by Marcia Clark
Geoffrey looked behind him, then spoke in a low voice. “It’s not a ‘him,’ it’s a ‘her.’ Jaylene Thomas. She’s a PA—uh, production assistant.”
Low on the totem pole, it was a job that involved running around the lot all day. A great gig for a dealer. We got a description: five foot six, medium build, short black hair, and a nose ring. “Do you know whether Chloe saw her after you two talked in her trailer?”
“No, but she could have. Chloe was scheduled to do the last shot of the day, so she was here pretty late.”
Geoffrey told us we could probably find Jaylene somewhere between Building 26 and the trailers. I thanked him. He gave me a curt nod and headed back to the writers’ room. We went out to see if we could head Jaylene off at the pass.
“You crossing him off the list?” Alex asked.
“For now. He doesn’t feel right to me. You?”
“Agreed. I think he probably did want to be more than a friend, but I don’t buy him as a killer. You really think a five-foot-six girl could’ve killed two women?” Alex asked.
“I can’t afford to be picky—or sexist—right now. I need suspects.”
But as it turned out, Jaylene was a better prospect than I’d anticipated. We found her coming out of Building 26 with a cigarette behind her ear and a lighter in her hand. Perfect.
I stepped up to her, just out of swinging range. “Jaylene?”
She turned and peered at me. “Angus is up now; I’m on break.” She pulled out the cigarette and lit it.
“I’m not on the show. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. We’re looking into Chloe’s death and—”
Jaylene blew out a stream of smoke. “You a cop?”
“No. I’m Samantha Brinkman—”
Jaylene stared for a moment, then moved closer and poked a finger at my chest. “You’re that fucker’s lawyer, aren’t you? Well, you can go screw yourself.”
I pushed her hand away. “Yeah, ’cause you were such a good friend to her.”
Jaylene dropped her cigarette and came at me, her right fist cocked. Alex jumped between us and pushed her back, saving me from a trip to the hospital. He held on to her, his back to me.
Safe now, with Alex holding her in check, I got in her face. “You’re the one who was ruining her life, selling her that—”
“You’re full of crap!” Jaylene spit her words at me over Alex’s shoulder. “She was about to have a nervous breakdown, but no one cared. They just wanted to use her. I was the only one who gave a shit about her. I don’t care what anyone says. She couldn’t have made it through one fucking day without me!”
She threw Alex’s arm off her shoulder and stomped away. I watched her go.
“I get the feeling Chloe was more than just a customer to our buddy Jaylene,” Alex said.
I nodded. “Let’s find out if Jaylene has an alibi.”
“I’m on it.”
THIRTY-FIVE
When we got back to the office, Michelle greeted us with an announcement. “The grand jury just handed down a true bill. Dale’s been indicted.”
I just nodded. It was a measure of how shitty things were that this almost qualified as good news. At this point, any news that didn’t include yet another dead woman in Dale’s life was cause for celebration.
“And I actually got somewhere on Marc Palmer—the guy who did some modeling gigs with Paige. He was pretty active on Facebook, and his friends are still posting on his page. I got some background.” Michelle read from her monitor. “He moved out to LA from Blencoe, Iowa, three years ago, but he just started modeling last year. Seems like he met Paige at his first modeling gig.”
“Did you find any articles about his death? Any indication how he wound up in Malibu?”
Michelle shook her head. “It was just a local news story. The coroner couldn’t be sure how long he’d been in the water. Said it was more than a day, maybe as long as ten days. There were signs of blunt-force trauma, but that might’ve happened after he fell into the water.”
“Any information on whether he was drinking or drugging?”
“Both. He had a .13 blood alcohol level and a pretty high level of cocaine. Plus, he was nude. It sounds to me like he was partying on the beach and went for a swim, or maybe fell off a boat.”
“But no one reported it.”
“Maybe because everyone else was high, too, and didn’t notice he was gone until it was too late,” Alex said. “And then they were afraid to get involved.”
That sounded sadly plausible. “When did they find his body?”
Michelle looked back at her monitor. “March fifteenth.”
“Six days after Paige died,” Alex said.
What had been just a vague notion now seemed to be solidifying into a real possibility. I might actually be able to sell a connection between Marc’s and Paige’s deaths. “I want to talk to Marc’s buddies. Michy, do you have enough there to track them down?”
“Sure, if they’re in the mood to cooperate. If not . . . all I have are Facebook handles.”
Alex smiled. “I can probably work with that.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re on probation, remember? I can’t afford to lose you.”
“They’ll never catch me.”
I didn’t like the idea of him taking any risks, but I knew he was that good. And besides, we needed to see where this led. “Okay. But if anyone bitches about how you got their number, have a good cover story ready.”
Alex put his hands on his hips. “Please. I started social engineering when I was eleven.”
Of course he had. “Okay, but keep it tight. It’s not about Marc per se. It’s about Marc’s connection to Paige. So we only want people who knew Paige.”
Michelle stood up and rolled her shoulders. “How’d you guys do today?”
I didn’t feel like talking about Dale, so I just told her about Geoffrey and Jaylene. When I threw out the possibility that Jaylene might be the killer, Michelle raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying a woman stabbed both of them?”
“I know,” Alex said. “Believe me, I didn’t buy it either at first. But let me tell you, that woman is pretty strong—and kind of crazy. And it wouldn’t have been that hard. Whoever did this probably got the jump on both of them.”
I nodded. “And a knife doesn’t make noise. Plus, Paige was probably in the shower when Chloe got stabbed.”
Michelle shrugged. “I guess . . . I just never thought . . . it always felt like a man to me.”
I couldn’t disagree. “To me, too. And Jaylene might be a tough sell, but no one’s going to buy Geoffrey.”
Alex nodded. “That guy really liked her.” He stood up. “I’m going to get to work on Dale’s alibi for the Jenny Knox murder.”
“And let me know the minute you have something solid. Amanda Trace is going to go batshit with that story.”
Amanda Trace, cable news’s most nasty pit bull of a host, existed to shred anyone accused of a crime. No evidence? No problem. She’d stitch together rumors, innuendo, and irrelevant garbage; slap some graphics on the screen; and spit and snarl her way through the story. She’d been teeing off on Dale all along, but now, with Jenny’s death, Amanda’s fangs would be dripping blood.
Alex moved toward the door. “I think I can get most of them to see me tonight. You want to come?”
I shook my head. “You can handle them alone.” These cops were friendly witnesses. Alex didn’t need backup. “If Dale’s actually got an alibi, I want to be able to tell the press tomorrow. Report back to me tonight; I don’t care how late it is.”
“You got it.” Alex headed out and I went to my office.
I worked on a few other cases, then went through all the autopsy and crime reports on Dale’s case—or rather, cases—with an eye toward what I could say to the press tomorrow. I had to do more than give the usual “Dale’s innocent” line. I had to make people think we really had something cooking. No names. I never mention any names till the very last second.
The less time I give the prosecution to dig into my witnesses, the better.
Michelle wanted to wait with me, but when we still hadn’t heard from Alex at eight thirty, I sent her home. There was no sense in all of us getting thrashed. It was almost ten o’clock by the time Alex got back. I gestured for him to have a seat. “Just tell me, are we hosed?”
He blew out a long breath and plopped down sideways, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. “I don’t think we’re golden, but we’re definitely not hosed. Dale owes Ignacio Silva a great big kiss and a hug.” He opened his iPad and scanned his notes. “Ignacio says he and Dale were at Hoops the night Jenny was killed.” Alex swiped a finger across the screen of his iPad. “That’s a sports bar in Culver City. They got there at ten p.m. and closed the place down. Ignacio was driving. He dropped Dale at home at about three a.m.”
And Dale lived in Porter Ranch. There was no way he could’ve gotten from there to Hollywood in time to do the murder. “So far, so good. How come Ignacio remembers all this more than a year later?”
“Because there was a big basketball game, and this coach”—he looked down at his iPad—“Shawn Haley, got into a fight with the referee. Chest-bumped him. Got fined more than a quarter of a million dollars.” Alex looked up at me. “Chest-bumped? Seriously? Why not just slug the guy?”
“Because that would’ve cost him two million.”
Alex shook his head. “Whatever. Anyway, Ignacio said Patrick, the bartender, would back him up, so I went to see him. That’s what took me so long.” Alex paused.
“Did he?”
“Sort of. He didn’t specifically remember that night, but he said it might be true. Dale and Ignacio—and a bunch of other cops—were regulars.”
Hardly a slam dunk. “So it’s a cop bar.” Alex nodded. I supposed it was better than nothing . . . but just barely. “What did you think of Ignacio?”
“He’s good, a little tightly wound—”
“As in, if he gets pushed he’s going to push back?”
“Yeah. When I nudged him on the details, he got a little . . . edgy with me.”
If Ignacio was “edgy” with Alex, who was on his side, I didn’t like his chances of keeping it together with Zack on cross—or with the press. I’d need to keep both him and the bartender under wraps. But that required them to cooperate and keep a low profile. I wasn’t worried about Ignacio; he’d do what was best for Dale. But Patrick was an unknown.
Some witnesses will trample their crippled grandmothers to get on camera; others would rather shove hot pokers in their eyes. “Does Patrick seem like the type to want his fifteen minutes?”
“Definitely not. But just to be on the safe side, I told them both it’d be best to keep this quiet—”
“What reason did you give them?” I didn’t want Patrick telling anyone that we were trying to hide him—though we were.
“I told them it’d hurt their credibility if they talked to the press.”
I smiled at Alex. He was so good it was scary. “Perfect.”
“Actually, it was just the truth. The book said that in high-profile cases, it’s best to—”
I held up a hand. “Just take the credit, Alex.”
Alex gave me a triumphant smile. “But you’ve got to admit it was right, wasn’t it?”
“Even a clock that’s broken is right twice a day.”
“You’ve got to believe me, Sam. It’s a great book.” I stared at him. Alex sighed. “Fine. You know, what would really help is if I could dig up some other suspects for Jenny’s murder.”
“What about Bozo? That guy she ripped off for his oxy?”
Alex shook his head. “He’s too puny. And whiny. No one would buy him as a strangler. But I bet if I go back to her ’hood, I can find others. From what I’ve seen, that girl must’ve had a buttload of enemies. She ripped everyone off—”
“No. Let it go. I’ll take it from here.”
THIRTY-SIX
The case was already hot, but the news of Jenny Knox’s murder had turned it into a blazing inferno. And that meant lots more loony-tune court gawkers. The tinfoil-hat brigade was drawn to these big cases like nerds to a Star Trek convention. Usually all they did was mill around outside the courthouse and shout and wave signs, but now that Amanda Trace had spent her entire show last night snarling about this “rapist, serial-killer cop” who was a “rabid dog that needs to be put down,” things were going to get scary.
So I was glad Xander was driving me. I didn’t want to have to make the long trek from the parking lot to the courthouse through those hordes.
But when we pulled up in front of the courthouse, I saw that I’d underestimated the mob scene. It was even crazier than I’d predicted. From the courthouse doors to the sidewalk, it was wall-to-wall bodies. People were waving signs that read: HANG THE KILLER COP and LAPD: MURDERERS’ ROW. Thanks, Amanda. There were a couple that more benignly read: JUSTICE FOR CHLOE AND PAIGE. But I only spotted one that I could even pretend to chalk up for our side—it had RUSH TO JUDGMENT in a circle with a line through it. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
Xander circled around the car and opened the door for me. The moment I got out, someone in the crowd yelled, “That’s her! That’s the lawyer!” Heads began to turn toward me, then others joined in. “Yeah, look! That’s his lawyer!”
This could get very bad, very fast. I leaned toward Xander. “Do me a favor. Don’t take off till I get inside.”
He gave the crowd a wary look. “I’d walk you, but they’ll ticket me in five seconds if I leave the car.”
I started to move forward, but the crowd surged toward me. I backed up and started to reach for the handle of the car door when three sheriff’s deputies broke through and surrounded me.
They kept me inside the circle as we moved, but even so, I was worried that someone in that mob might throw something at me. But as I headed toward the courthouse doors, I saw that the only things in their hands were cameras. And they were pointing them at me. They wanted my picture? Then I noticed that some were waving pens and photos that’d been taken of me in court.
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Hey, Samantha, sign my picture?”
I couldn’t believe it. No knives, no rocks. I smiled and waved to them as the deputies herded me inside. It almost made me laugh. No one cared that I was the bad guy’s lawyer. I was famous.
Nearly broke, probably out of business after this case, but famous.
The courtroom was packed with reporters. Zack, looking slick in a black suit, his hair a little mussed and his tie loosened, smiled at me. I gave him a chin bob. Très cool. But it was good that we were getting along now. It’s one thing to have a blowout; it’s another to have an ongoing bitch fight. It gets old fast and makes both lawyers look like cranky two-year-olds.
The bailiff brought Dale out. I’d insisted on having him dressed in a suit and tie for this arraignment, and it really helped. He looked like a respectable businessman. This was the man I wanted the public to see. I went over to say hello, knowing the press would eat up the image of father and daughter together. Sure enough, the clicking of cameras followed me like a swarm of locusts. But Dale was watching the gallery as though he were searching for snipers. I had to make him stop.
“Dale, look at me.” He dragged his eyes away from the spectators. “Deep breath, calm mind. Pretend you’re at a seminar.”
“So you want me to fall asleep?”
“Good. Keep that thought. This will be over in a few minutes.” I was going to tell him about Ignacio, but I didn’t want him to smile. I’d wait till after the arraignment.
Judge Tollinberg took the bench with solid, heavy steps and gave the gallery a sour look. “I’ll call the case of People v. Pearson.”
I moved back to counsel table, and Zack and I stated our names for the record.
The judge read the charges, and Dale entered his plea of “Not guilty” in the strong, clear voice we’d rehearsed. We set the trial for forty-
five days from now. The judge looked from me to Zack. “I’m assigning you to Judge Traynor for trial. Any objections?”
I’d never had a case with him, but I’d heard he was tough. If that was true, I wouldn’t get a lot of leeway. But I could do a lot worse than just “tough.”
We both accepted Judge Traynor. The whole thing took less than two minutes. But when it played on television sets across the country tonight, it’d be drumrolled as though Dale had just confessed in open court.
I went into the holding tank to talk to Dale. Since he was maximum security, he was alone in the cell. “You did great.”
He gave a weak smile. “You’re a great coach.” The smile faded. “I heard the DA say he was going to try and get Jenny’s murder admitted at the trial.”
“Yeah, but I have some law on my side. We’ve got a fighting chance to keep it out on legal grounds. And we may have enough evidence to clear you. Ignacio came through with an alibi.”
Dale’s face broke into a broad smile. “He did? That’s great. What’d he say?”
“You guys used to hang out at Hoops?”
“All the time.” He frowned. “But I don’t remember what was going on that night. Was there a big game?”
“Not exactly.” I told him what Ignacio said. “Ring a bell?”
His eyes shifted to the left for a moment, then he nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Will Patrick back him up?”
“He said you guys are regulars, so it might be true. But he can’t specifically remember.”
Dale’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s the best he can do?”
“For now. He might be more solid by the time we get to trial.” Witnesses could go either way. Some got better. Others faded like cheap prints. I gave Dale the rest of the updates. When I got to Jaylene Thomas, he shook his head.
“So Chloe’s source was on the show. I knew it.” He looked away, his expression sad and worn.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted Chloe to make it so badly. She had her problems, but deep down, she was a really good person—and so talented. But her mother just . . . ruined her.” Dale sighed. “From what Paige said, she was a real monster. Chloe never wanted to talk about her, though. Whenever I tried, she pushed me off.”
