by Marcia Clark
Worried now, and wondering whether we’d need to find out where Densmore had hospital privileges, I tried to refocus on the warrants. Bailey tapped her fingers nervously on the arm of the chair.
Five minutes passed. I couldn’t keep myself from looking at the clock on my computer. I wanted to tell Bailey to stop that goddamn tapping.
Ten minutes—still nothing.
Finally, at 1:35 p.m., I finished the warrants and hit print. Just as the pages began to roll out, Bailey’s cell rang again. I turned to her, and we exchanged a look.
“Keller.” She listened for a few moments. “Okay, stay there for now,” she said, then hung up.
“It figures,” Bailey said flatly.
“What? What?” I said, aggravated and impatient.
“Hollywood clinic. They ordered two vials. Their records show neither of them were ever used,” she said. After a brief pause, she continued, “But one of the vials is gone.”
I sagged with relief. We had our missing Anectine.
Indignant, I remarked, “You punked me.”
“Just a little,” Bailey admitted with a grin. “It’s a great tension-breaker, don’t you think?”
“No.” I turned back to my computer and added this latest information to the warrants, then hit print again. I handed the papers to Bailey. “You got a judge in mind for these?”
She smiled mischievously. “I thought I’d hit up Judge J. D. Morgan,” she said. She looked at her watch. “He should just be getting back from lunch.”
“Sheer genius, Keller,” I said with an appreciative laugh. J.D. wasn’t just a friend, he was a judge who was uniquely unafraid of political fallout. The perfect person to handle what was sure to be a hot potato of a case.
Bailey stood and moved to the door quickly. “Once I get these signed, we should get out to Densmore’s house right away. If he’s inclined to talk, we should be there to listen.”
“I’m packing up right now,” I said.
53
Soon after, Bailey and I were in her car, heading for the Palisades. The moment J.D. had signed the warrants, Bailey had sent out units to locate Densmore. They’d tracked him to his house and were parked just out of sight at the front and back gates to the community, waiting for Bailey.
As she drove through the tunnel to the freeway, I pictured the police converging on the mansion, and poor Susan and Janet feeling besieged. The elation of a few moments ago drained away. I couldn’t imagine how they were going to deal with all this. On the one hand, it was somewhat noble that Densmore had killed his daughter’s rapist. But on the other hand, the connection between Densmore and Stayner was bound to be bad news of one kind or another. I had been excited to question Densmore; now my curiosity was mixed with dread.
We got to the house quickly, but not before our backup arrived. Bailey got out and told them to follow her lead. No one thought guns would be needed here, but you never knew.
Bailey knocked, and when the maid opened the door and saw the phalanx of officers behind her, she stood frozen in shock.
“We’re looking for Dr. Densmore,” Bailey said.
“Sí, sí,” the maid replied. “Allá,” she said, nodding to her left. Then she turned and ran back into the house.
Bailey stepped through the open door, her gun held pointed down at her side.
Janet came into the foyer. “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked. When she saw that Bailey was holding a gun, her eyes flew open in fright and she turned as white as a sheet.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Densmore. We’re here for your husband. Is he here?” Bailey said.
“Frank?” Janet looked as if she were going to faint. “He’s in the den.” She pointed to her left.
Bailey motioned for two of the officers to join her, and they headed off to serve the arrest warrant on Dr. Densmore. I hung back to talk to Janet.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“I’m so sorry, Janet. Your husband’s being arrested,” I said, “for murder.”
Janet started to sway, and I quickly caught her by the arm. Somehow she recovered enough to let me guide her to the sofa in the living room.
After I got her settled, I offered her a glass of water. When she shook her head, I sat down next to her. I wanted to give her the solace of knowing that the person Densmore had killed was Susan’s rapist, but we didn’t have that confirmed yet.
“Can you tell me if you saw Frank last night?” I asked.
Janet started to speak, then her eyes darted to the foyer, where officers had begun to gather. Janet put her hand to her throat, and her mouth fell slightly open. Finally she spoke in a faint voice. “I—I don’t think I should be talking to you.”
Probably not, now that I thought about it. I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me either. At least at this point there was no reason to force the issue.
“Is Susan here?” I asked. I didn’t want her to see her father taken out in handcuffs.
“No. She went to a friend’s house,” Janet replied, her voice barely a whisper.
“Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She stared out the window at the rolling gardens in her backyard, her features slack.
“Do you want me to call someone for you?” I asked.
Janet slowly shook her head. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice thin.
I nodded. She probably wouldn’t want me to do anything else for her—ever.
I joined Bailey and the officers in the den. Frank Densmore had been proned out and thoroughly searched. One of the officers helped him up off the floor and placed him on the leather couch. He was pretty mussed up.
“Dr. Densmore, I’m going to read you your rights—,” Bailey began.
“Don’t bother. I’m not talking to any of you,” Densmore said, his tone steely. “Give me my phone. I want to call my lawyer.”
The officer standing to his right went over to the desk, picked up the phone, and asked Densmore for the number. Densmore told him and the officer dialed, then held the phone to Densmore’s ear. Oddly, even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he managed to look imperious.
I sighed, but it figured that he’d invoke. He had nothing to gain by talking to us, and he was smart enough to know it.
There wasn’t anything for us to do here at the moment. Bailey tilted her head toward the door. I nodded, and we headed out.
“Want to check out the garage before we split?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
The garage was huge and spotless. Of course.
“That his bike?” I asked, pointing to the yellow-and-black racing bike hanging from the ceiling.
“Looks like it,” Bailey replied. “It’s in the warrant. I should remind them to be careful bagging it so we can save dirt samples.”
“I’m guessing those puncture marks in the dirt on the shoulder of the road were probably from his bike shoes,” I said.
“Right,” Bailey said. She punched numbers on her cell phone, then talked to someone about bagging the bike.
“They know to look for the shoes?” I asked.
She added that reminder too and ended the call.
“The clinic?” I asked.
“The clinic,” Bailey agreed.
We headed for her car—and the opposite end of the world.
54
There was only one police unit at the clinic when we got there. Of course, as far as they knew, they were just babysitting a shelf in a medical-supply closet. They had no idea the clinic might be connected to Jake’s murder.
We walked into the health center and found Sheila doing paperwork at the reception desk. She greeted us warmly, but I could see she was curious about what the Anectine search was all about. I planned to tell her… later.
“How often did Dr. Densmore come around here?” I asked.
Sheila pursed her lips, holding back words she couldn’t afford to say. “Almost never. I think it’s been a year since I las
t saw him here,” she said, her voice tinged with disapproval. “Your officer is back there waiting for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bailey replied. “Thanks for your help, Sheila.”
“Not a problem,” she answered. She went back to her paperwork, and we sauntered down the hall slowly. I whispered to Bailey out of the side of my mouth, “You going to get rid of your guy?”
She nodded. “Go ahead and start. I’ll catch up.”
After a quick glance behind me to make sure Sheila wasn’t looking, I walked into exam room three, closed the door, and faced the wall with the measuring line that had been in all the photos. I tried to place myself where the camera would have been positioned. When I’d hit the spot, I turned and looked behind me. Nothing. There had to be a camera somewhere near. Unless they’d already taken it down? But the only person who had reason to know that the clinic had become a focus of suspicion was Nurse Sheila. I never liked to rule anyone out based on appearances, but I felt safe doing it this time. Nothing about her said she was involved in this.
I looked more closely. The camera had to have been somewhere on the wall opposite the measuring line. I scanned the wall. It had a sink and a compact air ionizer, with cabinets above and below. The cabinets were either too low or too high to have the angle I’d seen in the photographs. I opened them and looked inside anyway. Nothing but cleaning supplies below, and paper gowns above.
I thumped on the wall above the sink, feeling for a hollow panel. Nothing. The air ionizer was plugged in next to the sink. I unplugged it and hefted it in my hand. Nothing unusual. I shook it for a second but didn’t hear any odd noise. Then I noticed that the grille could be lifted up. And there it was. The camera. So innocuous, it hid in plain sight. I marveled at the technology even as I felt sickened at the way it had been employed. It would take some techno-savvy to pull video and stills off this for the purpose of sale, but not a whole heck of a lot. The computer age has opened so many doors.
I plugged the ionizer back in and was trying to figure out who might’ve set this up when Bailey walked in. I pointed to the air ionizer and held a finger to my lips, warning her not to say anything. Bailey looked at it, then back at me, and raised a questioning eyebrow. I motioned for her to follow and led her out to exam room two. I checked the walls, this time aware of what I was looking for. Sure enough, on the wall opposite the measuring line, just above the sink: another ionizer. Wordlessly, I pointed it out to Bailey, who nodded. We did the same thing in room one. There, I unplugged the object and opened the front grille. Bailey examined the camera.
I spoke softly to avoid being overheard. “Stayner had to be part of this operation, but I doubt he could’ve set these up,” I said, gesturing to the ionizers.
“No,” Bailey agreed. “But I’ll bet Densmore’s bust is already on the news—”
“So whoever did this has got to be getting ready to cut and run,” I said, completing her thought.
Bailey nodded. “I say we stake out the place and see who shows up.”
I paused. It might not be the best plan, but it was the only one we had at the moment.
She looked at me. “Well?” she prompted.
“I’m in.”
55
It was close to 7:00 p.m., and the clinic was empty. Sheila was walking toward exam room one, key in hand, ready to start locking the place down for the night.
“Sheila, I’m going to need you to leave things as is for now so we can get the medical-supply closet photographed and printed,” Bailey said.
It was partly true. We did need to get pictures and prints, which was why Bailey had posted the officer there earlier. We just weren’t going to do it tonight. Right now, the pressing need was to find out who’d installed the hidden cameras. Photographs could be taken anytime, and as for the prints, while it would be nice to find Densmore’s digits near the bottle of Anectine, they wouldn’t exactly be a smoking gun, since he had lawful access to the medical-supply closet. Then again, given his infrequent visits, it would be something.
“Not a problem,” Sheila replied in her typical way.
“It’d help if we could stay here and wait for the techs,” Bailey said. “That okay?”
Sheila paused a moment to think. “It’s fine, Detective,” she replied. “But let me show you where the doors are. If you don’t lock up, the place will be gutted by midnight.”
She showed us the back door. The reception area was actually deeper than I’d realized. At the far end of the room was a back door that led into the staff parking lot behind the building. The nurse demonstrated which key went to that lock, then led us down the hallway, past the examining rooms. At the end of the hall was a small office. A door at its side also gave access to the parking lot.
“Two back doors?” I asked. It seemed odd.
“Yeah,” Sheila said. “This building used to be a house. If you look, you can tell where rooms were added on to make it into a clinic. I think the door in the office was actually the original back entrance.” She picked up her purse and jacket. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Can we get all your numbers?” I asked. “Just in case we have to reach you for any other questions.”
Sheila furnished us with her cell and home phone numbers, then gave the keys to Bailey. “We open at seven a.m.,” she warned.
“I’ll be here,” Bailey promised.
We watched Sheila leave the staff parking lot, then mapped out our strategy. Out of necessity, it was a simple one.
“We’d better monitor both the front and back doors,” I said.
“Agreed. But I’m guessing our buddy is going to come in through the back door. So I’ll take the back; you take the front.”
“We’ve only got one car,” I pointed out.
She nodded. “And it can’t be all alone out there in the staff parking lot. It’ll be like posting a neon sign. So you take it out front,” she said, handing me her keys.
“Then where are you going to be?” I asked.
We turned to look out through the office window. The parking lot offered no cover. I scanned the area around it. An alley ran along the left side. Farther to the left, across the alley, was a small gas station. A low cinder-block wall divided them, but it wouldn’t get in the way if Bailey had to move fast. And there were enough cars, people, and activity at the station to let her blend in.
I turned to Bailey and saw that she too had zeroed in on the gas station. “It isn’t perfect,” I said.
She nodded. “But it’ll have to do.”
“You got a jacket or coat in your car?” I asked. The night was getting chilly, and our suspect might not show up for hours—if at all. It was going to get pretty uncomfortable if Bailey had to stand out there for very long.
“Don’t need it,” she replied. “I’m sure they’ve got lots of bad coffee at that gas station. That’ll keep me warm.”
“That’s like drinking acid rain, Keller. You’ll blow our cover if you glow in the dark,” I said with a tight grin.
Bailey’s answering smile was just as strained.
“We’ll blow our cover right now if we don’t get these office lights off and get out of here,” she said. “I’m going to get into position.” She stopped and scanned the gas station, then she continued, her tone urgent, serious. “You stay here and watch so you can see where I’m going to be. I’ll have my cell phone on vibrate. We should check in with each other every ten minutes or so, but I’ll call you. You don’t call me. I’m the one exposed, and you won’t be able to see if someone’s too close to me. Got it?”
“Got it.” I nodded toward the door. “Go.”
Bailey opened it a fraction and looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then sprinted across the parking lot. She stepped over the cinder-block wall and into the gas station. There were a few cars parked outside the now-closed service bay. Bailey slipped between two of them and stood facing me. I waved from the office to show her I had her position. She lifted her cell phone. One second l
ater, I heard mine ring. I quickly shifted it to vibrate and answered.
“I’ve got you. I’m on my way out.”
“Remember to lock the office door and check to make sure the other one’s locked before you go,” Bailey replied, then hung up.
I did as she said with the office door, then turned out the lights as I went through the clinic. By the time I finished locking reception, the only light was in the waiting area. My spine tingled with apprehension. I stopped and listened for a sound. Had I heard something? I looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. The stillness of the office suddenly unnerved me, and I quickly moved to the front entrance. I forced myself to turn off the light in the waiting room before opening the front door, so I could slip out as unobtrusively as possible. Then I closed the door softly behind me. With shaking hands, I turned the upper dead bolt and the lock in the doorknob and ran around to the staff parking lot as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself.
I stopped at the back corner of the clinic and looked around. The lot was dark, but life went on in the houses surrounding the clinic, and in the gas station where Bailey was positioned. Somewhat reassured by the sight of others nearby, I took one last glance to make sure no one was coming, then trotted over to Bailey’s car. I pressed the remote to unlock the door, jumped in, and pulled out of the lot. I drove slowly toward Yucca, scanning for an empty spot on the street. I found one in front of a tiny house that had been boarded up and graffitied, just west of North Cherokee Avenue. I backed into the space and turned off the engine. I was parked near the clinic, with a clear view of the front door ahead of me.
I sank down to stay out of view and hoped no one would decide Bailey’s car needed breaking into tonight. Moments later, my cell phone vibrated. I checked to make sure it was Bailey.
“Where are you?” she asked.
I told her.
“Good.” She clicked off.
On the street, young teenage boys were starting to gather into groups of two and three. Some leaned against street signs; others against fences and the walls of houses. All were whip-thin, with long hair, almost androgynous. It wasn’t hard to imagine Kit among them. Or Dante. These thoughts were distractingly sad. I promised myself I’d find a way to help Dante climb out of this cesspool, and made myself look away.
