Date With the Devil (16 page)

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Authors: Don Lasseter

BOOK: Date With the Devil
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Small left Mahler alone in the room. But the suspect didn't realize that a video recorder, with a monitor in an adjacent room, kept running. It picked up Mahler's whispering, growling soliloquy of fury. “Asshole. I want to get the hell out. Goddamn it. Fucking Stacy. Why did I have to [do] the stupidest fucking thing I ever did? This is fucking ridiculous. (Inaudible) fucking, I want to leave. How the hell was I so stupid? I'm getting tired. That's why. I was just getting tired. I have one more thing to do, one fucking thing. Everything was fucking handled. (Inaudible) Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every fucking night except Thursday.”
It would be interpreted that he referred to being satisfied with Sunday, the day of the shooting, Monday and Tuesday at hotels, but furious at the events of Thursday. When the detectives replayed the recording, they realized he probably referred to the early-morning trip to the desert on that Thursday. Mahler's vulgar monologue continued. “I'm sick of this goddamn little room. It's not right. I'm fucking losing it. Waiting like an idiot in a closed room.”
Vicki Bynum unlocked the door, swung it open, and found David Mahler lying on the floor near a tipped-over chair.
C
HAPTER
19
R
EVEALING
S
ECRETS
Detective Bynum gasped. “Are you okay?”
Mahler stirred. “I'm okay. I'm okay.”
Realizing that the collapse was doubtlessly a ploy for sympathy, she again spoke in her usual sweet tones. “Oh, so you're just lying down?”
“I don't know. My head gets dizzy. It's my own fault. Don't worry about it.”
Bynum asked, “So you are all right?”
He snarled, “I'm not all right, but let's—what the hell are we doing?”
Tom Small, who had seen the minidrama on the television monitor next door, rushed in and spoke, tongue firmly in cheek. “I heard this noise. I thought you were knocking. I thought, ‘Dang, that sounds like someone knocking.'”
“Nah, I fell over. I'm okay, though.”
Simultaneously both detectives asked, “Are you sure?”
“I'm cool. I'm cool.”
Still disguising his contempt by being oversolicitous, Tom Small asked, “Was it the sandwich? Do you need some water?”
Mahler declined any more aid. Small announced some bad news. No judge would be available for an immediate hearing. Nor would they receive anyone in chambers under these circumstances. Instead, any judge would rely on information presented to the DA.
Obviously disappointed, David Mahler said, “I know you were trying to help out. Where do we go from here?”
“Well, that depends on you. Do you have anything further you'd like to tell us, because we have learned more? ...”
“Why don't you just tell me what evidence you have? Because as far as I'm concerned, there is none.”
Flexing his jaws, and giving Mahler a cold stare, Small said that he thought Mahler had probably been high on cocaine that Saturday night and Sunday morning. “The facts are that you shot and killed that girl in your bedroom. And you wanted to cover it up and maybe elicit some support from some of your friends... .”
“Oh, so you are saying that there were some phone calls recorded?”
The question gave Small and Bynum one more piece of the puzzle. His worry showed consciousness of guilt. Small kept talking. “If you want to put a better light on it and tell us everything you know, I will present that to the district attorney. Otherwise, I'm going to go with what I've got. And with what I've got, you are screwed.” Mahler slumped and made innocuous quarreling noises. Small moved in. “No, no, no. Sit up to the table like a man. Let's go one-on-one... . I'm going to turn up the heat a little because I'm tired of goofing off with you.”
Actually straightening his posture a little, Mahler uttered a soft “Okay.”
“You know—this little charade about falling on the floor—I heard you kick the chair over. What is this, a game you are playing?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I think you've got a body hidden somewhere. You shot this poor girl.”
With his eyes darting back and forth—worried—Mahler's retort made little sense. “Let's leave that out of it, 'cause that has nothing to do with it.”
“No, we're not going to leave that out, because that's what it's all about.”
“You think I'm—”
“At this point, I'm starting to think a whole lot different of you. I thought maybe you had some good in you. Look, I've given you lots of opportunities to help yourself and do the right thing. I'm not going to keep coming back with more.”
Perhaps worried that he had blown a chance, Mahler played his next card. “So you are going to let her—no medical attention the rest of the weekend? You think she will last?”
Small barked out, “I think she's gone, and you know it.”
“If you think that, why are you ... ?”
“If you know where she is, you give it up right now.”
Stiffening his spine, Mahler said, “Let's talk like gentlemen and try to get some results here.”
Small shot back, “The results are you want a cakewalk out of here. Ain't happening, okay? You're here to stay.”
Somehow interpreting the comment as a threat to raise the amount of bail, Mahler protested, “The bail should be two million. I've got it. Don't tell me I am staying. I ain't staying anywhere. I'll stay in town and I'll face the case.”
The sparring continued for another twenty minutes with jibes, veiled insults, and no change in what each side hoped to accomplish. David Mahler's thrusts hoped to squeeze promises from the detective, and Tom Small adamantly stated he could make no promises. The exchange appeared to be stalemated several times, with both Mahler and Small ready to end it. But they continued.
Small asked, “Are we going to keep this adversarial, or [are] we going to talk turkey?”
Mahler snorted. “I'm trying to talk turkey. You raised the heat, thinking I'm going to back down like a punk, and I'm not.” He accused Small of not being a gentleman.
Vicki Bynum interceded as a referee. “This is not getting us anywhere. Detective Small is always a gentleman. David, do you understand that what we think you are asking of us is something we cannot provide? Let's try to get this back to where we were before it got adversarial. Okay?”
As the tension lowered, Bynum spoke softly to Mahler, recognizing that he was probably confused, in denial, a little scared, and unsure just what to do. “I think you are acting as you would with someone you are representing in court.”
“But you also think that I've done some things—more than I have really done.”
In her usual, pleasant, melodic voice, Bynum said, “Well, I'll tell you what you've done. You've been on a drug binge. You've been partying. You've had problems with women. You've been kicked out of hotels. You've had fights at hotels. You've had fights with girls. You've had somebody let you down. You've been ticked off. All of this is coming around and spinning around. It's gotten out of control for you. That's what's happened.”
Mahler nodded his agreement. “You're right on point on every one.”
“And you were not acting maliciously or with the intent to hurt anyone when it happened. But it happened. And instead of just dealing with it, you spun out of control, maybe thought about flight. Maybe that's why you went to a hotel by the airport. You spent some time thinking about how to cover it up. And now, here you are, sitting here, and you've dug yourself into a hole a little bit. And we've been telling you for hours how all we really want to do is help you get out of this. But we're not going to do it much longer because we have a lot—”
Mahler corrected one point. “Not ‘get out' of it, but diminish it.”
“Okay.
Diminish it.
Thank you. And you're not going to get out of it—and we're trying to help you diminish it. But we're not going to sit here much longer because, personally, we're tired. We've got a lot to do. You can make our job a lot easier and we can present this in the best light possible. But we're just about done. You know we can't make any promises or represent the DA or speak for a judge. Okay? All we can do is complete our investigation and go from there. And, of course, we want to know where she is. By the way, I'm a mother and I have a daughter about the same age as this young woman, and I would be worried sick.”
Bynum's intercession worked perfectly. Mahler said he would help them find Kristi if they would allow him five telephone calls. Bynum agreed on the condition he would first provide a list of names he planned to call. He listed Stacy, someone named Mark, who would know where “the piece” is, a bail bondsman, and Mahler's sister. He hadn't yet decided who the fifth person would be.
It seemed reasonable to Bynum. “For those phone calls, we'll be able to locate somebody who needs to be found. Is that what you are telling me?”
“That is correct. I'll put it on paper.” However, Mahler added, he wanted it understood that he was making no admission of any crimes. “It will be information I have been provided from other sources, not personal knowledge.” Bynum and Small concurred.
Apparently feeling generous, Mahler asked, “Do you know her last name yet? Does her family know yet?”
“We will be contacting them as soon as we have the information we need,” said Small. He wanted to know if the woman's name was really Kristi.
Mahler replied, “That's what her driver's license said.”
Bynum asked, “Is she also known as Cheryl?”
Mahler's face turned pale. “No, no, no, no!” he shouted. “How is Cheryl involved in this?”
Startled, Bynum explained, “I was just asking.”
“You're scaring me,” Mahler bellowed. “Cheryl is not missing, is she? Cheryl, I do love. Is she okay?”
It settled him down when Bynum said she didn't even know Cheryl. Her name had been mentioned several times by Mahler, and the detective just wanted to avoid confusion in identities.
Eager to learn Kristi's last name, Small asked for it again and explained that if she had ever been arrested, he could perhaps find a photo of her “and see if this is the girl we're talking about.”
 
 
With that kerfuffle settled, Mahler even offered to give the name and phone number of Kristin's “father.” Evidently unaware that Peter Means was her stepfather, David said, “She talks more—she talked more about her father than she did her mother.” It didn't escape the detectives' radar that he had changed his use of Kristin's name to the past tense, probably indicating knowledge that she was dead. Mahler drove home the point, again, that “there is no admission of guilt here. You've not heard me say anything about being guilty.”
The deal, according to Mahler, would be for him to write down information the detectives wanted, and then fold the paper in half. They would wait until he made his allotted phone calls before reading it. He would trust them not to read it early, and they would have to trust him that the information would fit their needs. With the bargain sealed, he wrote and folded his document. He again barked out: “I just want to get my bail so I can get out of here. Then you get what you want.”
The detectives escorted Mahler to a speaker-telephone, keyed in numbers he requested, and activated a machine to record them. He stated once more, “Remember, there is no admission of guilt here.” First he spoke to Stacy Tipton on her cell phone. She said that she was en route, and very close to the Hollywood Station. Next he attempted to reach a business associate but got no answer. He was able to connect with a bail bondsman, who said he would be there right away. The fourth call went to his sister in another state, but she did not answer.
Following the phone calls, it turned out that Mahler had written on the folded paper the number of Sheldon Weinberg. He explained that Sheldon would have contact information for Kristin's family. Mistakenly, Mahler said the father lived in Hawaii. He had accurately noted Kristin's surname as Baldwin.
Small asked Mahler if he knew her age and full first name. Mahler said he didn't know, but added that he was going to provide information that would help with those details. “Just remember, I don't know who did it. Hypothetically, if I did, I wouldn't say. But her driver's license can be picked up—it was just put there recently—I didn't do it, but if I did, I deny it—it can be picked up along with her credit cards and other personal possessions at the intersection of Sunset Plaza and Sunset Boulevard. It's in one of the garbage cans outside of a restaurant. From what I understand, and the way it was relayed to me, the cans were almost empty when the stuff was dropped in there. So it should be relatively easy to find.”
“Okay,” said Small, “what about the other information I was asking for?”
Mahler vacillated, hinting that he had already met his part of the bargain and wanted some approbation for being so cooperative.
Ignoring the diversion, Small asked, “Is she going to need medical attention?”
“Do you want my honest opinion?”
“Of course, I do.”
“I don't think—there's—I don't think she can be helped.”
Vicki Bynum would later describe the comment as “real cold” and “evil.”
The disclosure also bothered Tom Small, but it didn't surprise him. He still needed to know where she could be found. Mahler showed far more interest in his self-protection. “If I say more, it hurts my case. I know this will go to trial, and I'm hurting myself by telling you anything. How can I do this without self-incriminating? I think there is a way. I will sign a statement. I, David Mahler, via hearsay—underlined—have been hereby informed, not through personal knowledge, that Kristi Baldwin may or may not be, but—in all probability—is at the following location.”
The offer stunned Tom Small. He asked, “How will that help you?”

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