Moral Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 2)

by Marcia Clark

  I picked up my purse. “Let’s split it.”

  Niko winced and put a hand on my arm. “Please, let me get this. I’m not trying to diss your womanhood, I promise. But I’m the one who asked for this date. We can negotiate about next time, okay?”

  I had to smile. “Fair enough.” And I was glad to hear him say “next time.” Then it occurred to me how cool it was to be glad about that. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that way.

  As we entered the darkened lounge just inside the front door, Niko pulled me aside and gave me a long, lingering kiss that turned my body into liquid. When we stepped apart, I was breathless. I covered with a sexy smile, then quickly turned toward the door so I could inhale.

  My Uber car was waiting when we got outside. As Niko opened the door for me, I wished I could take things further, but I had to get an early start in the morning. I called Michelle on the way home to tell her how it went. Also to keep her from giving me shit about why I hadn’t called.

  She’d been happy to hear it’d gone so well. “Now please, oh please, don’t screw this up.”

  I could’ve gotten huffy, but why? I knew she was right. I’d found a way to dump every guy who’d even gotten close to a serious relationship—whether it was by neglect or by finding flaws Michelle usually classified as utter horseshit. I sighed. “I guess we’ll see how I do.”

  I’d like to be able to say that I got a great night’s sleep. But the nightmare had been hitting me like a pile driver ever since I’d met Cassie. And that night was no exception. I woke up, panting and terrified. It’s a bad combination. I rolled out of bed and into the shower, then gulped down a cup of coffee. Still somewhat groggy, I filled my giant-size travel cup—Michelle calls it my “Gallon Glug”—and headed to work.

  It was only seven thirty when I got to the office, and I had the place to myself. I used the time to make sure all my other cases were in shape so I could clear the decks for Cassie. I planned to go talk to Tiegan and then pay Cassie a visit. I kept my head down, barely taking a minute to look up when Michelle and Alex got in, other than to get the report from Alex that he hadn’t gotten anything of note from Nathan during the ride back to his hotel. Not unexpected, but it’d been worth a try.

  At noon, I packed up and headed for Glendale. As I drove, I tried to imagine how Tiegan was feeling. Since she was Cassie’s counselor, she had to be wondering how she’d missed the signs that something had obviously been terribly wrong in Cassie’s life. She’d certainly never mentioned seeing anything “off” about Cassie. But maybe she had noticed problems and just hadn’t said anything to protect Cassie’s privacy.

  If that were true, I couldn’t blame her. There’d been no reason to tell anyone until now.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I found Tiegan sitting alone in her classroom, an untouched lunch bag on the desk in front of her. She was staring out the window. I knocked on the doorjamb. She startled before turning toward me. “Come on in.”

  She seemed deeply troubled and a little unsteady. I took a seat at one of the desks in the front row. Something I’d never done when I was in school. Not even law school. “It’s a terrible shock, I know.”

  Tiegan shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t imagine how she could do such a thing.” She gazed at the floor for a moment, then shook her head again. When she looked up at me, she asked, “Have you seen her?”

  I nodded. “I need to ask you some questions.”

  Her expression was pained. “Then it’s true? She really did it?”

  I thought I might end up going public with it, but I hadn’t made the decision yet, so I dodged. “I can’t comment on that just yet. What Cassie tells me is confidential. I hope you understand. But could you answer some questions for me?”

  Tiegan looked uncertain as she searched my face. “I guess so.”

  “Did Cassie ever tell you that she’d been molested by anyone in her family?” Teachers and counselors were required by law to report any claims of sexual abuse, but I had to ask.

  Tiegan stared at me, then slowly shook her head. “I’d definitely have reported it if she had. The only family-related issue I remember her telling me about was her difficulty getting along with Abel. She never said anything about being molested.”

  “What did Cassie say about the problems she was having with Abel?”

  Tiegan paused and knitted her brow. “Just that he’d tease her, get his friends to gang up on her in school. That kind of thing. Typical sibling tension, especially common when you have an adopted child.”

  “What did you think of Paula? Did she seem concerned about Cassie?”

  Tiegan gave a little shrug. “I only met with her once. She came in to see me. But she seemed . . . annoyed. Like she wanted me to give her a quick fix.”

  “For what?”

  “She said Cassie seemed to be frequently angry lately, that she was picking fights with all of them and wasn’t sleeping well. Several times she’d found Cassie awake at two or three in the morning.”

  I sat up. This could back up Cassie’s claim about being afraid to go to sleep. “Doing what?”

  Tiegan lifted her hands. “Nothing in particular. Playing with her phone, reading magazines, watching TV.”

  “What did Paula do about it?”

  Tiegan sighed heavily. “At first, she’d make her turn out the lights and go to bed. But that would always lead to a fight, and after Paula turned out the light and went to bed, Cassie would just get up again. Paula couldn’t stand guard all night to make sure Cassie didn’t get up again, so she gave up.”

  “When did you have this meeting?”

  “Maybe three months ago? Not long after I became Cassie’s counselor.”

  I decided to ask her about what Nathan had said. “Did Paula ever tell you she thought Cassie made up stories?”

  Tiegan rubbed her left temple. “No. I don’t remember her ever saying that.” A sad look crossed her face as she stared out the window. “So Cassie was being molested. I don’t get how I missed that. There must’ve been signs . . .” She trailed off, her voice filled with guilt. “I really failed her. But to kill practically a whole family . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Again, I can’t tell you what she said—”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Have you worked with any child molestation experts?”

  “Not on any case. Just as part of my training. But there was a woman who was pretty good. I’m sure I can find her name in my old class notebooks.”

  I heard a bell ring in the hallway and saw that it was one o’clock. Lunch was over. “That would be great. And if there’s anything else you can remember about Cassie or her family, that’d be a big help, too.” I stood up. “Are you planning to visit Cassie soon? The more contact she has with people who care about her, the better. She’s pretty isolated in there.”

  Tiegan gave a solemn nod. “I’ll definitely get there in the next day or so.” She reached out and shook my hand. “I’m so glad she’s got you, Sam.”

  The door opened, and a few students slowly shuffled in, heads down, as though they were cattle being led to slaughter. “Thanks, Tiegan. I’ll do my best.”

  I wove through the crowded hallway, trying to hold back the flood of high school memories. I’d been a bitter, angry mess of a kid. Not at all like the sweetheart I am today.

  Next stop was downtown at Twin Towers to visit Cassie. When they brought her out, she looked miserable and exhausted. She’d already lost weight—Barbara had said that ever since she’d been on house arrest, she’d practically stopped eating—and her orange jumpsuit hung on her like a tent. It made her look tiny and frail. For the first time in my career, I considered having a client wear that ugly thing in court. She looked so pathetic, the jury would melt on sight. Cassie picked up the phone as though it weighed a ton. The receiver looked huge next to her gaunt face.r />
  I kept my voice light. “How are you doing?”

  Her voice was so low and strained I could barely hear it. “I’m so tired. They never turn off the lights. How am I supposed to sleep?”

  First-timers always complain about that. Not that I blame them. “I know. It sucks. But you’ll get used to it. Everyone treating you okay?”

  She slouched down in her chair. “No one ever talks to me! They just give orders. And I’m all by myself all day. It’s horrible.”

  She was losing patience with her situation way too fast. I’d have to talk her down or she’d get on the wrong side of the wrong person. “I’ll bring you some books to read and see if you can get a little extra yard time.” She thanked me in a flat voice that didn’t sound all that grateful. I decided not to have my come-to-Jesus talk with her about her attitude today. It’d probably just set her off. I told her I needed to ask her a few more questions. “Did you tell anyone about Abel and your father?” If I could get someone else to say that she’d complained about the abuse, it’d be huge.

  Cassie rubbed the corner of the window with her index finger. “Like who?”

  “Like anyone.”

  She stared down at the counter, then shook her head. “I don’t want to get him involved.”

  “This is no time to be noble, Cassie. You’re on trial for your life.” I stared into her eyes. She nodded, but I wasn’t sure it had registered. “If you get convicted of these murders, you could be sentenced to life without parole.” Her face froze, mouth half-open.

  “Without . . . parole . . .” After a few shallow breaths, she whispered, “You mean I’ll never get out? Ever?” I nodded. “Oh my God!” She stared straight ahead. The phone slipped out of her hands, and she grabbed the sides of her head. She began to sob, and I heard her voice coming through the dangling receiver, tinny and distant, saying, “No, no, no, no. I can’t do it! I’ll kill myself!”

  I held up a hand to stop her and pointed to my receiver. “Pick up the phone and listen. Right now!” Still sobbing, she picked up the receiver with trembling hands and put it to her ear. “Cassie, I know you don’t mean that. You’re upset, and you have every right to be. But if you let them hear you say that, they’ll put you on suicide watch. Believe me, you don’t want that. Understood?”

  Cassie hiccupped a few times, then nodded. “But I thought you said before that the jury would say I was innocent and I’d get out!”

  I gave her a firm look. “‘Might.’ I said ‘might,’ Cassie. And I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. But you have to understand, it’s also possible that you won’t. That’s why I told you before that you have to work with me. Now, let’s try that again. Who did you tell?”

  She wiped her face on her sleeve and sniffled. “Waylon knew. I told him.”

  “Waylon Stubing? Your old boyfriend?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yeah. Will you make him come to court?”

  Depends on whether he backs you up. “Maybe. We’ll see.” I’d been thinking he was the mysterious Earl Lee Riser she’d been calling and texting. I was just about to ask her, but then realized that if I did, she’d figure out that I’d been snooping around in her life. This was not the time to upset her. Cassie’s arraignment was tomorrow, and I needed her to focus. I’d brace her up about her burner-phone buddy later. I explained what happens at an arraignment and coached her on how to say “not guilty” like she really meant it. Talking about what was next and what to expect seemed to calm her down, and I was relieved to see that even in her ragged state, she was a pretty fast study. “And there’ll be a fitness hearing; that’s where the judge decides whether you’re fit for juvenile court. It’s not like a trial. It’s just a judge and a prosecutor and a probation officer. The law says the judge has to consider a list of things, and he or she will pretty much rely on what the probation officer says about them.”

  Cassie leaned toward me and gripped the phone. “Like what things? I’ve never been busted for anything before. Does that count?”

  “Yes. But they’ll also look at whether the crime was particularly brutal or violent, and whether it shows criminal sophistication.” And on those counts, she’d be toast.

  Cassie spoke in a quiet voice, her eyes fixed on the edge of the window. “I know it was bad.” After a moment, she looked up with pleading eyes. “But I didn’t mean to do it! I just . . . went crazy! Aren’t you going to tell them that?”

  “Of course I am, Cassie.” I told her I’d arranged for her physical examination to take place tomorrow afternoon, after the arraignment. “You still okay with that?”

  She grimaced but slowly nodded. “Will it hurt?”

  Not that I’d ever heard. But then, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t represent the victims. “I doubt it.” I asked how she was doing, whether she was able to sleep last night.

  Cassie bit her lip. “Like I said, I do hate the lights being on all the time.” She paused for thought as she traced the edge of the window. “But being alone in that cell feels safe in a weird way. No one can get to me, you know?”

  I did. “So you didn’t feel safe at the Reebers’ house?”

  Cassie sighed. “Not really. I didn’t have a lock on my door, and I was always nervous that Burt—he’s the dad—might . . .”

  If he’d been inappropriate with her in any way, I sure hadn’t heard about it. “Did he do or say anything . . . weird?”

  Cassie’s eyes slid away. “No, but . . .” She stopped and sighed. “It made me nervous, knowing he was there, just down the hall.”

  That sounded a little paranoid—which seemed just about right given what she’d been through. We chatted for a while longer, and then a deputy behind me said visiting hours were over. I told her I’d see her in court for her arraignment tomorrow.

  Cassie licked her lips and leaned toward me. “Will they bring me in with the other, uh . . . inmates?”

  “No, I think you’ll come over in a van. They have to keep you separate.”

  She exhaled, relieved. “Is Tiegan going to come see me?”

  “Absolutely. Barbara, too, I think.”

  “What about Tawny and Rain? Can they come?”

  I told her I was working on it, that she should rest up, and then I left.

  As I approached the elevator, I mulled over what I’d learned since Cassie had gotten arrested—from her and from everyone else. It seemed more and more likely that she was telling the truth, that she really had been molested.

  Or was I too inclined to believe because of my own past?

  I wasn’t sure I could trust my gut this time.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I thought about stopping by the PAB to see whether I could find Emmons and get an early update on the test results for Cassie’s shirt and jeans. Then I remembered. I was officially on the other side now. I wouldn’t get past the front door.

  As I left the jail, my stomach grumbled so loudly, a female deputy raised an eyebrow. As usual, breakfast had consisted of my canteen of coffee. But I wanted to get back to the office. I bought a hot dog and a bag of potato chips from a street vendor’s cart and ate on the road. I tried not to think about the possible ingredients of that hot dog—probably part pizza rat.

  When I got back to the office, I saw that Alex’s door was open. I called out, “Honey, I’m home.”

  Michelle pulled off her headset. “How’d it go?”

  I filled her in on my interviews with Tiegan and Cassie. “It all kind of jibes with Cassie’s story.”

  “Sure sounds like it.” Michelle leaned back and peered at me. “But you’re not sold yet.”

  I wasn’t sure what I was. “I’d like to hear what the doctor says after her exam.”

  Michelle looked skeptical. “But it’s been a few weeks by now. Might not be . . . much.”

  That was true. If the doctor didn’t see any trauma, that wouldn’t necessarily mean Cassie was lying. Alex came out of his office carrying his new love: an iPad mini. “I’ve been working on Hausch, and I’m pretty
much finished with that list of immigrant crime victims involving border town PDs.” He nodded toward my office. “Shall we?”

  I nodded. “Michy, if you want to come hear this, I’ll turn on my ringer. It should be pretty quiet now.”

  She gave Alex a sideways glance. “Do I?”

  Alex shrugged. “It’s not pretty.”

  Michelle stood up. “I’m in.”

  I sat behind my desk and woke up my computer so I could take notes. Michelle sprawled out on the couch, and Alex took a seat in front of my desk. He tapped his iPad. “Almost all the cases where immigrants were victims were low-level stuff, bar brawls and theft of one kind or another. Then I came across something that happened eight years ago. A truck driver got stopped just north of the border at the checkpoint in Nogales.”

  “Wasn’t Hausch working in San Luis PD back then?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get there in a sec. According to the official report, he got detained for inadequate paperwork. Something to do with regulations involving transportation of fruits and vegetables—”

  I stopped typing. “Wait. ‘Something’? I’d like to know—”

  Alex shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The cop who stopped him was Mitchell Sanborn. Hang on to that name—”

  “Because he’s tied in with Hausch?” I asked.

  Alex gave me a pissy look. “Yes. They worked together in San Luis for about a year—”

  “A year before this—whatever it is—happened?”

  Alex exhaled and glared at me. “Yes. You going to let me tell the story or not?” I waved him on. “The driver said he’d left the paperwork back at the warehouse. Sanborn let the driver leave the truck in an empty lot down the street so he could go get it. Only the driver never came back. The truck sat there for three days in a hundred-and-ten-degree heat. Another trucker passing through Nogales stopped for a lunch break and noticed it. He probably wanted to talk to the driver, get some tips about the truck stops south of the border. Anyway, he noticed a really bad smell coming from the truck. When the cops opened the cargo area, they found twelve illegals.” Alex looked up, his expression somber. “They were cooked to death.”