Moral Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 2)

by Marcia Clark

  She looked somewhat surprised, but she simply asked, “To talk about the . . . the crime?”

  I sipped my wine. “No, actually. We talked about personal stuff. There was one thing in particular she mentioned that I wanted to ask you about.”

  She looked concerned. “What was that?”

  “She told me about her home life. Mostly her mother. She said her mom talked a lot about how lucky she was to get adopted by them. She told Cassie that if they hadn’t adopted her, she’d probably have wound up in a foster home for good. Did Cassie ever say anything about that to you?”

  Tiegan’s expression was confused and a little taken aback. “The only thing I remember Cassie telling me along those lines was that her mother accused her of being ungrateful when she wanted to find her birth mother. But I don’t remember her ever telling me that Paula said . . . what you just said.” She took another sip of wine, her expression troubled. “That’s pretty awful.”

  “Do you think it’s true? Or is it possible Cassie’s negative filter twisted things a little?”

  “Could be the latter, or both.” Tiegan swirled her wine and seemed to consider that. “Cassie has her issues.” Tiegan looked at me pointedly. “As you’ve seen. And she did complain about not fitting in anywhere, about always feeling like an outsider.”

  I remembered what she’d said about not looking like the rest of the family. “I’m sure it didn’t help that she’s so blonde and fair.” And tall.

  Tiegan stared off for a moment. “Definitely not. I remember seeing her with her family when we had our open house at the beginning of the year. She looked so awkward and uncomfortable, like she didn’t know what to do with herself.”

  I wanted to check out what Abel’s friends had said about her. “If you had to describe Cassie, would part of that description include drama queen?”

  Tiegan gave me an ironic little smile. “Well, she is a teenage girl.” Her expression turned serious. “Why? Who told you that?”

  I wasn’t sure I should name names. “Some of Abel’s friends. According to them, she was always complaining. Her teachers weren’t fair, other kids were shitty to her, that sort of thing.”

  Tiegan shrugged. “Not to me she didn’t.” She paused as a couple hovered nearby, waiting for the hostess to seat them. When they passed through, she continued. “Cassie could be needy. But that kind of chip on the shoulder? No. And I never thought she was that much more dramatic than any of the other girls.”

  Tiegan would certainly have a more realistic perspective on Cassie than Abel’s posse. I’d go with Tiegan’s assessment. “Did you ever hear about Abel being abusive toward anyone? I’m talking girls specifically.”

  Tiegan had been swirling her wine. Now she stopped and knitted her brow. “No. But I assume you have. What did they say?”

  I told her what we’d learned from Janessa and Ginnie. Tiegan’s expression said that was all news to her. “I’m guessing you never heard about any of that?”

  “Definitely not, or I’d have done something about it. At least reported it to the principal. That’s just terrible.” She tilted her head and peered at me. “You think Abel could have been the target?”

  I shrugged. “Could be. I think it’s at least worth considering.” But since Tiegan seemed to know less than I did about him, I moved on. “Did Cassie ever talk to you about Abel?”

  She tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Not really. Why?”

  “She seemed pretty broken up about losing him. I didn’t get the feeling from his friends that he would’ve felt the same if the tables were turned.”

  Tiegan raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t seem surprised by that. “It’s pretty common for the natural child to resent the new kid on the block. Especially if the parents bent over backward to make her happy.”

  “Which, according to Abel, they did.” I watched Tiegan to see whether she’d try to explain the discrepancy. She didn’t, she just nodded, so I continued. “But that’s not the way Cassie made it sound. Obviously, I never knew Abel, so I can’t say whether he’s a reliable source, but I don’t think he’d feel that way for no reason. And if he were right, if Stephen and Paula did bend over backward for Cassie, why would she be so resentful of them? Especially Paula?”

  Tiegan took a sip of her wine and thought for a moment. “Do you have any experience with adopted kids?” I told her that I did, but only after they’d committed crimes. She nodded. “Right. Of course. Well, I think a lot of adopted kids have mixed feelings about their parents. They love them, they’re grateful to them, but at the same time, they resent having to feel grateful.”

  I wasn’t sure that made sense. “Even when the parents don’t demand their gratitude?”

  “They can feel the pressure to be grateful even though no one suggests that they should.” Tiegan spoke matter-of-factly. “And they very often send mixed messages. They’re pleasers one minute, and then the next minute they’re aloof and unreachable.”

  I’d noticed that in my clients. Now I put it together with what Tiegan had told me. “So they detach before someone else can abandon them. Again.”

  “Exactly.”

  I looked down at my wineglass and thought about how to broach the next subject. The soft lighting made the purples and reds in my wine look deep and rich—an optical illusion because it tasted like vinegar. Note to self: next time, don’t let Tiegan pick the wine. “I was thinking of talking to Cassie’s friends. She mentioned a girl named Tawny. Do you know of any others?”

  Tiegan’s mouth turned down. “Yes, Rain Frankel. I can put you in touch with them.”

  I noted the obvious. “You’re not crazy about them.”

  She shrugged. “They’re a little too wild, in my opinion. But from what Cassie’s told me, it’s not their fault. They have really messed-up home lives.”

  “Do you think Cassie would have a problem if I talked to them?”

  “I can’t see why she would.” Tiegan looked a little puzzled. “But why would you want to?”

  It was a fair question. I wasn’t supposed to be digging into the family’s lives or trying to find the killer. I was just supposed to be helping Cassie deal with the cops. “Just trying to understand her a little better.” I tried my disarming smile. “So I can be a better support person.”

  Tiegan look doubtful, but she said, “If you want, I can ask her if she minds you talking to them.”

  “Thanks, that’d be great. I don’t want her to feel like I’m going behind her back.” Even though I kind of already had. “One last question. Do you know whether Cassie had a boyfriend?”

  Tiegan seemed to be searching her memory. “I think she did, but I don’t remember her talking about him during our sessions, so I’m not sure. Tawny and Rain can probably fill you in on that score.”

  I’d gotten what I’d come for, so I let Tiegan grill me on the progress of the investigation. I told her what little I knew and tried not to hammer the cops for what little they knew.

  I asked her how she kept her sanity dealing with teenagers and how many times a day she fantasized about hauling off and pounding them. She confessed she felt tempted at least once a week. From there, the conversation veered into the kind of world the kids were going to have to deal with and how college campuses had turned into shooting galleries where no one felt safe.

  I couldn’t help thinking that for Cassie, that grim reality had already climbed right into her home.

  TWELVE

  I was tired and buzzed when I got back to my apartment, so I took a hot shower and put myself to bed. And for a change, I didn’t have the dream. I woke up at seven, with a throat that wasn’t sore from screaming—or trying to. It’s a rare reprieve for me, and every time it happens, I think, This is how normal people wake up every day. No T-shirt soaked with fear-sweat, no shakes, no pounding heart. And then I think, What would it be like to not be afraid to fall asleep, to wake up and feel this way every day?

  But this time those thoughts made me flash on Cass
ie. Made me wonder what it was like for her to see kids with families who looked like them, kids who took it for granted that they were wanted, that they belonged there. And I wondered whether she ever tried to imagine what it was like to get to live that way.

  Now she had a whole new world to compare herself to. A world where kids didn’t wake up in the middle of a killing field, with the bodies of their father, mother, and brother splayed on the floor in a pool of blood. A world where kids got to wake up in their own beds and worry about kid things, like whether Mom would let her get those sexy, pricey new jeans all the girls were wearing or whether Greg would ask her to the prom.

  I pushed myself out of bed to stop those thoughts and headed for the shower. I was feeling kind of hungry, but I wasn’t in the mood to make breakfast. Maybe I’d get some fast food at a drive-thru on the way to work. It was junk, but it was tasty. I had one foot out the door when my home phone rang. It was Dale. “What’s going on? You got news for me?”

  “Kind of. Want to meet me for breakfast?”

  “Your timing’s perfect. I’m starving.”

  We decided to meet at BLD on Beverly Boulevard. Good food but no frills, i.e., no tablecloths, lots of hard surfaces, so lots of clatter and noise. Not the best place for a confidential chat. But on the other hand, the din might give us cover. I got there before Dale. The smells coming from the kitchen made my stomach grumble like an old airplane engine. I decided not to wait, and when the waiter showed up, I ordered coffee and a wild mushroom omelet.

  I’d just finished ordering when Dale rushed in. He got the fried egg sandwich that came with Gruyère and bacon, potatoes on the side. It sounded fantastic. But if I ate all that, I’d have to go home and change into sweats.

  I waited for the server to bring his coffee, then asked, “What’ve you got on the Orozco situation?”

  Dale glanced at the nearby tables. Everyone was busy with their food and one another. He leaned in. “So far, I’m not seeing any connections between the deputies or bailiffs and the Southside Creepers.”

  Shit. “But you’re not done yet,” I said with hope.

  “Not quite. But the ones who have given interviews all say they didn’t change Ricardo’s cell placement, and they’re willing to take polygraphs.”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to groan out loud. If those deputies all wound up passing their polys and the Orozcos found out about it—a distinct possibility, since the local press was following the investigation—it wouldn’t be long before they took another hard look at me. “One of them must be lying.”

  Dale peered at me a little suspiciously. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  My omelet arrived at the same time as Dale’s sandwich. But my appetite was gone. I forced myself to take a bite as Dale tucked in to his breakfast. He noticed I was barely eating. “Want to send it back?”

  “No, it’s good. I just drank too much coffee.”

  “You shouldn’t have caffeine on an empty stomach.” He pushed his plate toward me. “Have some of my potatoes.”

  It always drove me nuts when he did this “dad” thing. He’d dived into it headfirst with his other daughter, Lisa, who was a junior in high school. Dale and the mother had divorced when Lisa was a baby, and she’d moved to the East Coast. But he’d kept in touch, and now that they were back in Los Angeles, he was seeing Lisa on a regular basis. And he was really grooving into being a dad.

  That was fine. For them. I just wanted him to leave me out of it. “Thanks, but I keep a bottle of Scotch and some Xanax in the car. That usually takes the edge off.”

  Dale sighed and pulled back his plate. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “You didn’t ask to meet me just to say you haven’t got anything yet. What’s up?”

  Dale finished the last of his bacon, then wiped his mouth. “I need a favor. A friend of a friend got beefed for excessive force. Kevin Hausch. He swears it’s a bullshit claim, but the so-called victim is making a lot of noise about going to the press. Kevin knew about you and asked me if you’d be willing to help him out.”

  “Why’s that a favor? Tell him to call Michelle for an appointment. I’ll give him a good deal.” I took another sip of coffee, but it burned like acid. I pushed the cup away.

  Dale tucked his napkin under the plate and didn’t meet my eyes. “He says he doesn’t have the money for a retainer.”

  I put my hands on the table. “He wants me to do this for free?” Dale nodded. I waited for him to look at me. “That’s one hell of a favor. Why should I do it? Are you tight with him?”

  Dale dropped his eyes back down to the table and traced the edge of the saucer that held his coffee. He was clearly not happy to be having this conversation. “No. But he’s got a lot of friends in the department, and I could use a few more of those.” Dale forced himself to look at me. “Besides, we’re not talking about a trial or anything. He just needs you to get the victim to back off.”

  I didn’t like anything about this. I didn’t like the idea of representing a cop, and I especially hated the idea of having to represent a cop who’d been charged with excessive force. “Who’s the victim and who’s his lawyer?”

  “I think he said the victim’s name is Julio Valenzuela. And he doesn’t have a lawyer.”

  I stared at Dale in disbelief. “No lawyer? Then it can’t be a righteous beef, or some ambulance chaser would’ve sunk his teeth into Julio’s neck by now. Why’s Kevin so worried?”

  “Because Valenzuela’s saying he doesn’t want money. Apparently lawyers were circling, but he turned them all down. He gave their names to Internal Affairs, and they checked it out. He’s telling the truth.”

  I’d never heard of a victim refusing to lawyer up or talk settlement. No wonder Kevin was freaking. “So the guy sounds that much more legit.”

  Dale’s expression was grim. “Exactly.” He took a long pull on his coffee.

  I never represent cops. Dale had been an exception. But Dale did need some goodwill in the department, and he was doing me a big solid—or at least I hoped he would—on my Orozco problem. “I’ll talk to Julio, see if I can make him go away. But I’m not doing any departmental hearings, and I’m sure as hell not taking the case to trial.”

  Dale popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. “Deal. I’ll get you Kevin’s contact information. He’s got all the paperwork on Julio and his beef.”

  I looked at my watch. It was after nine. “I’d better bust a move. I’ve got to be in court by ten thirty.”

  Dale flicked his fingers at me. “Go. I’ve got the check.”

  I took my purse off the chair and slipped it onto my shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Dale flagged down the waiter and motioned for him to bring the check. “By the way, you talk to your buddy Tuck Rosenberg about the Sonnenberg murders?”

  I’d started to get up, but now I sat back down and stared at him. How did Dale know Tuck Rosenberg? Did he know about my meeting? Or was he just guessing? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Dale raised an eyebrow, his mouth turned up at the corners in a smirk. “I know you got him to watch my back.”

  When Dale was in custody in Twin Towers, an asshat drug dealer who didn’t like the questions I was asking got someone to shank Dale. Tuck was doing the short-term sentence in Twin Towers I’d negotiated for him, so I’d asked him to get his Aryan Brotherhood buddies to watch out for Dale. “Who told you?”

  Dale gave a little smile. “One of your many jailhouse admirers. You have quite the fan club.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And some of them might even have been my clients.”

  Dale laughed. “Anyway, thank you. Again.”

  I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder. “De nada. Thanks for breakfast.”

  As I trotted out to the car, I wondered who’d told him about my arranging for his protection. It had to be an AB guy. I supposed it didn’t matter anymore. My thoughts drifted back to Cassie’s case. I’d heard the c
ops had branched out from the Nazi Low Riders—by the way, one of the dumbest gang names I’d ever heard, which is really saying something—and were checking into every white supremacist gang in Southern California. The theory being, you shake enough trees, something’s bound to fall out. But it hadn’t happened yet.

  I barely made it to court on time, but my worthy co-counsel on the eighteen-count robbery case was late. The judge kicked it over to the afternoon. I had to hang out through lunch, a time suck I could not afford. To top it off, my client was refusing to take the twenty-year deal the DA was offering, even though he was facing more than 120 years. When I finally got out of court, I wound up in traffic so ugly I could’ve walked faster. By the time I got back to the office, it was almost four o’clock, and I was an irritable mess.

  Michelle saw my ugly mood. “Hey, Sunshine. He wouldn’t plead?”

  I dropped my briefcase on the floor and picked up the mail she’d sorted and left on the side table for me. “No. Of course he wouldn’t plead. That’d make too much sense.”

  She leaned back and stretched her arms. “About the same sense it made for him to knock down twenty liquor stores with his half-wit brother.”

  “Eighteen liquor stores.”

  “Whatever. Alex has some 4-1-1 for you.”

  I finished sorting the mail. It was mostly junk. “No one says 4-1-1 anymore.”

  “No? How about bite me? People still say that, don’t they?”

  We exchanged middle-finger salutes, and I stomped over to Alex’s office. As usual, the door was closed. “Knock knock. I’ve got your boxes of Thin Mints and Do-si-dos.” A lie and we both knew it. If I had those cookies, they’d be tucked away in my kitchen.

  I opened the door to find Alex at his desk, wearing a pained expression. “Do you always have to say stuff like that?”

  “Apparently.” Alex sat down behind his desk, and I flopped down on the folding chair—there wasn’t room for anything bigger—across from him. “Michelle says you’ve got something.”