by Marcia Clark
And now I understood what all three girls had in common. “How long have you guys known Cassie?”
“Since freshman year,” Tawny said.
So, not that long. “Did you both know Abel?”
Rain made a face, and her voice was filled with contempt. “He’s a wannabe and an asswipe.”
Tawny seemed to agree with that. “It was so pathetic. He was always sucking up to the jocks.”
“So it wasn’t an in-crowd thing?” I asked. “More of a jock thing?”
Rain sneered. “Yeah. He was always trying to hang out with them.”
“And they’d make fun of him behind his back all the time,” Tawny said. She shook her head. “It kind of made me feel sorry for him, in a way.”
“Not me,” Rain said. “He used to call me Dracula’s whore. And he slut-shamed Ginnie just because she wouldn’t put out.”
Tawny shook her head, but she seemed less outraged. “Yeah, that was really shitty. But so many guys do it.”
I was incredulous. “Seriously?” I was very familiar with Internet trolls—I had more than my share of them. But that kind of bullying among students who actually knew one another was worse, to me. I’d heard of it happening, but I’d never known that it was a common occurrence.
Rain nodded, her expression matter-of-fact. “Happens all the time.”
I asked Tawny, “What about you? Any run-ins with Abel?”
Tawny stretched out her legs and leaned back against the wall. “No, I never had a problem with him.”
That figured. Tawny wasn’t in Heather’s league, but she definitely qualified as one of the pretty girls. “Were there any other girls besides Ginnie who had a problem with Abel?”
Rain and Tawny exchanged a fast look. Tawny dropped her eyes, but Rain met my gaze. “Maybe. Delia told us he roofied her at a party.”
“And raped her?” They both nodded. Why was that “maybe”?
Tawny read the question in my expression. “Delia says a lot of things like that.” She looked at Rain. “Remember, she said Mr. Thompson groped her in the hallway?”
Rain shook her head. “Yeah.” She turned her back to the fire as she pulled her hair over her shoulder. “He was our freshman English teacher, who’s about ninety years old and practically blind. I don’t think he could’ve found her tits if he’d wanted to.” Rain inclined her head toward Tawny. “And remember when she said Drake tried to drag her into the boys’ locker room?”
Tawny tilted her head. “Right. And she said Trudy tried to kiss her?”
Rain frowned. “Trudy?”
“The softball coach.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Rain looked at me. “So it may be true, but it’s hard to know with Delia.”
“Did she ever report anything to the cops?” The girls shook their heads.
“And she made us swear not to tell,” Rain said.
I got why there was a question mark next to Delia’s name. But true or not, rape was a plausible motivator. I could see someone—though probably not Delia—getting angry enough to do something about it if he believed her story. “Does Delia have a father who’s in the picture?”
“No,” Tawny said. “He died when she was little. Like four or five, I think.”
“What about a brother?”
There was a beat, then Rain nodded. “Yeah. He got back from Iraq a few months ago. He’s kind of hot, but he’s a little . . . I don’t know . . . extreme.”
Bingo.
EIGHTEEN
I’d set up an interview with Delia for four o’clock the following day. But at two thirty, I got a voice mail from Dale. They had the killer. If he was right, this was huge. I immediately called him back. “Does your guy fit Cassie’s description?”
“I don’t want to talk about this on a cell. I’m at the station.”
Delia, like all the other kids, lived in Glendale. The Police Administration Building, which everyone called the PAB, wasn’t exactly on the way, but it was doable. Regardless, there was no way I was going to wait until after her interview to find out who they’d busted.
I told Alex and Michelle about Dale’s phone call. “Alex, if we take off right now and get a little bit lucky with the traffic, we can see Dale and still get to Delia by four.”
Alex was skeptical about that. He rescheduled Delia for four thirty. The story of the arrest had already made the news. I watched it on my phone while Alex drove.
He glanced at my phone screen as we idled at the light on the freeway on-ramp. “Maybe we should cancel with Delia. I mean, if they’ve got their guy . . .”
I shook my head. “We don’t stop digging until the DA files charges.” Because until then, you just never know.
When we got to the PAB, we found Dale at his desk.
He was on a call, and I shifted from one foot to the other while I waited for him to finish it. The moment he did, I jumped in. “Cassie said the guy had a tattoo of a lightning bolt on his arm. I couldn’t tell from the photos on the news whether your guy has one.” Cassie hadn’t been able to tell whether he was bald, because he’d been wearing a blue bandanna.
“No, he had a 14 on one arm and an 88 on the other. But a 14 could look like a lightning bolt when you only get a glance in the dark.”
The fourteen stood for the number of words in a scumbag Nazi leader’s speech—and eighty-eight referred to the letter H—as in, you know, Heil Hitler. Such genius. “You going to put him in a lineup?”
Dale shook his head. “Even if she did ID him, I doubt we’d get the DA to file without some backup. One fast glance in the dark, in the rain—that just won’t cut it. So we’re running his prints first. We’ve got some strays around the doorway to Abel’s bedroom.”
“Not at the back door?”
“Nothing that was usable.”
“What’s he say about your snitch’s story?”
“That the snitch is a lying sack, that he never threatened to kill Paula or anyone else, and that I should know better than to believe a shit-for-brains CI. Also that he’s not dumb enough to make a threat like that in front of anyone who’s likely to be a snitch.”
That made no sense. “Wait, what? If this guy could tell who was likely to be a snitch, then how come your little fink still has his head attached?”
“Well, there’s that.” Dale’s phone rang. “We about done? I’ve gotta go.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I started to go, and he picked up the phone. I turned back. “Hey.”
Dale covered the receiver with his hand. “Yeah?”
I spoke in a low voice. “You get anywhere on Hausch?”
Dale glanced around the room, then gave me a warning look. “Not yet.”
I started to go, then turned back again. “Just curious: How’d you wind up on Cassie’s case? I thought RHD took it.”
“They just needed extra manpower for the house searches.” He waggled his fingers at me. “’Kay, ’bye.”
Alex and I took off. As he pulled onto the freeway to head toward Glendale, he asked, “So we’re going to keep working it till they confirm they’ve got the right guy?”
“Definitely.” I remembered what I’d wanted to ask Alex after my evening with Tawny and Rain. “Did you get Cassie’s cell phone records yet?” I had a feeling her mysterious texting buddy was her old boyfriend, but I wanted to make sure.
Alex slapped the steering wheel. “Shit! I got sidetracked with Julio’s story. Sorry, I’ll get right on it.”
This was probably the first time I’d ever seen him drop the ball. Usually, his problem was being too on top of things. If ever there was a sign that we had too much going on, this was it. But I could see Alex was upset with himself. “Don’t sweat it, Alex. It’s no biggie.” He sighed. “I mean it. Let it go.” He muttered to himself for the rest of the drive.
It was four thirty by the time we made it to Delia’s place, as Alex had predicted. Our cover story for Delia was that we were helping the police by talking to everyone who knew the Sonnenbergs. It was
a bit of a stretch, but far from the worst lie I’d ever told to get a witness to talk to me. You do what you gotta do.
Delia lived in an apartment complex that was a little village of connected townhouses. A road that reminded me of Autopia in Disneyland wound through it, and there was a grassy expanse in the center where a bunch of kids of all colors and both genders were playing soccer.
Alex parked in one of the visitor spots, and we walked through the winding paths to Delia’s place. Even from the outside, I could tell it was a little run-down. The white paint on the door was faded and peeling, and wood showed through the cracks. The brass number on the door was tarnished, and one of the screws was missing.
When Alex rang the doorbell, a dog started to bark. It sounded like one of those little yappy dogs with a Napoleon complex. Running footsteps pounded toward us, and then the door opened. A plump girl in skinny jeans, a purple Obey T-shirt that featured flowers inside a square, and purple ballet slipper-style flats, opened the door. I ventured a guess. “Delia?”
Her mascara had fallen, and her dark eye shadow was smudged, making her eyes look like the proverbial holes in a blanket. But her dark-brown hair was thick and shiny and hung in pretty waves down to her collarbone. She took us both in, then, predictably, smiled at Alex. “Are you the guy who called me?”
Alex gave her a warm smile. “I am.” He gestured to me. “And this is Samantha Brinkman.”
Delia barely glanced at me before refocusing on Alex. This happened so often with female witnesses I got suspicious when it didn’t. She stepped back from the doorway. “Come in. My mom’s upstairs, but she said we could talk in the dining room.”
I noticed a stairway on our left as we walked through a small living room, passed a tiny kitchen on the right, and finally landed in the dining room. It had sliding glass doors and a balcony that offered standing room only. We sat at the oval table. Delia’s laptop and geometry book occupied one end, so we sat on either side of it. She closed her laptop and sat down behind it. I thought it’d be best to slide into her story about Abel slowly. Since she hadn’t wanted to report the rape, and Tawny had said she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about it, it probably wasn’t going to be easy to pry the story out of her. We’d have to start by doing what we could to win her trust. “Are you friendly with Cassie?”
“Not really.” She quickly added, “I don’t hate her or anything. I just, like, don’t hang out with her.” Delia’s voice sounded like an exaggerated Valley girl imitation, every sentence ending on a questioning note.
I bet she twirled her hair with an index finger when she wanted to flirt.
“You guys didn’t have any classes together?” I asked. She shook her head. “What about gym?” It was a deliberate prompt. I wanted to see what she’d do with the opening.
Delia’s eyes got bigger. “Do you . . . do you guys know . . . about that?”
I gave her a solemn nod, hoping that was the right move. “If you want to talk about it, we’ll keep it on the down low.” It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
Delia’s chin quivered. When she looked up, her eyes slid off me and stuck on Alex. “You promise not to tell anyone?”
Alex nodded. Delia took a deep breath. “Freshman year, the softball coach tried to make out with me.”
Alex acted surprised. “Really? A teacher? Wow.”
Delia nodded. “She’s not the only one. Mr. Thompson, my English teacher, tried to kiss me, too.”
This was way too easy. Not to knock the Alex magic, but even that couldn’t grease the wheels this fast. My very strong suspicion—no doubt influenced by Tawny’s and Rain’s opinions—was that Delia was a little bit nutty. Her act was pretty weak. I didn’t buy it for a second. But it did make me sad. This girl had serious issues.
Alex shook his head. “How did that happen?”
“In the classroom. He told me to wait after class, and when everyone was gone, he told me he was in love with me and tried to kiss me.”
Alex gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s terrible, Delia. Did you report them to the principal?”
Delia shifted in her chair. “No. I knew he wouldn’t believe me.” She looked up at Alex. “Please don’t tell my mom! She’ll get so upset.”
Alex nodded. “If you don’t want me to tell, I won’t. But this is pretty serious. You shouldn’t have to put up with this. What they did was wrong.”
Delia leaned forward, her expression grave. “Yeah, I know. But that’s nothing compared to what Abel did to me.”
Alex looked at her, concerned. “What did he do?”
Delia glanced upward—I guessed toward her mother’s bedroom—then spoke in a very quiet, halting voice. “When we were at . . . at a birthday party last year, he roofied me and . . . raped me. I woke up with my pants half off and my underwear ripped.” She bit her lip and looked down at her lap.
“Delia, I’m so sorry,” Alex said. “Did you call the police?”
She shook her head and gave a little sob, but her eyes were dry. “I couldn’t. It was too embarrassing. Besides, he’d just say I wanted it!” Delia bit her lip and turned her head away as she let out a few more sobs. But once again, there were no tears.
The story itself was believable. The delivery was what killed it. It was melodramatic as hell. Susan Lucci had nothing on Delia Nusmith. And of course, it was the last in such a long line of stories. But her claim about Abel didn’t have to be true to give someone a motive to go after him. I hated to ruin her date with Alex, but I had to step in. “Delia, did you tell anyone else about this?”
She furrowed her brow. “Well, I think I told Tawny. Maybe Anna and . . . I think that’s it. I really didn’t want anyone to know.”
And obviously not her mother. “Did you tell your father or your brother?”
She looked at me like I’d asked whether she’d told the Tooth Fairy. “My father? I haven’t seen him in years.”
I hadn’t gotten the whole answer. “What about your brother?”
She looked momentarily stricken, then dropped her gaze and began to fiddle with her laptop. “I—I didn’t want to tell my brother.”
I waited for her to look up. “But you did tell him, didn’t you?”
Her face reddened. After a moment, she nodded. All at once, she sat up. “Wait! Are you thinking he . . . he killed Abel and . . . ?” She shook her head vigorously. “No! Danny’d never hurt anyone!”
A woman called out from upstairs. “Delia? Are you okay?”
Delia’s eyes got huge. “I’m fine, Mom!” She whispered, “What are you going to do?”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry. We won’t tell.”
Not yet.
NINETEEN
I didn’t know how solid Dale felt about his Nazi Low Rider suspect. But I did know that if his prints didn’t match up, he’d be outta there. That is, unless he confessed—and the likelihood of that was less than zero.
After my evening with Tawny and Rain, I’d told Alex to check out Delia’s brother, Danny. When we got back to the car, I asked whether he had Danny’s home address.
He nodded. “And work, too. He’s a driver for UPS in Burbank.” Alex looked at his car clock. “Should be getting off in about an hour. But how are we going to approach him? We can’t sell him the story about us helping the police.”
True. It was barely good enough for a high school girl. I turned it over in my mind. I needed a hook that would get him talking, and it had to be believable. After a few moments, I had an idea. “Did you dig into his military background at all?”
“Of course. Honorable discharge, but his Facebook buddies from the army call him Wild Man Dan, so we should look into that—”
“Thanks, that’s—”
“Also, he graduated from Glendale High with a 2.4, got busted twice in tenth grade for curfew violations, and didn’t make the cut in Little League.”
“Show-off.”
He gave me a self-satisfied smirk and pulled out his cell phone. “Here’s the ph
oto I got.”
It showed a young man in army fatigues cradling an AK like a baby with a wide grin. Danny was average height, on the slender side, and darker skinned than Delia. I guessed him to be mixed race—judging by his features, half Hispanic. “Can you pull a name from someone in his platoon who lives around here?”
“Sure.” Alex pulled out his cell phone. “I assume you’re going to make up a story about the guy in his platoon?” I nodded. “Kind of risky, don’t you think? If the guy lives local, Danny might know him well enough to bust you.”
“You just get me a name—and a photo if you can. I’ll take care of the rest. And I’ll drive.”
I always think better when I’m moving. We switched seats, and I steered us out of Autopia. Fifteen minutes later, we were parked down the block from the UPS warehouse—and I had the beginnings of a story.
“Who do we say we are?” Alex asked.
“Ourselves.” Alex gave me a worried look. “He won’t make the connection. It hasn’t really been publicized that I’m Cassie’s lawyer.” It would when I appeared in court as Cassie’s support person, but so far my involvement had stayed under the radar. And if he recognized me as the lawyer in Dale’s case it was all to the good. It’d fit perfectly with my cover story.
By the time we spotted Danny leaving the building, I had fleshed it out enough to sell it. I hoped. He’d put on a few pounds since his army days, but that only made him of average weight. And his hair was a lot longer now. It was thick, black, and straight, and it hung down three inches past his shoulders. Something about that pinged a memory.
Alex and I had parked farther down the block, so we were ahead of Danny. When he was twenty-five feet away, we got out and waved to him with friendly smiles. He slowed down and stared at us, but he kept coming, his expression puzzled. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
He didn’t sound sorry. His tone was hostile, almost accusing, looking for the scam. This wasn’t going to be easy. I kept the smile going. “No, we haven’t.” I introduced myself and Alex, and we gave him our cards. “We’re here because Griffin Lenahan put you on his list of friends to contact.” I looked around. “We’re hoping you can help him. If you can spare us a few minutes, I’ll explain.”
