Presumed Guilty (21 page)

Here I am, sitting alone, not knowing whether I have a family anymore, not knowing if I have a life anymore, and I get the word that I have a visitor.

Roger looks younger than I do, even though he’s thirty years older. I know what I look like. The slam, as they say, has not been great for my skin.

But Roger, there’s a light in his eyes and a vibrancy in his voice. Even though he only had a church of two hundred, and I one of eight thousand, I know that it is his voice God honored.

When I saw him I broke down crying.
He waited patiently while I gained enough control to talk. “It’s good to see you, Ron.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I mean it. I don’t care what the circumstances. It’s been too long

since we’ve talked.”
“My fault. I could have kept in touch.”
“It goes both ways.”
“Mostly my way, I’m sure. And look at me now. This road wasn’t

even paved with good intentions.”
Roger shook his head.
I looked inside myself and determined I wasn’t going to hold anything back. I wanted the whole house cleaned.

“I didn’t want to hear from you,” I said, “because I thought I was a better minister. It was obvious to me, because the church was growing. But maybe a part of me really believed that you had it right. That the idea is not the number of people in the pews, but the power of the Spirit in the people.”

“I never thought that was your priority.”
“But it was! I just didn’t let it show. Now I’ve lost everything.” “I don’t think so.”
“How can you not?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Because nothing is truly lost in the kingdom.

Christians are inverse paranoids.”
“Inverse what?”
“We believe that there is a massive force always working to bring

“I used to believe that.”
“What’s stopping you from believing it now?”
“Me.”
He waited for me to explain.
“Roger, I’m thinking of changing my plea to guilty.”
“But why?”
“Maybe by giving up I’ll get out of the way long enough for God to

work on me again.”
“But you can’t plead for something you didn’t do. That wouldn’t be
right.”
I looked at him and shook my head. “But I did do it, Roger.” “What?”
“I killed Melinda Perry.”

The lawyer, Rich Pelicanos, was about Jeff’s age, with thinning brown hair moussed to the max. He looked competitive, the kind of lawyer most people would want on their side in a divorce.

The very word made Dallas’s heart do little trapeze tricks. She didn’t want to be here. She knew she had to be.
Rich Pelicanos’s office was in Santa Monica, which meant he was one of the upper crust. To afford the rent here, you had to be good. Jeff had assured her he was.
Mr. Pelicanos had his assistant bring in cappuccino. It was a comforting gesture.
For Dallas, it barely worked.
“Today’s just a preliminary meeting,” he explained. “Nothing to feel any pressure about. I want to answer any questions you may have, explain a few things, give you some stuff to fill out at your leisure. The main thing I want you to know is that your interests will be protected.”
“I’m not really concerned about that. I don’t expect there’s going to be a big fight, knowing Ron.”
Mr. Pelicanos nodded halfheartedly. “Would that were true. You just never know in a divorce how the other side will act.”
“I thought I knew Ron.”
“I understand. We’ll just get prepared, and I’m sure we can deal with all contingencies. Do you have any questions for me, anything I can clear up?”
“Will I have to go to court?”
“Only if there’s a contest.”
“I don’t want a contest. I don’t want anything.”
“Mrs. Hamilton, you must protect yourself. That’s part of — ”
“I don’t want anything. I don’t want to punish anybody or — ” She thought for a moment she was going to be sick.
“Can I get you something? A glass of water?”
Ron’s face flashed into her mind then. But not the Ron of the last few years. It was his face the first time she saw him, at the Jesus rally in San Francisco. Innocent yet full of fire. Inviting, because he had something that was so certain and seemingly pure. Part child, full of wonder; part Christian man, ready to take on the world.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“Take your time, there’s no rush to — ”
“No. I can’t do it.”
Mr. Pelicanos looked at her sympathetically. “It’s natural to have second thoughts. But in order to protect yourself, you ought to continue with the paperwork, just in case.”
She looked at the packet on his desk. “I’m sorry for taking your time. I’ll pay for it, of course. But I can’t do this.”
“Does it have to do with your religious convictions? Because I’ve had many clients where this has initially been an obstacle, but once they thought it through — ”
“Maybe I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, but I — ”
“No, please. Why don’t you think more about it? But while you’re doing that, let’s think about setting up a separate bank account for you, getting some ducks in a row — ”
“No ducks,” she said. “I just need more time.”
“Of course you do,” the attorney said. “Feel free to call me anytime. I’m here for you.”

Here for you.
The words of a divorce lawyer.
They should have been the words of God.
But back at Cara’s, alone in the apartment, Dallas found it difficult to believe God was really
there
. Oh, she knew it was true, the way she knew four plus four was eight. But the certainty of it, the kind of assurance that permeates the soul, she lacked that.

Maybe it wasn’t there because of all the cul-de-sac thoughts she was thinking, questions that ran up to a curved barrier but could only turn back on themselves.

One question that kept repeating itself, over and over, had Vic Lu’s name attached to it. She couldn’t stop thinking about something he’d said.

There was something theatrical about his statement, as if it was delivered by a bad actor. He was selling her. Or trying to.
Why? Another question with no answer. There were only odd threads out there, dangling.
If only she could tie some together.
Like Melinda Perry. She’d worked for Lu, and now she was dead, and Ron was taking the fall for it. And Lu wanted to be very sure he expressed his condolences to her on that score.
But what if Ron didn’t do it? As much as he had lied, she could not bring herself to believe he was a murderer. You don’t live with a man for a quarter of a century and not know —
Then she remembered that case, where was it? Kansas? The serial killer who had lived an outwardly normal life for decades. He even had his wife fooled.
I’m sorry it was your husband who did it.
Why was Vic Lu emphasizing this? Control? Spite? Or was there something else going on, something connected to Melinda Perry’s murder?
Using Cara’s laptop on the kitchen table, Dallas ran a Google search on Melinda Chance. Scrolling through the hits, she saw a link with the term “Escort” in it. She clicked on that and was taken to a magenta screen with the words “Valley Night Escorts” on the top of the page, and an
Enter
button in the middle. Below the button was text in a large font: “Warning. You must be 18 years of age or older to enter this site. Contains adult content. By clicking the enter button you acknowledge that you are 18 years of age or older. Valley Night Escorts assumes no liability for misuse.”
Dallas wasn’t sure what to do. It was scary in a way. She had never been on any website like this before. It was so easy. And that was scary too. How easy it must be for kids to do this. The little warning was a joke.
Pulse quickening, Dallas hit
Enter
.
Almost immediately the screen was filled with a series of thumbnail photographs, all of beautiful women in various stages of undress. The images hit Dallas like flung garbage. A deep despair washed over her. Each one of those girls had a life, a life being wasted for this. Multiply these girls by a million, maybe more, and sadness could not be avoided.
Below each image was a small description. There were so many of them, all sexual in tone and distinguished by race, sexual orientation, particular fetish — just reading them made Dallas sick. But she went on.
Near the bottom she saw a description of private parties with film stars. The girl in the thumbnail looked like she was kissing the camera.
Dallas clicked on the kissing girl.
Another screen came up with yet another set of images. Below these images were names. Dallas scrolled down the names, looking for Melinda Chance. Then she realized that the site would have taken her off. Men don’t usually pay for escorts who are dead.
Dallas sat back and just looked at the screen for a moment, silently praying, asking God over and over to do battle.
Just before leaving the site, Dallas stopped when she saw the name Gilda. That was all, just Gilda. Next to her name it said, “If you like Melinda Chance . . .”
Dallas clicked on Gilda.
Half the screen was taken up with the photograph of a pretty woman with oddly colored hair — was it purple? — and her mouth pouty in a provocative, come-hither way. The other side of the screen was a text message. “Hi! My name’s Gilda, and you may have seen me on some of the hotter selling DVDs over the last year. Acting is not all I’m into. I love to party! Are you into fun? Then give me a call! If you like Melinda Chance, you can double your pleasure, because we work as a team. VIPs only.”
There was a phone number. Dallas jotted it down, wondering why the text hadn’t been changed in light of Melinda’s death.
Cara’s phone rang and Dallas picked up.
“I’m glad I got you,” Jeff Waite said. “Have you seen the paper?”
“Yes.”
“I’m absolutely outraged the pornography stuff was leaked to the press.” His voice was hard. “It had to come from the police or the prosecution. Either way, it’s unethical. It could poison the jury pool. I’m not going to be quiet about this.”
“Maybe the truth is supposed to come out,” Dallas said. “Did you ever think of that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Trials these days seem to be about gamesmanship. Each side trying to keep the other from finding things out or letting the jury hear about it. What if a trial was actually about truth for a change?”
Jeff said, “Then you’d have to change the whole system. The one we’ve got works pretty well.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact. The fact is that Ron sinned.” She paused. “Funny to hear myself use that word about Ron. But that’s what it is. He sinned, and he hid it, lied about it, and now it’s coming out. If that leads to his facing up to what he did, not lying anymore, then maybe God can do something with him.”
“Well, I’m not God. I’m only a lawyer, and I don’t like what’s going on.”
“Neither do I. Especially now. Something bizarre’s happened.”
“Like what?”
“Relating to Chad McKenzie.” She told him about the call from Detective Lacy and the revelation that Rafe Bryan was found shot to death at the place where Chad was recently holed up.
“What does the detective say about it?” Jeff asked.
“Nothing yet. He’s still making the connections, like Colombo.”
“Good old Colombo.”
Dallas put on her Peter Falk voice. “Just one more question, sir.”
“That’s pretty good.”
“Maybe I should do voices permanently, keep myself occupied.”
“They might put you in the mental ward.”
“That’s probably where I’ll end up anyway,” Dallas said.
“No, you won’t.”
“This guy Rafe had a piece of paper with my name on it, and Jared’s. And also the words Gentri Land.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. But I’m hoping this Detective Lacy finds out before we get to the trial.”
“That would be nice. Because we don’t have anything else.”
“What about the witness, the one I told you about?”
“Dallas, he’s not going to help. Harry interviewed him.”
“And? ”
“At the kid’s mother’s house. First of all, he won’t even be allowed to testify.”
“Why not?”
“Competence. Every witness has to have a level of competence under the Evidence Code. From what Harry tells me, this kid’s mental capacity is just one problem.”
“There’s another?”
“I don’t know what you were told, Dallas, but this kid doesn’t recall seeing anybody at the Star that night. Harry asked him six ways from Sunday, trying to figure out what he may or may not have seen, but got nothing.” He paused. “Dallas, I wish I could give you better news.”
Dallas looked at the ceiling, wishing it would open up and send down a message from heaven.
It didn’t.

Guillermo Padilla’s mouth hung open.
“Hey, man,” Jared said. “Need a favor.”
His old painting partner stood in the doorway of the little house

outside Bakersfield. He shared it with his mother, and it had a small shack out back where Jared had stayed a few weeks when he didn’t have another place.

“What you doing up here?” Guillermo said, looking over his shoulder.
“This is Tiana and Jamaal.”
Guillermo said, “This ain’t no hotel.”
“Look, we just need a place for a night or two, okay? Getting away from a bad situation.”
“Guillermo?” a woman’s voice from inside. Jared knew it was his mother.
Guillermo said something in Spanish and the woman said something back. Then she appeared at the door.
“Jared!
¿Cómo estás?
”
“Bien.”
“You come to stay?”
“Mama,” Guillermo said in a stern voice.
His mother slapped his shoulder, then looked at Jared. “You are welcome. Come, I have food.”
They all ate hot home cooking, then Señora Padilla made up a bed and two cots in the shack. She yelled at Guillermo to stop complaining, then left the three alone.
“I don’t like it here,” Jamaal said.
“What’s not to like?” Jared said. The place was one room, small, with a water closet. Not exactly the Ritz.
“How long we got to stay here?” Jamaal said.
Tiana looked at Jared for the answer.
“This’d be a good place for you to get your bearings,” Jared said. “Señora Padilla, she’ll let you do some work around the place and you can stay, until you can get a job.”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know.” Jared threw his hands up, then slapped his sides. “Go bang on some doors. Read the want ads. Do what you have to do.”
“You’re not staying?”
“Why should I?”
“Where you goin’?” Jamaal said.
“I don’t know.”
“Whyn’t you stay with us?” The boy took Jared’s hand. Jared pulled it away.
“Get in bed,” Jared said.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Tough.”