by Marcia Clark
I gripped the steering wheel and tried not to imagine what might happen if she spotted me and called Sebastian. He had a lot of connections—many of them in high places in the LAPD. And I was doing exactly what Dale had warned me against: giving Sebastian the rope he’d happily use to hang me. I was starting to think I’d taken a big risk that had very little chance of reward when Theresa put on her right turn signal. I glanced in that direction and saw that the road she was about to turn onto led to a huge vineyard that covered the entire hill—except for the very top, where there was a beautiful lodge-style house surrounded by gardens. The sign at the bottom of the hill said CORRELO VINEYARD. A sign below it said NOT OPEN TO THE PUBLIC.
I’d reached the end of my travels with Theresa. As she drove up the hill, I continued for another mile down Malibu Canyon Road, then pulled over. I Googled the vineyard. As I’d suspected, Sebastian owned it. He probably used that mega lodge for his staycations.
I looked out at the pastoral setting around me. A family of mule deer was grazing in a field on the left. Above me, a red-tailed hawk gracefully rode the air currents—a lovely thing to watch if you forgot it was hunting little furry things like bunnies. I felt my body wind down from the adrenaline high of the past few days and leaned back as I closed my eyes.
Seconds later, I bolted up in my seat. Maybe it was because I’d finally let my brain relax. Or maybe that hawk had inspired me. But I had an idea. Okay, correction. A crazy, risky idea. Still, it was better than nothing. Maybe. I picked up my cell phone and called Alex.
“So you’re alive,” he said. “How many masseuses have you driven crazy?”
I’d told him and Michy that I was taking a few days off to chill out. I wanted to give them plausible deniability if my surveillance efforts landed me in jail. “Only three. Today. I have a question. That Mercedes minivan, does it have GPS?”
“Hang on, let me check.” The sound of rapid typing came over the line. “It was a 2004 ML350, right?”
I know zero point zero things about cars. Once we get past the color, I’m out. “You’re asking me?”
“No, you’re right,” he said. “That’d be ridiculous. Yeah, that’s the model. And no, it doesn’t have GPS.”
So far, so good. “Okay, thanks.” There was just one more thing I needed him to do, and I needed it fast.
When I told him what it was, he said, “I can have that for you in an hour—two max. But can I just ask, what’s the name of that spa you’re at?”
I heard the suspicion in his voice. “Okay, thanks.”
I ended the call. He’d be even more suspicious now. But better suspicious than provably complicit. If I wound up taking the fall for what I was about to do, I had to make sure I didn’t take anyone down with me.
FIFTY-THREE
Knowing that the Mercedes minivan didn’t have GPS was a crucial first step. Now, all I could do was hope Alex could deliver on the last task I’d given him.
As I drove down Malibu Canyon Road and headed for the freeway, I tried not to think about how it would shred my plan if he gave me the wrong answer. I turned on the radio and tried to distract myself with a podcast, but I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering back to the problem. I played Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, but that didn’t help, either. Finally, as I was getting off the freeway at Laurel Canyon, Alex called me back. When he gave me the answer, I let out a “Booyah!”
He sounded worried as he said, “Sam, what’re you up to?”
“Nothing. Forget I asked you. Please.” I wished I hadn’t needed his help. But I could take it from here.
I ended the call and thought about what I needed to get now. That was a problem. I noticed my gas tank was near empty. I pulled into the Mobil gas station. As I filled up, I tried to figure out how to solve it. When I got back in my car, I sat there and racked my brain. My plan had a lot of critical junctures, and it’d crash and burn if any one of them didn’t work out. Had I already hit an impassable roadblock? I stared out the windshield. Suddenly, a man with a heavy Russian accent honked at me and yelled, “Get out of the way! What are you doing?”
Yanked out of my reverie, I realized I was still parked at the pump. And then it hit me. That angry Russian had just given me the answer. I waved to him, yelled, “Thank you,” enjoyed the confused expression on his face, and pulled out onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard. I picked up my cell phone and placed a call. “Hey, Angelina, I have to ask you a favor. And it has to stay just between us.”
She was hesitant. “What is it?”
I took a page out of Dale’s book. “I can’t tell you on the phone. But I think you’re not going to mind helping me out.”
She told me she’d be home for another hour, and I said I’d be there in half that time. But her tone had been suspicious. When I got to her house, she glanced up and down the street before letting me in.
This time, she told me to follow her upstairs. “You will have to talk while I get ready.”
“No problem.” She looked ready to me. Perfectly made up, hair carefully tousled, and dressed in black leather leggings and a sheer, flowing chiffon blouse. But what do I know about these things? I was lucky if I remembered to zip up my jeans. When we got to her bedroom, I told her what I needed.
She gave me a puzzled look, but she said, “I think there is something here.”
She gestured for me to follow her, and we went to a guest bedroom. It was spare but tastefully decorated with a view of the hills behind the house. She paused with a finger to her lips, then led me to the en suite bathroom. She pulled out the drawers on either side of the vanity.
And there it was. Exactly what I needed. I asked Angelina for a pair of tweezers and a paper bag. “A grocery bag will work.”
She thought for a moment, then left the room. When she returned, she had a Barneys shopping bag in her hand. “This is all I have.”
Of course it was. Barneys was only one of the most high-end retailers in the country. “That’s perfect, thanks.”
As I used the tweezers to put the items into the bag, she stood and watched, arms folded. “Why do you need these things?”
I folded over the top of the bag to seal it. “It’s better if I don’t tell you.” Though I knew she’d figure it out very soon if everything worked as I hoped it would. Involving her was a risk, but a necessary one. All I could say was, I felt as confident as one can, in a situation like this, that she’d keep my secret.
She asked if I needed anything else. “I must finish getting ready now.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “I’m all set. And thank you.” She waved me off with an impatient gesture and led me out of the room. I stopped in the hallway. “I can see myself out, save you some time.”
“Good.” She headed for her bedroom, and I headed to my car.
I was elated as I drove home. Tomorrow, the plan would be set in motion. Then there’d be nothing to do but wait—and hope it all fell into place. But as I unlocked the door to my apartment, my cell phone rang. It was Niko. My heart gave a hard thump. I dropped my purse and keys on the kitchen table and tried to keep my voice steady. “Hi, Niko. How’s it going?”
He spoke softly. “Th-the doctor said she’s not going to make it through the night.”
I could hear the tears under his words. “I’m on my way.”
I picked up my purse and keys and headed to my car. I was filled with conflicting emotions: heartbroken for Niko and panicked that he wouldn’t give me any more time before turning himself in. But I only needed one more day. He had to let me have it.
I found him sitting next to Sophia’s bed, holding her hand, his head bent. I went over to him and squeezed his shoulder as I searched for the right words to say. But all I could come up with was, “I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t say that I knew what he was feeling, because I definitely didn’t. Then again, does anyone really know how another person feels—particularly about a loss like this?
He leaned his head to the side and laid it on my hand. “Thanks for comi
ng, Sam.”
I pulled up a chair and sat next to him. I did what I could for him—which wasn’t much. Brought him water, rubbed his back, and listened with sympathy when he shared memories of happier days with Sophia. But for the most part, we sat in silence as we waited for the inevitable to happen.
We’d both grown drowsy as the hours passed, but suddenly, one of the many machines hooked up to Sophia began to make a loud beeping sound. As we startled awake, doctors and nurses ran in and pushed us away. They worked feverishly, but within minutes, I heard the long, unbroken signal that warned the patient was flatlining. They kept working for a few minutes more, but finally, they stopped. I heard one of the doctors announce the time of death. Sophia was gone.
Niko collapsed into my arms and wept while the nurses performed the postmortem rituals. As I held him, I thought about the despicable, self-dealing minions from hell who’d ended Sophia’s life and brought Niko so much pain. And who’d both so richly deserved to die.
I helped with the paperwork and made the arrangements to send her body to the crematorium he’d picked out. It was late—past midnight—by the time we left the hospital. Our footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridors. When we got into the elevator, I asked where he wanted to spend the night—my place or his. “But if you’d rather be alone, I’ll totally understand.”
He put his arms around me and laid his cheek on my head. “No, I need to be with you. Do you mind staying at my place? I’d like to spend one last night there with you.”
I pulled back and shook my head. “I’m not letting you turn yourself in.”
His expression was kind but determined. “Sam, this isn’t really up for discussion.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I took an Uber here. You can ride with me. I’ll take you back to your place tomorrow, okay?”
The finality in his voice made it clear that I needed to do something drastic to change his mind. But what? I needed some time to think. “Actually, I need to stop at my place and pick up a change of clothes.”
He nodded and walked me to my car. I told him it wouldn’t take me long. But I drove home as slowly as I could to give myself time to think of a way to talk him out of going to the police. When I got to my apartment, I threw clothes into my duffel bag at random, barely seeing what I was packing. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of the right words to say, the winning argument that would change Niko’s mind. Maybe because I couldn’t understand why Niko was so hell-bent on confessing when the so-called victim was such a waste of flesh.
And that, I supposed, was the fundamental difference between us. I suffered zero pangs of guilt for disposing of trash. Niko ascribed to a much higher moral code. I didn’t know how to persuade that kind of person that he shouldn’t get punished for killing someone.
The answer continued to elude me as I threw my duffel bag into the trunk and headed for Niko’s house. But finally, as I was pulling into the driveway, the answer came to me. I knew what I had to do, and I hated it. On top of that, I was going to hate myself for doing it. It went against my every instinct. And I couldn’t even be sure it would work. But it was the only way I could think of that stood even a slim chance of success.
I wouldn’t do it tonight. Not after all he’d been through. And all I needed was one more day. I felt sure I could buy myself that much time.
But that’d probably be all Niko would give me. I was miserable as I pulled my duffel bag out of the trunk and headed for the door.
Tomorrow, I was going to have to tell Niko the truth.
It was a long, tear-filled night, but eventually, sheer exhaustion forced us to sleep.
I woke up at a little past five a.m. the next morning—by design. I had a lot to do, and I wanted to get going before Niko could wake up and start asking questions.
I picked up my clothes, tiptoed out, and dressed in the powder room. As I stepped out of the house, I closed the door as quietly as I could. I winced at the beep as I hit my remote to unlock the car. I took a quick look back to make sure Niko hadn’t woken up, then slipped into the driver’s seat, put the car in neutral, and coasted down to the street. After one more glance in the rearview mirror to make sure the coast was clear, I fired up the engine and took off.
As I drove, I steeled myself for what was coming. The next few hours were going to be a waiting game, and waiting was not a strength for me. After that, it’d all be a matter of luck and timing. When I arrived at my destination, I plugged in my earbuds and listened to a podcast. And then another. And then another. I was starting to get worried.
But by noon, my quarry had emerged. Now things were going to move quickly. I put my car in drive and took slow, deep breaths to calm myself as I pulled away from the curb.
It was on.
FIFTY-FOUR
I watched Theresa drive through the gates and waited until she’d made it halfway to the intersection before following her down the street. I had to be careful. If she spotted me now, my whole plan would go up in smoke. But if I hung back too far and lost her, that would blow my plan, too. I had to remind myself to breathe as I slowed down to let her get a couple of car lengths ahead.
She turned left on Sunset. Great. I had plenty of traffic to hide in. If she followed the pattern I’d seen in the past few days, she should be on her way to do errands and, hopefully, grocery shopping. I gripped the steering wheel and tried not to think about how screwed I’d be if she was just going to fill her gas tank or to the dry cleaner’s. That. Could. Not. Happen. Neither of those chores would give me enough time to do what I had to do.
I saw her right turn signal blink as she approached Doheny Drive, and I dropped back another car length to give myself cover. But when I made the turn onto Doheny, her minivan was nowhere in sight. What the . . . ? Where had she gone? Fear blurred my vision. How could I have lost her? Frantic, I scanned the cars ahead of me. I screamed, “No! This is bullshit!”
I was raking my hand through my hair when the bus that’d been in the left lane turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard. And like sunshine pouring through a cloud bank, there she was. Theresa, my savior. In her little minivan. Still slowly heading south on Doheny. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances. I pulled into the left lane right behind her, my eyes glued to her rear window.
When we got to the light at Beverly Boulevard, she put on her left turn signal. If luck was with me, she was headed to the Ralph’s grocery store on the corner. I followed her as slowly as I could and prayed she’d turn into the parking lot. When she put on her right turn signal at the entrance to the parking lot, I hit the steering wheel and hissed, “Yes!” This was perfect. Exactly what I needed.
I stayed behind her as she searched for a parking space. This Beverly Hills grocery store was always crowded, and today was no exception. I hung back and watched as she found a space along the far edge of the lot, then drove past her and parked two spaces down. I pulled out the devices I’d seen Alex use.
Getting into a car is easy—if you know someone like him. He’d used the Signal Amplification Relay Attack, one of the simpler ways to break into a car. It intercepts the remote locking signal. All you have to do is get the transmitter close to the car and one other device close to the key fob. I slung my extra-large handbag over my shoulder and moved as close to her car as I could while I waited for her to get out. The moment she did, I took a few more steps toward her. Then, as she hit the remote, I pushed the buttons on my devices.
As soon as she entered the store, I checked to make sure no one was watching, then walked up to the passenger side of the minivan, snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and reached for the passenger door handle. This had to work. I pulled, and . . . it opened! I glanced around one more time to make sure I was safe, then took out the “goodies” I’d gotten from Angelina’s guest bathroom: Tanner’s hair, his bullet-style cork snorter (such a douchey thing to have—it figured), and—surprisingly—his handkerchief. I didn’t know anyone who carried a handkerchief anymore. But whatever. Thanks to Angelina, I had
a treasure trove of DNA. And one more item—my personal contribution: Tanner’s SAA chip, the one I’d found in the Denali. As I carefully placed the items, my heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid I’d stroke out.
When I’d first come up with the idea to plant evidence in Theresa’s car, I’d thought maybe Tanner’s SAA chip would be enough. But after a few moments of thought, I realized that might not suffice. Who knew whether any of Tanner’s DNA was still on it? And even if it was, there was bound to be DNA from a lot of people on that chip. That wouldn’t do the trick. I needed to find things that could only have come from Tanner.
At that point, I’d thought my plan was toast, because I didn’t know where I’d be able to find them now that the cops had cordoned off his condo. It’d taken that impatient Russian guy at the gas station to make me remember Angelina—and the fact that she’d said Tanner sometimes stayed at her place. I mentally thanked Angelina again as I went to the back of the minivan to plant the last two items—also my personal contributions. Unregistered guns are so useful. I’d known they’d come in handy one day, but I hated to part with them. I’d have to see if the connection who’d sold them to me would come through again. I placed them under the carpet in the cargo area, with just the tip of the butt of one gun showing. Hidden just enough that Theresa wouldn’t notice it—but not too hidden if the right person looked.
I closed the door and hurried back to my car. According to my phone, the whole operation had only taken a minute and a half. It’d felt like an hour. And as I leaned back in the seat to catch my breath, I could feel that my hairline was damp with sweat. But so far, so good.
