Liar Liar

by Nancy Boyarsky

  She thought of the way Mary Ellen had snuck out of their hotel room. Nicole herself found herself tempted to do the same thing. She wasn’t a prisoner here; she was perfectly free to leave. She arranged her pillows to look as if she were sleeping under the covers. Then she sat by the door, listening. It seemed like a long time before she heard Timothy get up and walk toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. When the door closed, she grabbed her purse and peeked out to be sure he’d left his post. Not only was the sitting room empty, but he’d left the key card on the coffee table. She picked it up on her way out of the suite.

  The business center was located on the main floor, just past the registration desk. As soon as she walked in, she saw notices posted on both computers: “Out of order. We apologize for the inconvenience.” She was disappointed. She was itching to find out about Slater. She considered her options. The main public library was a few minutes away by taxi, and this wouldn’t take long.

  The doorman called her a cab, and in a little over six minutes, she was entering the garden that fronted the blocky, cream-colored building which had served as L.A.’s main library since 1926. The structure’s most eye-catching feature was the pyramid on top, decorated with an elaborate mosaic sun surrounded by bright-colored tiles. In the 1980s, the building had fallen into disrepair, then closed after two fires and damage from an earthquake. When it reopened, the original art-deco murals had been restored, the building redecorated, enlarged, and loaded with whimsical art. In all of L.A., it was Nicole’s favorite building.

  Heading through the garden, she noticed more derelicts than she’d seen here in the past. One of them, a skeletal young man with a massive growth of facial hair, got up from a bench and followed her up the stairs to the entrance. He dogged her steps so closely that she could smell him. From his physical appearance and aggressive behavior, she figured he must be a meth addict. To get away from him, she stopped at the central desk to ask where to find a computer to use, although she already knew she’d find several in just about any of the reading rooms.

  As soon as the man had moved on, she walked down the corridor to Fiction. It was 11:00 a.m., and the room was empty. She sat at one of the tables and put her purse on the floor under her chair, just behind her feet. The computer was set to the library’s catalogue. She quit out of this and started the browser.

  As soon as she connected with Colbert and Smith Investigations, she logged in and looked up Don Slater, Los Angeles. Although it seemed a common name, there was only one in the entire city, age 36, which seemed about right. He was a native Angeleno, unmarried, with a decent credit record. He’d worked several years for a publication she’d never heard of called To the Right Point. After that, he’d been a barista while going to a community college. He’d eventually put in the hours and passed the test to become a P.I. After that, he’d worked at several law offices before joining Sperantza’s firm. None of this was surprising.

  Still curious, she decided to take a minute to Google him. His name popped up dozens of times on articles he’d written for a range of white supremacist and anti-feminist websites. He was especially active on Aryan Nation and Boycott American Women, where he railed against advocates of politically correct language who condemn racial epithets and derogatory terms for women. He argued that they were infringing on the First Amendment’s guarantee of freedom of speech. He wrote on other, uglier topics as well, denigrating those who had the “misfortune”—his word—not to be born white.

  Nicole was stunned. Slater’s neglect of Doshan’s defense had come from his own prejudices, as had his motive for ignoring her suggestions about the direction of the investigation. He wasn’t going to take orders from a woman. She copied several of the URLs for his articles and emailed them to Sperantza. Slater might be a good investigator as long as it didn’t run afoul of his bigotry. But if this was the way he thought, his boss should know about it.

  She was getting ready to leave, when she felt something brush against her foot. Bending down to look, she saw someone crouched behind her chair, reaching through its legs in an attempt to grab her purse. He missed, and the purse toppled forward. He stretched further under the chair in another attempt. This time, she stamped on his hand with both feet, jumping up to bear her full weight on it. As she did this, her chair tipped, fell over backward, and hit the would-be purse-snatcher on the head with a loud smack. He let out a yelp of pain. Nicole scooped up her purse, holding it tight against her. When she turned around, she wasn’t surprised to see it was the man with the bushy beard who’d followed her in.

  A guard appeared at the door. “This guy bothering you, ma’am?”

  “He was,” Nicole said. “But I think I’ve bothered him back.”

  The guard pointed to a sign on the wall that Nicole hadn’t noticed. In big letters, it said, “Watch your purse and other belongings.” As she read it, the guard pulled the man to his feet and marched him into the hall. Nicole followed them outside, then turned left and passed through a breezeway onto Fifth Street. She felt a little shaky from the adrenalin rush brought on by the assault on her purse. Before long, a taxi stopped to pick her up and return her to the hotel.

  Timothy was waiting in the hotel’s big reception hall, and he looked angry. She gave him a nod, and he fell into step beside her as she headed for the elevator bank.

  “May I ask where you’ve been?” he said.

  “I went to the library.”

  “You’re supposed to stay in the suite where no one will find you. If you really needed to go out, why didn’t you tell me so I could go with you?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like arguing. You objected when I wanted to go to the gym this morning, and that’s in the hotel.”

  “Next time, just tell me. You won’t get an argument. But here’s the thing: If anything happens to you, it’s on me. You, of all people, should understand that.”

  “No worries,” she said. “I’m staying put until tomorrow when I testify. Then you’ll be rid of me.”

  They didn’t speak again for the rest of the day. It was almost 1:00 p.m. by now, and Nicole was hungry for the first time in days. She ordered fish and chips and a beer from room service and spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV. The morning’s outing had lifted her spirits. Maybe it was finding the backstory on Slater and being able to share it with his boss. On the other hand, it might have had something to do with her success in thwarting the purse-snatcher.

  §

  Nicole wasn’t due at the courthouse until 9:00 a.m., but once again she woke at 6:00 and couldn’t go back to sleep. She got up and set about getting ready. First was the matter of what to wear. She was limited to the clothes she’d brought along in the two suitcases she’d hastily packed at the house. She spent quite a while considering her options and trying things on. If clothes and grooming mattered anywhere, she thought, it would be in court. At last she settled on the plainest outfit she had: a navy two-piece dress. She added a nubby white scarf and navy heels. She pulled her hair back, attaching a faux chignon she usually saved for special occasions.

  A little after 8:00 a.m., she checked herself in the mirror and gave a little laugh. She looked prim, like the principal of a private, all-girls school. Prim, she decided, wasn’t a bad look for a witness. When she joined Timothy in the living room, he handed her a black, brimmed hat and a lanyard with a plastic press pass on it. She took a close look at the pass. It bore her photo and identified her as Mindy Schultz of KCVS. She did a double take. There was no such station, and CVS was a chain drugstore.

  She gave Timothy a questioning look. “What’s this?”

  “When the media see the pass, they’ll think you’re one of them and ignore you. I’ve got one, too.” He pulled a similar lanyard from under his jacket. This one had his name and photo. “You have sunglasses, don’t you?” he said.

  She nodded, pulled her sunglasses out of her purse, and put them on, along with the hat. She checked herself in the mirror over the couch. Now, wearing the small
-brimmed hat, she bore a distinct resemblance to Mary Poppins wearing shades. The effect was silly enough to make her consider changing into another outfit, but it was too late. Besides, she thought, she’d take off the hat before she went into the courtroom.

  Just outside the hotel, a car with a driver was waiting. Instead of a limo, which would have drawn attention, it was a maroon SUV. They were driven to a corner of the block occupied by the criminal courts building, where they got out, pushed their way through a crowd of media and curiosity seekers, and entered the building. No one seemed to notice them.

  They managed to squeeze into an elevator. The button for the ninth floor was already lit. When they got off, she followed Timothy down a hallway to where Sperantza’s red-headed associate, Kevin Volk, was waiting in front of a courtroom. Gold numbers on the wall by the entrance read 9-313. The doors were closed, and a sign said “No Admittance. Court in Session.”

  Timothy asked Nicole for her press pass. She took off the hat and the pass and handed them over, patting her hair to make sure the chignon was still in place. She and Kevin stood by the courtroom door. Timothy leaned against the wall, surveying the crowd.

  Nicole wondered what they were waiting for. After a few minutes, the door opened and a young woman came out. She was all gussied up, and for a moment Nicole didn’t recognize her. Today Kayla Jones’ fair hair was worn loose around her shoulders. She was wearing a snug-fitting black dress, five-inch heels, and so much makeup she might have been headed out for a night at the clubs.

  Startled, Nicole said, “Kayla!” The young woman gave her a withering look. Nicole shrugged, acknowledging the girl’s anger. What, really, was there to say? That she was sorry Kayla had been dragged into court? She wasn’t. It couldn’t be helped.

  A man—tall, athletic, with the bulge of a gun holster visible under his jacket—stood up and took Kayla’s arm. With a wave of relief, Nicole understood this guy was Kayla’s bodyguard. Sperantza had given Kayla the same kind of protection he’d provided her.

  Kevin touched Nicole’s shoulder, motioned for her to go in, and pointed to the witness chair to the left of the bench. As she entered, Nicole was surprised at how big the courtroom was and the large number of spectators—200, maybe more—seated in the visitors’ section. Members of the press, who occupied the two front rows, seemed to recognize her and started murmuring. The judge banged his gavel to silence them. Doshan turned and nodded at her, his expression grim. Sperantza was standing, waiting for her to take her seat. At the prosecution’s table were several attorneys, including one Nicole recognized from the news, Deputy District Attorney Frank Kendell.

  Once she was seated, she looked at the jury. Most were Latino, three were black, and one was white. It was an older crowd, most with white or gray hair. There were seven women to five men. The single young person in the group was an attractive Latina in a business suit. She looked as if she might be a lawyer herself. The rest were casually dressed, ordinary-looking people who might have wandered in from the street.

  Nicole was sworn in and asked for her name and occupation. Her mouth was dry, and her voice sounded hoarse when she answered. Once these formalities were out of the way, Sperantza began: “You were assigned by your employer, Colbert and Smith Investigations, to look after Mary Ellen Barnes during the civil trial that preceded this case. What did that involve?”

  Nicole cleared her throat and said, “I was responsible for keeping her safe and away from the press. I also made sure she got her meals and that her other needs were met.”

  “Why couldn’t Ms. Barnes do this herself?” Sperantza said.

  “She was only nineteen and had never lived in L.A. except in a dorm on the campus of Oceanside University. She needed someone with knowledge of the city and the media to watch out for her.”

  “You had a conversation with Kayla Jones recently, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. This last Friday.”

  “Can you tell us why you contacted her?”

  “I was upset by Mary Ellen’s death, especially since it happened when I was supposed to be keeping her safe. I felt the police investigation wasn’t thorough because they never looked at any suspects other than Doshan Williams. Since I have training in investigation, I decided to look into it myself. I spent a lot of time doing online research into the backgrounds of Mr. Williams’s friends and teammates.

  “It wasn’t until last week that I found news stories about an alleged rape two years ago at Hemet High School. I’ve given Mr. Sperantza photocopies of those articles. The Hemet High incident bore a striking similarity to the original charge of rape against Mr. Williams. The accused quarterback at Hemet High was dropped from his team even though he was never charged with a crime. I contacted him, and he gave me the name of the girl who accused him, Kayla Jones.”

  “And did you meet with Ms. Jones?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She told me she’d accused the athlete of rape at the instigation of Andrew Drummond, who threatened to publish X-rated photos of her online. According to Kayla, Drummond wanted to be quarterback at Hemet High. He thought up the rape accusation to get the existing quarterback kicked off the team. The plan worked, and Drummond took his place. What she told me was verified by a news article.”

  “Did Ms. Jones tell you she was willing to testify to this in court?” said Sperantza.

  “No. She said she’d never testify. She told me Drummond had beaten her up and threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone that her rape accusation was false. Shortly after the assault, the X-rated photos of Ms. Jones were posted on the Internet.”

  After looking at his notes, Sperantza said, “Did you have a conversation with Mary Ellen Barnes the night she was murdered?”

  “I did.”

  “Can you tell us what she said?”

  “She said that Doshan Williams hadn’t raped her. She’d lied to authorities because she was being blackmailed. The blackmailer had a video of her in a compromising situation, which he threatened to put online. She said it would ruin her life.”

  “Did she tell you the name of the blackmailer?”

  “I asked, but she wouldn’t say.”

  “When you looked into the background of Doshan’s friends, did you find anything out about Andrew Drummond?”

  “I did. He and two other football players on Oceanside’s team went to Hemet High and were on the team there.”

  “What else did Ms. Barnes tell you?”

  “She said Doshan Williams didn’t deserve what was happening to him. She was going to recant her testimony the next day. She was afraid of the blackmailer’s threat, but she said it didn’t matter. She couldn’t live with the lie she’d told.”

  “She said Doshan didn’t deserve what was happening? Did she know him?”

  “Yes. She said they’d met when he attended a few Bible study sessions.”

  “I understand you’ve been staying at a hotel under the protection of a bodyguard for the last few days,” Sperantza said. “Can you explain to the court why this was necessary?”

  “Three days ago, someone broke into my place and was waiting for me when I got there. He ran at me as if he intended to attack or even kill me. He chased me out of my apartment and down to the next floor. He was huge and wore a mask with the face from The Scream by Edvard Munch.”

  “Do you know who this was?”

  “No. The mask covered his whole head. I could tell from his hands that he was fair skinned, and he was built like a football player. But that was all.”

  “Do you believe this incident was related to your appearance as a witness?”

  “I can’t think of any other reason someone would want to harm me,” Nicole said. “Fortunately, he tripped over my suitcases. I got out my can of pepper spray and squirted him. Some got in his eyes, and the pain stopped him. That gave me time to get away.”

  “Have you received any other form of threat?”

  “Yes,” she said. “
When I went to the Oceanside campus, a threatening note was left on the windshield of my car.”

  “What did that note say?”

  “It said, ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your own business.’”

  “What were you doing at Oceanside University that day?” Sperantza said.

  “After Mary Ellen’s murder, her roommate contacted me and said she had some information. I drove out to the campus to talk to her.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “The roommate gave me Mary Ellen’s journal,” Nicole said. “There was also a Bible that Mary Ellen had notated in the margins. Neither book offered new information.”

  Sperantza turned toward the judge. “For the record, your honor, the defense has seen the journal and Bible, which have also been made available to the prosecution. There was nothing relevant in them.” This said, Sperantza turned away from Nicole. “No more questions for this witness.”

  Kendell stood up to take his place. “About this intruder, Ms. Graves, did he say why he was in your home?”

  “No. He didn’t say anything at all.”

  “How do you know his behavior was related to this case? He could have been a burglar or a rapist. This could even have been a practical joke meant for someone else. Isn’t that true?”

  “Anything is possible. But from the way he came at me, it was clear he meant to do me harm.”

  “All right. But you have no evidence that his motive was related to this case, do you?”

  “No.”

  “And the same is true of that note you found on your car windshield, isn’t it? It could have been meant for anyone. In fact, how would the person who put it there know this was your car?”

  “When I first arrived on campus and was getting out of the car, a bunch of students walked by, young men. They noticed me and made some sexist comments. One of them could have recognized me and would have known which car was mine.”