Moral Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 2)

by Marcia Clark

  One hot shower and a triple shot of Don Julio later, I checked out my “present.” Sure enough, it was all there. Who knew one hundred and fifty thousand dollars could look so small?

  But I was too keyed up to sleep. I’d spent the past two hours thinking every passing second would be my last. So I poured myself another drink, turned on the television, and found a rerun of Kill Bill. I fell asleep to the whistling theme song and Uma Thurman’s high-booted strut.

  Sometime in the night, I must’ve woken up and turned off the television, because when my cell phone quacked, the room was quiet and dark. I squinted at the screen. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let the call go to voice mail. It had to be three in the morning. It wasn’t. It was seven thirty. Those blackout drapes really did their job. I decided to take another shower to clear my head. When I got out, I saw that the caller had been Dale.

  I listened to his message as I got dressed and put on makeup. He said it was safe to check out and go home. I wouldn’t have minded another night in that room. I gave it one last longing gaze before packing up all my gear—including the money. Then I listened to my other message. What I heard made me fly out the door.

  When I got to the infirmary at Twin Towers, a nurse showed me to Cassie’s bed. Her bandaged wrists lay on top of the covers, and an IV was pumping some kind of fluid into her arm. I thought she was sleeping, but when I reached her bedside, her eyes half opened. “Hey, Sam.” Her voice was weak.

  The nurse who told me she’d managed to break her plastic fork and use the jagged edge to cut her wrists said it was an “amateur effort.” The cut was horizontal, so the bleeding was relatively slow. Still, I wouldn’t call it nothing. She’d lost enough blood to justify a couple of days in the infirmary. Was this my fault? Should I have seen it coming after she’d been so depressed the last time? But she’d never done anything like it before, and she certainly hadn’t said anything that even hinted she was this depressed. “Why, Cassie? What happened?”

  Her voice was hoarse. “I just felt so . . . hopeless. I don’t want to live like this . . . here.”

  I stared at her. Something was really off. I pressed her as much as I could, given the circumstances, but she wouldn’t budge. I needed to enlist some help. “Have you seen Barbara lately?”

  Cassie stared at the foot of the bed. “A few days ago.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Fine.” Cassie’s mouth turned up in a tiny, one-second smile. “She’s so nice.”

  “You won’t be able to have visitors until you get out of the infirmary. But I’m sure she and Tiegan will want to see you as soon as they can.”

  Tears welled up in Cassie’s eyes. “Tiegan won’t come.”

  What? Since when? “Why do you say that, Cassie? What happened?”

  Cassie turned her head away. “I just know she won’t.”

  I tried to press her for an answer, but I got nowhere, and after a few minutes, the nurse said my time was up. I told Cassie I’d see her tomorrow and left.

  But I intended to find out what the hell was going on right now. I drove straight to the high school and waited in the hallway for Tiegan’s class to end. When the bell rang, I stood back and let the tidal wave of teenagers pour out, then went inside and told her what had happened.

  I sat on a desk in the front row. “She says you won’t want to visit her. What’s going on?”

  Tiegan stared at me, speechless, her expression stunned and confused. “Nothing happened. I have no idea why she’d say such a thing.”

  It didn’t look like an act, but she had to have some clue. “I saw Cassie after you visited her yesterday. She seemed more depressed than I’d ever seen her. Did something happen during your visit to upset her?”

  Tiegan really did look freaked out. “N-no. Not at all. We just talked about the usual things. They’re letting me give her homework and books to read. We talked about how that was going, how she’s doing in the . . . the facility.” Her eyes dropped back down to her desk, and she shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “And you don’t know why she’d try to kill herself? She didn’t say anything to you?”

  Tiegan looked utterly clueless. “No. Not at all.”

  I didn’t know what to make of it. All I knew was that someone was lying.

  FORTY-TWO

  “Jesus H. Christ.” Michelle pushed back from her desk. “Are you kidding me? What on earth is going on?”

  Alex had pulled the old secretary’s chair to the side of Michelle’s desk. “I don’t get it. I thought you said that last time, Cassie was gushing about Tiegan being her rock and her savior.”

  “She was. But I guess something must’ve happened to change that.”

  “Though Tiegan says it didn’t.” Michelle looked exasperated. “This is so . . . weird. So now what?”

  I stared at the floor and thought about my conversation with Tiegan. “Alex, dig up everything you can find on Tiegan. Where she comes from, where she’s been, who she’s worked for, who she’s been with—the whole ball of wax.” My cell phone quacked in the pocket of my coat. I checked the screen. “I need to take this.” I moved toward my office.

  Michelle had an irritated expression. “You can change that ringtone any time.”

  I nodded. I really did need to change that stupid thing. I stepped into my office and answered the call. One minute later, I walked back out, briefcase in hand. I saw that Alex’s door was closed. He’d already jumped on it. I’d probably have everything, including where Tiegan was when she lost her first baby tooth, by tonight. I didn’t even want to remember how I’d bumped along before I had him.

  Michelle took in my briefcase and gave me a puzzled look. “Did I miss something? I don’t have any appearances on the calendar for you today.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just an informal meeting with the DA in Beverly Hills on that DUI.”

  Michelle smiled. “Still trying to beat her into submission?”

  “It’s gonna happen. I should be back sometime after lunch.”

  It would’ve been much sooner, but I actually had more than one meeting, and my first one wasn’t with the DA. And it wasn’t in Beverly Hills. It was in Culver City. Not that far as the crow flies, but about an hour away as the car crawls. Crosstown traffic is such a bitch.

  Luckily, the parking at the Fox Hills Mall wasn’t terrible. But getting into the mall wasn’t the problem. The problem was getting out. It was a brisk day, and the wind that’d kicked up felt like a cold knife as it sliced through my open coat. I pulled it closed and hurried inside.

  I found the Hot Dog on a Stick eatery, ordered a lemonade, and took a table against the wall. The employees had to wear clown-style red, blue, and yellow shirts, shorts, and beanies. It might have been the most humiliating uniform I’d ever seen.

  Ten minutes later, Deshawn hurried in, head down, shoulders hunched. He may as well have worn a sign saying I’M TRYING TO HIDE FROM SOMEONE! It was pretty chilly in the mall, but I noticed a film of sweat on his forehead. He sat down at the table next to me. “You got it all?” His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the crowds passing by the hot-dog stand.

  I nodded. “Plus a little more. I figure you’ll owe for the damage to that Mercedes.” I took the gift box out of my briefcase and handed it to him. “Happy birthday.”

  He slipped it into the pocket of his puffer coat without looking at me. “Thanks.” Deshawn slid halfway off his chair, then paused and glanced at me. “How’d you do it?”

  “Magic.” I kept my eyes focused straight ahead on the shoppers passing by. “Call me and leave the line open. I’ll watch your back.”

  Deshawn pulled out his phone, tapped in the number I’d given him, took one more fast scan of the crowds, and hurried out. I watched for any signs that he was being followed, but I didn’t see any. I moved to the entrance and pretended to take one last sip of my lemonade as I paused at the trash can. I spotted Deshawn pushing through the outer exit doors. There was no one
behind him as far as I could tell.

  I gave it another few minutes, then headed out in the opposite direction. I pulled my collar up to hide as much of my face as possible, glad it was cold enough to make that look natural, and hoped Deshawn’s nemesis hadn’t gotten a good look at me during the car chase. I moved as fast as I could without appearing as though I were running for my life. The cold wind tossed my hair around, exposing my face, so I kept my head down.

  My hands were freezing, but I didn’t want to put them in my pockets. I needed them to be free. I scanned the parking lot constantly as I neared the car. A young male was pacing next to a blue Jetta as he talked on his cell phone. His shaved head was covered in multicolored tats. I slowed and watched him, my heart pounding. He looked around the parking lot as he spoke, but he didn’t seem to be interested in me.

  I picked up my pace, but when I got within twenty feet of Beulah, I spotted a man in the driver’s seat of a silver Audi that was parked behind me. I tried to get a better look, to see whether he was watching me, but his windows were tinted. Should I run? If he wasn’t after me, I’d only be tipping off the guy who really was. And if the guy in the Audi was waiting for me, I was already toast. I couldn’t outrun a car. The only thing I could do was keep moving and hope it wasn’t him. Even if I made it to my car, outrunning him in Beulah would be an exercise in futility.

  When I reached my car, I quickly shoved the key at the lock, but my hand was shaking so badly I missed. At that moment, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I shifted my gaze without turning my head. The man in the Audi was moving—he was getting out.

  Shit! I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Screw the key. I hit the remote and grabbed at the door handle. My sweaty palm slid off, and the handle bounced back. My throat closed as I grabbed the handle again. This time I gripped it and yanked with all my might. The door flew open, and I jumped in. I jammed the key into the ignition and begged Beulah not to fuck with me. In a rare display of cooperation, the engine kicked over. I threw her into gear and punched the gas. The car leaped forward with a loud squeal as I burned rubber and headed for the exit.

  I hazarded one quick glance in the rearview mirror. The man in the Audi was walking toward the entrance to the mall, head down against the wind. Not the least bit concerned with me. I slowed down at the exit and took a long look in all my mirrors. There was no one behind me.

  I put my head down on the steering wheel and took deep breaths. My pulse had just begun to approach normal when a horn blasted. It sounded like it was in my backseat. I jerked up and saw a woman shaking her fist at me in the rearview mirror. I waved to her and pulled out into traffic.

  I headed for my meeting with the Beverly Hills DA. It took an hour of alternate wheedling and needling, but by the end, I had the distinct feeling she was ready to cave.

  As I left the courthouse, I got a text from Deshawn. An emoji smiley face and a thumbs-up. All good. It was over. I was so relieved I felt as if a fifty-pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

  All in all, it’d been a pretty productive day.

  I was trying to decide whether to go back to the office or treat myself to an early day when I noticed I had a voice mail from Dale. He wanted to meet me for dinner at seven thirty, Morton’s Steakhouse on La Cienega.

  I never turn down a good steak dinner, and besides, I was in the mood to celebrate. And it was Friday; I didn’t have to worry about getting to court in the morning. I texted him to say yes, then checked in with Michelle. She said nothing was going on and gave me the green light to call it a day.

  I went home and treated myself to a long, hot bath, then got ready for dinner. Just having the time to do those things was a delicious luxury. I walked into Morton’s feeling more relaxed than I had in months.

  I could tell something was bugging Dale from the moment I sat down. Over our crab leg appetizers, he asked me how I was doing with a pointedly intense stare. But when I told him I was doing great, he let it go. I actually knew what was on his mind, but I wanted to let him bring it up.

  We’d finished dinner—prime rib eye on the bone, baked potatoes, and asparagus—and were sipping the last of our wine when he finally got to it.

  Dale watched as the waiter took away our plates, then leaned forward, his arms folded on the table in front of him. “When I called you this morning to tell you that we could check out, I didn’t have time to explain what’d happened.”

  I took a sip of wine. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have minded another night there, but whatever.”

  Dale tilted his head a little and gazed at me. “Seems Hausch was killed in a drive-by last night.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really?” Dale nodded. “Well, lucky us. I can’t pretend that’s bad news.” I shrugged. “But I guess it was bound to happen. Playing with bangers is a dangerous business.”

  Dale peered at me. “Yeah, well, there are a couple of strange things about it, though. It happened near his house in Simi Valley. Not exactly gang turf.”

  Simi Valley is, and pretty much always was, your quintessential “sleepy bedroom town,” where lots of cops lived. “Why are they saying it’s a gang drive-by?”

  “The witnesses—two of whom were off-duty cops—said they were throwing gang signs out the car window.”

  I flicked at a bread crumb. “Did they happen to recognize the signs?”

  “They’re working on it.” Dale fixed me with an intense stare. “And one of the shooters yelled, “‘Para mi prima!’ For my cousin.”

  I nodded slowly. “Given what Hausch was into, I’d say the only surprising thing is that it took this long.”

  Dale continued to stare at me. “But don’t you think it’s an interesting coincidence that Hausch got offed just when we found out what he’s been up to?” Dale sat back, but his stare was unwavering. “I do.”

  I returned his gaze. “I don’t. Hausch said IA was bearing down on him. Maybe his little gangbanger buddies found out and decided he was too big a risk.” I glanced at the dessert menu. “Besides, it all worked out okay, didn’t it?” I gave him a little smile and pushed the dessert menu toward him. “Want to share the Hot Chocolate Cake? I hear it’s fantastic.”

  FORTY-THREE

  It was a relatively uneventful weekend, which gave me a chance to finish my chores and have an easy, relaxed Sunday. I’d planned to go visit Cassie on Monday, but Alex texted me late Sunday night and said he had information about Tiegan I might want to follow up on. So the next morning, I headed to the office. I got in at seven thirty, hoping to get some work done before anyone was around.

  But when I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Alex’s black Camry. So I dropped my purse and briefcase on my couch and went to his office. As I raised my hand to knock, his voice came through the door. “If you tell me you’re from RuPaul’s Drag Race one more time, I’m quitting.”

  “Fine. I’ll be in my office.”

  A few minutes later, Alex came in with his iPad. “Your friend Tiegan has an interesting past. She taught at Mission Viejo High School for two years, then moved to Pasadena High for one year, and then she wound up at Glendale High. That’s three schools in four years.”

  A lot of moving around. Not usually something teachers like to do. As a general rule, they gain tenure by staying in one place. “Any complaints about her?”

  “Not that I could find. But maybe they just didn’t document them. You never know. What’s also interesting? She lives in Atwater Village.”

  I sat up. That’s where the burner phone seemed to live. “You’re saying Tiegan owns the burner phone? She’s Earl Lee Riser?”

  Alex lifted his hands, then dropped them. “It’s possible. I mean, a lot of people live in Atwater. But not all of them are friends with Cassie. And some of the calls between Cassie and that burner were near the school, so . . .”

  I didn’t like any of this. “But if that’s true, then why didn’t Tiegan tell us?”

  Alex raised an eyebrow—and no one could do it
more dramatically. That fishhook soared. “An excellent question.”

  One I planned to ask her very soon. But not before I did some digging on my own. “Let’s go see that principal in Pasadena.” I wanted to find out why Tiegan had left after just one year.

  Michelle came in just as we were about to leave. I told her what we were up to.

  “Interesting,” she said. “Oh, before you go, did you hear that Hausch got nailed in a drive-by the other night? Guess that’s why Dale said you could stand down.”

  “He told me about it last night over dinner.” I started for the door, then stopped. “Have there been any other media appearances by those child advocate groups?”

  “That woman, the one we saw on TV, did an interview for the Daily Beast. And the Internet buzz seems to be leaning more in her favor.” Michelle frowned. “I’m surprised your DA didn’t leak to the press about Cassie’s phone call to Waylon.”

  I was, too. “I have a feeling someone smart got to him.” No way Gidiot would’ve had the brains to realize that you save that kind of dynamite for trial. If he’d put it out now, I’d have responded with Cassie’s explanation, and then everyone would have time to kick it all around. By the time we got to trial, it’d be old, watered-down news. “We probably won’t be back. But I’ll call you with updates.”

  We took Alex’s car because he’s addicted to the security of knowing he’ll get to where he’s going. No sense of adventure.

  Pasadena is one of the older cities in LA County, and, unlike so many other parts of the county, they did their best to maintain the original appearance of the buildings, with their intricate stonework and detailed architecture—especially on the main drag, Colorado Avenue. It lent the place charm—a rare commodity in Southern California.

  Pasadena High wasn’t such an architectural wonder, just a plain, boxy, two-story building. But it sat at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, and the grounds were as green and manicured as a golf course. Like a great deal of Pasadena, it had an orderly, everything-in-its-place, tidy feel.