Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  I turned on the television and surfed the local news shows to see if the LAPD had made any more announcements about the case. Not so far. I left at eight thirty and stopped at my favorite bagel shop on the way to Alex’s. By that time, I was starving. I couldn’t even wait to get to Alex’s place. I slathered on the cream cheese and ate in the car.

  When I picked him up, he pointed at my face and made a circle. “What’s going on there?” As he got in, he spotted the bag of food on the passenger side floor. “Ah. I see we’re now eating animal-style.”

  Damn. I quickly wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I brought some for you, so make nice.”

  He fished a sesame bagel out of the bag. “Have I told you lately how ravishingly beautiful you are?”

  I gave him a look. “Why no, I don’t believe you have. Now where are we going?”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Beverly Hills. Dayton Drive. ‘Hair by Andress.’ We’re meeting with the man himself. Andress Violini. He’s Angelina’s hairdresser.”

  I turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard and headed west. Ten minutes later, Alex spotted the two-story floor-to-ceiling-windowed building that housed the upscale salon. I gave our names to the receptionist. I assumed it’d take a while before Andress appeared, so I moved toward the chairs in the waiting area. But I hadn’t even had the chance to sit down before he came out and greeted us—with a two-handed shake for me. His eyes traveled over my body like a pair of hands. “I assume you’re Samantha.” He exuded sensuality.

  I felt a little zing of excitement. “I am.”

  After I introduced Alex, Andress said, “Come into my office. It’s too noisy out here.” He led us through the packed salon—not an empty chair in the place—to a room at the back that was tastefully furnished in a sleek, modern style. I noticed abstract oil paintings on the wall that’d probably cost a fortune. Clearly, business was healthy at Hair by Andress.

  And the space must’ve been soundproofed, because the din of hair dryers and chatter disappeared the moment he closed the door. As Alex and I sat on the couch, I had a feeling this room saw a lot of action that had nothing to do with the business end of things.

  I spooled out our cover story—that someone at the party had stolen a diamond-and-gold cuff bracelet that’d been custom-made for Angelina by Paloma Picasso. “We’re thinking that person probably left the party shortly after dinner, at about ten o’clock. Do you remember seeing anyone leave around that time?”

  Andress gave us a bleak look. “I hate to disappoint you, but everyone there was in and out of the house all night long. Before and after dinner. Angelina doesn’t allow smoking—or drugs of any kind—inside the house.”

  Not helpful. “I assume you see a lot of the same people at Angelina’s parties?” Andress nodded. “Did you happen to notice anyone new? A man you hadn’t seen before?” I was betting our rapist hadn’t been to any of Angelina’s parties before. I was sure he would never go again.

  “There were a few.” He paused. “There was an older guy who was obsessed with horses.” He took in my puzzled look. “Horse racing. Talked nonstop about his day at Santa Anita.” He paused, then added, “Oh yeah, and I finally met some of the younger guys who work for Angelina.”

  That was news. “I didn’t know she hired men, too.”

  “Neither did I,” he said. “But I assumed they worked for her, because I’ve never seen men that young at any of her parties.”

  Based on Eliza’s description, we could probably rule out those men. “Anyone else you remember?”

  He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “A man who owned a chain of Dairy Kings.” Andress chuckled to himself. “I remember him because he looked like Humpty Dumpty, and someone told me he was into B&D.” Andress shook his head. “All night I kept picturing him on all fours, wearing a dog collar.”

  “Anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “I was more interested in the women, to be honest.”

  I took one last shot. “Did you see Eliza at the party?” I thought that maybe if he’d noticed her, he might remember having seen a man follow her out of the house.

  Andress frowned. “Who?” I described her. “Sounds like a pretty girl, but no.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised. I thought you said you were focused on the women.”

  He looked annoyed. “Yeah. Women. Not little girls.”

  Score one for Andress. He didn’t know how much I appreciated hearing a man say that. But there was nothing more he could tell us.

  Our next stop was a jewelry store on Wilshire Boulevard. The owner—Stan Busker—hadn’t noticed anyone leave right after dinner. Because he’d had one too many hits of weed and passed out in the backyard before the appetizers were served.

  Our third and final witness for the day owned a famous—and famously expensive—seafood restaurant in Pacific Palisades. Allen Forman was a tall, bald man with a soft voice and kind eyes. He hadn’t seen anyone leave the party after dinner, but he had seen something. “I do remember seeing a young girl come into the house as I was leaving. She looked very upset.” I described Eliza and asked if that sounded like the same girl. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” Alex asked.

  “No.” His expression was sad and worried. “But she seemed out of breath, like she’d been running. And I think she might’ve been crying. Did something happen to her?”

  For a moment, it flashed through my mind that Allen Forman might be our rapist. How’d he just happen to be leaving when she came back? Then I remembered that Eliza had said her attacker definitely wasn’t bald. But maybe . . . “Did you take any photos that night?”

  He gave me a direct look. “I know this is important, so I’ll show you. It’s just a couple of selfies with the guys. But you’ve got to promise not to tell Angelina. Because we’re not supposed to.”

  I crossed my heart and hoped to see that Allen had a full head of hair that night. But when he pulled out his phone, I saw his gleaming pate. Alex and I asked him about the men who were in the photos with him. Just more rich guys who were obviously willing to pay serious cash for a good time. And none of them had left the party early. He said, “Why would they?”

  As Alex and I headed for the car, I said, “This was a waste. I say we take a pass on the partygoers for now.”

  Alex nodded. “Everyone was moving around way too much. Even if someone did see a man leave right after dinner, it could take us weeks to find that person.”

  And then we’d have to get incredibly lucky for that person to be able to identify who that man was. “We might have to revisit the guest list, but for now, I say we door knock the neighborhood.”

  We reached the car. “I think so, too,” Alex said. “Let me finish getting all the info on the neighbors.”

  Alex always liked to find out as much as he could about who they were—and when they’d be most likely to be home. I just had to hope we’d find a decent witness in the neighborhood.

  Because I was starting to think it might be our only chance of solving this case.

  FORTY-THREE

  We’d done a lot of driving around, and it’d eaten up most of our day. By the time we got to the office, it was after four o’clock. We told Michy what we’d learned—which was, at best, mildly entertaining—and then I headed into my office.

  Alone, without Alex or witnesses to distract me, my thoughts circled back to Niko. I fired up my computer, hoping to dive into work to take my mind off him, but I found myself navigating to his Facebook page. Although I’d initially told myself I just wanted to see if it revealed anything that might help with the case, I’d eventually admitted that it was a feel-good activity. But now that we weren’t even together, I was forced to admit that my motive was even more pathetic. Surfing through his Facebook page let me feel like I was still connected to him.

  I usually started in present time and worked backward. When I’d last left off, I’d gotten as far as six mont
hs back. Intending to spend only a few minutes, I picked up there and began to scroll. But half an hour later, I was still at it.

  I’d gone back another two months when I noticed a posting about a man named Mark Kennar. I remembered Niko telling me how he’d met him on a dirt-biking trip when he stopped for lunch at a nearby café called On the Road. The place was in the middle of nowhere—which made sense, since it was close to dirt-biking trails—but according to Niko, the food was great. They’d become dirt-biking buddies ever since. I scrolled down further and found a photo of Mark and Niko standing in front of the café in their dirt-bike gear, holding their helmets. I stared at the hills behind the building and tried to recall where it was. Wait. Now I remembered. It was in Soledad Canyon.

  My heart gave a painful, heavy thump. It was the perfect place to dump a body. And it wasn’t just that. Something else had been bugging me. I remembered that the night before we’d found Bryan’s body, I’d called Niko, but he hadn’t answered. And he hadn’t called me back until the next day. I’d assumed he’d been at the hospital and that the cell reception there was lousy. But that couldn’t be right. He’d used his cell phone to call me from the hospital several times, and I’d been able to reach him there, too. So where had Niko been? And why hadn’t he called me back until the following day?

  That was right around the time Tanner had disappeared. Niko could easily have killed Tanner that night and dumped his body in the canyon. The timing definitely worked.

  I stopped and pushed back from my computer. I was making one hell of a leap—from a friend in Soledad Canyon and a missed phone call—to murder. I needed to get a grip. Besides, the cops had gotten a search warrant for Niko’s car at the same time they got the warrant for his house. In fact, they’d even taken his car to the lab for a few days so they could swab it for blood and trace evidence. It was almost impossible with today’s technology to wipe it all away. They obviously hadn’t found anything. And they definitely would have checked his GPS, too. If he’d driven to Soledad Canyon on a night when Tanner might’ve been killed, they’d have been all over it. Unless, of course, he’d used another car.

  Was I leaping to the worst conclusion so I could vindicate myself?

  But . . . the questions nagged at me. The dots might connect. I might not be crazy. What I needed right now was a reality check. I went out to Michy’s desk and called for Alex to join us.

  He emerged with an annoyed look on his face. “If you want to start canvassing those neighbors tomorrow, I need to be able to finish checking them out.”

  “This won’t take long.” I gestured to the old secretary’s chair in the corner. “Have a seat.”

  Michy, still focused on her monitor, held up a finger. “Just a sec. I’m downloading an update.” After a few seconds, she sat back. “Okay, done. What’s up?”

  I told them about my searches on Niko’s Facebook page and what I’d been thinking. “Am I just reaching for a way to prove I was right?”

  Michy adjusted her Scünci—royal blue to match her fashionably distressed sweater—and shrugged. “You might be. But it’s not a completely crazy idea. The thing is, like you said, he had to have used another car or the cops would’ve picked up something when they searched.”

  “But I’ve never seen another car at his place, and he’s never mentioned having one.” My theory wouldn’t hold any water unless that second car existed.

  Alex leaned back and folded his arms. “There is a way to find out.”

  I hesitated. Once I started down this road, there’d be no stopping. Did I really want to know? On the other hand, why not? What did I have to lose? Niko and I were through. “How?”

  He stroked his chin. “I’d start with cell phone tower records and see if he made any phone calls near Soledad Canyon that night.”

  I thought about that. “Seems unlikely he’d take that risk.”

  He nodded. “But you never know. People who aren’t contract killers don’t necessarily think all that clearly when they’re disposing of bodies. Anyway, it can’t hurt to start there, and it’s easy enough to do.”

  I was sure the cops had already checked Niko’s cell phone records. But that didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t found any calls near Soledad Canyon. The case hadn’t been filed yet, so they didn’t owe me discovery. Still, I gave it a low probability of success. “And if you don’t turn up anything? Then what?”

  “Then I make up some excuse to see him, swipe his cell phone, and install spyware to see if there’s anything on his phone that shows where he was that night,” Alex said.

  I didn’t want to go there. It was one thing for us to snoop around by talking to his brother or checking out his Facebook page. It was a whole other world to make up a lie and steal his phone so I could spy on him in real time. “Not loving that idea. Let’s see what you find in the cell tower records.”

  Alex said, “I get that you’re feeling ambivalent, but I can’t do this if you tie my hands.”

  Of course I was ambivalent. But I also wanted to know the truth. I just wasn’t ready to go to DEFCON One quite yet. “One step at a time, okay?”

  Alex rolled his shoulders back and stood up. “Fine by me. Do you want me to finish with Angelina’s neighbors or crack into Niko’s cell phone records?”

  Now that there was a possibility of an answer about Niko, I was anxious to get it. But I also wanted to get moving on the interviews. “How much more time do you need for the neighbors?”

  “About an hour, maybe a little less,” he said.

  It was already after five o’clock. He’d probably want to stay late and get into Niko’s cell records tonight, but I could wait another day or so. “Finish the neighbors, then go home. I can wait on Niko’s records for a couple of days.”

  Alex started to head to his office, then paused. “Did you ever get that sex offender information from Dale?”

  Right. I’d asked Dale to see if there were any registered sex offenders in Angelina’s ’hood. He’d promised to send them to me. I’d been so focused on Niko’s Facebook page, I’d forgotten to check my email. “Michy, can you log in for me?”

  She hit a few keys and scrolled. “There it is. I’ll forward to Alex and print it out.”

  The printer whirred to life and spit out a page. There were only three names on the list. Not bad. I’d seen supposedly kid-safe suburban communities with many more than that. I handed the page to Alex. “Decent place to start.”

  Alex scanned it. “Not much here. But I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  Fatigue hit me all at once. True, it’d been a busy day, but I suspected my newly discovered theory about Niko’s guilt was probably more to blame. “Guys, I think I’m going to call it a day. Alex, if you can’t finish within the hour, just bail.” I gestured to the page of sex offenders in his hand. “Between those ex-cons and whoever else answers their doors, we’ll have more than enough to do for one day.”

  Alex waved to me as he headed into his office. “Don’t worry. And I’ll drive tomorrow. But we need to get there by eight a.m., so be ready by seven thirty. Most of the residents are going to be gone by eight thirty.”

  Since I probably wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway, I didn’t mind the early pickup. As I went to my office to get my purse and jacket, Michy followed me. “Want some company?”

  I looked at her with love. “Michy, you’re the best. But I’ve got to start getting over him. You’ve done enough babysitting.”

  “It’s not a chore, you know.” She gave me a little smile. “I thought it was kind of fun to hang out on a school night. We haven’t done that in so long.”

  We were all working way too hard. “When we wrap up this case, we should plan a vacation.” Unless Niko fired me. In which case, we could take that vacay a lot sooner.

  Michy said she had a few things to wrap up, so I left her to it. I was so tired, I couldn’t wait to take a shower and curl up in bed.

  But for some reason, when I got home, I couldn’t bear
the thought of getting into bed. I poured myself three fingers of Patrón Silver, grabbed a blanket, and settled on the couch. I felt numb as I sipped my drink and watched the television with unseeing eyes. Would I ever see Niko again? I might not. He could fire me via email, and his new lawyer could meet with Alex to get up to speed on what we’d found. The thought that Niko might get a new lawyer led to the even more painful thought that he’d find a new girlfriend. Just the idea of him kissing another woman—touching her face, holding her hand, sleeping with her—was unbearable. I took a long slug of my drink. Then another. I got up and poured myself another. I fell asleep after the second sip.

  This time, I spent the whole night on the couch—and woke up with a stiff neck and enough of a hangover to remind me why drinking the night before an early-morning wake-up was a very bad idea. I dragged myself into the shower and brought my vat of coffee into the bathroom so I could take sips to clear my head while I put on my makeup.

  I’d thought I did a pretty good job of covering up last night’s bad behavior, but when I got into Alex’s car, he gave me a long look. “I’d ask how your night was, but I don’t need to.”

  I let my head fall back against the headrest. “Don’t worry, I’m good. Almost.”

  Alex gave me a skeptical look. “Look, Sam. No judgment. I’d be a zombie if Paul broke up with me. Just know that you’re welcome to come spend the night whenever. It can be hard to go home to an empty place at a time like this.”

  He’d hit the nail right on the head. “Thanks, Alex. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He merged onto the freeway. “I guess you didn’t have a chance to check the news this morning.” I told him I hadn’t. “Good thing I did, then. The cops did a presser on Bryan’s murder this morning.”

  I usually turn on the news while I’m getting ready. But with my throbbing head this morning, I couldn’t bear the noise. “Did they mention any names?”

  “So far they only named Gold Strike. They said Bryan’s death occurred shortly after Gold Strike did a major trade that cost investors millions. I guess they still haven’t figured out that the so-called ‘major trade’ was actually a scam.”