Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1)

by Marcia Clark

  I dropped my purse on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator. It was slim pickin’s. Some dicey-looking cottage cheese, an apple, and half of the roast beef sandwich I’d bought at the courthouse snack bar. I took out the sandwich and ate standing up at the sink as I tried to figure out how I’d get to court tomorrow. I couldn’t ask Michelle to take me; she had to man the office. But maybe Alex? I didn’t know whether the Jetta he was driving now belonged to him, but it was worth a try.

  Alex had an even better idea. “I’ve got a connect to A-1 Limos. If I tell him who you are and where you’re going, I bet he’ll do it for free. It’s good publicity for him.”

  “That would be awesome. Call me back when you know.”

  An hour later my phone rang. It was Alex.

  “You’re all set. He’ll pick you up at seven thirty. And I told him to wait and bring you back to the office. You’ve got to look good in both directions.”

  “Kind of a maxim for life.”

  I heard Alex laugh for the first time. “Sure is. Good luck tomorrow.”

  “See you at the office.”

  I was going to court in style. Yeah, baby.

  I turned on the television, kicked off my shoes, and sat down on the couch. The news came on. I muted it while I sorted through the mail. I hate television news. It’s just a disaster report. And it’s the crassest form of ratings grabs out there.

  My cell phone buzzed on the kitchen table. I went over and looked at the screen. It was Michelle. “Hey, Michy. What’s up? You okay?”

  “I’m better than okay. The cops left a message with the answering service. Our buddy Harold Ringer OD’d last night.”

  “Wow. On what?”

  “Heroin. Sounds like a hot shot. Can you believe it? First night of freedom. I hate to sound callous, but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

  I chuckled. “No argument.” We talked for a little while longer, and I promised to try and get more details on Ringer in the morning. When we ended the call, I poured myself a double shot of Patrón Silver, on the rocks with a twist of lime, then found a rerun of Breaking Bad. I put up my feet and took a long, deep sip.

  Going to court in a limo was even better than taking one to the studio. It made me feel like a rock star, and I drank it up all the way to the courthouse. I stared out the window at the palm trees and passing cars, reveling in the fact that I didn’t have to navigate the rush-hour traffic. I could sure get used to this. Too bad I wouldn’t get the chance.

  As we pulled up to the curb, I saw that the press and gawkers were crowded around the front doors. I was a little worried about the gawkers. You never know when a nutbag might decide the world would be better off with one less lawyer. “I’ll be about an hour.”

  “That’ll work.” He handed me his card. “Here’s my number in case you’re out sooner. You really that cop’s lawyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head. “Sounds like they got that guy three ways from Sunday.”

  “Not when I get done they won’t.” I gave him my card. “Just in case.”

  He looked at it. “Hey, you mind signing it?” He pulled out a pen and clicked it. My first autograph. I felt like a doofus signing my own card. He tucked the card into his jacket. “Thanks. And, uh . . . good luck.”

  His tone didn’t just make it clear that he thought I’d need it—it said he thought luck was the last thing he wished for me. Not exactly the send-off I needed right now. I got out and had to push my way through the crowd. None of the reporters recognized me till I got to the door and pulled it open. A squirrelly-looking little guy with a microphone jumped in front of me. “Hey, you’re the lawyer, right? Love that skirt. Are you going commando?”

  I knew I should ignore him. Don’t lose it, don’t lose it, don’t lose it . . . I lost it. “Tell me, Smurf, you ever ask the guys that question?”

  “Heck yeah!”

  I glared at him. “Liar.” I stepped inside and let go of the door, hoping it’d hit him in the head. The lobby was packed with people waiting for the elevator, so I decided to take the stairs. The arraignment court was only five floors up. But—my bad—I belatedly realized that when you’re in four-inch heels and a tight skirt, there’s no such thing as “only” five floors. By the time I came out of the stairway, I was sweating. I ducked into the ladies’ restroom for some damage control.

  But as I searched through my purse, I realized I’d forgotten my compact, my concealer, and . . . everything else. All I could hope to do was hide the sweat, so I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed my face. Two of the women reporters I’d seen at the jail yesterday came in. The one with the blonde bob stretched out her hand. “Samantha? You probably don’t remember me. I’m Brittany Marston. With Channel Seven.”

  “I do remember you. You covered that McDonald’s shooting last year, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Great memory. You know Edie? Not that I should introduce my rival.”

  Edie laughed. “Too late, she already knows me.” She looked at the paper towel in my hand. “You are not rubbing that thing on your face.”

  I gave her a weak smile. “I forgot my makeup.”

  She dug a compact out of a huge, black fake-alligator purse. “Here, let me do that for you.” She patted her purse. “I have everything in this suitcase, so from now on, you let me know if you have a cosmetic emergency.”

  She made a few expert swipes, and I went from sweaty to smooth in mere seconds. I laughed. “Cosmetic emergency. If ever there was an oxymoron—”

  They made huge mock gasps. Brittany’s eyes were wide. “There is no greater emergency!”

  Edie rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, in our business it’s kind of true.”

  I sighed. “Bet the men in your biz don’t have to worry about that.”

  Brittany snorted. “Wrong-o, baby. They pack almost as much as we do. If you’re ever in a pinch again and we’re not around, believe me, you can ask them for help. I promise they’ll hook you up.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. Guess I’ll see you out there.”

  But as I headed across the hallway, I noticed there were large, wet rings under my arms. The biggest arraignment of my career and I come in sweating like a linebacker. Perfect.

  The master calendar arraignment court seats three hundred. It’s the biggest courtroom in the building because it’s the first stop for all the cases set downtown. And instead of two counsel tables that face the bench, it has a big U-shaped table that stretches from one side of the courtroom to the other. The right side is for the defense; the left is for the prosecution. Against the wall on the right side is a glass-enclosed section with a bench. That’s where the custodies sit. And that’s where Dale would be when he got arraigned.

  A bunch of deputy DAs were milling around, but I didn’t see anyone I recognized. Big as it is, this courtroom is always packed to the gills in the morning. But today was even worse than usual. It was standing room only, and a camera crew was set up in the well between the table and the judge’s bench.

  Greta, one of my friends from the public defender’s office, was running the calendar for the office cases today. I headed over to her. “Hey, Greta! How come you’re on calendar?”

  Greta, being Japanese, had that great hair, which she totally took for granted and threw up in a bun most of the time. “Larry’s in trial. But I know why you’re here.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “So what’s it like handling a cop?”

  Cops almost never have public defenders. They retain their own lawyers—who are almost always former cops. “It’s kind of Bizarro World. I feel like I’m hanging out behind enemy lines.” I looked at the lawyers crowded into the space behind us. “Do you think I can get priority?”

  “I think you’ll get priority whether you want it or not. I heard the judge is dying to get the press out of here.” Greta laughed, a gentle tinkling sound.

  My laugh can most accurately be classified as a guffaw. I don’t even know how to make a little be
ll sound like Greta’s.

  I noticed that the sheriff’s deputy was bringing out the custodies. “Excuse me. Gotta go see my guy.”

  I moved close to the dirty glass. Dale’s face looked like it had weights attached at the jaw, and with the dark circles under his eyes, he looked like a basset hound. I hoped the smudged glass would hide some of that from the camera. His eyes roved around the courtroom before coming back to settle on me. I smiled at him and he struggled to smile back. Before I could say anything, Judge Magnuson came out, his robe still unbuttoned and flying behind him. The bailiff called everyone to order.

  After a single, irritated glance at the camera crew, the judge quickly pulled a file off the top of a depressingly big stack. “Case of People v. Pearson. Counsel, state your appearances for the record.”

  Greta was right. He really did want us out of there. “Samantha Brinkman for the defendant.”

  I searched the opposite side of the courtroom to see who’d be my worthy adversary.

  There was a gaggle of prosecutors huddled behind counsel table with their backs turned. Now, one of them stepped out. “Zack Chastain for the prosecution.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I stared, hoping that somehow it’d turn out to be someone else. But no such luck. It was Zack. Dark, lean but wiry, full lips, and longish black hair that fell charmingly over one eye, you could practically see the DANGER sign flashing above his head. Not that it mattered. I didn’t know a single woman who’d ever heeded it.

  He walked toward me. “Let the record reflect I’m now handing the first batch of discovery to defense counsel. Pages numbered one through one hundred fifty.”

  He approached my side of counsel table and held out the sheaf of pages, just a hint of his trademark wolfish smile twitching on his lips.

  I took the pages from him and faced the bench. “I can’t say whether I’ve received one hundred and fifty pages, Your Honor, but I have received a stack of paper.”

  The judge waved me off. “That’ll do for now. Your client is charged with two counts of murder and the special circumstance of multiple murder and murdering a witness. Waive further reading of the complaint and statement of rights, counsel?”

  “So waived. My client will enter his plea at this time.” I nodded to Dale, who was now standing.

  He straightened up, looked straight at the camera, and spoke in a voice as loud and strong as a trombone. “I plead not guilty, Your Honor. To all charges.”

  I’d say I couldn’t have scripted it better except that I had scripted it. And I’d made him rehearse it. But I had to hand it to him—he really delivered. I backed up to the glass enclosure and whispered to him. “Nice job. I’ll see you back in lockup.”

  Judge Magnuson assigned us to a trial court, gave us a date for our next hearing, and looked down at the camera crew. “Show’s over.” He called the next case.

  Greta caught my eye as I pulled out my cell phone. “Oh, girl, you done stepped in it now. Zack Chastain? You better not let any women on your jury.”

  “Now I know for sure God’s a woman. And she obviously hates me.”

  A younger, but already tired-looking deputy public defender came up to Greta, and I headed back to the lockup to give Dale a little TLC. I had only a few minutes. I needed to get downstairs and give the press a sound bite to counteract whatever Zack was saying—because there was no doubt he’d be saying something.

  Dale was handcuffed to a chair next to the sheriff deputy’s desk. I was glad to see he wasn’t in the cage with the rest of the prisoners. If he were, he’d probably be bleeding out on the floor by now. “Hey, you did great out there.”

  He looked tired. His knee was bouncing a mile a minute, and his eyes were scanning the room in a continual arc, back and forth. “Thanks.”

  “What time did they get you up this morning?”

  “Four. And I couldn’t sleep. They never turn out the lights.”

  “Yeah, it sucks. The only thing I can say is that you’ll get used to it.” Dale nodded, but his expression said that didn’t even qualify as cold comfort. “Sorry. Hey, I meant to ask you, did you ever meet Chloe’s folks? I heard her mom’s a psycho, but what about her dad? I know he left when she was two, but he must’ve come back at some point.”

  “Her dad’s dead. Got killed in a drunk-driving accident about three years ago.”

  “Only three years ago? Then how come he wasn’t around when—”

  “She was the star on All of Us?” I nodded. His eyes had been darting around the room, but now he looked directly at me. “Maybe because he was a fuckup, but he wasn’t a big enough jerk to think he could just waltz back into her life when she got famous.”

  He looked into my eyes for a long beat. I was about to ask him if there was more to it than that when the deputy came over to us. “Time to roll it up. Next batch is coming in.”

  I patted Dale’s arm. “I’ll come by tomorrow, after I’ve checked out the discovery. Be safe.”

  He gave me a serious look. “You, too.”

  He really meant it. That was a first, a prisoner worrying about me.

  THIRTEEN

  I hurried out to catch the press. Trevor’s head stuck up above the crowd. I’d give him a quote, but right now I needed cameras. I spotted Brittany and Edie near the front steps. They were doing stand-ups and had their backs to me. I slowly headed their way. Brittany’s cameraman pulled his head up from the lens and said something to her. She turned around and hurried toward me. Edie and a few others noticed and followed.

  Brittany got to me first. “The DA gave you a pretty good chunk of discovery. Can you tell us what you know so far?”

  I spoke straight into the camera. “I haven’t had the chance to get into it yet. But I can promise you, we will be working day and night to bring out the truth: that Dale Pearson is innocent.”

  Trevor was right behind her. “Do you have any other suspects in mind?”

  “We’re certainly looking into that burglar.” I didn’t want to get into any specifics until I saw what Zack had given me.

  Edie jumped in. “But the police are saying they don’t believe it was a burglar.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time the police have made a mistake. They didn’t spend five minutes looking into the possibility that the burglar was the killer. In fact, they never even tried to find him. As usual, they jumped on the easiest target—the boyfriend—and ignored all the evidence that pointed to someone else. So since the police won’t do their job, we’ll have to do it for them.” I looked around at the crowd that’d gathered. “That’s all for now, folks.”

  I let the cameras follow me as I got into the limo. It was a much classier exit than trudging up the hill to the cheapest parking lot. I hoped it sent the right message: successful lawyer = innocent client.

  This time I had a different driver, an older, balding man with a round face and a Brooklyn accent. He pulled away right on cue, as I was rolling up my tinted window. “Hey, I saw you on TV. Actually, on this thing.” He held up his cell phone.

  I looked at the image on his screen. “That was yesterday. At the Twin Towers jail.”

  “So you’ll be coming to court a lot, then?”

  I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Yeah. And I love this, but I can’t afford it.”

  “I think the boss might be able to work something out for you.”

  I had a feeling the boss was very nearby. “Like?”

  “Like how about we give you fifty percent off and you plug us on your website?”

  “That’s a good deal, but I still can’t afford it, and my website’s only for legal services. But thanks, I appreciate it.”

  He concentrated on navigating through the crowded streets until he got to the freeway. “Tell you what, you pass out my cards, I’ll drive you for free.”

  “Seriously? For how long?” I could spare Beulah, save on gas . . . it was too good to be true.

  “For the next month. But just for court. What do you
say? Deal?”

  “Deal.” He pulled a stack of cards out of the glove compartment and held them over his shoulder. I took them and smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Your boss really knows how to work it.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a pretty sharp guy. Besides, any friend of Alex’s is a friend of mine. He’s good people.”

  “He sure is.” I looked at his cards. “Nice to meet you, Xander.”

  “You too, Ms. Brinkman.”

  “Samantha.”

  “Samantha. You got it.”

  The morning had given me only a glimpse of the shit storm that was heading my way. Freebies like this were the lonely pockets of sunshine. I took a few minutes to lean back and enjoy the scenery, then took out the discovery Zack had given me.

  It was time to find out exactly what I’d gotten myself into.

  When I walked into the office, Michelle was on the phone. She rolled her eyes as she spoke into her headset. “All I can do is give her the message; I can’t promise when she’ll get back to you.” As she ended the call, the phone rang again. “Brinkman and Associates.” The other line rang. Michelle put the first one on hold, answered the second one, then put it on hold, too. She blew her bangs off her forehead and looked up at me. “It’s been like this all morning. Ever since they saw you in court.”

  “They who?”

  “The press. And hopefully a few paying clients. Fingers crossed.”

  I handed Michelle the discovery for scanning. “Study time. I’m changing into my sweats.” We had to get on top of the reports immediately, because we were about to get buried in them. The phone lines kept ringing as I headed into my office. Day one and it was already crazy. I changed into my sweats, then opened the door. The phone was still ringing nonstop. “Michelle? Let the service pick up, and get Alex.”

  They plopped down in the chairs in front of my desk. Alex opened his iPad.

  Michelle flipped to a clean page on her legal pad. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing it’s worse than we thought.”

  I sighed. “According to the reports, the neighbors said Dale and Chloe fought a lot in the past few weeks. And a couple of witnesses in the building next door thought he was stalking her.”