by Marcia Clark
I heard the door slam behind us. When we got back to the car, I told Alex to head for USC. Then I made a call.
TWENTY
Gayle was in class until five o’clock, so we decided to hit up Alicia’s neighbors first. I showed Oliver Chalmers the photo of Devon Shackley. I’d taken a photo of him because I was worried the photo Alex had was too old. “Does he look like the guy with the crew cut who might have visited Alicia the day she died?”
He squinted at my phone screen and scratched the top of his head. “Don’t know. Might be. But I wouldn’t swear to it.”
Which, of course, would be what I’d need him to do in court. I’d been so hopeful when Shackley had opened the door. He seemed to fit everyone’s description of Crew Cut. On the other hand, Oliver hadn’t ruled him out. Maybe Chinh’s mother would come through. This time, Chinh wasn’t there, but I managed to make myself understood to the mother and showed her the photo. She seemed nervous as she peered at it, then shook her head. I couldn’t tell whether she meant “no” or that she didn’t know. I asked her again, “Was this the man?”
She shook her head harder this time, then backed away and closed the door. Damn. Alex and I exchanged glum looks. I glanced at the photo on my phone screen. It was a little blurry but not bad. If Devon Shackley was Crew Cut, they should be able to identify him. “Maybe this isn’t our guy.”
Alex was disappointed, too. “Maybe not. It did seem like a bit of a coincidence.”
It did. But in a way, it didn’t. “Since Shackley operated the website, he’d get first dibs on Alicia’s address. How long had her photo been up when Crew Cut got here?”
Alex rubbed his chin. “I don’t remember exactly. Not long. Maybe a couple of hours? Anyway, I see your point. And it’s not over yet. We’ve still got Bethany and Gayle.”
But Bethany wasn’t home. I checked my phone and saw that it was almost five thirty, so we headed over to Gayle’s house. Davey answered the door. He said Gayle was there, but Diana and Phil weren’t. “There’s a jazz concert at Thornton.”
I could tell Phil had only just left. The cloying, sweet smell of pot still lingered in the air. Everyone in that house must live in a constant state of contact high, at the very least. “Not a problem. We just need to see Gayle this time.”
Davey called out to her. A minute later, she emerged from her room. She looked exhausted, and her smile was forced, as though it took all she had to make it happen. “Hey. What’s up? Anything new?” She sank down on one of the beanbag chairs and stretched out her legs.
We remained standing. One way or another, this wouldn’t take long. I reminded her of the guy with the crew cut she’d seen leaving Alicia’s apartment. “You remember him, right?” Gayle nodded. I held out my phone with his photo. “Might this be him?”
Gayle peered at the screen, then reached for the phone. I gave it to her and tried not to hope as I watched her study the photo. She began to nod. “Yeah, sure looks like him.” She handed the phone back to me.
Finally, some good news. Though I wasn’t sure how good. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Did you take that photo?” I nodded. “Is he kind of thick? Big arms, chest?” I nodded again. “Gotta be him. So you think he killed Alicia?”
What did I think? I still wasn’t sure. “Maybe. He might’ve gone back to her apartment later. But I’m also thinking that if Roan didn’t commit suicide, maybe this guy killed him.”
Gayle looked confused. “Why? Did he know Roan?”
An excellent question. Just because Roan posted on his website—which we assumed but still hadn’t proven—that didn’t mean the guy knew Roan. “We’re trying to figure that out.” I glanced at Alex to see if he had any more questions for Gayle. Alex was texting on his cell phone. He never checked out on a witness interview like that. I wondered what he was doing. “Alex? Anything you want to ask?”
He looked up, his expression only mildly guilty. “Sorry. I just had some business to take care of. No, that’ll do it. Thank you, Gayle. You were incredibly helpful.” He edged toward the door.
I gave her a look of concern. “Try and get some rest, okay? I know they squeeze interns like a sponge mop.”
She gave me a weary smile. “But at least the pay’s great.”
The studios paid their interns bupkes. I told her we’d keep in touch, and we headed back to Beulah. As soon as we got into the car, I turned to face Alex. “What the hell was up with all the texting?”
Alex looked wholly unrepentant. “You wanted me to wait and check out Devon Shackley before I made a plan. So I did. And now I’m making a plan.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “To do what?”
Alex gave an impatient sigh. “To spend some quality time with my new best friend, Devon. Whatever he was up to at Alicia’s place, it couldn’t have been good. I’m betting it had something to do with extortion.”
I’d been thinking about that, too. Shackley might have visited Alicia so he could demand money to take down her photos. “So what’s your plan?”
Alex told me he’d come up with the plan after I’d sent him home to get some sleep, and he’d already set it up from his home computer. “But you’re not going to like it.”
It was risky, to say the least. But he was wrong. I did like it. “I want in.”
Alex leaned back against the headrest and groaned. “You can’t be there. What if something goes wrong?”
“All the more reason why I should be there.” I started the car. “You can waste time arguing or get on board now. Either way, we’ll wind up in the same place.”
“Mierda.” He threw up his hands. “Fine.”
I called Michy from the road and told her we wouldn’t be coming back to the office tonight. “There’s no point. We’re just leaving USC, and it’s already six o’clock.”
“Great. I’ll pack up and head out.”
Nightfall came early this time of year, and by six o’clock, it was pitch-black outside. We drove back to Devon Shackley’s apartment.
Alex’s plan was simple—but multifaceted. That morning, after I’d sent him home, he’d Photoshopped a nude photo of a girl that looked like a selfie, added her name and address and a milder version of the invitation posted with Alicia’s photo to “come over and play,” and posted it on Shackley’s website.
I parked near the entrance to Shackley’s parking garage. According to Alex’s research, Shackley drove a red Mustang. Of course he did. “So now we wait for him to take the bait.”
Alex folded his arms and stared at the building. “Yep.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Alex was banking on this guy being consistent, but who knew with a freak like this? To put it mildly, the plan was far from foolproof.
“I have a plan B.”
I sank down in my seat, thinking this could be a very long night.
I listened to a podcast by Malcolm Gladwell, then watched the news on my phone. “We should’ve picked up some food. I’m starving.”
Alex barely took his eyes off the building as he pulled a small bag out of his pocket. “Here, this should help.”
He handed the little bag to me. It was a pack of raw almonds. Not even the tasty smoked kind. “Must you always be so healthy? It’s disgusting.”
But I ate them anyway, which tells you how hungry I was. By eight thirty I was ready to call it quits, but Alex refused. “Just give it another half hour, okay?”
We’d been there for almost two hours, so I wasn’t keen on making it three. But in for a penny . . . “We pull the plug at nine. No matter what.”
We didn’t. Alex talked me into giving it another half an hour.
At twenty minutes after nine, Shackley’s red Mustang pulled out of the garage. Alex said, “Showtime.”
I gave him a few seconds’ lead, then pulled out and followed. I made sure to keep two car lengths back, but we weren’t worried about losing him. If Alex’s plan had worked, we knew where he was headed.
I felt my pal
ms get sweaty on the steering wheel as I pictured all the ways this plan could go very, very wrong. I tried to put those thoughts out of my mind and focus on a more positive scenario, but my brain kept throwing up images of a bloody ending that left both Alex and me in jail, or the hospital, or both.
I lost Shackley a couple of times but then picked him up again as he drove south to Culver Boulevard, then turned right onto La Salle Avenue. That’s when I knew we were in business. “Looks like he’s taking the bait.”
But no sooner had I said that than Shackley pulled over and parked the car. This was not the address he should have been aiming for. Alex, who’d been sitting low in his seat, jerked up. “What’s he doing?”
I had to keep rolling, but as I drove by, I saw Shackley get out of his Mustang and move toward the back of the car. I tried to slow down without being obvious. “Can you see what he’s doing?”
Alex swore under his breath. “He’s getting something out of his trunk.”
My heart gave a sharp thud. “What? Is he getting a gun?”
“I don’t think so. It looks like . . . a towel? I can’t tell.”
I pulled over at the end of the block. “A gun can be wrapped in a towel. Alex, we need to let this go.”
He shook his head as he stared into the rearview mirror. “I can’t. I’ll drop you off. You can Uber home.”
Damn it. I couldn’t let him do this alone. “You’re not dropping me anywhere.”
I looked in the rearview and saw that Shackley had gotten back into his car and was pulling out into traffic.
I let him have a five-second lead, then pulled out and followed him. Nothing about this felt good.
TWENTY-ONE
I stayed a couple of car lengths behind Shackley. The address Alex had posted was just one block away, on Braddock Drive. But when he reached it, he didn’t stop; he kept on driving. I nodded toward Shackley’s car. “Hey, I think we’re toast.” A part of me was glad. I parked just short of the address on Braddock Drive and watched as Shackley slowly pulled away.
Alex swore under his breath. “Pendejo.”
But one block later, Shackley pulled over and parked. He got out and began to walk back toward the address. It was on.
Alex reached for the door handle. “You don’t have to come in. I’ve got this.”
I looked pointedly at his windbreaker. “You’re not even carrying, are you?” He shook his head. As I’d thought. I opened my purse and took out my .38. “Well, I am.” I put it in my jacket pocket and nodded toward Shackley. “And I’m betting he is, too.”
Alex blew out a long breath. “Okay. Just stay back. You can’t make money if you’re in jail.”
Actually, you can make money. Not much, it’s true. But I didn’t think the point was worth arguing at the moment. We watched as Shackley went to the door of the house and knocked. It opened, and the moment he stepped inside, we got out and ran around to the back door.
As expected, it was unlocked. It opened onto the kitchen. We quietly tiptoed in and ducked down behind the stove. One second later, I saw Shackley stride through the living room and approach a woman with long black hair whose back was to us. I turned a furious look on Alex and mouthed, “WTF?” A man—a big, strong one who knew how to fight—was supposed to be there. Not a woman. I started to stand up, but Alex put a finger to his lips and pulled me back down.
Shackley was growling, “I know what you want, bitch—and I’m gonna give it to you.” She protested and backed away, but he pushed her down on the couch and shoved a hand under her sweater. She lifted a knee to kick him, but Shackley seized her thigh and yanked her legs open.
That was it. Screw Alex and his bullshit plan. I reached for the gun in my pocket and prepared to run to her, but suddenly, Shackley went flying backward.
He landed flat on his back, winded. The woman jumped up and went after him. And now I could see that the woman was Louisa, an employee of Alex’s bail bondsman uncle, Tomas. Louisa was smaller than Shackley, but she was throwing punches with the powerful yet surgical blows of a pro. As she turned Shackley’s face into a smashed pumpkin, Tomas came rushing out of another room. He threw a few good kicks at Shackley’s gut, then flipped him over and zip-tied his hands and feet.
Louisa was more than okay, but I was still pissed off at Alex. “You are such a dick sometimes.”
Alex was completely unperturbed. “I knew you’d never go along with having a woman involved, and if I told you, we’d get in an argument, and I’d do it anyway. So why waste time arguing?”
I was uncomfortably familiar with this logic. Because it was mine. “You don’t think we could’ve found out what Shackley was up to without using Louisa? What if he’d gotten the jump on her?”
He looked at me like I’d said the Easter Bunny might take out The Hulk. “In case you didn’t just see her in action, there was no way that was going to happen. Besides, she had me and Tomas here for backup. And I had to know what his game was. The only way to be sure was to set up the bait and see what he did.”
I wasn’t in the mood to concede anything, but it was entirely possible that Alex was right. This had been the only way to know what Shackley was really up to. And in point of fact, it wasn’t what we’d thought. We’d both believed his game was blackmail. But it was much, much worse. I still wasn’t happy, but we had an asshole waiting in the next room. “Let’s go ask some questions.”
Shackley was on his stomach with Tomas’s foot on his neck. I didn’t particularly want to see his face—especially now—but I needed to be able to hear what he had to say, and that’d be difficult with his face smashed into the floor. “Can we turn him over?”
“Sure.” Tomas grabbed him by the arm and yanked it—a little harder than necessary. Shackley let out a yelp as he landed on his back.
I could feel the anger rising in my chest as I looked at this puke and wondered how many women he’d assaulted. “So this is why you have that fucked-up website? So you can get first dibs on the women who’ve already been screwed over by their boyfriends?”
Shackley sputtered and gurgled for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was thick and wet. “You’re full of shit. I just give them what they want.”
I wanted to kick him in the crotch so badly it made my leg shake. “You lying sack. Tell the truth. Is this what you did to Alicia?”
He spit out a tooth. “Who the hell’s Alicia?”
The gun felt heavy in my pocket. I had to force myself not to reach for it. “The one you killed, asshole.”
Shackley’s eyes got wild as they bounced among the four of us. “What are you talking about? I didn’t kill no one!”
I stared down at him. “I’ve got witnesses who saw you at her apartment the day she was killed.”
After a moment, recognition spread across his face. “You’re talking about that chick on the news? Yeah. I did go see her. But I didn’t kill her. I didn’t do nuthin’ to her!”
I spoke with harsh sarcasm. “Right. The same nuthin’ you just did to her.” I pointed to Louisa. Shackley was silent for a long moment. “I’ve got witnesses in that building who heard what you did to Alicia.” I didn’t, of course. But he didn’t know that.
His eyes made another trip around the four faces hovering over him and landed on me. “I-I thought she’d be into it. That’s what her post said!”
I couldn’t help myself. “You lying sack. You knew she didn’t post that.”
He bent his knees and tried to wriggle away from me. “All I did was try to get with her, but she was a total bi . . . I mean, she said no. So I left! I swear! Nothing happened!”
That was at least partially true. The coroner hadn’t issued a report yet, but Dale told me they’d done a rape kit and found no evidence of sexual activity. I couldn’t bear to look at this piece of shit any longer. I glanced at Alex, who nodded and took over.
He asked, “How does it work? Do you filter the photos people send you?” Shackley nodded. “Did you post Alicia’s photos before or
after you went to her apartment?”
Shackley tried to lick his bloodied lips. “After.”
It was even more obvious than I’d thought. Shackley didn’t even post the photos until he’d had a chance to go after the girl.
Alex’s nostrils flared. “So you use your website to get first dibs.”
Shackley’s fear shone in his eyes. “I only go after them if they ask for it.” His voice got higher. “It’s not my fault if they’re cockteases!”
Alex glared at him; his voice was harsh and cold. “You trying to tell me you think they really have a rape fantasy?” Shackley didn’t answer. “You sick puke. You’re nobody’s idea of a fantasy anything!” He drew back his foot and kicked Shackley in the side so hard he screamed.
I don’t think I’d ever seen Alex that angry. I would gladly have let him go on kicking Shackley until he passed out, but we had one more piece of business. I stepped in and asked, “Where did you go after you attacked Alicia?”
Shackley was trying to catch his breath. “Work. Night manager at Wendy’s. On Venice.”
That sounded a lot like a real alibi. Damn. “What are your hours?”
He grimaced as he spoke. “Six thirty to midnight.”
So much for Alicia’s murder. I asked whether he’d been working on the night of Roan’s murder. He was. “Where’d you go after work?”
Shackley was taking shallow breaths. It was a few seconds before he could answer. “Met friends at . . . Backstage Bar.”
I’d check all this out, of course. But from the sounds of it, this was probably the last we’d see of this miserable dung heap—unless he decided to call the cops on us. I rated the likelihood of that at something below zero.
But Alex wasn’t done with him yet. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now. We’re going to take you home. And you’re going to shut down that pile of sewage you call a website. From now on, I’ll be watching you, and if you ever operate another one, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. M’entiende, cabròn?”
