“But not who gave them to her?” Tonya shook her head. We talked a while longer, but I’d gotten all the information she had to give. I motioned for the waiter to bring the check. “Tonya, would you mind showing me your ID?”
“Why?”
“Trust me, okay?”
She took the ID out of her wallet and handed it to me with a wary look.
I studied it with my cell-phone flashlight, then handed it back to her. “This is not a good fake. I don’t know how it fooled your manager.” Though having met that dim-witted prune, I supposed I did. “But trust me, a cop will spot it in ten seconds. Have they talked to you about Paige yet?”
“The cops?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “They came to the restaurant on my day off.”
“They probably won’t come back, but if they do, stay away.” They’d send her back to the hell she’d run from in a fast second.
Tonya hugged her body and leaned forward. “What if they do get to me?”
I pulled out my card. “Then you call me. You don’t talk to them; you don’t tell them anything. The only thing you say is that you want your lawyer. I don’t care what time it is or where they take you, I’ll be there. Got it?”
Tears sprang into her eyes. She nodded and looked at my card. “Thank you, Ms. Brinkman.”
I leaned in and looked at the card. “Doesn’t it say Samantha on there?”
She gave a little smile and wiped the tears away. “Yeah.”
I slipped her a couple of twenties. “For the ride home.” She started to protest. “Don’t argue with your elders.”
When she’d left, I called Alex. He was my ride.
He answered the phone without preamble. “How’d it go? She give us anything good?”
“A little. Are you close?”
“You might say that.”
I looked up to see Alex walking into the bar. We hung up. “You waited in the other lounge?” He nodded. I told him what I’d learned—about Tonya as well as Paige.
He shook his head. “What a fucked-up world we live in. But now we know for sure what’s up with that jewelry. And Chloe reported it stolen because Paige didn’t want the cops asking her questions about who’d given it to her. You were right.”
“Try not to sound so surprised about that.” Alex gave me a sheepish look. “Anyway, we definitely have to get a line on that motorcycle friend of hers.”
Alex had a confident smile. “Someone’s going to give it to us.”
His confidence made me smile back. “That book of yours say so?”
“Sometimes I just know things.”
“That so?”
He nodded. “I knew you’d take my case. And I knew you’d get me a deal.”
I pushed away my glass of wine, flagged down the waiter, and ordered a real drink.
TWENTY-SEVEN
When I got home, I made the mistake of turning on the television. A photo taken of me back in my public-defender days was in a box next to a photo of Dale in uniform. The anchor announced the “stunning new development!” in the Pearson case. I changed the channel, but twenty seconds later, our mugs were on the screen again as a reporter made the breathless announcement, “He’s her father!” When it happened a third time, I gave up and went to bed. I knew it’d blow over when the next freak show arrived, but it couldn’t be soon enough for me. I fell asleep praying that Donald Trump would announce he was planning to become a woman.
Surprisingly, I had a dream-free night’s sleep, but I knew better than to turn on the television the next morning. I thought about the interview with Tonya. Her information definitely qualified as progress. All in all, I was in a pretty good mood. I drove to the office singing “Gangsta’s Paradise.”
But my spirits sank when I heard the sound of ringing phone lines before I even opened the door. Just because I’d tuned out the madness at home, that didn’t mean it’d stopped. I found Michelle staring at her computer, her expression stricken. “You look like you just saw my tax returns. What’s up?”
“The news. They’re saying Dale was accused of rape a year ago. Supposedly by a prostitute.”
“What?” The next freak show had arrived. And it was Dale. I sank onto the edge of her desk, and she turned the monitor toward me. But I couldn’t bear to read. “What happened with it? Did they ever file the case?”
“No. It got washed out as unsubstantiated. No physical evidence.”
“Then how the hell . . . ?” Civilian complaints like that might wind up in a cop’s personnel file. But those personnel files are supposed to be confidential. “Those assholes. They leaked this on purpose.”
I’d wondered what kind of player Zack Chastain was. Now I knew.
But I’d have to deal with this. Fast. “Michelle, get us on calendar tomorrow.”
She picked up the phone. “What are we going to do?”
Good question. I started pacing. This story was going to spread like poison. I could spin to the press all I wanted, but it wouldn’t matter. “For starters, I’m going to rip Zack a new one for leaking this.” But proving Zack was a dirty player ultimately wouldn’t matter. I had to come up with proof that Dale hadn’t raped her. I paced faster, stomping back and forth in front of Michelle’s desk. I was pissed at Zack for being a sleaze, but I was one hell of a lot more pissed at Dale.
Alex had come out of his little office. “I just read the story. I can track her down. Maybe we can try and get her to say she lied . . .”
“Hopeless. She’d get busted for making a false report. No way she’ll do it. I need to get downtown and see Dale, find out his side of the story.”
And why he hadn’t told me about this. I’d been blindsided. Again. This shit was getting old, fast.
“Want me to go with you?” Alex asked.
“Thanks, but no. I have to kick some ass, and it’s best not to embarrass a client by doing it in front of someone else.” And I really didn’t need company while I asked my newfound “dad” about raping a hooker. I borrowed a twenty from Michelle for gas—I’d given Tonya all my cash—and headed for my car.
I spent the drive downtown fuming—partly at myself. I’d stupidly let myself start to trust him. What was I thinking? I didn’t know Dale Pearson. He was a stranger. A criminal who happened to be my mother’s sperm donor. Not the superhero I’d fantasized about when I was a kid.
What a lovely family I’d landed in. Mommy the narcissist and Daddy the sociopathic cop. Our holiday newsletter would be extra spicy this year.
I could tell when they led him into the attorney room that he’d heard the news. His whole body sagged, and his expression was miserable. I didn’t care. I picked up the phone and gave it to him right between the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about that hooker?”
He looked down and spoke quietly. “Because I was afraid you’d believe it.” He met my eyes. “It’s a lie, Samantha. I’d never do a thing like that.”
Dale sold it well. I’d give him that. But I wasn’t about to get reeled in by him. My voice came out harsh, flat. “What’s the story? She wanted to get even because you busted her?” It was what the cops always said when they got a citizen complaint. But Dale was a homicide dick. He had no reason to be busting hookers.
“No, I didn’t arrest her. I brought in a tweaker one night, and she was in the next cell. She was crying. Her pimp wouldn’t bail her out, and she had no one left. I felt sorry for her. I checked her rap sheet. It didn’t look like she’d been in the life very long. So I told the desk sergeant to cut her loose, and I gave her a referral to county services. Told her they’d help her get a real job. A few weeks later, I ran into her at the Coffee Bean on Sunset. She said she was getting her act together, had a few job applications pending. I was about to knock off for the night, so I bought her a drink to celebrate . . .” Dale gave a sigh so deep his whole body seemed to deflate.
“You had sex.”
Dale nodded miserably. “Consensual sex. But afterward, she asked m
e for money—”
“You refused and she reported you.”
“No. I didn’t refuse. I gave her a hundred dollars. I figured it was more than what she’d ordinarily get. But she said that wouldn’t cut it. She wanted ten thousand, and if I didn’t pay, she’d say I raped her. I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t think anyone else would, either. So I said, go ahead.”
And she did. “They just dropped it without any follow-up?”
“Internal Affairs set a meeting for her, but she never showed.”
That explained why it hadn’t gone any further. But I saw a common thread here. “So you’d been drinking when you slept with that prostitute, and you’d been drinking when you had the fight with Chloe—”
Dale shook his head. “It’s not a drinking problem; it’s a judgment problem.” He frowned. “And maybe a bit of an anger-management issue.”
Sounded like both to me, but it wasn’t my job to psychoanalyze him. “That prostitute, what’s her name again?”
“Jenny. Jenny Knox.”
“Right. That doesn’t sound like a hooker name.”
“Like I said, I don’t think she’d been in the business long. And she didn’t look like your typical hooker.” He frowned as he stared down at the counter. “I don’t want to come off like I’m defending what I did. I should never have slept with her. But I certainly didn’t rape her. I’ve never raped anyone in my life.” His eyes were pleading. “I swear.”
Dale looked entirely sincere. I could feel myself falling for it, believing him. But I pulled myself back. He’d looked sincere the last time he told me he wasn’t hiding anything. I knew it shouldn’t matter whether I believed him. It definitely wouldn’t have with any other client. I had to stop thinking of him as anything more than just another client. All that mattered was that the jury believed him. And with that performance, they would. “The next issue is, who might’ve leaked this story? Does anyone in IA hate you enough to leak this?” It’d have to be quite an enemy to want to see him go down for a double.
Dale rubbed at a spot on the window between us. “I can’t think of anyone in the department who’d have that big of a beef with me.” He looked at me. “I was thinking this sounded more like your neck of the woods.”
Prosecutors weren’t supposed to have access to those personnel files without a court order. But if Zack had a buddy in IA, he could get the information under the table. I nodded. “I’ll get into that in court tomorrow. Michelle’s going to put us on calendar so I can do some backspin.” I thought about whether I should have Dale in court with me when I thrashed about this leak. The cameras would do close-ups on Dale’s face while I argued that my client—my father—was being unfairly maligned with a bogus rape charge. But all the public would hear was “Dale” plus “rape.” And seeing Dale’s image would only reinforce the connection. “I want to keep you as far away from this as I can, so I think you should waive your appearance tomorrow. Okay?” Dale nodded. I pulled the waiver-of-appearance form out of my briefcase.
I leaned in. “Look, I need you to get this: You can’t keep hiding shit from me. One more bomb explodes in my face and I’m out. I don’t care who you are. So what else is there?”
His expression was earnest. “There’s nothing else. I swear.”
I didn’t know whether to believe him. I just knew I didn’t want to care so much.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I went back to the office in a somewhat calmer mood than when I’d left. Not because I necessarily bought Dale’s story, but because I had bigger, more immediate minefields to navigate.
I told Alex and Michelle to come into my office. The phones were so constant it sounded like one long, continuous ring. Michelle came in looking frazzled. “It’s been like that all morning. News shows, cable shows, print reporters, and of course, the usual psychos—but a lot more of them, and they’re a lot meaner. At least the story about Dale being your dad got us some sympathy calls. This time it’s a whole raft of no-life nutjobs saying Dale’s a monster and you’re a scumbag for representing him.”
I’d been wishing something would happen to take the story about Dale being my father off the radar. Now I realized I should’ve been more specific. “Any threats?”
“Not so far.”
I supposed that’d have to pass for my good news of the day. “We need to get all the information we can on this hooker—”
Alex read from his iPad. “She’s thirty-six, five foot seven, one hundred thirty pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, and has a tattoo of Taz, the Tasmanian devil, on her left shoulder. Only a couple of busts for hooking, a couple of old busts for shoplifting, and one joyriding that got dismissed for insufficient evidence. The two prostitution arrests were in LA; the rest were all down in Orange County.”
“Damn, that all you could get?” I smiled. “Nice job, Alex. Any information on where she is now?”
“Working on it. Her last known address was in Orange County, but that was as of two years ago, and the apartment building is a senior living facility now.”
“But she got busted in Hollywood a year ago. Didn’t the cops get a new address?”
“No. She gave the same old one, and for some reason, she got released that night with no charges filed, so they never got around to checking it out.”
“Yeah, and I know why.” I told them what Dale had said.
Alex shook his head. “That’s some kind of bad luck.”
If Dale was telling the truth. “You might want to check the area where she last got busted, see if she lived nearby. And Dale said he brought in a tweaker that night. Go see Dale and see if he can help you track down that tweaker. You also might want to talk to the desk sergeant on duty that night. See if he backs up Dale’s story.”
“Zack sure screwed us hard,” Michelle said.
I nodded. “I’m kind of surprised. He doesn’t have a rep as a dirty player, but . . .”
Michelle looked disgusted. “A big case can be a big motivator.”
We all went back to work. I had to get ready for tomorrow, and I still didn’t have a solid zinger for the preliminary hearing. I didn’t know whether I’d put Chas Gorman on the witness stand at trial, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to trot him out now. The less time Zack had to dig up dirt on him, the better.
I put myself to bed by midnight, hoping to rest up for tomorrow. But I had the nightmare again. I woke up at three a.m., my heart pounding, struggling for breath. It took me an hour to get back to sleep. When I crawled out of bed at six, I was tired and achy. I pounded three cups of coffee in rapid succession—though angry as I was, I didn’t need the caffeine bump.
And given my state of mind, Xander did the world a favor by driving me to court. I was thinking about what I’d say to the press when my cell phone rang. Maybe Alex had already come up with something. I was so desperate for good news I didn’t stop to think that it was too early for him to have gotten anything. And so, when the obnoxiously familiar, ever-entitled voice of my mother came through the phone, it was a double crusher.
“Didn’t I tell you so, Samantha? A murderer and a rapist!”
“Mother, if you saw the news, then you know I’m on my way to court. I can’t—”
She railed on, heedless. “You have to get off this case! Surely now you can see who he is? I told you, there was a reason I broke it off with him. Maybe now you’ll believe me!”
I knew I shouldn’t engage with her, that I should just hang up. I needed to stay focused. But as usual, I let her get to me. “You told me no such thing. And believe what? You broke up with him because he didn’t have money. Not because you knew or cared what kind of person he was—”
“I did know. I always knew there was something . . . off about him.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about him before?”
There was a long silence. “Because I didn’t want to upset you.”
I laughed out loud, though a part of me felt like crying. My feelings about anything had always been the leas
t of her concerns. “So you thought it was better for me to find out on the news than to tell me yourself?”
“I didn’t necessarily know he would turn out to be this bad.”
“Celeste, you didn’t know diddly-squat. You were just hoping to make me get off the case so no one would find out he was my father. Because you were worried about how it’d make you look—”
“It’s not fair that I have to suffer for what that . . . disgusting criminal has done! The least you could do is get off this case and distance yourself!”
We were nearing the freeway exit. “I’m not getting off the case, Celeste.” I’d been planning my good-bye speech in my head, thinking of how I’d finally tell her how much she’d hurt me, belittled me, and made it so obvious I wasn’t wanted. But in that moment, I knew it’d just be an exercise in frustration. She’d never admit to anything, never change. She’d argue, deny, and turn it back on me, call me ungrateful . . . and a whole lot more. This was probably the worst time to do it, but I didn’t want to wait. It’d just give me more time to dream up useless speeches. It was time to bite the bullet. “I don’t want you to call me anymore. We have nothing to say to each other.” I ended the call and saw that my hands were shaking. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it.
I was scared and a little bit in shock. I felt disoriented, like an unseen tether had suddenly been cut and sent me into free fall. But I wasn’t sorry. I felt stronger, triumphant. I hadn’t realized how much I’d felt like a victim until that moment—when I decided not to be one anymore. By the time Xander pulled up in front of the courthouse, my hands had stopped shaking.
I’d scheduled this appearance at the last minute, so I wasn’t surprised to see that there was less of a throng outside this time. It didn’t matter. There were enough cameras to guarantee today’s proceedings would go far and wide. Brittany and Trevor spotted me as I got out of the car.
Trevor got to me first. “Samantha, what’s your response to this rape charge?” I saw Brittany’s cameraman move in behind him and train the lens on me.
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