forties? I don’t know. I’m not a good judge of age.”

  That’s probably the story he tried to sell the cops when he got busted. Alex and I asked a few more questions, but we couldn’t get anything more out of Ken. I thanked him for his time. “If you think of anything else, give Alex a call.” The less contact I had to have with this creep, the better.

  We door knocked the few remaining houses, got nothing from the one person who answered the door, and headed back to the car. Alex turned to me as he tucked his iPad under the driver’s seat. “Well, at least we know the rapist drives a white Bentley. Think Angelina might know who owns one of those?”

  I shrugged. “We’re here. May as well ask.” But I wasn’t optimistic. She wasn’t personally doing the valet service. So why would she know what cars her guests drove?

  We caught her in another one of her pricey kimonos in the midst of getting ready to go out to dinner with a client—whom she refused to name. “He is very famous and very married.”

  I was puzzled. “Then why not just have him come over?”

  She lit a cigarette. “We usually do, but sometimes he needs a change. We go to safe places, private places. Tonight, we go to the Bungalows.”

  The San Vicente Bungalows was all that and more. A private club in West Hollywood that admitted only the most famous, most wealthy, and most in need of a place to go where no one could ask for a selfie—camera phones were disabled at the door with a sticker over the lens. Angelina’s client had to be a very big fish indeed. I asked her whether any of her guests drove a white Bentley and got the predictable answer.

  She squinted at me through the smoke. “That’s the car that belongs to the man who raped Eliza?” I nodded. She waved an impatient hand in the air. “How would I know this? No one talks about what car they drive. Is that all you’ve learned?”

  “That, and the fact that the attacker had definitely been one of your guests at the party.” She looked unimpressed. I couldn’t blame her. Our lack of progress frustrated me, too. But without an accurate guest list, it was impossible to build a list of viable suspects. The three men we’d spoken to had clearly shown that the guests were an unreliable source at best. I needed to find people who’d attended the party who weren’t drunk, stoned, or looking to get laid. Then it hit me. “You said you used a caterer?”

  Angelina nodded. “Actually, a chef. Boris Moseyev. He’s a genius, and he brings his own crew to serve and clean. I use him for all my events.”

  Finally, a ray of hope. I got his contact information.

  Between Boris and his servers, someone must’ve seen something.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “Nice move,” Alex said as we got back into his car.

  I snapped on my seat belt. “Desperation always inspires me. But we really need this to pan out, because that’s all I’ve got. You?”

  Alex pulled out and steered toward Los Feliz Boulevard. “I’ve got nothing.”

  Tired of all the brick walls we’d hit on Eliza’s case, I shifted gears and took stock of where we stood with Bryan’s murder and Tanner’s likely murder. I remembered I hadn’t gotten an update on our favorite alternate suspect. “What’s happening with Sergio?”

  “Nothing. As in, he’s off the list. He’s got an alibi.”

  Of course he did. “Let me guess. He spent the night praying with two priests and seven nuns.”

  Alex sighed. “Better than that. He had dinner at the Bungalows with a bunch of celebrity A-listers, then played poker with them all night.”

  It was one hell of an alibi. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known he wouldn’t pan out.

  When Alex dropped me off, I told him to go home. “We’ve squeezed our brains enough for one day.”

  Alex looked unhappy. “I’ll probably just do a little workup on that chef.” I started to shake my head. “From home. Okay? I just need to remember what it feels like to make some real progress.”

  I had to smile. “Fine. But have dinner. Relax. Don’t screw up your whole evening. I don’t want Paul on my ass for being a slave driver.”

  He shifted into reverse. “Don’t worry. He knows who he hooked up with.”

  Alex backed out, and I headed upstairs. It was weird. I’d lived alone my whole adult life, and it’d never bothered me. To the contrary, I’d reveled in the freedom. But now, after having been part of a couple—a happy one for a change—my once-prized solitude felt lonely and isolating. The apartment I’d found cozy and comforting now felt like an empty box, and I wandered from room to room like a ghost.

  Sleeping on the couch had become a habit. The bed only reminded me of nights with Niko. I showered, poured myself a stiff shot of Patrón Silver, and swore to myself that I’d start cutting back, then lay down on the couch. How long would it take for me to get back to normal, to being my old self? Would that ever happen?

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have dozed off, because I woke up to the ding of a text message at six thirty the next morning. I had to admit, depression had its benefits. I’d never slept so much in my life. And I’d learned how to avoid falling off the couch. So many great accomplishments.

  I rubbed my eyes and picked up my phone. This had to be either Alex or Dale. No one else would reach out that early. The only real question was whether it was good news or bad.

  It was from Alex. I got a weird hit on Niko’s cell phone records. Call me when you’re up. After a message like that, I was plenty up. I called him. “Did you find a call in Soledad Canyon?”

  “No,” Alex said. “But he made a couple of calls from up by Tehachapi. Who does he know there?”

  Tehachapi? I had to think for a moment to remember where that was. I knew there was a prison there, because I’d had a few clients who’d been sent there. From what I knew, it was just a really small desert town with not much going on. And it was at least two hours north of LA. “I can’t think of anyone. He never mentioned the place to me. Can you tell who he was calling?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “It’s too early to call and work my magic. But I will in about an hour.”

  I was going to grouse that he could’ve waited anoth
er hour to call me, too, but I had to admit I probably would’ve done the same. Those calls might not mean anything, but they seemed a little . . . odd. “What’s the time frame?”

  “The first one was a couple of months ago. But the second one was the night of Bryan’s murder.”

  I could feel my pulse speed up. “Call me after you’ve reached that number. I’ll get ready to go.” Hopefully, Alex would be able to “work his magic” and get us a meeting with whomever Niko had called.

  As I got into the shower, I tried to sort out my feelings. I’d been worried that Alex might find phone calls that showed Niko had been in Soledad Canyon when Tanner disappeared. He hadn’t. But Tehachapi had miles of empty desert. It could work just as well as the canyon for a dumping ground. I was getting more anxious by the second. I dried off and got dressed with shaking hands.

  I’d blow-dried my hair, put on makeup, and was on my second tub of coffee by the time Alex called me back. “What’ve you got?”

  His voice was tight. “The number he called was for a security guard who works at a private airfield.”

  A what? “Did he know who Niko was?”

  “I couldn’t get into that,” he said. “I was selling auto insurance at the best rates in the state.”

  Not one of Alex’s best cover stories, but he was reaching out into the void. He’d had to keep it generic. “Did he tell you where that airfield is?”

  “He didn’t have to,” Alex said. “There’s only one. You ready to do this?”

  My heart was pounding. I had no idea where this would lead. A part of me didn’t want to find out—but the much bigger part, the one that’d already gotten me into so much trouble—had to know. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. Leaving now.”

  I didn’t wait for him to tell me whether he was ready. Boys don’t need time to get ready. And I didn’t bother to stop for bagels, doughnuts, or Egg McMuffins. I brought a couple of bottles of Dasani for the road and called it good. We had no time to lose. I knew Alex was feeling the same way.