by Marcia Clark
The prosecutor was a decent sort. He said he left the sentence “to the discretion of the court” and sat down. The judge turned to me. “Ms. Brinkman? I’ve read your sentencing memo. Do you have anything to add?”
I didn’t dare say much. He’d meant it as a warning not to waste his time. “Yes, Your Honor. Briefly, very briefly.” I ticked off the major points: Jamie’s mother’s passing, his absentee father, his stint in foster care, and the burden he’d taken on so his sisters could get out of foster care and come home. “He took a wrong turn, Your Honor. But Jamie Stuart is a good man who just needs a chance to get his life back on track.” I made a few more impassioned remarks like that, then sat down.
The judge fixed Jamie with an intense look. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I swallowed hard. He glanced at the prosecutor, then at me before finally pronouncing the sentence. “I don’t care for thieves. A lot of judges think it’s a lesser crime, because it doesn’t cause physical harm, and they impose lighter sentences for theft-related crimes. I don’t agree with that philosophy. I think theft is a very serious crime, and it has very serious consequences for the victims.”
Shit! He was going to give Jamie the max. I could feel Jamie’s leg bouncing under the table. His face had gone deathly pale. I dug my nails into my palms to keep from screaming.
The judge continued. “But I do acknowledge that there are certain cases that deserve leniency, and I believe this is one of them. I’m going to go along with defense counsel’s request that Mr. Stuart be admitted to rehabilitation and perform a hundred hours of community service. Probation will be three years.” He turned toward Jamie. “Mr. Stuart, I don’t know if you realize just how lucky you are to get such a light sentence from me. But I want to make it clear that if you wind up back here on a probation violation, I’ll come down hard on you.”
Jamie stammered, “I—I won’t, Your Honor. I promise.”
The judge raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
I thanked the judge—and he ignored me and moved on to the next case. I patted Jamie on the back. “I’ll be in touch.”
He was still pale. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll make it worth it.”
I smiled. “I know you will.”
I left the courtroom with a sense of satisfaction. Days like this were the reason I’d become a lawyer. I savored the feeling all the way down to the lobby. But when I saw Alex’s MINI Cooper idling at the curb, I came back down to earth. On to the next problem.
As I trotted over to the car, I realized I knew how I was going to approach Angelina. “I say we tell her straight-up who we are. No cover stories.”
Alex pulled out into traffic. “You’re not worried that’ll scare her off?”
I shook my head. “The opposite. I know Liam said he didn’t think she was a paid escort, but my money’s on Deleon. And if he’s right, Angelina’s going to love the idea of having a defense attorney for a friend.”
He headed for the freeway on-ramp. “Makes sense.”
I scoped out the traffic and saw that the cars were moving. I hoped that was a good omen. “I assume you found a way to verify that she’s home?”
Alex hit the gas and got into the fast lane. “Of course. I got her landline number and had Paul pretend to offer her an all-expenses-paid vacay in Bermuda if she’d just answer a few questions.”
Smart move. It’d be bad if we got to talk to her and she recognized Alex’s voice as the one who’d made her that phenomenal offer. “What’d she say?”
He gave a little smile. “She told him to leave her alone and that she was going to block his number. And then she hung up.”
“Can’t say I blame her.” I hate those sales calls.
We talked about how to question her. I opted to start with open-ended questions. If she didn’t give us anything, we’d get a little more pointed.
Alex navigated to King Street and parked in front of a very pretty tan stucco house. It had two balconies facing the street that were shaded by black awnings. Several tall palm trees swayed in the breeze at the front of the house. I saw the shrub-covered block wall Alex had described and the set of large arched wooden doors in the center. Thankfully, the rain had passed and the sun had peeked through the clouds. It was still chilly, but at least it was dry.
As Alex had guessed, there was an intercom next to the wooden door. I looked at Alex. “Here’s hoping.”
I pushed the button on the intercom, and an older woman with a heavy Russian accent answered. “Who is this?”
I didn’t think this was Angelina. I gave our names and told her who we were. “I’m a lawyer. I represent Niko Ferrell. I’m here with my investigator, Alex Medrano. We’d like to talk to Angelina about Gold Strike.”
The woman said, “One moment.”
I looked around as we waited. The street was narrow and winding, and it was high up enough to afford the houses on this side quite a view of the city. I noticed, too, that Angelina’s place was bigger than I’d thought. The front wall extended another thirty feet to my right, where there was a second set of double wooden doors, even wider than the ones where we were standing. Maybe that was the driveway.
Two minutes later, a younger woman with a less pronounced Russian accent spoke into the intercom. “You can come in.”
I took the buzzing sound as my cue and pulled open the door. We walked through a drought-resistant garden filled with cacti and a variety of interestingly shaped rocks. As we approached, the oversize black lacquer door opened. And there stood a slender woman in a brightly colored kimono. She had one arm draped along the door and a cigarette in her other hand. Her thick blonde hair was swept up in a high ponytail with loose tendrils fetchingly pulled out to frame her face. And it was quite a face. Large, almond-shaped blue eyes; a perfect bow-shaped mouth; and high cheekbones. She peered at us through half-closed lids.
There was no mistaking who this was. I held out my hand. “Angelina, nice to meet you.”
She took my hand as though it was an afterthought and looked me up and down. “You’re the lawyer, yes?” I barely managed to confirm it before she turned her attention to Alex. And left it there as she gave him a slow, sexy smile. “You are Alex, yes?”
Alex—who was more than used to women falling for him—gave her a polite smile. Ordinarily, we used it to our advantage. But this time we’d agreed it’d be smarter to keep it professional and not give her any false hope. “I am, yes. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
She stepped back. “Come in, come in.”
Angelina led us into a sunken living room with dark hardwood flooring on which sat a very expensive-looking Persian rug. The furnishing was eclectic boho chic, with an overstuffed burgundy couch, vibrant artwork on the walls, and lots of throw pillows in unusual fabrics of all shapes and colors. The overall effect was warm, inviting, and luxurious in an unostentatious way. Kind of the opposite of Steier’s monochromatic decorating hell.
Angelina sat on the couch and patted the space next to her as she beckoned to Alex. “Sit here by me.”
I could easily imagine how every man she’d ever said that to would turn into a slobbering, stammering fool. But of course, not Alex. He declined, saying, “Thanks, but this looks so comfy.” He took a seat on the chaise across from her. Then he very deliberately crossed his legs, woman-style.
Angelina’s smile showed his message was received. She took a drag off her cigarette and tapped the ashes into a black quartz ashtray. “Irina said you want to talk about Gold Strike. I know very little about Tanner’s business ventures.”
I’d had a feeling she’d say that. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but it didn’t matter right now. “That’s okay. What we’d really like to do is talk to him. But you know he’s gone missing, right?”
Angelina’s eyes grew wide. “No, I didn’t know this.”
This time I was sure. I definitely didn’t believe her. “That’s why we wanted to talk to you. It would help us figure out how to find him if we knew a little more about who he was. L
ike, did he have girlfriends or family in other states—or maybe even other countries—he might be staying with?”
Her smile was a mixture of amusement and derision. “Tanner has many girls. I would not call them friends. More like . . . business associates.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean call girls.”
She nodded. “Very expensive ones.”
I was beginning to get a clearer picture now. “And you know they’re call girls because they work for you, right?”
She peered at me through the cigarette smoke. “Why would I answer this question?”
“Because I’m a lawyer, and if you retain me, I won’t be able to tell anyone what you say.” The lawyer card was the only card I had to play. If she didn’t bite, we’d be shit out of luck. “Give me a dollar.”
She continued to peer at me for a long moment. I thought she was about to tell us to leave, but then she fished a wad of cash out of the pocket of her kimono, peeled off a five dollar bill, and gave it to me. “Now you are my lawyer?”
I put the bill in my purse. “Yes. I’m now your lawyer. Everything you say is privileged.” She gave me a puzzled look. I explained. “I can’t tell anyone what you say to me.” I tilted my head toward Alex. “And that goes for him, too.”
She nodded and took another drag on her cigarette. “Yes. The girls all work for me. Tanner would hire them to keep his investors happy. He paid me very well.”
Time to drill down. “You know he scammed a lot of those investors, stole millions from them. That’s why he’s on the run.”
She was unfazed. “I didn’t know about that, but I’m not surprised. Tanner has his own . . . way of living. But I did not get involved in his other business dealings. I did not want to know.”
I didn’t buy that, either. But I’d come back to that the next time I sat down with her. For now, I needed to cut to the chase. “Where do you think Tanner might be?”
She waved the hand holding the cigarette through the air. “Who knows? He could be anywhere. Sometimes he even stayed here.”
I leaned in and looked her in the eye. “You know him pretty well. You must have some idea.”
She met my gaze with utter calm. “Tanner did not tell me where he went or what he did. He only talked to me when he wanted my girls or me.”
I could see I was going to get nowhere with her. At least, not now. I let Alex take a crack at her, hoping she’d loosen up with him—but no luck. After another ten unfruitful minutes, we thanked her for her time and left.
We waited until we’d driven away from the house to share our reactions. I said, “She knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”
Alex was emphatic. “No doubt about it. We need to keep a close eye on her. And by we, I mean me. I scoped out her security system. I might be able to hack into it.”
I hadn’t even noticed a security system. Yet another reason why I can’t live without Alex. “You’re a genius.”
But whether he managed to hack her security system or not, I had a feeling Angelina was going to lead us somewhere.
With a little luck, it’d be to Tanner.
THIRTY-ONE
We were just ten minutes from the office when Alex’s cell phone rang. I read him the number.
He immediately steered toward the next off-ramp. “Yes! He took the bait.”
I stared at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”
But Alex had already answered the call. “Hey, thanks for getting back to me.”
He pulled onto a side street and parked the car. I didn’t get much from his side of the conversation, other than the fact that he’d managed to sweet-talk someone into dishing the dirt on some guy named Wes.
I checked my email, deleted a bunch of junk, and texted Michy that we’d be there as soon as Alex finished his call.
When he finally did, he turned to me with a smug little grin. “That was my new best friend, Andrew. Who plays for my team and just happens to work at Elite Homes Real Estate Agency.”
Recognition dawned on me as I realized who “Wes” was. Wesley Rogerian was the real estate agent who’d invested half a million in the cryptocurrency trade. I’d asked Alex to do some digging into Wesley. Apparently he’d gotten lucky and found an agent who was willing to spill—and who apparently was gay. “The gay mafia is real.”
Alex gave me a superior look. “Never doubt it. Anyway, according to Andrew, this Wesley guy is a total loser. Hasn’t made a sale in a year. Total waste of a desk. No one can figure out why he hasn’t been fired.”
So Edie and Joey were right. They’d said there was something shady about him. “Then where’d he get the money to throw half a mil into the cryptocurrency trade?”
Alex frowned. “I scoured every database I could find. He’s clean. No criminal record.”
That made it pretty clear. “He’s obviously fronting for someone.”
Alex nodded. “The thing I haven’t been able to figure out is who.”
That was the question. And something else had occurred to me. “Did he make a stink about losing the money?” According to Dale, almost all the investors had contacted the police and asked about pressing charges.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not since I checked in with Dale last week.”
I scrolled through the contacts on my phone. “I’ll get an update right now.”
I caught Dale on the way to lunch. He was with a couple of detective buddies and couldn’t say much. I sometimes forgot that giving me inside information was a pretty dangerous thing to do. “I just need a yes or no. Does the name Wesley Rogerian ring a bell? He was one of the investors. Lost a bundle on the trade. Was he one of the investors who called the police?” It was a pretty unusual name. I was betting he’d remember it if he’d seen it on a report or heard Kingsford mention it.
He was silent for a few moments. “No, definitely not.”
I thanked him. We’d planned to have a real talk, and now that I had some new information to contribute, I wanted more than ever to hear what he thought. “We still on for dinner later?”
He said we were, and I ended the call. I told Alex what Dale had said. The fact that Wesley Rogerian wasn’t screaming bloody murder about losing that much money made a few things clear. “Whoever he’s fronting for is hella rich.”
Alex blew out a breath. “No kidding. And he—”
I interrupted. “Or she.”
Alex nodded. “Or she has got to be dirty.”
Probably using money he—or she—had hidden from the IRS. I wasn’t sure how it’d help solve the murder case, but I wanted to find out who this mystery millionaire was. “I think it’s time we paid a visit to our Underachiever of the Year. Where’s the agency?”
Alex started the car. “In the heart of Beverly Hills. Very high-end.”
Which meant the agents were probably very high-end, too—and plenty pissed off about having to endure a loser like Wesley. I felt kind of sorry for him.
Alex got us there in just fifteen minutes. Quite a feat considering it was the lunch hour, when everyone and their dog was out on the streets. The building was one of those understated types, and the sign that read ELITE HOMES REAL ESTATE AGENCY was brass with sleek, minimalist block letters. The front door was made of heavy, tinted glass inset with a simple wrought-iron design.
And the inside was just as elegant. Every desk looked like an antique, and each was big enough to seat two agents with room for their desktops. But the floors and lighting were ultramodern. I wouldn’t have thought the mix would work, but it did. The place was gorgeous. I counted eleven agents, all of whom appeared to be hard at work—either on the phone or on their computers. And they all looked like they’d been dressed by a stylist—a really good one. Even the men looked très chic.
I saw an older woman with stylishly cut gray hair approach us. Her smile was slightly sharky. I whispered to Alex, “Do you see Wesley?” Alex had pulled up his photo, but I’d forgotten to look at it.
He sh
ook his head as he moved toward the woman and poured on the charm. “Good afternoon. We’re here to see Wesley Rogerian.”
Her smile faded. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with?”
Her voice held a note of exasperation. No doubt, she was thinking we’d be yet another sale Wesley failed to make. Andrew had been dead-on. “Thank you, but no. Is he not in today?”
At that moment, a man with slicked-back blond hair and a hook nose emerged from the back of the office. Unlike the other men, who were perfectly turned out, his tie was loosened and the top button was unbuttoned. I noticed he was wearing shoes with squared-off toes, which only made his already oversize feet look like skis. It had to be our man. But I waited for Alex to give the cue.
He nodded toward the man. “I believe we’ve found him. If you don’t mind . . . ?”
I could see the woman very much minded, but she tried to be graceful about it. “Of course.” She reached into the pocket of her navy-blue blazer and pulled out a card. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you still have any questions.”
Wesley had taken a seat at the desk that was against the wall toward the back of the office. Unlike the other two-man desks, this one was barely big enough for a single adult. I had a feeling that neither the desk nor its placement was an accident. But that setup gave us some privacy. Exactly what we needed. As we headed toward Wesley, I saw Alex give a little wave to a handsome young man in a Tom Ford suit. “Your new best friend, Andrew?”
Alex gave me a brief nod. “Want me to start off?”
That’d give me a chance to get a bead on Wesley. “Sure.”
We reached Wesley at his desk, and Alex introduced us. Again, we’d decided not to use a cover story. There was a strong chance the cops would go public with the case very soon, and when they did, the press would be all over Niko. And that meant I’d get some attention, too. If Alex and I lied about who we were, everyone we’d spoken to would find out. We didn’t need to make ourselves yet another target for a lot of pissed-off investors. It was very likely we’d want to talk to some of them again. Besides, I was still looking over my shoulder and expecting Ivan to be standing there. With a gun. I definitely didn’t need another enemy.