Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  Angelina pressed her lips together and frowned. “I don’t think she will want to talk to you. She doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

  Of course not. Because, as I knew from vast experience, she blamed herself. Sadly, that attitude was common. “Then she doesn’t know you told us.” Angelina shook her head. “It’ll really help if we talk to her. Tell her we’ll keep it confidential. It won’t be like going to the cops.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “I will try. No promises.”

  I’d pushed it as far as I could. I’d just have to hope she could persuade Eliza to cooperate. But now it was time to get what I’d come for. I told her about Margaret and the woman who’d posed as Tanner’s mother. “She gave the name Louisa Hunsecker, which we know is fake.”

  Angelina sighed. “Oh yes, the mama. Tanner has used her with others. She is, what you say, a fake. The name I know her by is Iris Falls.”

  She gave me an address in North Hollywood and a cell phone number. I studied it. “How long ago did you get this contact information?”

  She stared out the window for a brief moment. “A year ago? But Tanner called her a few weeks ago, and I think that’s the number he used. It should still be correct.”

  Alex asked her to give him the names and contact information for the men she’d invited to the party. She gave him the names from memory, but I noticed she pulled out her cell phone to get the rest. “Why don’t you give us your cell number? That way we won’t have to go through your housekeeper.”

  Angelina stared at us, then frowned. “She’s not my housekeeper. She’s my grandmother.”

  As I’d suspected. “Does she live here?”

  “Sometimes,” she said.

  I asked, “By any chance, was she around on the night of the party?”

  Angelina looked at me like I’d grown another head. “Are you crazy?”

  “Yeah, I am.” But it was worth a shot to find another witness. Angelina gave me her cell phone number, and Alex made sure he’d gotten the contact information for the guests. I told her to let us know what Eliza said and stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”

  She walked us to the door, and just as we were leaving, she said, “I really don’t know where he is. Tanner. Believe me, I have no clue.”

  But I didn’t. And probably wouldn’t—until they found his body.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When Alex dropped me off at my car, it was after nine o’clock. Niko was probably still at the hospital. But he’d said he didn’t want me to come, and besides, I didn’t have anything good to tell him.

  That train of thought led me to a review of what I’d learned so far—about Niko and the case. I’d asked Alex to keep digging after our meeting with Niko’s brother, Ivan, but he hadn’t come up with anything new. It seemed we’d plumbed the extent of Niko’s hidden past.

  Which didn’t at all mean we’d uncovered the truth about his present—or rather, his more recent past. Our efforts to find a viable suspect for Bryan’s murder—and potentially Tanner’s—hadn’t exactly yielded great results so far. The angelic charity worker Margaret and Bryan’s steadfastly loyal buddies Edie and Joey were out. And Gene Steier, though a real dick, had a pretty decent alibi. Alex had tracked down his whereabouts before and after Bryan’s murder. He’d spent the entire time in a luxury room at the Hotel Bel-Air—with a young masseur named Esteban. Gene Steier, the guy who’d called Bryan a “fairy” and a “fag.” It’s a kind of hypocrisy I find particularly loathsome. But bottom line, we were batting a big, fat zero on the alternate suspect scoreboard.

  I sighed. But the fact that I couldn’t give Niko any good news was no reason not to call him. I pulled my phone out of my purse and pressed his number. When he answered, his voice was muted. I asked, “You still at the hospital?”

  “Yeah. The doctor came by when I got here at six o’clock.” His voice was heavy with sadness.

  I dreaded the answer to the question I was obliged to ask. “What did he say?”

  “He said—” There was a catch in his voice. “He said her vitals were declining.”

  I felt my chest tighten. From the sound of this, Sophia could pass any day now. “I’m so sorry, Niko. Want me to come be with you?”

  A nurse said something to Niko I couldn’t make out. A chair scraped, and there was a pause; then he said, “Thanks, Sam. But no, that’s okay. I’ll be leaving pretty soon. I think I’ll probably just go home and crash. You’re not missing anything, trust me. I’m a drag to be around.”

  He sounded drained. “I don’t believe that—ever. And you know I don’t care what kind of mood you’re in. But I understand. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Just please let me know if there’s anything you need, anything I can do.”

  He said he would, and we ended the call with a promise to try and get together that weekend. But as I drove out of the parking garage, I realized something wasn’t quite right. Something in his voice, or maybe the fact that he’d said he’d try to see me this weekend—when he usually said he would see me. Was he avoiding me? I didn’t want to think about what it’d mean if he was.

  For the first time, the fact that this might be how it ended—with each of us avoiding the other because of the secrets this case might reveal—felt more real than ever. If the case went unsolved—or somehow unresolved—I’d forever be wondering who he really was. Worse, I’d always wonder what else he was keeping from me.

  And then, knowing myself, my little foray with Ivan would only be the beginning. I’d take over for Alex and personally go after every lead I could find to figure out whether he’d killed Bryan and/or Tanner, and anything else I didn’t know about him. Which would ultimately prove impossible and leave me feeling frustrated, guilty, and even more suspicious. Because there’s no way you can know everything about anyone. And slowly, over time, I’d pull away. Or maybe, as he started to feel my suspicion—or began to suffer too much from his own guilty secrets—he would.

  My thoughts had taken me to a very dark, sad place, and by the time I got home, I was tired and miserable. I decided to take a shower to wash off the day, pour myself a stiff enough drink to knock myself out, and bring this unhappy day to an end.

  I felt better after the shower, and with a double shot of Patrón Silver on the rocks in my hand, I was ready to call it a night. I’d just crawled into bed and turned on the television when my cell phone rang. It was ten o’clock. Who’d call me this late? I looked at the screen and saw it was Dale. My heart gave a fast, hard thump. This had to be bad news. I put down my drink and answered in a tight voice. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Just reporting in,” he said. “You okay?”

  I’d forgotten that after seeing Angelina, I’d texted him to ask if he could check and see whether a serial rapist had been reported in the area of her house. I didn’t think that’s who’d attacked Eliza, but I had to make sure. “Yeah, it’s just been a rough day.” Only then did I realize that part of the reason I was in such a shitty mood was because Eliza’s rape had triggered my own issues. I wondered for the millionth time whether I’d ever get past them.

  Dale said, “The database doesn’t show any recent reports of a serial rapist.”

  I moved on to the greater likelihood. “Can you maybe check to see if there are any registered sex offenders in the area?” They live among us—a lot more than most people realize.

  “I can,” Dale said. “Want to tell me why you need me to? And while you’re at it, maybe clue me in as to why today was so rough?”

  I wouldn’t have minded telling him about Eliza. But I couldn’t do that without telling him about Angelina, and that would violate the privilege, since I’d made her a client. I opted for a partial truth. “I guess I’m a little worried about the noose that seems to be tightening around Niko’s neck.”

  There was a rush of air over the phone as Dale blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know they’re running hard on that video footage of Bryan’s back door.”

  I’d known they would. The mo
ment they’d seen the jacket in Niko’s closet that looked like the one in the video, they’d acted like it was a smoking gun. “But no one’s saying they can identify Niko in that video, right?”

  “Not so far, no,” he said.

  I could tell by his tone of voice that he thought that could happen any time now. “What’s going on? Do they have something new?”

  There was shouting in the background. “I’ve gotta jump. The guys are ready to hit the road. But no, not that I know of. It’s just that . . .”

  Niko was still looking like the most viable suspect. “Got it. Can you do dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Checking my calendar.” There was a pause. “Yep, we’re on. Your place. Eight o’clock. I’m bringing the food.”

  I said, “Sounds good,” but he’d already ended the call.

  For some reason, I felt better knowing I’d be seeing him tomorrow—though I’d cut off my right arm before I ever told him that. I took a long pull on my drink and tuned the TV to Atlanta, one of my favorite shows. But I was too tired to enjoy it. Depression and fatigue had my eyes closing before I could take a second sip.

  I guess, after the day I’d had, I should’ve expected it. But I didn’t. Somehow, I never seem to know when the nightmare will hit. And that night, it hit with a vengeance. Sebastian’s ironlike claws bit into my arms and lifted me up to the giant black maw that was his mouth as I screamed and writhed in his grasp. As he pulled me closer, I felt blood running down one of my arms.

  A low, guttural choking sound—which turned out to be my own voice—woke me up. And my left arm was soaking wet. I saw that the drink I’d left on my nightstand was on the floor. I must’ve flung my arm out during the nightmare and hit the nearly full glass. Now what was left of my drink was all over my arm.

  I looked at the clock. It was only four thirty. Damn. I’d never get back to sleep. But I was still exhausted. I had to try. I took another shower and climbed back into bed. I managed to drift off by about five thirty. Not bad for me. Not so great was the fact that I wound up oversleeping. It was almost nine thirty a.m. when I woke up.

  My cell phone showed two text messages from Alex. One at eight a.m. saying that he’d found a location for Tanner’s “mother,” Iris Falls, and that he’d meet me at the office at eight thirty. Another at eight thirty-five asking, Where are you?!

  I called him. “Sorry, I had a bad night. So where’d you find the fake mom, and how are we going to get her to talk to us?” Someone who was working scams for Tanner wasn’t likely to be all that friendly.

  He sounded impatient. “She works at one of those places where they register you for TSA PreCheck. It’s in West Hollywood. She’ll be stuck behind a desk.”

  A captive audience. Just the way I liked them. “So she’s close by. Want to pick me up?”

  “No. But I want to get moving, so yes. You can pay for gas.”

  That seemed only fair. “Happy to.”

  He warned me to be ready by ten o’clock or he’d fill up at the station on South Santa Monica in Beverly Hills—a landmark that provides the most expensive gas in all of Los Angeles. Thus incentivized, it took me just twenty-five minutes to shower, get dressed, put on makeup, and get downstairs.

  Alex was already idling in the driveway. When I got into the car, I said, “So how do you plan to get us face-to-face with Iris? Those TSA PreCheck places are pretty busy. It took me three weeks to get an appointment.”

  He gave me a superior smile. “I just told her Tanner sent me. Told me to ask for her specifically.”

  Very, very smart. “And since he must be paying her to do shady things for him, she figured your visit was worth more than her usual minimum wage.” He nodded. “Nice.”

  “The question is, do we want to stick with that story once we start talking?” he asked.

  We might not be able to. “Let’s play it by ear.”

  Alex turned left on Beverly Boulevard, and after a couple of minutes, he pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a nondescript two-story strip mall. Alex led the way as we walked up two flights and turned left down a corridor that ended at a suite of offices named Identifast, Inc.

  As we entered the very full waiting area, Alex held out his cell phone, and I saw a photo of a smiling brunette in a short bob. She had somewhat heavy features—a strong jawline and thick lips—but she was not unattractive. “Iris Falls, I take it?”

  Alex nodded, then scanned the cubicles that filled the room. I spotted her first, in a cubicle near the east window. I whispered, “She’s over there, to your left.” We’d gotten lucky. There was no one in the chairs in front of her desk. She was between customers.

  He looked in her direction, then smiled and waved to her. The motion caught her eye, and when she turned to face us, Alex called out, “It’s me, Iris! Tanner’s friend.”

  She cast a nervous glance at me, then motioned for us to come over. As we made our way toward her, I decided to drop the ruse. The minute I started asking questions, she’d know we weren’t just here to do some sketchy deal. In a low voice, I told Alex to let me do the talking.

  As we sat down, I looked her in the eye. But she couldn’t return my gaze for more than two seconds at a time, as her eyes rapidly shifted back and forth between Alex and me. That was all it took to let me know she was in deep with Tanner and worried about it. Excellent. Just what I needed. “Let me start by telling you that Tanner is not our buddy. We know what he’s been up to and, more specifically, what you’ve been up to with him. We just met with Margaret. Remember her? The woman who ran that great charity for the sick and elderly? The one you lied to so she’d buy into Tanner’s cryptocurrency scam?”

  Iris’s face froze. “I—I never lied. Tanner told me it was a good deal. I believed him.”

  I drilled her with a look. “And how about you being his mother? Did Tanner make you believe that, too? Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Iris. You lied your ass off. And you knew damn well that so-called ‘investment opportunity’ was a total rip-off. The minute Margaret invested, you headed for the hills. How much did he pay you? What’s your going rate for scamming decent people out of their hard-earned cash?” I watched her body sag, inch by inch, with every word I said. “Relax. I’m not a cop, and I’m not coming for you. I’m coming for Tanner.”

  Iris gave me a pleading look. “I need you to know I’m not that person. Really. But I got in a car accident a few years ago. Smashed into a parked car—a Maserati. I couldn’t call the police because I didn’t have insurance. And I was on Oxy because I’d thrown out my back. I’d just been laid off from my job as a bank teller, and I had no savings. If I’d had to pay for the damages, I’d go bankrupt.”

  I wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to tell me all this, but now that she’d started, I had to hear the whole story. “So what does all this have to do with Tanner? Was it his car?”

  She shook her head. “The story about being his mother? It’s not entirely a lie. I’m his aunt.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I could see a slight resemblance in the strong jawline. Which of course helped sell the story that she was his mother. And now I had a feeling how this story ended. “You were panicked, and you knew Tanner would find a way to cover it up for you, right?”

  She sighed. “Yes, well. I knew he could be . . . resourceful. I took him to the area where I got in the accident, and he saw that there were home security cameras everywhere. One of them would’ve caught my license plate for sure. So he filed a report with the cops saying my car had been stolen earlier that morning, before the accident. Then he took my car to a chop shop and bought me a Prius.”

  And bought her along with it. “So you’ve been working for him ever since?”

  Her eyes widened. “No! The setup with Margaret was the only time. And I’ll never do it again!” She swallowed and looked away. “It was a terrible thing to do—especially to someone like her.”

  It wasn’t a bad act. It probably would’ve worked on most people. But I was used to
being lied to. My clients did it all the time. So I was pretty good at spotting liars. And Iris was an accomplished one. That car accident, her bad back, getting laid off. Lots of detail. Too much detail. And very little of it true. Plus, she’d worked Margaret hard—and very effectively. No novice could’ve pulled that off. That said, I didn’t think Iris would’ve done it on her own. Besides, she wasn’t my problem. Tanner was. “Since you’re Tanner’s aunt, you must know him pretty well.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” she said. “I barely ever saw him when he was growing up. His father was a major league asshole. I hated him. Cheated on my sister constantly. So I’d get together with my sister, but I never went to the house. I only really got to know Tanner when he moved out here, around ten years ago.”

  Alex asked, “Did your sister move out here?”

  Iris’s face clouded. “No. She got leukemia, died ten years ago. I blame that toadstool of a husband.”

  I knew that much was true—Alex had found out that Tanner’s mother died of leukemia. Maybe we could get something useful out of her after all. “When was the last time you saw Tanner?”

  She stared off for a moment. “A month ago? Maybe more.”

  Alex asked, “Is it unusual not to see him for that long?”

  “Not really. We don’t run in the same crowds.”

  I’d bet they did—when there was money involved. “If he were trying to lay low, where do you think he’d go?”

  Her brow furrowed. “The last time I saw him, he told me about a friend who bought a villa near Puerto Vallarta.”

  This sounded promising. “Do you know who the friend was? Did he mention a name?”

  “No,” she said. “But I’d imagine it was someone he’d done business with before.”

  The problem was, that could be a very long list. “Did he say where in relation to Puerto Vallarta?”

  “No,” she said. “But he showed me a photo. It looked like it was pretty isolated. I remember him saying that his friend had asked him to come down to talk about some new business idea.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I can’t say whether that was true. But I don’t know why he’d lie about it.”