Final Judgment

by Marcia Clark

  So simple—at least for someone as strong as Niko. And since Tanner wasn’t bloodied, the story would be believable. “Then you were the one who took his comforter?”

  He nodded. “I used it to cover his body after I put it in the Denali. I told the police about it because I knew someone would notice that the blanket on the bed was different. I thought I may as well front it to the police myself.” He had a look of resignation. “Other than that, I thought I’d straightened the place up pretty well before I left. But that wineglass, the lamp . . .” He shook his head. “I screwed that up big-time.”

  Because he really wasn’t a killer. And even so, he’d covered his tracks better than most. I had another question. “Why did you get rid of his Porsche? To make it seem like he’d gone on the run?” Niko nodded. “How’d you manage to get it all the way to Arizona?”

  “I didn’t. I just drove it to a dark street in Koreatown, left the doors unlocked, and let nature take its course.”

  He hadn’t calculated the killing, but he’d done a pretty impressive job of figuring out how to get away with it. “Then you knew Tanner was dead when you told the police that you’d been with him on the night Bryan got killed.”

  He nodded. “I can’t believe the things I did to get away with Tanner’s . . . death.”

  “Guess your gang life came in handy after all.” I could see he didn’t love that observation—no matter how true it was. “So did you dump the body in Tehachapi?”

  He briefly closed his eyes, as though to block out the memory. “No, in Malibu Canyon.”

  Niko dropped his gaze back down to the floor. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I was glad he’d finally told me the truth. But he’d put me through hell. My heart felt bruised, battered. “I wish you’d told me all this to begin with. I get that you were afraid of how I’d react. But you don’t have much faith in me.”

  He jerked up and looked at me with tears in his eyes. “No! Please! I do have faith in you. But don’t you see? That’s not the point.”

  It hurt to see him so upset, but that pissed me off. “No? Seems like it to me.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no way to predict how either of us will deal with something as bad as this. I can sit here and tell you all day long that there’s nothing you’ve done or ever will do that will make me feel differently about you. But can you honestly say that you wouldn’t still be afraid of how I might react?” He gave me a searching look. “Can you?”

  His point flew straight to the center of the bull’s-eye. I was a hypocrite. A big, giant hypocrite. Which was pretty much what Michy had said in a gentler—but no less accurate—way. The thought shook me out of my self-righteous anger and hurt. He was right. Would I ever tell him about all that I’d done—or even what I might do in the future? At this moment, I couldn’t say that I would. “No. You’re right.”

  Niko’s expression was filled with pain. “The real issue is that I was a coward. I never thought I’d hear myself say those words.” He paused and blinked back the tears. “I don’t expect you to take me back, Sam. I just wanted to tell you that I know I was wrong. That I should’ve manned up and told you the truth and dealt with the consequences.” He swallowed hard. “And that I’m going to turn myself in. I can’t live with this.” He stood up.

  I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what he’d just said. I went over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You can’t do that!” The thought of him spending the rest of his life in prison—of never being able to be together again—was unbearable. “I . . . I love you.”

  He put his hands over mine and gazed into my eyes. “I love you, too. But I have to do this, Sam. These past weeks have been torture for me.”

  I was desperate to find a way to talk him out of this. “Before you go to the police, I need you to just . . . wait. Give me a little time to . . . figure out how to handle this.” If I set it up right, I might be able to get the D.A. to let Niko plead to a manslaughter. Given all the circumstances, I might even get a deal for low term—or even probation. Maybe. “I get that you feel you need to pay for this, but you shouldn’t have to overpay.”

  Niko looked uncertain. “I don’t know . . .”

  I felt a spark of anger. “Listen, Niko. You didn’t kill a choirboy. You killed a sociopathic con artist who ruined dozens of people’s lives and who put your mother in a coma. Exactly how much penance do you think you have to do for offing a maggot like that?”

  A smile briefly tugged at his mouth. “You have such a way with words.”

  I could see I was fighting a losing battle. But I wasn’t about to give up. There had to be a way to get through to him. “And what about your mother? You’ll be leaving her all alone. I mean, I’ll visit her—and I’m sure her friends will, too. But still . . .”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t planning to go to the police until she passes. But the doctor says it won’t be long now. Maybe a few days at most.”

  I needed to buy more time. “Just give me a week, okay? That’s all I ask.”

  He stared out the window for a few seconds, then looked down at me. “Okay. A week. But then I’m going to the police.”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I’d never been more sure that I wanted to spend my life with Niko—or more certain that I wouldn’t get the chance.

  FIFTY

  Niko stayed the night, and though it was wonderful to be back together, it was bittersweet. I tried to savor every moment, aware that there likely wouldn’t be many more. But that awareness meant every moment was also tinged with pain. After he fell asleep, I lay awake for hours as I tried to figure out a way to keep him from turning himself in. But I couldn’t think of a single thing.

  I told myself that my brain would work on it while I slept and that I’d wake up with an idea. That’s happened for me many times before. Not this time. When I woke up, all I had was a massive headache—and an empty bed. I stumbled out to the kitchen and found a note on the table.

  Had to go to the studio. Call you later. Love, Niko.

  I needed to clear my head and figure this out—fast. I showered, dressed, and poured myself a gallon of coffee as I turned over one idea after another. But every one of them basically came down to my begging Niko not to confess. That clearly wasn’t going to cut it. And I knew from experience that the more I forced the issue, the harder I tried to find a solution, the more I pushed away any chance at finding it. I needed to give my brain a rest.

  And then I remembered that I’d planned to do something today. Something important. What was it? After all that’d happened last night, I’d been thrown off track—to put it mildly. I searched my memory. After a few moments, I remembered what it was.

  I looked at the clock on the oven. It was early, just seven thirty. Not to mention a Saturday. But I was sure Alex would be up. And I needed to make something happen. I was feeling stymied by Niko. Taking action—even if it didn’t have anything to do with him—would help.

  I called, and, sure enough, Alex sounded wide-awake. I told him what Michy had said about the neighbors who hadn’t answered the door in Angelina’s neighborhood. “They aren’t necessarily avoiding us. Why not take another run at them?”

  Alex said he hadn’t had any luck trying to hack into their hard drives. “Unfortunately, people are getting a little smarter about security. Such a drag. So yeah. Sure. We may as well give it a try.”

  “Great. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.” I have no patience under the best of circumstances, but now? Forget it.

  Alex grumbled about the insane hours on this job, but he said he’d be ready. I filled my travel mug with coffee, though I was already on a jittery caffeine high, and headed for my car.

  When I picked Alex up, he noticed I was unusually amped. But I’d decided not to tell anyone about Niko’s confession. At least, not yet. And if I persuaded him not to go to the police, then maybe never. So I said, “I went a little overboard on the coffee situation. Also, I’m anxious to see what we get f
rom these neighbors.”

  He opened his iPad and tapped the screen. “To be honest, I’m not terribly optimistic. Out of the twelve houses where no one answered the door, only five had cameras that looked like they might pick up the area where the Bentley was parked. Not great odds.”

  They weren’t. But I’d take them. “It’s better than nothing. And besides, we only need one to come through.”

  Alex didn’t look persuaded, but I couldn’t afford to go along with his negativity. I had to keep hope alive, or I’d sink into a depression that would send me to bed for a month.

  The traffic wasn’t as bad as usual. We made it to Angelina’s neighborhood by eight thirty. I just had to hope that the people we needed to see wouldn’t be at their kids’ early-morning soccer games. As I parked at the end of the block, I felt my stomach tighten. There was so much riding on this. For Angelina and Eliza, and for me. It had to go right.

  But no one answered the door at the first two houses. I could feel the anxiety spread from my stomach to my chest. We knocked on the third door. An older, very tanned man in Ralph Lauren jeans, loafers, and a button-down shirt answered the door. He even combed his white hair like Ralph Lauren—with a deep part on the side. His glance slid off me, drifted over to Alex—and stayed there. Our new best friend, the Ralph Lauren wannabe, was probably gay. That meant Alex would do the talking.

  Alex introduced us and told him about the young woman who’d been assaulted on the night of the party. “I notice you have a surveillance camera mounted above the door. It might have captured some part of it. Would you mind letting us take a look?”

  He gave Alex a warm smile. “Not a bit.” He stood back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

  But it turned out the camera had malfunctioned a few days before the rape. Our pseudo Ralph Lauren hadn’t known that until he tried to access the footage. He was very apologetic. To Alex. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you out.”

  I had a feeling help wasn’t the only thing he wished he could give. But as we thanked him, I found myself taking shallow breaths. We only had two more houses left. No one answered the door at the next house, and when I peeked through the transom, it looked empty.

  As we headed up the walkway of the last house, I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs. I knocked on the door. If this one didn’t pan out, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I didn’t have a Plan B. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.

  Alex started to turn toward the street. “Sorry, Sam. I guess—”

  But at that moment, the door opened. A young woman who looked very businesslike in a pinstriped skirt suit asked, “Can I help you?”

  I forced a smile. “I sure hope so.” I made the introductions and told her about the assault. “It’s possible your surveillance camera picked up something. Would it be okay if we took a look at the footage for that night?”

  She frowned. “I was home that night. I’m pretty sure I would’ve heard something if it’d happened close enough to be within range of my camera . . .” She trailed off, her expression uncertain as her gaze shifted between Alex and me. I tried to send her calm, reassuring, we’re-not-serial-killer vibes. Finally, she said, “But I’d like to help. So come on in.” As she led us to her computer, she said, “I don’t have a lot of time. I’ve got a meeting with a client.”

  I promised her we’d be fast—or rather, Alex would. She’d forgotten how to access her footage, but Alex knew how, and he gave her a quick tutorial as he searched for the night in question. When he found it and hit play, I held my breath. The picture was grainy and distorted, and it took a good fifteen minutes, but as I stared at the monitor, I saw a white Bentley pull up and park at the curb at the very edge of the screen. The camera had just barely picked it up.

  I stared at the screen so hard, my eyes watered as the driver of the Bentley straightened the car into position against the curb. The seconds felt like hours as I waited to see who would get out of the car. At last, the driver’s-side door opened, and a man stepped out. As he stood up and locked the door, I took in every detail I could. He was tall, over six feet, medium build. And he was dressed in jeans and a V-neck sweater. Was it him? Was it Sebastian? It could be. But it might not be. The picture wasn’t clear enough to tell.

  He moved away from the car and out of camera range. Alex fast-forwarded to a few minutes before ten p.m. I folded my arms across my stomach and clutched my elbows. This was it. If Ken Lorimar had told the truth, we’d see the man drag Eliza into the Bentley.

  But the screen suddenly went black. I almost groaned out loud. “What happened?”

  Alex tapped a few keys, then hit play again. The time code at the bottom showed that it was now after eleven p.m. “Did you have a power outage?”

  The young woman stared off for a moment. “Oh yeah. We did. I forgot. I think it was a fuse? Something like that.” She couldn’t miss the anguish in my expression. “I’m so sorry.” She looked at her watch and sighed. “I’ve really got to leave.”

  I couldn’t speak; all I could do was nod. But Alex had more presence of mind. “Would it be okay if we copied some of that footage?”

  She looked worried. “How long will it take?”

  Alex said, “Two seconds. Three tops.” She nodded, and his fingers flew over the keyboard. A few seconds later, he stood up. We thanked her for her time. We’d gotten what I’d hoped and prayed for. Maybe.

  As we headed back to the car, I tried to manage my disappointment. We didn’t get the image of the assault I’d hoped for, but we did get a shot of the Bentley and the driver. The question was whether the shot was good enough. “Can you enhance the footage at all?”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “But you saw how bad it is. And how far away.”

  This footage could make or break the whole case. If Alex couldn’t do some major improvements, I’d be back at square one.

  We got into the car, and I drove to the freeway. I merged and steered into the fast lane. Alex gripped the dashboard. “Would you slow down? You’re driving like a maniac.”

  “No, I’m not.” I looked at the speedometer, thinking it’d show I was doing sixty-five, maybe seventy miles per hour. I was doing eighty-five. I eased up on the gas. I had to get a grip. But I was dying to see what Alex could do to that footage. On the way back to the office, I called and told Michy that her idea of trying the door knocking again had paid off and what we’d found—or rather, what we hoped we’d found. She barely let me finish before saying, “I’ve got to see this. I’m coming in.”

  Michy was already at her desk when we got in. I waved to her and followed Alex to his office. He stopped in the doorway and gave an exasperated sigh. “It won’t help to have you breathing down my neck.”

  “Are you kidding?” I gave him an incredulous look. “Of course it will.”

  Alex threw up his hands. “Sure. Why not invite your mother, father, and pet iguana, too?” He pointed to us and gave us the evil eye. “No one says a word until I’m done.”

  I pretended to zip my lips, and we all trooped into Alex’s office. I sat on the edge of my seat across the desk from Alex, and Michy sat next to me.

  But ten minutes later, the office phone rang. “Tell me when he’s done.” She ran to take the call.

  It was another half an hour before Alex sat back in his chair and said, “I’m done.” He turned the monitor around. “Have a look.”

  I leaned forward and stared at the screen. Alex had grabbed still shots of the car and the best shot the camera had gotten of the driver. I focused on the photo of the driver. It wasn’t great. If I’d had to use it in court, it would’ve been a problem. But it was good enough for me. “That definitely looks like Sebastian.”

  Alex nodded. “I know it is.” He pointed to the still shot of the car and enlarged the image. “See the license plate?”

  I peered at the screen again. “Yeah.” I looked at Alex. “It’s his?”

  “It is,” he said.

  I looked at him with gratitude. And relief. �
��Nice work, Alex.”

  He gave me a smug smile. “I know. You going to take it to Angelina?”

  A frisson of excitement ran through me. “I am.”

  And Angelina would take it to the man—or woman—who’d end Sebastian. I’d dreamed of this day for so many years. The day I’d finally see him dead.

  I could already feel the gaping wound in my psyche begin to heal. I left Alex’s office with a smile.

  FIFTY-ONE

  I called Angelina and told her I had good news. “But I need to tell you about it in person. And Eliza should hear it, too. Can I meet with the two of you this evening?” It was already after four p.m., and the Saturday night traffic was in full swing. I wouldn’t be able to make it back to her neighborhood before five thirty at the earliest.

  There was a long pause before she answered. “Does it have to be tonight?”

  I was taken aback. People don’t usually put off hearing good news. “Yes, it really does.” I didn’t want to wait a second longer to put a bullet in Sebastian’s head.

  Angelina sounded annoyed. “I have a dinner party in Bel Air, and I have to be there by eight o’clock.”

  I assured her it wouldn’t take long. “How does six thirty sound?”

  She reluctantly agreed, and we ended the call, but I was perplexed by her cavalier attitude. She’d given me the impression that finding Eliza’s rapist was an urgent matter. Now, it seemed to be about as urgent as getting a teeth cleaning. But then again, she didn’t know what “good news” meant. For all she knew, it might only mean that I had a new lead.

  When I told Michy about the phone call, she agreed. “I’d bet she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. I know I wouldn’t.” She looked up at me with a smile. “You’re practically floating on air. I can’t imagine what this must mean to you.”

  I could barely wrap my arms around the enormity of it myself. “It feels incredible.”