Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1)

by Marcia Clark

  “And that was when?”

  “About a year ago.”

  That would’ve been right around the time she blackmailed Dale. “Does he know where she went?”

  “No. He says he’s been looking for her, but . . .”

  I smiled. “He’s no Alex Medrano. Sounds like Jenny had to find a new place to be. As in, a whole new place.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking she probably went back to Orange County.” Alex shook his head. “She’s a real puta—and I don’t mean the kind who has sex for money. That girl burns everybody she gets close to.”

  I didn’t want to get too happy too soon, but it sure sounded like Dale had been telling the truth. I was relieved, and I knew it went way beyond my concern for the case. “Great job, Alex.”

  “Do I keep looking for her?”

  “No. This woman’s never going to admit she lied. If she crawls out from under her rock now, it’ll only be to claim the rape charge was righteous.” The farther away we stayed from her, the better.

  “You want to give this to the press?”

  “It’s risky. Trashing her might make Zack decide he’s got nothing to lose by digging her up.”

  And if the cops found her and she cleaned up well, he’d put her out in front of the tent to say she was telling the truth about Dale. It’d make our already bad press even worse.

  “But he might not find her. Zack’s no Alex Medrano, either.” He smiled. “And even if he does find her, this intel will cream her credibility.”

  Now that I thought about it, Alex was right. Bozo couldn’t be Jenny’s only enemy. She probably had a whole passel of Bozos looking for her, which meant a whole passel of reasons not to want to be found. Which meant Zack had almost no chance of finding her. And the sooner we gave people reason to doubt this rape charge, the better. “Good point. I’ll give this one to Trevor.”

  Print was better than the camera this time. I wanted the public to get all the details. And I wanted the story to circulate for a while. If I put it out now and let the public soak it up, they’d be less likely to buy her claim even if Zack did find her.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I called Trevor. “I’m giving you payment in advance for getting me the leaker.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  I gave him the story on Jenny Knox. “And you can verify all of it. Where are you on the leak?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’m working on it.”

  When I ended the call, I saw that it was after eight. I went out to the anteroom and announced, “Time to knock off.” Alex came out of his office. “I’m thinking we should hit Paige’s modeling agency tomorrow. Michy, how’s my day look?”

  Michelle pulled up the calendar on her monitor. “You’ve got a ten thirty in Department 125. It’s the follow-up on Deshawn’s case.”

  That wouldn’t take long. The sheriff’s crime lab had checked the gun for prints and DNA. Nothing matched up to Deshawn. But the video-surveillance footage for the evidence room at LAPD was a no go. The camera had supposedly—and suspiciously—“malfunctioned” sometime during the week before the gun turned up in Deshawn’s car. There was no record of who’d taken the gun out of evidence. So Deshawn would get his dismissal, but Officer Ambrose was off the hook.

  “I’ll swing by Twin Towers first to give Dale the news on Jenny. Deshawn’s hearing will take about five minutes, so we’ll have time to hit Paige’s modeling agency afterward. Alex, I’ll need you for that. You can either ride with me or meet me at the agency.”

  “I’ll ride with you. Dale and I are bros now.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You and Dale . . . I guess I’ve seen stranger things.”

  “Not lately,” Michelle said.

  I’d asked Alex to get to my apartment by seven thirty. Between morning rush hour and the waiting time at the jail, I figured it’d be nine thirty by the time we got to see Dale.

  I was close. It was nine forty-five when the guards brought Dale up. He looked pretty good. If it weren’t for the ankle-to-waist chains, I’d almost have said he had a bounce in his step.

  I picked up the phone. “That punk-metal thing is really working for you.”

  He smiled and studied his handcuffed hand. “I’m thinking of getting some ink while I’m here. Couple of spiderwebs on the neck. Maybe a biceps bracelet.”

  “Just no hearts with daggers.”

  “Think the jury might take that the wrong way?”

  “No, I’m just sick of them. I’m guessing you heard about the dirt we got on Jenny.”

  “I did. A couple of guys from the station came by this morning.” He looked at Alex. “Was that you?” Alex nodded. “Nice work, buddy.”

  I’d wondered whether he was getting any visitors. “How is that? Seeing them in here?”

  Dale looked down at the counter. “It’s good to see them. Not so good to be seen.”

  I could only imagine what it must be like to have his cop friends see him this way. “Are you getting any flak from the department?”

  Dale shook his head. “And I’ve been finding out that I had more friends on the force than I ever knew.”

  I was glad to hear it. “What about in here? The guards treating you okay?”

  “Better than okay. I can’t complain. Other than . . . you know, being hooked up for something I didn’t do.” He gave a brief twist of a smile, then looked closely at me. “How about you? I’ve been worrying about what kind of heat you’re getting.”

  “From whom? The public or Celeste?”

  He gave me a deadpan look. “I feel pretty confident your mother won’t be sending you death threats.”

  “That makes one of us. And she knows where I live.” Dale had a puzzled look on his face, but I didn’t want to tell him I’d cut her off—not with Alex there. I moved on to the news that Zack had decided to take the case to the grand jury. Dale agreed that was for the best. Then I told him about our plans for the day.

  “Okay, just be careful. People on the street are going to start recognizing you more and more, so watch out.” He flashed a look at Alex.

  Alex nodded. “I’ve got her back.”

  I looked at my watch. It was after ten. “I’ve gotta get to court. I should be back tomorrow or the day after to give you an update.” I glanced at Alex. “Or my bodyguard will.”

  We headed to the courthouse. I told Alex to park Beulah around the corner and wait for me there. “This won’t take long.”

  And it didn’t. I skidded into Judge Raymond’s court with less than a minute to spare. Rita Stump read the crime-lab report into the record, I made my motion to dismiss, and the judge granted it. Officer Ambrose wasn’t there, but the judge told Rita to let Ambrose know he’d been “suspiciously lucky” with that surveillance camera.

  When I got downstairs, a reporter I didn’t recognize, a young Asian guy with a nice smile, ran over to me and asked if I had any updates on the case. I hadn’t intended to do a TV spot on the Jenny story, but since it fell into my lap, I figured it couldn’t hurt. I gave him the CliffsNotes version.

  When we finished, the reporter—whose name was Kendall—practically kissed my hand.

  “I was covering a meeting at City Hall.” He rolled his eyes. “Bo-ring. Edie’s husband, Aubrey, was the only thing that kept me even half-awake. I just decided to jump over here in case anything interesting happened.” Kendall grinned at me. “And I got lucky.”

  I’d heard Edie was married to a state assemblyman. “Don’t tell me; let me guess: they were arguing about how to give themselves raises.”

  “No, Aubrey’s stumping for the young vote, making a lot of noise about funding for state colleges.”

  It might get me some credibility points with the jury pool to be seen shaking hands with someone like that. Edie owed me. I should ask her to set it up. After all, I’d given her the scoop on Dale being my father. But that story was so “ten minutes ago.” I’d need to dangle something new under her nose. “Well, I’m glad I could spice up your day.” I headed
for the sidewalk.

  “Thank you, Ms. Brinkman!”

  I waved over my shoulder. “Call me Sam.” I trotted down the block and found Alex around the corner.

  “Want to drive?” he asked.

  “You know where Models Inc. is?” He nodded. “Go for it.”

  Alex headed for the freeway. “For what it’s worth, Dale’s story about Jenny seems for real to me.”

  “Sociopaths—especially the smart ones—can be pretty slick.” I was trying hard to hold on to my objectivity. I couldn’t let my need to believe in him get in the way of the truth. He hadn’t told me about his breakup with Chloe or about the rape charge. There might well be more. Just because Dale’s story about Jenny looked like it was panning out, that didn’t mean he was innocent—of anything. “And Dale has every reason to perform for us. We’re all that’s standing between him and life in prison.”

  Though in all honesty, very few clients seemed to get the logic of that. They usually start out mistrustful, and it goes downhill from there. People always think defendants are out to get the prosecutor or the judge. The truth is, your client is the one most likely to really want to wear your skin.

  “You’re right.” Alex blew out a breath. “But if you’re worried that he might be gaming you, I just wanted you to know that he’s got me believing, too.”

  “Thanks, Alex.” I smiled. “That means he’s good enough to play us both.”

  He glanced at me and smiled back. “I guess so.”

  Paige’s modeling agency was in Hollywood. The name, Models Inc., had me expecting something sleek and modern. Then I noticed the address.

  It was in Tweaker-Junkie-Hooker Central. I’d never expected it to be the Wilhelmina Agency, but when Alex pulled up to the curb, I couldn’t believe it. The place was a dump that looked like it’d been condemned years ago. What few windows I could see were either caked with dirt or covered with cardboard. There was some faint evidence that the door might’ve been red at one time, but now it was just a slab of splinters, and the little window set near the top was so grimy I didn’t want to get close enough to even try and see through it.

  Alex turned the knob, then shoved it open with his foot—and rubbed his hand on his jeans. The door opened onto a dark, narrow stairway that stank of mildew and desolation. When I put a hand on the railing along the stairway, it swayed. Our shoes scratched on the bowed, dusty stairs as we hiked up to the second floor.

  The agency was one square room, dominated by a desk and an ancient-looking computer. A squat woman wearing heavy makeup and tortoise-framed glasses was typing on it. A few young, unspectacular-looking girls sat in chairs along the wall, under movie promo–size posters of famous models like Cindy Crawford and Gisele Bündchen. The young girls stroked their hair and scrolled on their cell phones. A couple of them glanced at us, then went back to scrolling.

  I went over to the woman at the desk and pointed to the posters. “Former clients?” Not for one second did I think so, but I wanted to score some brownie points to get her cooperation.

  The woman gave me a flat don’t-bullshit-me look. She scanned us, then shook her head at me. “You, I can’t use. Too old and I’ve got enough brunettes.” Her eyes landed on Alex. “You, I might be able to do something with. You do underwear?”

  “We’re not models.” I introduced us and told her why we were there.

  Her eyes slipped back to Alex. “Too bad.” She moved some papers on her desk. “I don’t get involved in my models’ personal lives, so I don’t know who Paige’s friends were.”

  “Can you tell us anything about her last shoots? Who she worked for the most?” Alex had found a couple of photos on Paige’s Facebook page that looked like they’d been taken at shoots. One of them showed Paige with two other models, but she hadn’t given their names.

  The woman tapped some keys on her computer, then pushed up her glasses and peered at the monitor. “She did a lot of work for HipHot.com. And it looks like we sent her out with Amaya Horrigan more than anyone else.” She looked up at us. “Anything else?”

  Alex gave her a smile so warm it would’ve bent steel. “Do you know how we might get in touch with Amaya?”

  The woman looked from him to me. I thought she was going to tell us she wasn’t a dating service, but she tapped a few more keys on her computer, then pulled out a business card and wrote something on it. She held it out to Alex. “That’s the number I use to get ahold of her. And our number’s on the bottom—in case you change your mind.”

  We were on the sidewalk thirty seconds later. I’d hoped for more, but I couldn’t say I was sorry to be out of that stink hole. “At least it was easy.”

  Alex made a face and handed me the card. “And sad and disgusting.”

  We got into the car and I pulled up Amaya’s bio. A pretty, dark-skinned girl with long, straight hair, her head tilted to one side, smiled back at me. “She looks like one of the girls in that model photo on Paige’s Facebook page.” When Alex stopped at a red light, I showed him the photo.

  “Yep, that’s one of them.”

  I called Amaya. No answer. I left her a message saying we needed to talk to her about Paige. I didn’t tell her we were working for the defense. No reason to overwhelm her with information. I felt my stomach rumble. “I’m hungry. Want to hit Pinks?” Pinks is a little family-run stand that makes the best hot dogs in the world. And their chili dogs and hamburgers are a religious experience. I’ve never seen the place without lines down the block.

  “Just hearing the name made my mouth water.”

  We were almost there when my phone rang.

  THIRTY-TWO

  It was Amaya. “Are you that lawyer? The one with the dad who—”

  “Yeah.” Silence. “Don’t hang up. I’m not out to dig up dirt on Paige. I just have a few background questions.” More silence.

  Finally, she spoke. “I hadn’t seen her in at least a month. I don’t know how I can help you.”

  “That’s okay. Where are you?”

  “At work. Spikes. It’s on Melrose.”

  I knew the place. It was a skull-and-dagger-style clothing boutique. And it was close. “Want to meet us at Pinks? I’m buying.”

  “Be there in ten.”

  The magic of Pinks.

  Alex and I got in line. I was next up when Amaya got there. She was even prettier in person. I’d have thought she could do a lot better than the Models Inc. agency. But what did I know?

  We all got chili dogs and bottled waters and found a table at the back of the little shack. The dogs were too good to let conversation get in the way, so we ate first. When we’d finished, I asked Amaya how well she knew Paige. As it turned out, they weren’t super tight.

  “I always liked to go out on calls with her because she was human, you know? It’s pretty competitive, and most of the girls will chew you up and spit you out for a job that basically pays pennies. But Paige was cool.”

  “Did you know any of her boyfriends?”

  “Just Marc, and I’m not really sure he was her boyfriend. He worked for Super Talents. She met him at a shoot.”

  “So Marc was a model?” Amaya nodded. “What did Paige say about him?”

  Amaya wiped her mouth. “Not much. I just got the feeling they were pretty close because I did a shoot with them a few months ago. They seemed pretty . . . relaxed around each other.” She sighed and stared off to the left. “So sad what happened to him.”

  I leaned forward. “What?”

  “He drowned. They just found his body a few days ago. It washed up onshore down by the Colony.”

  “The Colony in Malibu?” Amaya nodded. “Do you know Marc’s last name?”

  “Palmer. I just read it on the Internet. I only had the one shoot with him, but . . .” Amaya paused. “I feel like a jerk for saying this, but it didn’t surprise me that much when I found out he was dead. Paige said he was a hard partier, and when I met him, I could tell, just by the way he talked.”

  “Why? What�
��d he say?”

  Amaya shrugged. “Just talked about how high he’d been the night before, about how the party went on for, like, two days.” She shook her head. “Party for two days? And the night before a shoot? That’s crazy. I never even drink a glass of wine the night before a shoot. You can get so bloated and puffy, you know?”

  “Yeah, I hate that. Did he say who he was partying with? I take it, it wasn’t Paige.”

  “No, Paige never did stuff like that. She took the job seriously. He didn’t say who he was with. But the way Paige reacted, it was obvious that was Marc’s MO. Paige just kind of laughed it off, said Marc was lucky he had good genes.”

  Alex had been scrolling on his phone. Now, he showed the screen to Amaya. “Is that him?” Amaya nodded.

  It was a professional head shot of a very handsome—actually, pretty—young guy who had a sexy smile and black hair that fell over one blue eye. His right shoulder was to the camera, and he was looking into the lens through long, dark lashes.

  A name and a face. Great. Except we couldn’t talk to him. It figured. “Did you ever hear Paige talk about a guy she called Mr. Perfect?”

  Amaya frowned and shook her head. “But really, we didn’t talk about our personal lives. I think the only reason she said anything to me about Marc was because I was there at the shoot with them.”

  I kept at it for a little while longer but got nothing else useful. I thanked Amaya and let her go. She headed out the back door that led to a parking lot, and I watched her weave her way through the cars. Marc and Paige, both friends, both dead, and pretty close in time. I might be able to do something with this. “Look into Marc Palmer. See if any of his friends knew Paige. But don’t make it your life’s project. If it doesn’t pan out in a day or two, let it go.”

  Marc hadn’t turned up in any of the discovery I’d gotten from Zack, so he was probably a fringe player. We didn’t have time to waste on distant maybes.

  As we headed for Alex’s car, my cell phone rang.

  It was Michelle. “Have you seen the news?”

  “No, we’ve been out partying with supermodels, remember?”