RK02.5 - Trouble in Paradise

by Marcia Clark

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  “Counsel, you’d better listen up because I’m not going to repeat myself.” Judge Schoen’s trademark glare took in all of us as she waited for the hubbub to die down. Within seconds, the courtroom fell silent and the lawyers who’d been milling around the prosecution counsel table came to attention. “I’m taking a fifteen-minute recess, no more, no less. When I come back you’ll be ready with either trial dates or deals. Or else…” She banged her gavel and stomped off the bench. The low hum of activity immediately rose to a semi-roar. Chuck Overmeyer, a veteran public defender and one of my favorite worthy adversaries, gave me the well-practiced smile that had won more than its fair share of verdicts.

  “Come on, Rachel. Let my guy plead to one count. You know you need him. He’s the perfect eyewitness—”

  “With a rap sheet long enough to bury a mummy in,” I said.

  “Hey, you know what they say: when you commit crimes in hell, you don’t get angels for witnesses.”

  I rolled my eyes even though I’d used the bromide myself. All of us prosecutors had to fall back on it eventually. In the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office, it didn’t matter what area or unit you were assigned to; at some point you were going to wind up with a witness who’d garnered a passel of fleas by lying down with too many dogs.

  But I had to smile. Chuck was a hell of a salesman. And it was true that his small-time crook of a client had the kind of self-deprecating charm juries love—not to mention a bird’s-eye view of the murder I had to prove. “Fine,” I said. “But if he backs up on me on the witness stand, gives me any grief whatsoever, I’m putting all four of his burglary counts back on the table.”

  Chuck nodded eagerly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Yes, you would.” We exchanged a smile. “Go get your guy ready. I’ll tell the clerk to call our case.”

  Chuck thanked me, then headed for the lockup.

  Thanks to the judges, who’d refused to let the lawyers push all their December cases into January, this was my only trial for the entire month. With Chuck’s case off the table, I had three gloriously open weeks just begging to be turned into a much-needed vacation. So I called Graden Hales, the lieutenant of LAPD’s elite Robbery-Homicide Division—and, more important, my boyfriend—to see if he could get away. He couldn’t, but he came up with a suggestion for me and my besties, fellow Special Trials prosecutor Toni LaCollier and Robbery-Homicide detective Bailey Keller, that sounded fabulous. At least, it did to me.

  Graden was actually the intended recipient of the largesse. He’d garnered a fan club in Aruba after helping to catch a serial rapist who was targeting the guests at the Caribbean Queen, the island’s city-sized twelve-star resort. Other than Natalee Holloway’s disappearance, serious crime just didn’t happen in Aruba. Theft—mostly petty—drunk driving, and weed were about the extent of it. So the local police had been completely stymied until Graden stepped in to lend a hand. In gratitude, the owner of the resort had offered him its best suite anytime he liked for as long as he liked, free of charge. Graden, having created a megapopular video game, was a multimillionaire and didn’t need the freebie. But Toni, Bailey, and I, who lived on civil-service wages, could never have afforded the freight at that posh resort. Luckily for us, the manager had graciously declared that any friend of Graden’s was a friend of his. All we’d need to pay for was the flight.

  In fairness, I didn’t initially reveal the freebie kicker when I presented the idea to Toni and Bailey over drinks at our “Cheers”—the bar in the Biltmore Hotel, where I was a permanent resident.

  “Aruba?” Toni frowned. “Why does it have to be the Morbid Murder-Mystery Tour? What’s wrong with Tortola? Or St. Barts?”

  “Or good old Maui?” Bailey added. “Land of Lava Flows and Pupu Platters?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “That is, if you can afford to turn down a free three-bedroom suite in a twelve-star resort that’s right on the beach.”

  “Damn.” Bailey drained the last of her martini. “How can we pass up a deal like that?”

  Toni finished her drink as well. “We can’t.” She set down her glass and redid her lip gloss, though it didn’t need refreshing. Toni is one of those women who always look perfect. We love her anyway.

  I signaled to Drew, the bartender, that we were ready for another round. Drew, one of the most smoothly gorgeous men I’ve ever seen, had become one of my best friends and—cliché though it is—my confidant after I’d moved into the Biltmore. The hotel is a five-star beauty in downtown Los Angeles, and living there is a little slice of heaven. No dishes, no laundry, no vacuuming, and I never have to worry about drinking and driving. Neither do Toni and Bailey, who routinely crash in my suite. Given the frequency of our visits to the bar, it wasn’t such a surprise that Drew and Bailey eventually hooked up. They’ve been dating for the past couple of years now, and they’re still going strong.

  When Drew brought our drinks, I raised my glass. “To white sand, warm water, and ice-cold drinks.”

  “Ten days of nothing to do,” Bailey said as she clinked.

  “No suits, no calendar, no judges,” Toni declared.

  Drew started to pull out his cell phone. “Hold on, now. I think I’d better call J.D.”

  J. D. Morgan was Toni’s boyfriend—and he also happened to be a superior court judge. Toni put down her drink and grabbed at Drew’s phone. “Give me that!”

  Drew laughed and stepped out of reach.

  I sighed happily. “To ten days of nothing but play.”

  “This place is incredible,” Bailey said as she craned her head out through the window of the taxi and tilted her face up to the midmorning sun.

  I was doing the same on my side. It’d been raining and in the forties when we left Los Angeles, but here in Aruba the sky was a clear, limitless blue and the balmy wind was so soft it felt like cashmere. Though the landscape was more austere than Hawaii, its openness beautifully showcased the glittering sand and topaz water along the coast. I breathed in the fresh, salty air and closed my eyes. Heaven.

  Toni looked out at the view over the rim of her sunglasses. “I’m going to be on that beach with a drink in exactly ten minutes.”

  I held up my hand for a high five, and she slapped it. “Then you’ll be about three minutes behind me,” I said.

  But when we got to the hotel, there was a long line at the front desk and the lobby was packed. Toni rolled her eyes and Bailey groaned.

  “Take out your gun,” I joked.

  Bailey seemed to be seriously considering it when a voice called out, “Ms. Knight!” I turned to see a tall, blonde, apple-cheeked man hurrying toward us, his hand extended and a wide smile on his face.

  “What a pleasure to meet friends of Graden Hales!” he said as he vigorously shook our hands. “He’s quite the hero around here. And I must say that I’m delighted to have members of the Los Angeles Police Department as guests. Welcome!”

  “Well, actually, we’re—,” Toni began.

  I quickly jumped in to keep her from correcting him. “Prosecutor” was close enough, wasn’t it? “We’re delighted to
be here, Mr.…?”

  “Call me Diederik. I’m sorry about these crowds. It always fills up for the Carnival celebration.”

  “Carnival?” I asked.

  “Kind of like our Mardi Gras. It’ll be like this until it ends on Ash Wednesday. Parties, parades, people go a little bit crazy, but it’s all in good fun. Now let me show you to your suite. It’s a beautiful day and”—he looked at his watch—“it’s only ten o’clock, so you’ve still got most of it ahead of you.”

  He pulled us out of the line and summoned a bellboy to take our bags. The twentysomething couple who’d been ahead of us turned and glared. I shrugged, gave them a phony smile of apology, and trotted out of the lobby behind Diederik. When we reached a glass-walled corridor, I noticed a camera crew set up at the edge of the restaurant’s patio.

  “What are they shooting?” Toni asked.

  Diederik made a face. “A reality show. About a Mississippi family and their nine-year-old wunderkind, Tammy Susie. Though what makes her a wunderkind isn’t entirely clear to me.” He sighed. “We’re all hoping they’ll be finished shooting soon. They’re… a challenging group.” Diederik stopped abruptly. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  “Said what?” I grinned.

  Diederik gave me a grateful smile. “Just let me know if they bother you.”

  “Why would they bother us?” Bailey asked.

  Diederik sighed. “Because they have the suite next to yours. It’s one of our best suites, and all the others in that class were taken.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Toni said. The steel in her voice told me she intended to deal with any issues the Tammy Susie clan might pose herself. I smiled inwardly. If they did cause any problems, it wouldn’t be for long. Toni gets what she wants, and she gets it now. Last summer, we’d gone to a Steely Dan concert at the Greek, a beautiful outdoor amphitheater. The band had barely played the first notes of “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” when a couple in front of us stood up and started to dance (badly), which completely blocked our view of the stage. Toni leaned forward and said something to them. After a quick backward glance, the male pulled his girlfriend down onto the bench so fast they bounced. Toni wouldn’t tell me what she said, but the couple stayed in their seats for the rest of the concert. Bottom line: the proximity of the Tammy Susie company didn’t worry me.

  We got out of the elevator at the top floor, which was occupied by only our and Tammy Susie’s suites. When I got inside, I found out why. Our suite was probably bigger than most single-family homes: three spacious bedrooms—each with its own bathroom—a dining room, a living room with a wet bar, and a wide balcony that wrapped around the entire suite and afforded an unobstructed 270-degree view of the ocean. I’d never seen anything like it.

  Personally, I would’ve been happy to just plop down on one of the plushy lounge chairs on that balcony for the rest of the day. But Toni wasn’t having it. The door had barely closed behind Diederik when she gave an authoritative clap and ordered, “Let’s hit it. Into our suits and onto that beach. Now.”

  There’s no point arguing when she’s in a mood like this. We were suited up—our glowing winter-white bodies tastefully covered in sarongs—and marching toward the sand in under ten minutes.

  “I’m going native,” Bailey said, pointing to a grass-roofed open bar. “Anyone want to join me in a fruity umbrella drink?”

  “Some of us can’t afford the calories,” Toni said, shooting daggers at Bailey. “Get me a vodka soda.”

  Bailey is one of those tall, lean types who can eat like a stevedore and never gain a pound. Having a metabolism so despicably impervious to weight gain is unforgivable. Yet we forgive her. And we tell her just how hard we plan to laugh when it all catches up to her. I saluted and fell in behind Bailey while Toni went to claim us a real umbrella and some lounge chairs. Bailey and I reached the open-air hut that housed the bar, and she leaned in toward the bartender, a short, dark-skinned young man with soulful eyes. “I’ll have a piña colada and two Ketel One and sodas with lime for my friends. Oh, and a bag of those potato chips, please.”

  “Must you?” I asked.

  “What?” Bailey replied, feigning innocence. “You don’t have to have any.”

  I looked at her, exasperated. “Yeah, right.” Bailey was well aware that I could never resist.

  Toni had scored us a primo spot close, but not too close, to the water. A gentle breeze blew the scent of lemon blossoms our way, thanks to all the lemon trees that had been planted around the hotel. The sun was just warm enough to feel good on our backs, and the sparkling water looked enticing. Perfect. We’d just dug our feet into the sand and raised our glasses to toast the beginning of our Caribbean island vacay when a skinny young woman in flowered Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt that said REALITY SUX scurried over to us. She darted a glance around the beach and nervously tucked a hank of long brown hair behind her left ear, then thrust out her hand. Her words shot out at us as though they were spring-loaded.

  “Hi, I’m Erica. Erica Garber. Pleased to meet you and sorry for interrupting and everything. I’m not usually like this, seriously, I’m not. But I saw you guys in the lobby and I heard you were cops and I…” She finally paused, then swallowed with a near audible gulp and dragged in a heavy breath. “I need help. Seriously, big-time.”

  “Then you’ll need to call the local police,” Bailey said. “We’re just—”

  “I can’t go to the local police! I’ll be fired, I’ll never work again, my career will be ruined! You’ve got to help me.” She gave us a beseeching look that would’ve made Grover Norquist raise taxes.

  I couldn’t stop myself. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m a production assistant on Tammy Susie and Company. I’m Tammy Susie’s wrangler—”

  “Whose… what?” Toni wrinkled her brow.

  “I’m Tammy Susie’s… well, basically, I’m her gofer.” Uttering those words unleashed Erica’s pent-up frustration. “My parents went into hock to put me through Harvard, I graduated with honors, won an award for my screenplay in drama lit class, and now I fetch caramel corn and Slurpees for a nine-year-old beauty-pageant runner-up.” She held up a hand. “Excuse me, sorry. Anyway, we’re taping here because the family wanted a vacation, so the producers decided to kill two birds with one stone by making their vacation an episode. The reason I’m jumping you like this is… she’s gone missing, and if I don’t find her quick, I’ll be out of a job.”

  Oh, and a missing child was kinda bad news too. But I got why she couldn’t afford to call in the police. “As of when?” I asked.

  “As of an hour and a half ago. She’s wandered off before, and the show gives her a limo to take her pretty much wherever and whenever, but—”

  “So she might just be rolling around the island with her chauffeur,” Bailey said.

  “She might, but I just… have a bad feeling about the way it all went down—”

  “Which is?” I asked.

  Erica swallowed again and took a deep breath. “We went shopping… she wanted to get ‘in character’ for her scenes with a fortune-teller—”

  “Why on earth would you want to do a show with one of those crackpots?” Toni asked, incredulous.

  “Fortune-telling is big on the island. The producers thought it would be fun to show all the high jinks Tammy Susie and her family got into. Anyway, Tammy Susie decided she wanted to wear something ‘Gypsy’ for the show, so I had to take her shopping. I think it was just an excuse to go to the Royal Plaza Mall. She loves that place.”

  “Where’s the Royal Plaza Mall?” I asked. From what I saw on the way to the hotel, there was no shopping mall nearby.

  “Downtown, in Oranjestad. The place looks like Disneyland… on crack. Tammy Susie loves it. We wound up at this little boutique. Tammy found a couple of skirts she liked, so she went to the dressing room to try them on. I stayed right outside… well, pretty close. I just went over to the jewelry counter for, like, maybe five minutes at mos
t, but—”

  “How’d you get to the mall?” I asked. “Did you take the limo?”

  “No, we took a bus. Her choice. She said she was tired of always riding in a limo.”

  “Who can blame her?” Toni asked, deadpan.

  But the sarcasm was lost on Erica, who was practically wringing her hands by now.

  “When you went back to check on her, she was gone,” I said.

  Erica nodded.

  “Isn’t it possible that Tammy Susie just got lost?” Bailey asked.

  Erica nodded. “Yeah. But she hasn’t called. And, believe me, she knows my number.”

  “And I take it she didn’t answer when you called her,” I said. Erica shook her head.

  Bailey shrugged. “Maybe she took off on purpose. Wanted to get away, have some kid time.”

  Erica shook her head. “Not Tammy Susie. She lives for this show. That girl sucks up attention like a dry sponge.”

  But even as she uttered the words, Erica turned away and swiped at her cheek. This wasn’t just about losing a job. She really cared about the little girl. By the looks on Bailey’s and Toni’s faces, I saw that those tears had undone all of us. We exchanged glances, and Bailey gave me a look that said, Why not? I saw her point. Given Tammy Susie’s access to limos and her history of wandering away, the police were unlikely to take action this soon. And at this point, there was nothing the police could do that we couldn’t. In fact, unencumbered by paperwork and procedure, we’d be able to do it a hell of a lot faster.

  Toni put down her drink and looked Erica in the eye. “Okay, listen up. We’ll help you. But you have to calm down because we need you to be able to think. And I’m telling you right now that if we don’t find Tammy Susie pretty damn quick, we’re going straight to the police.”

  “Thank you! Oh, thank you!” Erica swallowed her remaining tears. “You’re saving my life.”

  “You have a picture of Tammy Susie?” I asked.

  “Seriously? You’ve never seen the show?” We all shook our heads. Erica looked at us as though we’d just stepped out of a spaceship from Mars. “It’s only, like, the biggest reality hit since Survivor.” She scrolled through her cell phone and then passed it to us. The face of a chubby little girl with a cupid’s bow of a mouth and blonde ringlets grinned back at me mischievously.