Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1)

by Marcia Clark

  “Sure looked like her. And she’s trying to keep it on the down low.”

  “A booty call?” That would explain the late hour and the way she was hiding under a hoodie. I appreciated the symmetry of the playboy politician’s wife getting it on with his aide. I sank back down and turned to watch as she walked past the front door and turned left at the side of the house. Probably heading for the back door. I grabbed my cell phone and tapped in all but the last number for Alex’s cell. “I’ve got to see what’s going on. I’ll just stay back and look. If anything seems dicey, I’ll call you.”

  Alex started to protest, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue. I slid out of the car and moved as fast as I could without running. When I got to the side of the house, I checked the street to make sure no one was watching, then followed the path Edie had taken and tiptoed toward the back of the house. I stopped at the edge and peered around the corner just in time to see Edie use a key to open the back door. My heart started to beat faster as I thought about what that meant.

  This was more than a booty-call relationship. If she had a key, then she and Brent were pretty damn tight. There was a good chance they had been together when Aubrey called on the night Paige died. Still, that didn’t mean she knew what was going on, what Aubrey had done—or what he’d asked Brent to do. I crouched down below the windows and moved toward the back door.

  The top half of the door was glass, and I saw that it opened onto the kitchen. I could see Edie inside. She was heading toward the area I’d pegged as the bedroom. I took hold of the doorknob and slowly twisted. It was open. My pulse was racing now. This was a bad idea. I didn’t know what I was walking into. But I’d come this far. If it turned out to be just a hookup, I’d sneak back out the way I came. And hope none of the neighbors saw me and called the cops. My throat felt tight as I called Alex. When he answered, I whispered, “I’m going in.”

  “No, wait—”

  I ended the call and moved inside in a low crouch, deliberately leaving the door open for a fast exit.

  As I passed through the kitchen, I saw Edie. Her back was to me, and she was standing in front of a closed door. I crouched down and hid behind the wall that separated the small dining area from the hallway where she was standing. She paused, her left hand on the doorknob. As I watched her, I noticed that the right side of her sweatshirt was sagging. It pinged a vague alarm in my head.

  She turned the knob and opened the door slowly, then took two steps inside. As she reached into her right pocket, I finally realized what that sagging pocket meant. Without thinking, I launched out of my hiding place and sprang toward her. I shouted, “Stop!” just as she pulled out the gun. Startled, she turned toward me, and I rammed into her. The momentum sent us both flying. As we crashed to the floor, the gun went off. The sound of the shot exploded through the house.

  I heard Brent scream from the far side of the room. If he jumped into the fray to help her, I’d be dead meat. I had to get that gun. I looked up, hoping she’d dropped it when we fell. No such luck. It was still in her hand. But she’d reached up to break her fall. Her arms were still outstretched. I jumped on top of her and tried to jam my forearm into her neck as I reached for the gun, but she twisted away and threw me off. I saw her start to bring her arm down, putting the gun into firing range. In desperation, I slammed my body into her. She fell back, but she still had the gun. I tried to grab her arm, but my hands were now slick with sweat. They slipped off as she yanked her arm away.

  I latched onto her again and pulled myself up, toward the hand that held the gun. She tried to push me back and make room to put the gun between us so she could fire at me, but I held on. As I reached up again to grab the gun, she tried to slam it down on my head. I pulled away at the last second, but I didn’t dare let go of her. The blow landed hard on my neck. The force of it choked my windpipe, and I saw stars. Brent shouted something, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Was he calling to Edie? Frantic now, I clawed at her face. She screamed as my fingers found her eye sockets. Finally, I managed to seize the hand that held the gun. I banged it hard, once, twice, three times. Her hand flew open, and the gun skittered across the floor.

  I had one hand jammed against Edie’s throat and the other latched onto her flailing arm. I was about to climb over her to get the gun when I heard footsteps pounding toward the bedroom. Alex pulled me away. In one deft move, he flipped her over, yanked her arms together, and zip-tied her hands behind her.

  When I stood up, I saw that Brent was staring down at Edie, his face white. His whole body was shaking. He spoke in a voice that was choked, hoarse. “You—you were going to kill me? Why? I’ve done everything for you—”

  Edie, seated on the floor, struggled against Alex’s restraining arm as she whipped her head back and forth. She let out a shriek that sounded like a crazed animal and bucked against Alex, her eyes wild, features twisted in a snarling grimace. Alex shoved her to the floor, facedown. I turned to look at Brent, trying to make sense of what he’d said. “You killed Paige and Chloe . . . for her?”

  Brent’s gaze was fixed on Edie, his face slack, numb. “No. But I . . .” His face crumpled. “Edie, why? I never would have—”

  Edie screamed, “He did it! He did it all! He killed Storm!”

  “To protect you, Edie!” Brent shook his head as tears filled his eyes. His voice was choked. “Because I love you!”

  I looked from Brent to Edie. And realized I’d had it all wrong. I began to put it together. “Brent?” His eyes briefly flicked up at me, then settled back on Edie. “When Aubrey called you that night, he said Paige was freaking out. He wanted you to go calm her down, keep her from calling the cops. But you never went, did you?” Brent shook his head. “Probably not the first mess you had to clean up for him, was it?” Brent didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. I knew I was right. “You told Edie you weren’t going to do it again—”

  His gaze still fixed on Edie, Brent broke in. “He wasn’t worth it, Edie. He wasn’t good enough for you. Why couldn’t you see that? He doesn’t love you. I do! I’m the one who loves you!”

  Edie was breathing hard, but she was silent. I pressed on. “So she went instead. Did you know she’d killed those girls?”

  Brent’s body sagged as he shook his head. “Not at first. She told me no one answered the door. But after Storm came out and said . . .”

  Said that we knew Paige was the target, Edie saw it was all about unravel, so she told Brent he had to stop us. “Did Aubrey tell you the real reason why Paige was freaking out?”

  Brent finally looked at me, his expression confused. “He got in a hassle with some guy. Paige was coked up, acting crazy.”

  I shook my head. “No. It was because he’d just killed that guy. And Paige saw it all.” Brent’s mouth opened, his lips moved, but no words came out. And that told me even more. If Brent didn’t know, neither did Edie. “So Edie went there thinking Paige was just another affair. She’d go talk Paige down, maybe promise her a little hush money.” I looked at Edie, who’d gone quiet. “Isn’t that right, Edie?”

  Edie glared at me with a crazed expression; then she gave her body a violent twist, arching her back in an effort to break free from Alex’s grip. Alex tightened his arm around her neck and she stopped, her chest heaving. She spoke in a low growl. “That fucking whore! She would’ve called the cops! After all those years of sucking it up, looking the other way, eating his shit, his lies. All for nothing—because of that stupid little piece of trash? No! No way in hell!”

  Edie began to sob. It was a harsh, ragged sound—ugly and raw.

  Brent watched her, the agony on his face like a gaping wound.

  At that moment, I heard heavy footsteps running along the side of the house. The cavalry was here. Edie, lost in her collapsing world of misery, didn’t seem to notice. But Brent did. And as he looked up, I saw something shift in his expression. Before I could figure out what it meant, Brent lunged across the room and grabbed the gun off the floo
r. Tears streaming down his face, he raised the gun, his eyes fixed on Edie.

  I reached out to him and screamed, “Brent! No!”

  But Brent never even looked up. He stared down at Edie as in one swift move, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

  The blast rattled the windows. Wet clumps of blood and brains splashed the walls. I stood staring, unable to speak, my hand still reaching toward him. Tomas and his men came running in; their heavy footsteps echoed like thunder in the small house. Then, in the distance, I heard the thin wail of sirens.

  SIXTY-THREE

  I must’ve been in shock for a little while, because I wound up on the couch in Brent’s living room with no memory of walking to it. The paramedics checked me out and said I was “basically okay,” but told me I should go to the hospital “just as a precaution.” I politely declined. Well, not all that politely.

  It’d been hard to put together any coherent thoughts at first, but Detective Wayne Little wanted a statement now, so we did our best. We knew Brent had killed Storm, so it wasn’t a big leap to surmise that he’d set the fire in my office and broken into my apartment, too. Wayne thought they might find prints in my apartment to prove it. And he was hoping they’d find evidence in Brent’s house to link him to the fire as well.

  But the big question was, how did Edie manage to kill both Paige and Chloe?

  That had us stumped at first, but then I remembered what Chas Gorman, the doper in the building, had said. He’d thought he heard someone knock on Chloe’s door before she and Dale got home. I hadn’t put much stock in his accuracy at the time. But next-door neighbor Janet was wide awake when Dale left, and she hadn’t heard anyone else arrive after that.

  So Edie had to have gotten there before Dale and Chloe. And the timing of the phone calls with Aubrey and Brent confirmed it. That meant Edie had to have killed Paige before Dale and Chloe came home. But then why kill Chloe? I had to replay the whole scenario to figure that one out. There was only one possible explanation: Chloe and Dale got home before Edie had the chance to escape. Stuck in Paige’s bedroom, the only thing Edie could do was close the door and hide—and hope no one came in. That’s where she got lucky. Paige had said she probably wouldn’t be back until morning, so Chloe had no reason to go check on her. And Chloe was distracted. She and Dale were having one hell of a fight.

  Hiding in Paige’s bedroom, Edie would’ve heard that fight and heard Dale storm out. It was the perfect cover. Armed with the knife she’d used on Paige, she caught Chloe by surprise and—based on the crime-scene photos—still on the floor. With Chloe dead, Edie had a little time to figure out how to get out of there without being seen. It wouldn’t have taken her long to figure out that the balcony was an easy climb.

  Then I remembered there’d been some stray hairs and prints in the apartment—notably, some unidentified prints on the doorknob of Paige’s closet, probably where Edie had been hiding when Dale and Chloe came home. Wayne Little said he already had his men pulling up the evidence to see if they matched up to Edie. I wound up thinking it was all pretty simple. But most crimes are, when it comes right down to it. Even the big ones.

  By the time the cops let us go, I was so exhausted on every level—emotional and physical—that I could barely keep my eyes open. And now that the adrenaline had worn off, I felt like I’d been stuck in a cement mixer. Alex looked drained, but he seemed in better shape than I was. He drove us back to his place and insisted I spend the night.

  I decided not to argue. My place was safe now, but it was still a mess, and the thought of having to confront the ugliness was overwhelming. On our way back to Alex’s apartment, he told me he’d called Michelle to give her a quick rundown of what’d happened while I was wrapping up with Wayne Little. She’d been glad we were alive but “pissed enough” to kill us.

  Right as she was, I didn’t have the energy to deal with it. So when we walked in, I was prepared to tell her to yell at me tomorrow. But we must’ve looked pretty bad, because she took one look at us and said, “You guys need to get to bed.”

  Alex went to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of pinot noir. “We do. But I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. It’s from Adastra, this great winery in Napa. Proximus pinot noir.”

  It was beautiful. And just what I needed to take the sharp edges off all the trauma we’d been through. I let Alex fill in the rest of the story.

  When he’d finished, Michelle stretched out and held the glass on her stomach. “But why would Edie need to kill Brent? She knew he killed Storm. And that he tried to kill us. So what if he knew she’d killed Chloe and Paige? Wasn’t it kind of a standoff?”

  Alex refilled Michelle’s glass. “I’d guess she just didn’t know if or when he might have an attack of conscience and decide to come clean. Or maybe blackmail her with it. As long as he was alive, it’d be hanging over her head. She’d never really be safe.”

  Michelle took a sip. “You think Aubrey knew about Edie and Brent?”

  I shrugged. “That one’s hard to call.”

  Michelle sat up and put her glass on the table. “Well, I sure don’t blame her for having an affair. But how’d she plan to get away with killing Brent?”

  Good question. “I don’t know. But she was pretty unhinged. I’m not sure how much real planning went into it.”

  Alex swirled the wine in his glass. “Even so, she might’ve pulled it off if we hadn’t been there. Unless someone got a good look at her—not so easy considering she was dressed in that hoodie and dark clothing. Plus, who’d suspect her?”

  I sighed. “And losing it or not, she sure managed to play me like a kazoo—for months.”

  Michelle nodded. “But who’s in handcuffs now?”

  A great point. I smiled. “And more important, look who’s out of them.” I raised my glass. “To Dale.” We toasted to that.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  I was pretty amped when I rode to court the next morning. Tired, sore, and looking like I’d spent the night in a washing machine on the spin cycle—but amped. Alex and Michelle were with me. They deserved to take this victory lap.

  I headed back to the holding tank to see Dale. It was a whole new experience now that he’d been cleared. I could look him in the eye and not wonder whether he’d murdered two innocent girls. I could share a smile with him and not worry that I was in the company of a psychopath. And I could hold my head up without feeling judged for being the daughter of a multiple murderer. It surprised me to realize how much that had weighed on me. It wasn’t as though he’d ever been a real father to me. But there was no denying that we were connected by blood. Like it or not, on some elemental, lizard-brain level, his sins were my sins. So knowing he hadn’t killed Paige and Chloe was more than just a relief—it was almost as though I’d been exonerated.

  Dale was beaming. “Does this mean I’ll actually get to talk to you with no bars or bulletproof glass between us? I won’t know how to act.”

  I smiled. “Me neither.”

  His eyes were misty. “I’d say thank you, but it seems so lame. You saved my life.” His expression turned anxious. “When I heard about the fire at your office, I thought I was going to lose my mind. If anything had happened to you, Sam . . .” He trailed off, unable to speak.

  I waited for him to recover. When he looked up again, I gave him a little smile. “We don’t have to go there.”

  Dale sighed. “No, better not.”

  But my smile wavered. The image of Brent putting the gun to his head, the roar of the shot, his blood and brains splattering the walls, kept coming back to me, again and again.

  Dale watched me knowingly. “I’ve seen some ugly things—even saw a jumper once—but I’ve never seen anyone commit suicide that way. How’d you sleep?”

  “Not great.” That was nothing new. But last night, I got to have a whole new nightmare and dreamed nonstop about blasts of gunfire and torn, bloody faces. I woke up over and over again, breathless and shaking. “I just hope it’ll
stop sometime soon.”

  Dale nodded. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I can tell you from experience, it does get better—eventually. And if you want to talk, I’m here.”

  That’s right, he really could be. Now. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  Dale’s brow furrowed. “They arrest Aubrey yet?”

  I nodded. “Up in Sacramento. He was at a campaign fund-raiser. Guess he’ll need those funds for something else now.”

  As we exchanged grins, the bailiff tapped me on the shoulder. “The judge’s about to come out, Samantha. Wrap it up.”

  I gave the bailiff a salute and turned back to Dale. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  The benches in the gallery were so packed I didn’t know how anyone was breathing. The story had been all over the news, but the audience sat in rapt silence as Detective Little spoke. To his credit, he admitted we’d put it together for him.

  When he finished, Zack asked for two weeks to let the crime lab process the evidence at Chloe’s apartment and the Larsens’ beach house, “Just to make sure it all jibes.”

  The judge glared at him. “Two weeks? So this man can spend more time in custody for crimes he didn’t commit? I’ll give you three days. You either bring in solid proof that Dale Pearson committed these murders by then, or I’m dismissing this case. And in the meantime, I’m setting bail at ten thousand dollars.” He turned to me. “I assume he can make that?”

  I’d anticipated the judge might grant bail, so I’d asked Alex to bring his uncle Tomas, the bail bondsman. I looked back at Tomas now, and he nodded. “Yes, he can make that.”

  “Very well. You’re all ordered back Thursday morning. Until then, we’ll be in recess.”

  When the judge left the bench, Dale and I had a long hug. Our first real one. It felt strange but somehow familiar. The clicking of cameras filled the room. For a change, I’d get to go out and talk to the press without worrying about what I needed to spin.