by Marcia Clark
She grew more pensive. “And you don’t know what Angelina’s going to do with the information?”
“She didn’t exactly say.” But I had a pretty good idea.
Michy gave me a shrewd look. “Whatever it is, I’m guessing we’ll all be okay with it.”
I shrugged. “I definitely have a preference.”
She nodded. “I don’t blame you.”
I went back to my office to kill some time until we could leave for Angelina’s. For the better part of an hour, I tried to read the latest published opinions in California, but I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to leave a little early and shut down the computer.
I found Alex sitting on the secretary chair next to Michy’s desk. He asked, “Want me to go with you?”
I waved him off. “No need. I’ve put you through enough the past few days. Go home and let Paul cook you something fantastic.”
He raised his arms over his head and stretched. “I am pretty beat. Okay, have fun.”
I turned to Michy. “And you too. Get out of here. Save what’s left of your weekend.”
She nodded. “Okay, but call me later. I want to hear all the deets.”
“Will do.” I sailed out the door on a cloud.
I got to Angelina’s house fifteen minutes early. I hate when people show up early at my place, so I waited in the car and imagined how she and Eliza would react when I gave them the news.
At six thirty on the nose, I walked up to the wooden gate and pressed the intercom button. A voice I recognized as Angelina’s responded. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Sam,” I replied. A second later, there was a buzz. I pushed open the gate and moved up the walkway. Angelina came to the door, cigarette in hand, dressed in skintight jeans and another one of her exotic kimonos and motioned for me to follow her inside.
She led me to the living room, and I saw that Eliza was already there, seated on the couch. She gave me an apprehensive smile. “Angelina said you have good news. We’re not sure what that means exactly.”
Michy had guessed right. I sat down next to her and nodded. I waited as Angelina pulled a furry white ottoman closer to us and sat down. “I think we’ve found the man who attacked you.” I opened the folder that held the still photos of the driver and the white Bentley and showed them to Eliza. “I know you never got to see him, but could this be the man who assaulted you?”
Eliza stared at it for a long moment. “I think so . . . He seems like the right size.”
I pointed to the Bentley. “And could this be the car where it happened?”
She took another long beat. “It could be, yeah.”
I showed the photos to Angelina. “Do you know who this is?”
Her expression was icy cold as she stared at them. “I do not know him. But I know who he is. He was at the party that night.”
Eliza looked from me to Angelina, her expression anxious. “So now what?” Her voice rose with tension. “I don’t have to go to court, do I? You promised I wouldn’t!”
Angelina shook her head. “No, you will not go to court. But Samantha and I have to talk now. Why don’t you go watch television?”
Eliza looked relieved as she stood up. “Can I watch the one in your bedroom?”
Angelina waved her cigarette toward the second floor. “Of course, but close the door.”
Eliza turned to me. “Thank you, Sam. I’m really glad you found him.” But as she headed for the stairs, I wasn’t sure she meant it. Now that I’d found the rapist, there was a real possibility that someone might decide it was time to file a police report—and that was clearly something she didn’t want to do.
When I heard the upstairs door close, I faced Angelina. “I can tell you where to find him. Or would you prefer that I talk directly to your . . . ah, connection?”
Angelina’s expression hardened. When she spoke, her voice was cold, bitter. “My connection just got deported. Right now, I don’t have anyone else.”
My heart began to pound. “Are you kidding?” I couldn’t believe it. My soaring spirits abruptly came crashing down. “Can’t you find someone else?” She struck me as someone who had the kind of tentacles that could reach as low as they come.
She angrily flicked her cigarette ash on the floor. “It’s not as easy as you think. I have to find someone who knows how to . . . take out the garbage and will not cause me . . . problems later.”
Problems—meaning blackmail. She needed someone who could be trusted. I got that. Still, there was another option. “Look, I get that Eliza doesn’t want to testify. But she might not have to. He might make a deal.” I knew, though, that it was unlikely. Pedophiles very seldom want to admit what they are. But I just couldn’t bear the thought that Sebastian would get away with it . . . again.
Angelina set her jaw. “I want him to be punished just as much as you do. But I cannot let her testify.”
Not only because Eliza didn’t want to but because that would expose too much about Angelina’s life. I was furious. “So you’re just going to let this monster go free? How could you?”
She stood up. “I will take care of this. But not until I find the right person.”
I knew I was being dismissed. “And who knows when that will be? Maybe never, right?”
Angelina drilled me with an icy dagger. “It will be when it will be. If that’s never, then it’s never. Eliza is my sister, not yours. If I can live with it, so can you.” She turned and headed for the stairs. “You must leave now. I have to get ready.”
I stood there, unable to move, my body shaking with fury. A thousand ugly retorts came to mind, but none of them would do me any good. As Angelina disappeared up the stairs, I noticed a solid-looking hand-painted vase on a nearby side table. It was all I could do to keep myself from picking it up and throwing it at the wall. I hurried out of the house before I could lose my battle with temptation.
When I got into the car, I pounded on the steering wheel as tears of frustration and anger coursed down my cheeks. That evil motherfucker walked away again, and I was powerless to stop him. This could not be happening! Not again!
And on top of that, a wonderful man like Niko was about to go to prison. Maybe for life. I gritted my teeth. Nothing about this was right.
I wasn’t sure why, but I needed to drive to Sebastian’s house—as I had on a few other occasions over the years. The last time, though, a neighbor had reported my car as a suspicious vehicle. Luckily, Dale had intercepted the call and came to warn me. He’d told me to stop, that we’d find a way to get Sebastian, but lurking around his house like this would only get me in trouble.
The thing is, that was more than a year ago, and we still hadn’t found a way. And now, when I finally thought I had, he’d won . . . again. I pulled to the curb across the street from his mansion and peered through the gates. I’d been sitting there for half an hour when a slender blonde woman dressed in a black jersey dress I recognized as a Prada design came out and headed for a black Tesla that was parked in the gargantuan circular driveway. She looked like the type who’d be his latest wife, i.e., pretty enough to be a trophy and narcissistic enough not to care what he did to little girls. Basically, a high-class beard.
I supposed it wasn’t fair to assume she knew that he was a violent pedophile. If she didn’t have any young daughters to serve up to him on a silver platter like my mother had, she might not know. I was just sick to death of hearing the stories about the ridiculously clueless wife, who managed to live with a despicable predator and have no idea about what was going on in the basement / attic / storage closet. And regardless of what she might or might not know, I had a hard time believing that any halfway decent human being would want anything to do with a soulless monster like Sebastian.
I wrote down her license plate as she drove off just for the hell of it. I wondered whether Sebastian was still at home or if she’d gone off to meet him somewhere. I decided to wait and see if he emerged. After twenty-five minutes with no action, I’d de
cided to pull the plug when I saw an older-model red Mercedes minivan pull into view. It must’ve been parked farther back, where the trees and shrubbery blocked the view. That wasn’t Sebastian’s kind of car. As the gates opened, I spotted the license plate and wrote down the number. Then I noticed that the driver was an older Hispanic woman. Probably his housekeeper. I glanced at my dashboard. It was eight o’clock. Either she started late or she kept really long hours.
I waited for another half hour, but no one came or went. I drove home, thinking about that housekeeper. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just something to do to keep me from going crazy. But it gave me a thread to pull—albeit a seemingly useless one. I called Alex from the car and told him what’d happened with Angelina.
He was almost as enraged as I was. “So that’s it? Nothing happens to him? He just walks?”
I commiserated with him for most of the drive home. But when we’d beaten the subject to death, I thought of something for him to do. “Can you do me a favor? I need Dale to run a couple of license plates for me. But I might’ve leaned on him a little too much lately. He’ll probably feel more inclined to do it if you ask.”
He harrumphed. “I’m not sure you’re right about that. But why? What’s this for?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
And that was the truth.
FIFTY-TWO
I drove home with two thoughts circling endlessly in my brain: How to get Sebastian. How to stop Niko from turning himself in. And they continued to run through my brain nonstop as I picked up dinner at my favorite drive-through, Taco Bell; got home; ate my tacos and quesadilla; showered; and got into bed. And as I turned off the light, I fully expected to dream about them in some form. That kind of obsession was standard operating procedure for me. It’s one of those traits that’s both a blessing—it makes me a good problem solver—and a curse—it drives me and everyone around me crazy.
So I fully expected my usual nightmare featuring the odious beast on two feet, AKA Sebastian, to destroy what little sleep I might manage to eke out. Oddly, it didn’t. But that was probably because I spent most of the night wide-awake, trying to figure out how to answer those two questions—and all of Sunday, too. I did my chores in a fog of distraction as I worked through every possible angle. But I had no inspiration, and the prayer that my sleeping brain would turn up answers that night went unanswered. To add insult to injury, I slept even less than I had the night before.
When dawn finally broke and freed me from the obligation of even pretending to sleep, I was relieved. I jumped out of bed, already wired and ready for action. It’s the upside of my obsessiveness. I can’t sleep, but I also don’t need to. Which should’ve made me cut back on my coffee habit and limit myself to three or four cups. It didn’t.
By the time I got into my car, I was so amped, I could’ve flown to the office on my own. And now, the only thing I wanted to do was stake out Sebastian’s house. What I thought I’d accomplish by doing that, I didn’t know. I guess it was just the need to feel like I was taking action—and any action would do.
When I got in at eight thirty, Alex emerged from his office. I asked, “Did you reach out to Dale?”
“Reached out and got an answer,” he said.
I never could’ve gotten Dale to do it that easily. “See? I told you he’d be nicer to you.”
Alex gave a little smirk. “Honestly? I think he only did it for me to piss you off.”
That sounded about right. “So what’d he get on those license plates?”
Alex motioned for me to come into his office. He walked around behind his desk and fired up his computer, then tapped a couple of keys. “The Tesla belongs to Marjorie Gorsuch, age thirty-nine, registered address 708 Ledo Way in Bel Air.” Alex looked over his monitor at me. “Sebastian’s place, right?”
I nodded. Marjorie still used her maiden name, so maybe they weren’t married. He’d probably wised up and stopped marrying his beards. “What about the old Mercedes minivan?”
Alex scrolled for a moment. “That one’s registered to Sebastian, his address.”
He’d probably bought that car for the housekeeper. Knowing him, that meant she was a live-in. He wouldn’t take the chance that she’d drive it to her house every day and maybe get in a wreck. But why would he need a live-in for just him and Marjorie? I had an awful thought. “Can you find out who that housekeeper is, and whether either of them has children?”
Alex nodded as he began to type. “Just give me a minute.”
I sat down in front of his desk. He shot me a look of irritation. I said, “I won’t bother you.” I held up my phone. “I’ll just sit here quietly and go through my emails.”
His expression was skeptical, but he went back to typing. Half an hour later, he sat back. “As far as I can tell, Marjorie has no kids. The housekeeper—Theresa Gomez—her children are all grown and on their own.”
So there were no children living in the house. Thank God. “Great. Thanks, Alex.” I stood up to go.
“Mind telling me why you’re investigating Sebastian’s female occupants?” he asked.
I paused. “I’m not really looking into them. I’m just . . . looking.” For something, anything.
Alex gave a nod of understanding. “I feel the same way. It’s just so wrong that we can’t get him. You don’t think Angelina will ever come through?”
I raised my palms. “Who knows? She might. But right now, it doesn’t look good.”
Alex’s face fell. “Is there anything we can do?”
I sighed. “Working on it. But I’m open to any and all—and I do mean all—suggestions.”
I headed out to the reception area and saw that Michy was going through my time sheets. I’d called her last night right after I’d spoken to Alex and given her the bad news about Angelina. When she saw me, she gave me a despondent look. “I was up all night thinking about that asshole. Makes me wish I knew some hit men of my own.”
It was a miserable day at the office for all of us. “No you don’t. They’re a really bad liability.” Hit men usually wound up getting busted for something, because most killers for hire aren’t the brightest bulbs in the chandelier. And once they did, they grabbed on to anything they could find to make a deal. The name of the person who hired them would be top of mind.
I went into my office and did my best to focus on work, but my mind kept wandering back to the same two questions: How could I get Sebastian? And how could I stop Niko from turning himself in? I forced myself to stay at my desk, but by three o’clock, I had to concede it was a losing battle.
I picked up my purse and walked out to Michy’s desk. “I’m useless. I think I need to get out and clear my head.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “I’ll probably be able to get these bills out by five o’clock. Mind if I pack it in then?”
I could see she was almost as depressed as I was. “Sure, no problem.” I headed for the door. “I’ll call you later.”
I’d intended to do some errands, a little grocery shopping, then go home and make myself a healthy dinner for a change. But instead, I found myself driving down Sunset toward Bel Air. I pulled over and parked. What on earth was I doing? I had no plans, no ideas, no reason to think anything would come of staking out Sebastian’s place. Except maybe getting myself busted for loitering. But it was the only thing I could think of to do, and I needed to do something. I decided it was pointless to resist. I pulled out into traffic and continued on to Sebastian’s mansion.
This time, I made sure to drive to a spot a little farther away and parked under a tree with low-hanging branches. I sat there until almost eight p.m., when sheer fatigue and hunger forced me to pack it in. But as I drove away, I made a decision—to stop pretending I’d be able to do anything else for the next four days, the deadline Niko had given me.
I’d been hoping he might extend it. We hadn’t been able to see each other since our last night together, because now he was basically living at the hospital.
But we’d been in phone contact, and during our last call, Niko told me that Sophia was declining fast. The doctors said it could happen any minute now. And if she passed before my week was up, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to wait. He wanted to go to the police and get it over with. My deadline might actually get moved up.
That’s why my decision to go all out, drop everything else, and focus on my surveillance was my only choice. There wasn’t much hope it’d yield anything. But at least I’d know I went down swinging.
I spent the next three days staking out Sebastian’s mansion. I’d get there at eight a.m. and stay until eight or nine p.m. I was careful to pick different parking spaces and drive to the nearest intersection every few hours in case any of the neighbors decided to look out their window and noticed me hanging around. But after all that time, all I’d learned was that Theresa left the house for a few hours in the afternoon two of the three days, that Marjorie did a lot of lunches and dinners and had an extensive designer wardrobe, and that surveillance is hell on your stomach and bladder.
By the third day, I was feeling desperate. Something had to give. So this time, when Theresa left the house at three thirty, I decided to follow her. I’d worried that I might miss something or that maybe I should wait and follow Marjorie. But given what I’d seen of her, I doubted she’d lead me to anything more useful than a pricey place to shop or have lunch.
When Theresa pulled out through the gates, I waited for her to get to the intersection, then began to follow her at a discreet distance. I noticed that she sat low in the driver’s seat, which meant she was short. That was good. It’d be harder for her to look at the rearview mirror.
Theresa headed west on Sunset Boulevard, then took the 405 Freeway south. She was a nervous driver who liked the slow lane. Also good. It was a lot easier to hang back and follow a slow driver than to have to weave through traffic to keep up with a fast one. She took the 405 to the 10 Freeway west all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway. I figured she must be heading to Malibu.
But after twenty minutes, she turned left onto Malibu Canyon Road and headed away from the beach. She was either on her way to a place in the canyon or somewhere on the other side—like Calabasas or Hidden Hills or . . . There were a lot of possible options. As I followed her into the canyon, I began to get nervous. It was a one-lane road. If she’d noticed me behind her before and saw me now, she might figure out I was following her. But I couldn’t afford to hang back and let someone else get in front of me. There were a lot of winding streets on the north end of the canyon. If she turned onto one of those and there was even one car between us, I’d lose her for sure.
