Blood Defense (15 page)

TWENTY-SIX

A
lex dropped me off at
the Tower Bar at ten o’clock, and I got a table by the window. It was a cool, clear night, and the view of the city was downright transporting. I stared out at the sparkling lights and thought about all the ugliness that lay under the cover of darkness.

After the waiter took my order for club soda and lime, I thought about Tonya—the way she’d looked in the group photo and the depth of her grief when she’d spoken about Paige. I had a feeling I knew what her story was.

Fifteen minutes later, Tonya showed up, in jeans and a black sweater, her long, dark hair now down around her shoulders. She ordered a glass of chardonnay. I offered to buy her dinner, but she shook her head. “I ate at the restaurant. I’m good.”

We chatted about Majesty—what the tips were like (really good), what Bernard was like (really douchey)—and then I got down to business. “So I get that you and Paige were pretty close.”

“Um . . . kind of, yeah.”

It was a quiet night, just four or five occupied tables. The waiter was back with her wine in less than a minute. Tonya took a sip.

“You met her on the job?”

Tonya nodded. “She helped me get hired.”

I was going to wait for her to get a little more lubricated before I played out my hunch. But if she was the type who had a hollow leg, I could be waiting all night. I decided to go for it.

“And you needed her help because you’re underage, aren’t you?” Her eyes widened. She said nothing. “It’s okay. I’m not the cops. You can tell me. How’d you get the fake ID?”

“Paige. She was there when the manager interviewed me. I told him my purse got stolen and I’d lost my ID. He said he couldn’t hire me until I replaced it. I would’ve given up. But Paige caught me on the way out the door and told me she could help.”

When that hunch played out, I knew I was right about the rest of it. “So you’re what, seventeen?”

“I’ll be eighteen in June.” She gave me a rebellious smile as she took another sip of wine.

“Where’d you run from, Tonya?”

She froze. “I d-didn’t. Why are you saying that?”

“Was it your stepdad? Your uncle? Your dad?”

Tonya stared at me for a long moment. Her eyes, wide and frightened, darted around the room. When they came full circle, she looked down at the table and whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. And it’s okay. You’re safe.” I waited for her to make eye contact. When she finally did, I continued. “I get what you’ve been through. Don’t worry, this stays between us.” Tonya slowly nodded. “So who was it?”

“My stepbrother.”

I had to fight down the burning flash of anger. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch with my bare hands. Tonya looked down at her wineglass. After a few seconds, she glanced up at me. “So how did you know? Were you—”

“Sorry. Just a sec.” The waiter had arrived. I’d waved him down thinking Tonya had better start drinking some water before she got back in her car. Now I decided I could use a drink myself. I had to calm myself down and refocus. No one realizes how common this shit is. Or how serious the damage. I ordered a glass of pinot noir and a glass of water for Tonya. When he left, I asked, “Did Paige know?”

“Not at first. I never meant to tell her, but one night after we’d been partying, I got pretty wasted and . . . messed up. It just came out.”

“Were you at Paige’s place?”

“We were that night, but we didn’t hang there much.”

“Did you ever see Dale there?”

“That’s the . . . cop?” I nodded. “No.”

“Where did you guys hang out?”

“Clubs, like Greystone or Lure. And restaurants. We came here a few times.”

Those were some pricey clubs. And Tower wasn’t exactly a cheap date, either. “Who paid?”

“Paige.” She twisted the stem of her wineglass.

“Did you ever hear her talk about a guy she called Mr. Perfect?”

“Mr. Perfect? No. But I heard that the others told you about the guy on the motorcycle. I saw him drop her off at work a couple of times. She didn’t talk about him much, just said he was an ex but they were kind of still friends.”

But if an ex doesn’t want to be an ex anymore . . . I’d been focused on Mr. Perfect, but an ex-boyfriend could work just as well. “Do you know his name?” Tonya shook her head. “Can you describe him?”

She gave virtually the same description as the one I’d gotten at the restaurant—right down to the helmet with the flames on the sides. Except she added, “He’s really cute.”

“Did Paige tell you what he did? Was he an actor?” But Tonya didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell me anything else about him.

I took another tack. “You said you hung out at her place sometimes?” She nodded. “Did you ever happen to see her jewelry?”

She shrugged. “Probably, but I don’t remember anything in particular.”

I pulled out the photos of the jewelry that’d been stolen. “By any chance, did you ever see jewelry that looked like this?”

She looked at the photos and her face brightened. “Oh yeah. I had to borrow a T-shirt, and I saw the pieces in her drawer. Seemed weird that she kept them there, buried under everything.”

I’d been right. The jewelry was Paige’s. “Maybe because it was such expensive stuff.”

Tonya’s eyes got huge. “You mean they’re real?”

“Seems so. Did she say where she got them?”

“Just said they were gifts.”

“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

W
hen 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 me 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.