Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1)

by Marcia Clark

  “No. No one. Keep to myself.”

  But he was a cop, and anyone could know that because his face was on television. They didn’t need any better reason than that. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hurts, but they say I’ll live.”

  “Do you know how long they plan to keep you here?” I wasn’t impressed with the security in this infirmary.

  “A week?” Dale closed his eyes. He opened them with an effort. “Think that’s what they said.”

  I told him I’d be back tomorrow. “Go easy on those jumping jacks.”

  He tried to smile, but it came out like a wince. I checked with the nurse on the way out, and she confirmed they expected to keep him for a week. “But he’s strong. It might be less.”

  “Can you get more security for him?”

  She gave me a tired look. “Ms. Brinkman, I don’t blame you for asking, but we’re way understaffed. I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees. There’s a lot more of them than there are of us.”

  I didn’t like it, but there was nothing I could do about it. “Can I call you for updates?”

  The nurse sighed. “I guess. But no more than once a day.”

  I needed her on my side, so I gave her the nicest, most ass-kissy thanks I could muster, and then got out of there before she could change her mind.

  Alex and I didn’t speak until we got into the car. “You think the press will find out Dale got shivved?” he asked.

  “I sure hope not.” It might get Dale some sympathy, but more likely, it’d just look like even the inmates hated him. I was worried that we might be late for my new paying client, but we hit a light pocket in the traffic and made it back to the office with a half hour to spare.

  When I told Michelle what’d happened to Dale, she was almost as upset as I’d been. “What the hell are those guards smoking? Don’t they realize—”

  “Right. I know.” It pissed me off all over again. “I talked to the nurse about extra security. But there isn’t much we can do, other than threaten a lawsuit.” The problem was, that’d only piss off the jail staff, which was the last thing Dale needed.

  Michelle shook her head. “Well, hopefully it’ll dawn on someone in that place how much you can cost them.” She looked at her monitor. “You’ve only got fifteen minutes till your five o’clock gets here, so give me a quick update: What happened with Marc’s friends? Get anything good?”

  I told her about the interviews and that we got a lead on a photographer named Russell Kitson who seemed to know Paige. “I want to talk to him. The sooner the better. Alex has his contact information.”

  “Got it. And do you want me to try and get the police and autopsy reports on Marc?” she asked.

  “No. If you start asking for that stuff, someone’s bound to tip off the DA.” I didn’t want to leave tracks for anyone to follow. My best bet was to see if my cop buddy Hank could get the reports on the down low. “I’ll take care of it.”

  And I had another reason to talk to Hank. I wanted to find out more about Ignacio Silva, see if he had a downside that might come back to bite me in court. That was another thing I didn’t want Zack to know about. If he heard I was asking around about Ignacio, he’d figure out why pretty quickly. Hank could snoop around under the radar.

  My five o’clock was right on time. Lane Ockman announced himself on the intercom, and Michelle buzzed him in.

  Michelle always has new clients fill out an information sheet before bringing them in to see me. But when I heard him tell Michelle he wasn’t going to fill anything out until he had a “face-to-face” with me, I knew it was trouble.

  There was one sharp rap on my door. Before I could say anything, the door opened and Ockman filled the doorway. He was tall, about six foot one, and he was built like a heavy bag—square and solid. He had small, dark eyes; short, dark hair; and a soul patch. I opened the left-hand drawer of my desk, where I kept my .38, and stood up.

  He paused for a second to give me the once-over, then closed the door behind him and moved to the center of the room. With a smile that was more like a grimace, he introduced himself, and I motioned to the chair next to him. “Have a seat, Mr. Ockman.”

  “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  I leaned closer to my desk drawer, my hand open and ready to grab for the gun. “What do you want?”

  He folded his arms. “For now . . . just to talk.” His eyes slid over to the open drawer. “So you won’t be needing that.”

  I didn’t budge. “I guess that’ll be my call to make. Get to it.”

  “You harassed a very dear friend of mine, and I want to make sure you understand what it’ll cost you if it happens again.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Does the name Jaylene Thomas ring a bell?”

  The drug dealer on the studio lot. Now I had a pretty good idea what this was about. “I don’t know what she told you, but she was the one who lost her shit. She took a swing at me.”

  “She tells it a little differently. But she’s a big girl; she can fight those battles herself. My concern is that you might be planning to unjustly accuse her of being involved in the drug trade. My boss can’t have that.”

  “I have no intention of getting her busted for dealing.”

  He gave me a hard look. “But you are about to set her up to take the fall for killing those girls.”

  “Who told you that?”

  He gave me an impatient look. “I don’t need to be a lawyer to figure out why you wanted to talk to her.”

  I supposed that was possible. “I’m just following up on all leads.”

  “Good, then I’m here to help you with that. As of this moment, you realized that lead was going nowhere. Jaylene is off your radar. You’re not going to subpoena her, you’re not going to talk bad about her to the press, and you’re not going to point any fingers at her.”

  I glared at him. “Or else?”

  “Or else your father won’t be so lucky next time.”

  I froze. Dale’s stabbing hadn’t hit the news. I’d been checking ever since we left the jail. Ockman had set it up.

  Ockman nodded at my expression with a cold smile. “If you don’t back off Jaylene, your daddy won’t have to worry about going to court anymore.”

  I stared at him. My hand itched to reach for my gun. He held my stare for a moment, then turned and left. I came out of my office just in time to see the front door close behind him. Michelle and Alex were staring after him, their expressions a mix of puzzlement and alarm. I told them what he’d said.

  Alex set his jaw. “So he’s Jaylene’s boss. And he didn’t want his operation to wind up in the spotlight.”

  I nodded. “That’s my take.” I looked at Michelle. “When did he call you to get this appointment with me?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Right after we had the run-in with Jaylene. That was plenty of time to set Dale up to get stabbed. And there’s no other way he could’ve found out about Dale this fast.”

  Alex shook his head. “Ockman’s probably got more than one inmate working for him. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re not going to do anything. At least not right now.”

  Michelle was irritated. “So we’re just going to do nothing?”

  “I didn’t say that. I might have someone on the inside who can help.”

  Tuck Rosenberg, a former client and one tough giant of a man, was a high-ranking member of the Aryan Brotherhood—a notorious prison gang. He’d been facing twenty-five to life in prison for a murder, but I put together enough evidence to persuade the DA that he’d acted at least partly in self-defense. He wound up with manslaughter and a short enough sentence to do his time in the Twin Towers jail.

  Michelle frowned. “How? I kind of doubt Lane Ockman was his real name.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t. But I’ll find out soon enough.” I held up my cell phone. “When I heard him say he wouldn’t fill out the information sheet, I thought he might be troub
le. So I propped up my phone behind the money tree.” The little jade tree Michelle had given me for inspiration.

  I hit play. The picture wasn’t great—the little bells on the tree got in the way—and the voice was somewhat muffled. But it might be enough to figure out who he was.

  Michelle’s brow furrowed. “Who knows how long it’ll take to get his real name with that? And in the meantime, Dale’s just lying there in the infirmary.”

  I was just as worried. He couldn’t be more vulnerable. “Yeah, I know. The only thing I can do is back off Jaylene and hope my inside guy can get Dale some protection.”

  Michelle shook her head. “It seems like every time I turn around, something else is blowing up. First Jenny Knox’s BS rape charge gets leaked, then her murder, now this.”

  Alex frowned. “It is a lot of bad luck. But this Ockman asshole just strikes me as business. He doesn’t want his salesman in the spotlight. The leak . . . that’s a different story. Still no luck with Trevor?”

  I shook my head. “My guess is it’s probably a low-level civilian employee, and the LAPD has more than three thousand of them. The only thing Trevor might be able to do is figure out who’s paying for it—”

  “Like a tabloid?” Michelle said.

  I sighed. “Or someone else who’s got it in for Dale.”

  “Doesn’t seem like he’s got any enemies in the cop shop,” Alex said. “I got to all the guys he gave as possible alibi witnesses, and they gave me more cops to talk to. No one had a bad thing to say about him.”

  I thought about that. If it wasn’t professional, maybe it was personal. “Michelle, can you get me the contact information for Dale’s exes?” A cop’s ex-wife might know whom to bribe and how to get to them.

  If I could prove an ex-wife with a vendetta was going after Dale, I might be able to garner a little sympathy for him. Unless it turned out he’d been beating her every day. In which case I’d forget I ever met her.

  I thought about Lane Ockman again, how Michy had been so excited that we were getting another paying customer, and shook my head. “Ockman was supposed to be the new client who’d help keep us in the black. And he turns out to be Scarface—”

  Michelle looked furious. “Worse. At least Scarface paid his lawyers.”

  Alex gave an ironic, half twist of a smile. “Well, I’m sure Ockman has money.”

  I nodded. “Guess I should’ve given him my card.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  “So what are we going to do with the Jaylene angle?” Alex asked.

  I wasn’t about to let Ockman shut down a viable straw man. “Do what you can to check out her alibi without getting caught.” No reason to risk life and limb if she was reading to blind orphans the night of the murders. I looked at my watch. “Oh jeez, I’ve got to move.” I picked up my purse and blazer. “I need to see how Dale’s doing.”

  Michelle sighed and went back to her desk.

  It took less time to drive downtown than it did to get through security. I was relieved to see that Dale was already looking better. And he said they’d had a guard posted by his bed all night.

  “Did he stay awake?”

  Dale smiled. “Mostly.”

  After our visit, I went to the attorney room. I had to find out what I could do to beef up Dale’s security a little more.

  When Tuck Rosenberg walked into the attorney room, his wide mouth spread into a smile. He was a Viking-size man, and he filled the little cubicle. The phone looked like a Barbie-doll toy in his hand. “How you doin’, Counselor?”

  “I’m good. How’re they treating you?”

  “I got no complaints. It’s good to be among friends.”

  Meaning: he’d hooked up with some Aryan Brotherhood clique. Which I expected and hoped would come in handy right now. “I need to ask a favor.”

  “You kidding? Anything you want, just name it.”

  “I have a client who had some . . . trouble with someone here.” I gave him Dale’s name and told him about the stabbing.

  “That the cop who’s in for murder?” I nodded. “Where is he?”

  “In maximum. And this is what I know about the guy who set it up.” I told him about Ockman—according to Alex, real name Glen Ricker—and his visit to my office, then held up my cell phone and showed him a still shot I’d made from the video. “He talked like he had a big dope operation. It might be true; it might be bullshit. But he’s threatening to sic his dog on Dale again, and I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Tuck stared at the photo for a few seconds, then nodded. “I don’t know the guy, but I can ask around. See if I can find out who he’s got in here.”

  “In the meantime, do you have anyone in maximum?” Tuck had a short-term sentence. He was in the general population.

  Tuck thought for a moment. “I think I do. Want someone to keep an eye on your man?”

  “If you could.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks, Tuck. I owe you. And if you happen to run into the jerk who did the stabbing . . .” The chances of that were slimmer than my bank account, but you never can tell. Stranger things have happened.

  Tuck smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello.”

  “That’ll work.”

  FORTY

  I’d planned to check in on Dale every day, but with the trial getting closer by the minute, I had less and less time to spare. Alex had taken over the visitation duty for me.

  And as usual, now that I was pressed for time, no one had time for me. During the next three weeks, Michelle tried to track down Dale’s second ex-wife, Bobbi, and Russell Kitson, that photographer friend of Paige’s.

  According to his assistant, Russell was booked solid and wouldn’t have a day off for at least a month. Bobbi was no easier.

  I didn’t make Dale’s first ex-wife, Tracy, as someone who’d go to the trouble of leaking the Jenny story to hurt him. From all I’d heard and seen, they were getting along just fine. Besides, they had a child together, Lisa. The last thing Tracy would want to do was ruin Lisa’s father.

  His second wife, Bobbi, however, checked all the boxes. They’d been married nine and a half years—plenty of time to rack up all kinds of grudges. But more important, Bobbi had been a 9-1-1 dispatcher. She was an insider. She could’ve found a way to get her hands on Dale’s personnel records.

  At first, Bobbi seemed willing to meet. I’d thought maybe my suspicion about her was wrong. But after she made and broke four appointments, I was starting to believe I’d found the leaker.

  And then, with just one week to go before the trial started, Bobbi finally agreed to see me. She suggested a Denny’s near her house. I’d been so wrapped up in the case, I hadn’t thought about whether I was personally curious to see what kind of woman Dale had married. But now, waiting for her in that diner, I realized I was.

  I recognized her the moment she walked in the door. Bobbi was a little shorter than I was—and curvier, with a golden tan, shoulder-length blonde hair, and blue eyes that smiled when she did.

  Dale definitely had a type. If you took away the warmth of that smile, she could’ve been my mother.

  But there was something shadowed about Bobbi’s expression, and there was a nervousness in the way she looked around the diner. I decided to edge in slowly with her, so I started with general questions about how long she and Dale had been married, how they’d met (at a retirement party for her boss), and where they’d lived (Granada Hills—another bedroom community in the North Valley).

  Finally, I asked whether they were still on speaking terms.

  She looked surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  Too stunned to come up with a lie, I stammered out the truth. “I—I . . . Dale told me that . . . you wouldn’t have anything good to say.” Now that I’d gone this far, I might as well tell her the rest. “He doesn’t know I’m meeting with you.”

  Bobbi looked perplexed at first, then she nodded and gave me a sad little smile. “C
an I trust you to keep what I’m about to tell you to yourself?”

  “If you’re sure that won’t screw Dale.”

  She looked into my eyes for a long moment. “It won’t screw Dale. First, let me assure you, there’s no bad blood between us. None whatsoever. Our marriage broke up because he was married to the job, and I desperately wanted out of mine.” Bobbi stared out the window for a long moment. “9-1-1 is a twenty-four-hour line of death and ruination and misery. Some people can take it, even thrive on it. I wasn’t one of them. Over time, it wore me down. I was depressed all day and up all night with gruesome nightmares. And finally, the constant fatigue and stress caught up with me. I blew a domestic-violence call. The woman landed in the hospital with four gunshot wounds.” Bobbi swallowed. “She didn’t make it. Dale kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, that there was no way anyone could’ve gotten to her in time. Her ex-husband was holding the gun on her when she called. But I still think that if I’d acted faster . . .” Bobbie swallowed again.

  “So you had to get away from law enforcement? And that included Dale?”

  “Not law enforcement. Crime. All those victims. I just couldn’t take it anymore.” She looked at me. “I still loved him, but I had to get away. I quit my job and moved out. Six months later, I had a nervous breakdown.”

  “Bobbi, I’m so sorry.”

  She gave me a brief nod. “Thanks. Things got pretty bad. I had to check into an inpatient facility for a while.” Tears glistened in her eyes, but then she smiled. “But Dale showed up every single day. And when they released me, he was the one who moved me back to my apartment.” Bobbi looked away as she swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “He wanted to get back together. And I did, too, but . . .” She stared down at the table and shook her head. “But just looking at him was a constant reminder. There was no way.”

  “And you’re afraid that if you testify, the press will dig into your life and find out about it.”

  “They will. I mean, I’ve seen stories about everyone who has anything to do with the case. It’s all over the news every day.”

  I hated to admit it, but she was right. “They probably would, but I don’t see that it’s anything—”