by Marcia Clark
“Not super well. The wife and I came out to visit them for Christmas once, when they first adopted Cassie. And we came out again for Thanksgiving six years ago.”
“Did you stay with the family?” He nodded. “How did you get along with Cassie?”
Nathan shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t have that much contact with her. We don’t have any children, and she had her friends. But she seemed like a nice girl.” He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand. How could she do such a thing?” He looked bewildered and overwhelmed.
In that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to tell him what Cassie had said. I couldn’t keep him from finding out later, but I wouldn’t do it to him now. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“Then there’s no chance they got it wrong? That maybe they’ll figure out she didn’t do it? ’Cause I can’t imagine what could’ve happened to make her do this.”
I thought it’d land a little too hard if I said she’d confessed, so I softened it a bit. “At this point, it seems pretty clear that she did do it. But the investigation is ongoing. And part of that investigation will involve figuring out why she did it. Did she ever complain to you about how Paula or Stephen treated her?”
He weighed the question for a moment. “No, never.”
“Did Stephen or Paula ever complain to you about Cassie’s behavior?”
Nathan rubbed his chin. “I remember one of them—or was it both of them? I’m not sure. But I do remember hearing that Cassie and Abel weren’t getting along.”
“When was that?”
He looked up at the ceiling. “A year? Two years ago? I think maybe it was Paula, but she told my wife about it, not me. I just remember hearing that Cassie was really upset with Abel, that he was being mean to her.”
“Mean to her how? What did he do?”
Nathan wrinkled his brow. As the memory returned, his cheeks flushed. “I think it was that he and his friends were spreading lies about her.”
“What kind of lies?”
Nathan glanced at me, then looked down at his lap. “I think it was along the lines of Cassie being kind of . . . easy.”
I made a mental note to ask her about that. “What was your impression of Abel?”
Nathan cleared his throat and looked down at his lap, where his hands were laced together. “I don’t like to speak ill of him. But I always did think he had a mean streak.”
I was finding new reasons to hate that kid at every bend and turn. “Why was that?”
He stared out the window behind me. “It started after Stephen and Paula came to stay with us for a week. Just before they got Cassie.”
“So Abel was, what? Six years old?”
“Around there. Back then, there were a few families with young children on the block. We took Abel to their houses and introduced him, thinking it’d be nice for him to have kids his own age to play with. The very next day, the parents of two of the kids said they wouldn’t allow their children to play with him. He’d pushed one of the little boys into a pond.” Nathan frowned and shook his head. “Luckily, the kid could swim, but still. Abel didn’t know that. And he’d been caught using the other kid’s computer to look at porn”—he glanced up at me—“if you can believe that. Age six!”
This would be great stuff if I could get him to repeat it on the witness stand. “How on earth did he know how to do that?”
“He just typed the word sex into the search bar.” He sighed. “I’m sure he didn’t know what he was doing. It was probably just a trick he’d heard about from some other kid. But it was pretty embarrassing.”
“What did Stephen say about all that? What’d he do?”
Nathan pressed his lips together. “Nothing. Abel denied pushing the kid into the pond. He said the kid was lying, that he fell in by accident. I told Stephen I knew that kid and I’d never known him to make up stories before, but Stephen took Abel’s side. And Stephen didn’t care about the porn. Said it was just boys being boys, and there was nothing wrong with being curious.” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t agree, but it wasn’t my business.”
“Then would you say Stephen was pretty permissive with Abel?”
Nathan gave a reluctant nod. “From what I saw. And he was pretty . . . uh, relaxed when it came to the subject of sex, too. When we were in college, Stephen had a big porn collection.” Nathan quickly added, “But he was a really good man. And he really loved his family.”
A little too much, if Cassie were to be believed. “So you don’t think he’d ever fooled around on Paula?” I couldn’t believe I’d just said “fooled around.” What was next? Jeepers?
“Stephen? No. Not that I was ever aware of. I mean, he’d look. Sure. You know what they say, ‘married not buried.’ But I never got the impression he’d strayed.”
I had to see whether I could get a little closer to the mark, but this was dangerous territory. If I took it too far, he’d shut down. “Did you ever get the impression he liked to look at younger girls?”
Nathan frowned at me. “Are you talking about that situation at work? With that young woman?”
For starters. “Yeah. So you know about the rumors that he was having an affair with her?”
He nodded. “Stephen told me about it. That was nonsense. The woman was a hard worker; she deserved the promotion.” Nathan stopped and gave me a suspicious look. “Why does any of this matter? My brother’s dead; what does that have to do with anything?” His expression darkened. “If you’re planning on dragging Stephen’s name through the mud—”
I held up a hand. “No, no one wants to do that, Nathan.” I didn’t want to, but . . . “I’m sorry. Let me get back on track. I was only asking because before Cassie got arrested, I’d been looking into the possibility that the guy Stephen fired was the killer.” That much was true, and I’d told Nathan during our phone call how I’d first gotten involved in the case.
“But you ruled him out?” I nodded. “Have you spoken to Cassie since . . . since she got arrested?”
I really didn’t want to go there, so I decided to dodge the question for the moment. “A little. How did Cassie and Paula get along?”
Nathan shrugged. “I only saw them together that one Thanksgiving, when Cassie was about nine, and I didn’t see anything unusual. But in the past couple of years, Stephen told me they seemed to be at odds. Paula was having a hard time with her.”
I deliberately made a dismissive remark. “Harder than any other teenage girl and her mom?” Sometimes, it makes witnesses push back and give more information.
Nathan squinted. “I’d think a little bit more. I seem to remember Stephen telling me that Paula thought Cassie had . . . problems. That she made things up.”
Maybe that was how Paula dusted off Cassie’s complaint about the molestation. I probed to see whether I could nail it down. “Did Stephen tell you why she thought that?”
Nathan looked out the window and squinted again. “I believe it had to do with something Cassie said about Abel. But Stephen was pretty vague about it.”
I didn’t think I could get any more pointed without tipping my hand. And it wasn’t worth the risk. Nathan clearly hadn’t seen anything happen between Cassie and Abel—and certainly nothing between Cassie and Stephen. All he really knew about her was what he’d heard. But Nathan had given me some great stuff.
I excused myself for a “bathroom break” and went to Alex’s office. “Do you have somewhere to be tonight?”
Alex gave me a smirk. “Chica, I have somewhere to be every night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.” But it was true. Mr. Gorgeous never had to be alone if he didn’t want to be. It was obnoxious. I asked him to give Nathan a lift back to his hotel and record their conversation—just in case talking to Alex “man-to-man” loosened up Nathan’s tongue. I’d had a recorder “hidden” on top of a case file on my desk during my conversation with Nathan. He could’ve seen it if he’d looked. But I’d known he wouldn’t.
W
hen I got back to my office, I thanked Nathan for his time and told him Alex would drive him back to his hotel. He looked so grateful I almost felt bad about having Alex record their conversation. Nathan took my hand and shook it. “I really appreciate that, Ms. Brinkman.”
“Call me Sam.”
“Sam. I don’t really know what to think of this whole terrible tragedy. What happened to Cassie.” He stopped and lowered his head. When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. “My brother and I weren’t the closest of kin. But I loved him, and I never would’ve wanted him to go like . . . like this. And even though I know it’s silly, I guess I’m still hoping that there’s been some mistake. That Cassie didn’t do it.” He wiped his eyes. “I’m not sure I really believe it all yet.”
He’d spent all the stoicism he had on our interview. I took his hand in both of mine. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be, but you have my deepest sympathy.”
And I meant it. After Nathan left, I thought about how much worse this was about to get for him. I didn’t want it to happen to such a nice guy. But my obligation was to my client. The story was going to come out.
Whether she was telling the truth or not.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Well?” Michelle’s voice broke into my thoughts. I’d been standing in the reception area, staring at the door through which Nathan had just exited. “Come on, spill,” she said. “Did he give you anything?”
“A lot more than I thought I’d get.” I briefly hit the highlights.
When I finished, Michelle sat back in her chair. “Wow, it backs up a lot of what Cassie said.”
“It might.” Nathan had painted a picture of a family dynamic that could back up Cassie’s story. But not necessarily.
Michelle sighed. “Well, it’s a step in the right direction anyway. Have you spoken to Tiegan since Cassie got arrested?”
I’d called her that very night because I’d wanted to suggest that she visit Cassie if she could. And maybe bring Rain and Tawny for a visit now and then. Cassie’s friends could only go with an adult, and there was no way their parents would do it. Cassie was going to need all the moral support she could get. “Tiegan’s in shock.”
Michelle leaned back in her chair and stretched. “It’d be scary if she weren’t. Did you ask her about the molestation?”
I’d considered it but decided not to. “If she did know, she’ll be in big trouble. She’s required by law to report it.”
“But if Cassie begged her not to tell—”
“I think that’s unlikely. Tiegan would’ve been risking her whole career. But I’ll wait until I can ask her about it in person.” That way I could get a read on whether she was telling the truth. “We’ll need some really solid expert testimony for trial. Better start making calls right away. We’ve got to tie up the good ones before we go public with the story.” Once the prosecution found out what we were up to, they’d start trolling for experts. I wanted to make sure I recruited the best ones so I could keep them out of the DA’s hands.
“I’ll put together a list. But I’ll need at least a day to round them up.”
“You can have two days.” I still had a couple more people to talk to before I went public. “I won’t break the story till after the arraignment, which should be the day after tomorrow.”
Michelle studied my face. “How are you dealing with all this, Sam? It’s gotta be hammering just about every one of your buttons.”
I heaved a deep sigh and nodded. It wasn’t really my way to talk about emotional issues. In fact, I hated it. But I’d do it this once. Because I really needed to just this once, and Michy was the only person in the world I could talk to about it. “It sucks. And sitting through that interview . . .” I paused and stared at the floor as I remembered the sick feeling that’d washed over me, again and again. “It was horrible.”
She looked worried. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to handle this case, Sam.”
My whole body stiffened as a burst of anger shot through me. I exploded. “So I’m supposed to let him ruin everything? Now he gets to reach in and screw up my practice, too?” I kicked the trash can and sent it flying. “No fucking way!” I fumed on. “This is my life.” I jabbed a finger into my chest. “Mine! And he’s not going to take it from me!”
Michelle watched me, unfazed. After a moment, she spoke calmly. “Okay, I get it. Fine, then keep the case. But you’d better not try to keep it all locked up in some little corner where it can’t get out, because that’s not going to work. I’m warning you right now: talk to me, talk to a shrink. Hell, talk to a wall. But deal with it. Or you’ll implode when you can least afford it.”
I hate when she gets like this. All preachy. And right. So I talked about it—about how awful it’d been, how it’d made me physically ill to hear what Cassie had gone through, how infuriating it’d been to hear that Paula had refused to believe her. Reliving the feelings I’d had during our interview was physically painful, my stomach alternately queasy then twisted in knots. I’d had to sit down, my arms wrapped around my torso. But when I finished, I had to admit, I felt better.
Michelle gave me a little smile and joked lightly, “See? Was that so hard?”
I gave her a bitter smile. But I had no intention of ever talking about this again. There’s only so much navel-gazing I can stand. “The big question is whether Cassie’s story will sell.” I thought for a moment. “Tell you what, why don’t you come to the arraignment with me? That way, we can go visit her together afterward. I’ll have her tell you her story so you can judge for yourself whether it’ll fly. It’ll do her good to start practicing.” I’d do what I could for her, but at the end of the day, it was all about how well Cassie came across on the witness stand. That was a lot of pressure for a young girl. She’d need to have her story down perfectly, and that meant hours and hours of practice.
Michelle checked the monitor of her computer. “I guess I can take the morning off. I would like to see for myself how she does.”
“Perfect.” I righted the trash can and tossed in the crumpled paper that’d fallen all over the floor. “And thanks for listening, Michy.”
“Thanks for talking, Sam.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I meant what I said. Don’t bottle it up.”
“Right.” Sure. Whatever.
I was about to go back to my office when my cell phone buzzed with a text message. It was Niko. Damn it! I’d forgotten. I was supposed to meet him tonight at eight p.m. for dinner at the Tower Bar on Sunset. He was already there. I couldn’t cancel now. I told Michelle. “Do I look decent enough to go like this?” I was wearing a navy pantsuit and black boots.
Michelle dropped her head into her hands and laughed. “You’re so impossible.” She scanned my outfit, then took off her shoes—black patent leather heels—and handed them to me. “Wear these, fix your makeup, and you’ll be good to go.”
The perk of having a best friend who wore the same shoe size could not be overestimated. I gave her my boots, put on her shoes, and told her I’d fix my makeup in the car on the way over. “Besides, it’s dark in that place. He won’t notice.” I texted Niko that I was almost there.
Michelle shook her head as she slipped on my boots. “Incorrect, Grasshopper. He’s a martial arts guy—”
“Krav Maga—”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They notice stuff. Stop in the bathroom and do it right. Another five minutes won’t matter.”
I headed for the door. “Okay, fine.”
“And we’ll spring for Uber, so you can drink. Just call me after, let me know how it goes. Unless it gets too late.” She spoke in a sultry voice. “If you know what I mean.”
I shot her a look. “The stoplight three blocks away knows what you mean.”
I did a rush makeup job and hurried out to the waiting Uber car, feeling pissy. I didn’t want to go out. Once I got into a case, I liked to burrow in and push everything else away.
But by the time I walked into the restaur
ant area, I realized it was a good thing. Michelle was right. Cassie’s case was going to get to me the way no other case had. Not even Dale’s. And an overly invested lawyer makes for a lousy lawyer. One who can’t see the weaknesses in the case. One who loses credibility with the jury. And then loses the case. A break in routine, where I spent time with a real person who wasn’t hip deep in murder and mayhem might be just the balance I needed to keep from falling down the rabbit hole of my childhood nightmare.
Niko had gotten us a table in the corner next to a window that overlooked the city. Quiet and romantic. And as I approached, I caught more than one woman throwing glances his way. I’d have done it, too. Niko had that sexy/dangerous thing going for him.
When he saw me, he stood up and gave me a slow smile. He kissed me on the cheek. “Sam, you look beautiful.”
We sat down, and I shook my head. “You don’t have to be nice. I came straight from work.”
“I know. And you look beautiful.”
Michelle had been right. This guy didn’t miss much. And he was smooth as silk. Absolutely lethal. We ordered martinis and steaks and talked about everything but the case: his early stint as a stunt double—which was what drew him into Krav Maga and martial arts—my early stint in the public defender’s office, his plan to open his own studio in six months, my plan to scale up and hire an associate. I couldn’t believe how easy he was to talk to.
The evening flew by so fast, the restaurant emptied out before I noticed it was past midnight. I looked around the room. “I think our waiter might be getting ready to put us on a terrorist watch list.”
Niko laughed and motioned for the waiter to bring the check. “I’ll make it worth his while.”