by Marcia Clark
TWENTY-NINE
Niko managed to reach Liam on the first try, which I took as a good omen—though not the kind of omen Niko would’ve liked. He set us up to have dinner at Catch—a great seafood and sushi restaurant in West Hollywood—for Sunday evening. I was relieved that it’d been so easy. And slightly cheered by the prospect of finding a new potential suspect.
But I’d been monitoring my behavior all night, worried that Niko might sense something different in the way I acted toward him. The constant vigilance made me feel like there was a rubber band inside my chest that might snap at any minute.
If he asked me to spend the night, I didn’t know what I’d do. Luckily, he was exhausted. The bad news about his mother and the long flight had taken their toll. When I suggested we call it a night, he gave in without an argument.
Niko passed a hand over his eyes. “I am pretty tired. I’m sorry to be such lousy company.”
I leaned over and kissed him. “You’re wonderful company. Always.”
He said he’d pick me up at my place at seven o’clock tomorrow night and walked me to the door. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Maybe find a girlfriend who didn’t suspect you of being a cold-blooded murderer? But I just smiled and said, “Me either.” We hugged, and I headed for my car.
Once again, I hated myself for feeling the wave of relief that washed over me as I drove back to my place. I couldn’t go on like this. We had to solve this case, and soon. Between my guilt trip about going behind his back and the unsettling feeling that the Niko I thought I knew was just a facade, I was becoming a real head case. That is so not my style.
And complicating everything was the fact that I knew I was being a hypocrite. So what if he’d killed Bryan? And Tanner, too? I’d probably have done the same. Besides, just because he may have lied to me about that, it didn’t mean he’d lie about anything else.
Or did it? Maybe that was the problem. I couldn’t be sure.
I needed to talk to Dale about all this. He’d been less willing to believe Niko might be the killer than I’d been—at first. But our last conversation told me he’d probably had a change of heart. And I wasn’t sure what he’d do if he figured out that Niko had killed Bryan or Tanner. He’d covered for me in the past—or at least turned a blind eye to what I’d done. But I was his daughter.
We’d planned to have dinner tomorrow night, but dinner with a potential new suspect took precedence. I’d have to ask Dale to reschedule. As soon as I got home, I called him on my landline. He picked up on the first ring.
“I can’t have dinner Sunday. How about the night after?”
“Let me check,” he said. After a brief pause, he said, “That works. My place or yours?”
I’d feel better on home turf. “My place.”
He generously offered to bring dinner. Actually, it wasn’t generosity, it was self-preservation. “Is six thirty too early?”
It was. But I didn’t want him to say he couldn’t make it any later. “That works.”
He replied, “Okay, see you—”
I interrupted. “I might have a new target.”
“We’re so not talking about this right now.”
I sighed. Seriously? He couldn’t even trust a landline? “Fine. Just don’t form any opinions about . . . anything until we talk.”
He paused. “Can’t promise that. But I won’t make any moves.”
That was good enough for me. “Thanks.” I hung up and headed for the shower. I was tired and more than ready for this day to end. When I got into bed, I told my brain to come up with ways to make Liam—or anyone else—a viable suspect. I’ve heard that if you tell your brain what to work on, it’ll figure out creative solutions in your sleep. I drifted off, expecting to wake up with at least one brilliant idea.
Instead, I discovered that theory about telling your brain what to do was complete and utter bullshit. When I woke up the next morning, I had nothing. Sometimes I got bursts of inspiration on my days off. Doing boring things like vacuuming, mopping, and grocery shopping has led to surprisingly innovative ideas in the past. I threw myself into the drudgery of chores hoping that would work now.
It didn’t. After a long weekend of drudgery, I still had no great plan as to how I’d put someone other than Niko on the hot seat. I’d just have to go to the dinner with Liam and hope to get lucky.
So I was glad for the interruption when Niko came over to pick me up Sunday evening. We didn’t talk much on the ride over. He knew I was hoping to find cause to put Liam on the suspect list, and he didn’t like it. “Remember, you promised to keep an open mind.”
I held up my hands. “I’m totally open-minded.”
He glanced at me. “And you’re not planning to spring anything on him?”
I could answer that one truthfully—sadly. “I have no plans. None.”
Since it was a Sunday night, I was a little surprised to see that the restaurant was packed. It seemed like the rain was going to start up again any minute, and Angelenos are notoriously terrified of dealing with rain.
A tall, well-built blond man in a navy blazer and black T-shirt waved to us. “Liam? Or just another one of your fans?”
Niko waved back and steered me toward his table as he whispered, “Does he look like a killer to you?”
I poked him in the side with my elbow. “Everyone looks like a killer to me.”
Niko gave a fake grunt of pain. Liam moved toward us, and he and Niko shared a back-slapping bro hug; then Liam held a hand out to me. “Pleasure to meet you, Samantha. Niko’s told me all about you.”
I shook his hand. “I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
Liam laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s good, all good.”
We sat down, and a waiter came over to take our drink orders. Liam held up his glass. “I went with a vodka martini. Grey Goose.”
One of my faves. Damn, I had a feeling I was going to like this guy. Not that that’d stop me from going after him if I found anything I could use. I told the waiter I’d have the same. Niko ordered a glass of pinot noir. When the waiter left, I threw out the only line I’d managed to plan. “Niko tells me you guys met at one of Tanner’s parties. Are they as crazy as I’ve heard?”
Liam made a face. “There’s crazy good and crazy obnoxious. I’d only gone to the one where I met Niko. It wasn’t my cuppa. Loud, shitty music; decent booze; and lots of women—none of whom I’d bring home to a pet snake, let alone my mother.”
Niko laughed. “That’s how we wound up bonding.” He looked at Liam. “I think we weren’t there more than an hour.”
Liam nodded. “We took off and went to a pub, didn’t we?”
Niko nodded. They segued from their mutual disgust with Tanner’s party scene to Tanner’s disappearance and Bryan’s death.
I didn’t know whether Niko was doing it on purpose, but he was definitely making it easy for me to get to the heart of the matter. “It’s looking like someone killed Bryan—and possibly Tanner.”
Liam shook his head. “Well, after that dumpster fire of a trade, I’d imagine there’re a whole bunch of folks who’d be happy to see them both dead.”
The waiter came back with our drinks. I usually propose some kind of toast, but I was too focused on what he’d just said to shift gears even for a moment. “You were one of the Gold Strike investors, weren’t you?”
Liam took a sip of his drink. “I was. Or, rather, I invested with Gold Strike for some of my clients. But I got a hot tip on copper that looked like a more solid deal, so I pulled them all out before that cryptocurrency trade.” He shook his head. “I feel so badly for those poor people who lost their shirts.”
“So you pulled out before it went belly-up?” If he hadn’t lost money on the sham cryptocurrency trade, he had no motive—which meant I’d just lost another potential suspect.
He put down his glass. “Yep. Now I’m wondering whether it collapsed because it wa
s just a Ponzi scheme all along.”
I couldn’t tell him that it hadn’t even been as superficially legitimate as a Ponzi scheme—that it was just a straight rip-off. But that didn’t matter. What mattered right now was that I’d just landed back at square one. I needed to regroup. I picked up my menu. “I’m starving, how about you guys?”
We all agreed we were ready to eat. As I studied the menu, I tried to think of some other way to use Liam. The waiter saw us pick up our menus and came to the table. He looked at me first, but I’d been too preoccupied to focus on dinner. “Um, can I go last?”
Niko, who was obviously happy that his buddy was out of the line of fire, came to my rescue. “Why don’t we split the crispy whole snapper?”
I put down my menu. “Sold.”
Liam ordered the herb-roasted branzino and another martini. I held up my glass. “Me too. Thanks.” I had an idea. When the waiter left, I asked, “Did you hang out with Tanner at all?”
He shrugged. “Some, yeah. Enough to keep good business relations. But we weren’t, like, tight or anything.”
If this didn’t pan out, I was going to the ladies’ room to bang my head against the wall. “Did you ever happen to see him with a woman named Angelina?”
He frowned at first, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. A few times. Matter of fact, she was the only one I saw him with more than once. The guy had a problem, you know? Always had to have some hot babe on his arm and almost never the same one. But Angelina was different.”
I remembered what Deleon had said about her. “Did you ever get the impression she was getting paid for her, ah . . . time?”
He considered that for a few moments. “Not necessarily. And I doubt Tanner was paying her. That wasn’t his style.” He paused, then added, “But who knows what goes on behind closed doors?”
Hopefully I would, and soon. Time to go for the money shot. I crossed my fingers under the table. “By any chance would you happen to know her last name?”
The waiter brought our martinis. Liam picked up his glass. “Yeah. I’m good with names. I’m pretty sure it’s Poranova. Why?”
I shrugged. “Just curious. Someone told me she was Russian. I was just wondering if that was true.” Not my best lie, but he didn’t really seem to care. I raised my glass for a toast. I finally had something to celebrate. “Here’s to your good memory.”
Now we had a chance of finding the much-heralded Angelina.
THIRTY
Niko had an early breakfast meeting the following day, so he took me back to my place after dinner. As soon as we got into the car, he started in with the I told you sos about Liam being innocent. I glared at him. “You can let me out right here.” I pointed to the corner up ahead.
He raised an eyebrow. “Really. You’d rather walk five miles in the dark”—he pointedly looked at my shoes—“in four-inch heels than let me get my gloat on?”
I waited for him to look my way before answering. “I’d rather crawl on my belly over ground glass than listen to any more of this.”
He laughed. “Okay, fine. I’m done.” After a beat, he asked, “Do you really think this Angelina woman knows something?”
I sorted through my feelings. “I’m not sure why, but yeah. I do.” Then again, it might just be the thrill of the chase. We’d bumped into brick walls trying to get a line on her, and now that we’d found one, I might just be feeling the triumph of success. For all I knew, Angelina could turn out to be a dead end. “But we’ll see soon enough.”
We kissed good night in the car, and I promised to give him an update after we talked to her. I hurried up the stairs to my apartment, dropped my purse on the kitchen table, and pulled out my cell phone. I had to call Alex and tell him we had a last name for the “smokin’” Angelina. My phone said it was only ten thirty. Alex should still be up.
When he answered, I didn’t bother to say hello. “I got a last name. It’s Poranova.”
It took a beat for him to catch up, but then he said, “That’s fabulous.” In the background, Paul asked who’d called. Alex told him, “Who do you think?” Paul said to give me his best.
I harrumphed. “I do not believe for one second that I’m the only one who calls you after seven o’clock.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “You heard Paul. Obviously, you are. And by the way, is there some reason this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
Probably not. “Yes. Because I knew you’d want to jump on this ASAP.”
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of keys clicking. “I’m not saying you’re right. But now that you’ve ruined my evening, I may as well see . . .” He trailed off.
I wanted to get out of my clothes. “Want to call me back?”
His voice was sharp. “No, I don’t want to call you back. You were all on fire about finding this woman. You can wait.”
I didn’t want to undress until I could get in the shower. I sighed and lay down on the couch. “Fine. I’m putting you on speaker.”
He kept typing. “Knock yourself out.”
I put the phone on my chest and closed my eyes. I’d gotten sleepy all of a sudden. Those two martinis were getting to me. I made a mental note to never call Alex at night again unless it was a dire emergency.
But just five minutes later, Alex said, “Got her. She lives in Los Feliz, close to Griffith Park.”
I knew the area. It was beautiful—very green, lots of trees, and the houses were charming and unique. Not a cookie-cutter style to be found. Whatever Angelina did for a living, it was working out well for her. “Can you find her place on Google Maps?”
There was a beat of silence. “Mm-hmm. She lives on King Street. Cool Spanish-style house, I think. But it’s hard to see. The place is surrounded by an ivy-covered wall. Hang on.” After a few seconds, he said, “Looks like you enter through a wooden gate. I’d guess she keeps it locked. I can’t see an intercom, but there must be one.”
I’d have to figure out how to get her to let us in. “I’ll have to think on that. But nice work, Alex.”
“Yay for me,” he said, his voice sarcastic. “Now can I get back to what little I have left of my ‘me’ time?”
I said, “You know, you didn’t used to be like this before you met Paul.”
“That’s right, Sam. This is what it’s like when people live together. They enjoy each other’s company.” He paused and then, in a gentle voice, said, “You ought to try it.”
Perish the thought. “Uh, sure. I have no problem with that.”
Alex gave a short bark of a laugh. “Liar.”
He was right, so I ignored him. “I’ve got Jamie Stuart’s sentencing tomorrow, so I’ll be downtown. Want to meet me there after and head over to Angelina’s place?” I’d Uber to court. Save myself the hassle of slogging through the morning rush-hour traffic. Just the thought of that lifted my spirits.
Alex agreed. “And good luck with Jamie.”
“I don’t need luck with Jamie. I need luck with that friggin’ demonic judge.”
He wished me luck with the demon, and we ended the call. I headed for the shower and got into bed.
It was a pretty good night—for me, anyway. I got in a solid six hours of sleep and woke up feeling energized. I put myself together, gulped down a giant mug of coffee, and called an Uber. At the last minute, I realized I was hungry. I grabbed a bagel with cream cheese from the fridge and headed downstairs.
The car arrived in less than five minutes. As I slid into the back seat, I thought about how to approach Angelina. Should we use a cover? Pretend to be the “social directors” for some rich guy looking to hire girls for a big bash he was throwing on his yacht? That might be risky. What if she wasn’t for hire? Liam didn’t seem to think she was. But I trusted Deleon’s instincts on this particular subject. Good cops have a nose for things like that.
I was still wavering when the car dropped me off. But I put Angelina out of my head. I had to prepare for battle with Judge Raptor—and maybe my client.
&
nbsp; When I got to court, I asked the bailiff to let me into lockup. I found Jamie scrunched down in a ball in a corner of the cell. He looked so forlorn. I waved to him. “Hey.”
After our last court appearance, I’d spoken to him on the phone about how dire the circumstances were with this judge, and he’d reluctantly agreed to plead guilty if he got a county lid—meaning, the judge couldn’t sentence him to any more than one year in county jail. Most judges would’ve agreed to that. Not Judge Raptor. I’d had to explain that our judge wouldn’t agree to anything less than a five-year lid. Jamie had been resistant, but he’d eventually caved. I’d asked a public defender I’d worked with back in the day to stand in for me to take the plea. That was the easy part. The real work was the sentencing hearing that would take place today. I’d filed a lengthy sentencing memo with the court, detailing Jamie’s tragic childhood, and I planned to put the highlights of that memo on the record today—just to make sure the judge remembered them.
But I’d worried about how Jamie would feel today. Clients frequently have buyer’s remorse after pleading guilty, and I was worried that Jamie might want to back out and withdraw his plea.
He came up to the bars, his expression fearful. “I know I gave you a hard time about taking a plea before.” He glanced around behind me and lowered his voice. “But I’ve been hearing a lot of bad things about this judge. Like, really bad.”
Ah yes. The county jail pipeline. Prisoners do a lot of sharing. It seemed that, for a change, it’d worked in my favor. “I tried to tell you.”
“I’m glad I listened.” Jamie licked his lips, then bent his head against the bars for a long moment. When he finally looked up, he said, “What do you think he’ll do?”
“I honestly don’t know. But you saw the memo I filed. I’m fighting for you. All we can do is hope he sees the light.” I felt so badly for him. If I could get him into a rehab program, he was one client I knew would pull his life together. I went back out and waited for the case to be called.
I sat in the front row and watched as the judge hammered one defendant after another. When he finally called Jamie’s case, I felt my throat tighten. I tried to take calming breaths as I moved to counsel table. The bailiff brought Jamie out and sat him down next to me. He’d lost weight in jail, and his jumpsuit hung loosely on his bony frame. All to the good. Nothing menacing about him.