by Marcia Clark
Ernesto slowly nodded. “Sí. But you did a good job for Ricardo. And you are famous now. We think maybe the cops will be afraid to lie to you.” He looked at me with his hooded shark eyes. He spoke to Arturo in Spanish.
Arturo translated. “He says he has faith in you.”
Arturo leaned back in his chair and stared down his nose at me—just like Ricardo had. Everything about him, from the curl of his lip to the hands that lay on his thighs, radiated menace. I started to take a deep breath, but it got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t let them see me sweat, so I quickly stood up, my left hand still dangling near the open drawer. “All right. Send me everything they’ve given you. I can’t promise results, but I’ll do what I can.”
Ernesto slowly stood. “That’s all I ask.”
I nodded. “Michelle will work out the payment schedule with you.”
Arturo held out his hand. When I took it, his eyes bored into mine. “And I’ll be doing some digging of my own. One way or another, I’m going to find out who’s responsible for my brother’s death. No matter what it takes.” He held on to my hand for an uncomfortable moment longer as he continued to hold my gaze.
Scared as I was, I refused to let him intimidate me. I stared back at him. “I understand.” I pulled my hand away and walked them out to Michelle’s desk.
When I went back to my office, I closed the door, sank into my chair, and took big gulps of air. I was in business with a pair of maniacs who were out for revenge. There was no way this was going to end well. I just had to figure out how to make it end worse for them than for me.
A few minutes later, Michelle came in. “Since it’s not a trial or a case per se, I took a five-thousand-dollar retainer. Sound about right?” I nodded. “So what’s the story?”
“Ricardo has shuffled off this mortal coil. Got stuck in the wrong tank with a rival gang. They want me to find out how that happened and who killed him.”
“Alex is going to love this one.”
I shook my head. “I won’t need him.” I had to handle this one myself.
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “Well, when you find out who did it, let me know. I’d like to buy the man a drink.” She gave a little chuckle. “When they had to give Orozco that deal, I was so pissed. I mean, where’s the justice?” She smiled and shook her head. “But I guess you never know.”
I returned her smile. “Justice moves in mysterious ways.”
Michelle blinked, then returned my smile. “Funny, that’s what you said when the guy who mugged me got killed in a hit-and-run.”
I was still distracted, so it took me a moment to answer. “Is it? I can’t remember that far back. But anyway, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“In ways both good and bad.” She looked at me closely. “What’s going on? You don’t seem like yourself.”
I frowned and pushed some papers around on my desk. “What do you mean?”
“You seem kind of . . . shook up. I admit, that Orozco clan’s pretty gnarly. But you’ve had scarier clients. What’s the deal?”
I gave a casual shrug. “No deal. I’m okay, just got way too much going on.” I smiled. “I’m fine.”
Michelle had a skeptical look. She gazed into my eyes. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, Sam.”
I made myself hold her gaze. “Seriously, there’s nothing to tell.”
The phone rang and Michelle went to get it. Two minutes later, she rushed back into my office. “Finally, some good news: Scott came through. Chas Gorman has the phone.”
FIFTY-TWO
I was glad we were about to get the phone, but I wasn’t jumping for joy. It’d cost way too much. “Yeah, great.”
She folded her arms. “Samantha. I’m still pissed off, too. But this is what Alex put himself on the line for.”
I gave her a sullen look. “Exactly.” Getting the phone didn’t make up for what he’d been through. “I’ve got a two-thirty meeting with Detective Rick Saunders. Tell Chas I’ll get there around five.”
I was hoping Rick Saunders might be able to give me more information on Ignacio, the alibi witness for the Jenny Knox murder.
But at noon, I got the call I’d least expected.
Michelle buzzed me. “We must be on some kind of a roll. I’ve got Storm Cooper on the line.”
The stuntman who’d been Paige’s boyfriend once upon a time. We’d been leaving him messages for the past three weeks. I clicked over. “Samantha Brinkman here. Thanks for returning my call.”
His voice was cold, hostile. “I wasn’t going to call you back, except I heard you said Paige was the real target.”
“You’ve been watching the trial?”
“No. A friend told me. I just got back from a shoot in Helen’s Bay yesterday.”
Where the heck was Helen’s Bay? “Then you never spoke to the police?”
“Of course I did. I called ’em the minute I heard about Paige’s murder on the news.”
But I hadn’t seen his statement in any police report. “Can you spare me a few minutes to talk? You can come to my office. Or I’ll meet wherever you want.”
“Meet me at Mel’s Drive-In on Sunset.”
That was about thirty minutes away. “How about twelve thirty?”
“That’ll work.”
Mel’s is a retro-style drive-in diner on the Sunset Strip. The wall-to-wall windows that face the street give customers a view of the boulevard—and give the whole world a perfect view of everything and everyone inside the place. I would’ve preferred something more private, but I didn’t want to risk bartering over the location. Storm was curious, but I could tell he’d blow me off in a hot second if the meeting was too much of a hassle.
I told Michelle to wish me luck and took off, hoping I could score a booth away from the window. But when I got there, I saw that all the back tables were filled. I was stuck with the row of booths against the window. I took a seat at the end and ordered coffee. Twelve thirty came and went. At a quarter to one I took to checking my phone every five minutes. When he hadn’t shown up at five to one, I figured I’d been stood up. But since I didn’t have to meet Rick Saunders until two thirty, I decided to give it another few minutes.
At one o’clock, Storm Cooper finally appeared. He clomped in on worn-out motorcycle boots, a black helmet with flames on the sides tucked under his arm.
He was handsome in a rugged, manly man kind of way—dark eyes that crinkled into crow’s-feet; a weathered tan; and long, wavy brown hair. I held up a hand, and he stomped over and slid into the booth across from me.
I’d considered how to approach this. I doubted Paige had told him about “Mr. Perfect.” Storm was an ex, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about her other lovers. So I decided to take an open-ended approach. “Thanks for meeting me.” He grunted and pushed back his hair. “Where’s Helen’s Bay?”
“Northern Ireland. Been there for the past couple of months.”
The waiter came over, and he ordered a cup of coffee.
“Were you in town when Paige was killed?”
His eyes hardened. “Yeah, I left a few days after. What makes you think Paige was the target?”
The honest answer was wishful thinking. I knew that wouldn’t cut it. But being the defense attorney means you get to play your cards close to the vest. “I can’t really talk about the defense. It’s privileged. But I promise I’ll tell you when it’s all worked out. Deal?”
He gave me a narrow stare. “I’m outta here at one thirty regardless. So fire away; it’s your dime.”
The waiter brought Storm’s coffee, and he dumped five packets of sugar into it.
“I’m going to need you to start at square one, because I never saw any police report with your statement in it.” Storm frowned and gave me a skeptical look. “I have no reason to lie about that. Especially with the time limit you just gave me.”
He took a sip of his coffee as he mulled that over. “Fair enough. I’ve known Paige for four years. Met her when she visited C
hloe on the set of Hard Times. Chloe had a bit part.”
“So you and Paige dated?”
“Yeah. For two years, off and on. Off and on is about the only way I ever get to date. I’m on the road a lot, on location.”
“Who ended it?”
He slouched down in the booth. “She did. Said she couldn’t take all the coming and going. Can’t say I blamed her, but I’ve got to make a living.” He pushed around some stray sugar granules that’d fallen onto the table.
“But you remained friends?”
Storm nodded. “I kept hanging around. I guess in the back of my mind I was hoping she’d want to get back together. But we wound up seeing less and less of each other. She never seemed to have time for me. This past year I barely saw her at all.”
“Did you know if Paige was dating someone else?”
He set his jaw, a dark look on his face. “Toward the end, yeah. It was maybe a month before she . . . died.” Storm paused and stared down at the table for a moment. He took a deep breath, then continued. “I stopped by her place to see if she wanted to have dinner. She was on her way to some big party, and she was dressed up in heels and diamonds, the whole nine yards.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo of the stolen jewelry. “Yeah. Can’t say that’s exactly the same necklace, but it looked like that. I asked where she got it, and she said some rich guy gave it to her.”
“Did she tell you who he was? Or say anything about him?”
He shook his head. “I asked, but she dodged me, said it was none of my business. Which I guess it wasn’t.”
“Did you tell the police all this?” He shook his head. “Why did you call them?”
“Because when I heard the story on the news, I realized I saw her that day.” He folded an empty sugar packet into an accordion. “I thought they’d send someone out to talk to me, but they just took my statement on the phone.”
“You saw Paige the day she died?” Storm nodded. “Where?”
The waiter came by and offered to refill our coffees. I shook my head. I hadn’t touched mine. Storm signaled for more.
“I was driving north on Malibu Canyon and I stopped for a red light at the intersection of Malibu Canyon and Mulholland Highway. I was about to turn right onto Mulholland when I saw her. She was stopped at the light, across the intersection from me. And she was heading toward Malibu.”
Malibu. Where Marc had been found.
I leaned forward. “What time?”
“About six thirty.”
“Then it was almost dark. You’re sure it was her?”
He took a sip of coffee. “Definitely. There’re streetlights at that intersection. Plus, I recognized the car. I waved to her, but I guess she didn’t see me. That’s when I noticed there was a guy in the passenger seat.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. Never saw him before.” Storm’s phone rang. “I gotta take this. Excuse me.” He got up and walked outside.
I quickly pulled up Marc’s Facebook page.
Storm came back. “Look, I gotta jump.”
I held up my phone. “Is this the guy you saw in the car with Paige?”
He took the phone from me and studied it. “Yeah, I think so. Who is he?”
“Marc Palmer. He was a model who worked with Paige. His body washed up on the shore in Malibu about a week after Paige died.”
He frowned as he gave the phone back. “Hell of a coincidence. So that’s why you said Paige was the real target. You think they’re connected.”
I nodded. “Especially after what you just told me.”
“Then it’s important?”
“Very. But do me a favor, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’d rather not have your statement get tossed around by the press.” Or the cops—who’d probably wind up proving that it was nothing more than the usual defense red herring.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, the press is all over this case, isn’t it?”
I gave him a weary nod. “It’s nonstop.”
He stood and picked up his helmet. “Later.”
Actually, I wasn’t so sure the two deaths were connected. But with Storm’s testimony, I thought the jury might. It was exactly the kind of intriguing sideshow juries loved.
Or, as I’d call it in my closing argument: reasonable doubt.
FIFTY-THREE
I asked Rick Saunders to meet me at Mel’s since I was already there and it was close to his station. I was glad I’d saved myself a trip. He didn’t know Ignacio. He offered to ask around about him, but generating talk about my alibi witness was the last thing I needed.
By three o’clock, I was ready to go see Chas Gorman. I wasn’t supposed to get to his place until five o’clock, but I had a feeling he’d be around. Chas seemed like the kind of guy who was always around. And I was right.
As an added plus, he was almost sober. Either he was getting a late start or his stash was running low.
Chas smiled when he opened the door. “Hey, thanks for coming over.”
“Hey, thanks for having me.” He’d offered to bring the phone to me, but I wasn’t about to take any more chances with the damn thing.
He led me to the living room and gestured for me to take a seat on the lumpy brown couch. “I’ll be right back.”
He was as good as his word. In less than a minute he was back, an old flip-style cell phone in his hand. It looked like the one Scott’s siblings had shown us.
“Just so you know, I had no idea Scott did that burglary. I was really pissed when I found out.”
I opened the phone and checked out the photos, just to make sure it was the right one. It was. “How long have you guys known each other?”
“A few years. And I’ve never known him to do shit like that. But I think he got himself in debt to some heavy dudes, and it’s making him act crazy.”
I could well believe it, but I didn’t care. His “crazy” had landed Alex in the hospital. Screw him. “Thanks, Chas.” I headed for the door.
He followed me. “The press was all over this place a few days ago.”
That would’ve been the first day of trial. I paused at the door. “Anyone try to talk to you?”
“Not that day, no.”
“But another day?”
“Yeah. Not sure if it was a reporter, but it was right after Alex came by.”
I’d sent Alex to the building to find out if Chas and Scott were friends. “Who was it?”
“Dunno. But whoever it was banged on my door for, like, a half hour. It was really weird.”
“Male or female?”
Chas shrugged. “Female? No, male.” He sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“He didn’t give you a name?”
“No. I didn’t answer the door, just played dead.”
As always, talking to Chas was an exercise in frustration. His fried brain coughed up tantalizing fragments, but they never coalesced into a solid piece of information.
I thanked him again and left. When I got to my car, I opened Paige’s phone and checked her voice mails. Nada. There were a few texts between Paige and Chloe sent a couple of days before they died. But they were just mundane messages about picking up the dry cleaning and Taco Bell for dinner. I went through the photos.
Again, nothing intriguing. Just Paige and Chloe horsing around and joke-posing. I felt a pang of sadness looking at their young faces. I scrolled more quickly. I didn’t need any more reminders of what a tragedy this was. And then I found a photograph that got my attention. It’d been taken two months before the murders.
I looked at my watch. It was three thirty. The perfect time to go see Alex. I’d been planning to check in on him, and I knew he’d want to see this photo.
Alex’s uncle, Tomas, lived in Arcadia—about fifteen minutes northeast of downtown. In rush hour, that fifteen minutes could easily turn into an hour. But I thought if I got on the road right now, I’d beat the worst of it.
I didn’t. It took me more than an hour to get there.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
Alex looked 200 percent better than when I’d last seen him. Which wasn’t saying all that much, since the last time I’d seen him, he’d looked like roadkill. His dark skin hid some of the bruises, but his lips and right eye were still badly swollen.
I sat down in a chair next to the couch. “I hope you feel better than you look.”
He deadpanned, “Let me say on behalf of the world that it’s probably a good thing you chose the law instead of medicine. Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Seriously, how are you feeling?”
Alex blew out an exasperated breath. “Bored. Nobody lets me do anything, and really, I’m fine. I’m just sore. I can move around. I can drive—”
Maria called out, “No you can’t!”
Alex gave me a pleading look. “If I don’t go back to work, I’ll lose my mind.” He put his hands together prayer-style. “Please tell her you need me.”
“I do. But I’m with Maria and your uncle on this one. You shouldn’t push it. Besides, I’ve got something you can do lying on your back.” I pulled Paige’s cell phone out of my purse.
“Hey! How did you—” Alex sat up too fast. He winced and held his side.
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’re obviously good to go.” I gave him the whole story and ended by saying, “Our boy Scotty’s going to be in Men’s Central for a good long time.”
