by Marcia Clark
“True.” Bailey folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “The fact that Stayner’s prints aren’t on the gum helps,” she said.
“It does,” I agreed. “But not enough.” A person doesn’t always leave detectable prints every time he touches something. So the absence of prints has some value, but it’s limited.
“Also true,” Bailey said. “So we need more on our guy.”
“You shoot at the king, you better kill the king,” I agreed.
We both sat for a moment, silent, thinking.
“What about the coroner? You hear from him yet?” I asked.
Bailey shook her head. “Couldn’t hurt to goose him a little.” She punched the numbers on her phone.
“If you can’t get the coroner, I’ll try Scott and see what he knows,” I said.
Bailey nodded.
I stood and faced the window while Bailey made the call. The sky was so piercingly blue it looked unreal, and the bright sunshine made even the grass around city hall look inviting. At the far end of the grounds, a shirtless man furtively urinated against an imposing maple tree. The grass looked somewhat less inviting now.
Bailey waved to get my attention, and I gladly turned away from my window. She covered the phone, her expression ominous. “I’m on hold. The assistant thinks they found the cause of death,” she said. “It’s a heart attack.”
I frowned. “Is the coroner going to get on the phone?”
“Waiting to find out,” Bailey said. After a moment, she nodded to me, then spoke into the phone. “Yeah, hi, Dr. Loujian,” she said, and paused. “Yes, Carl Stayner.”
While Bailey listened, I considered the possibilities now that Densmore was a potential suspect. I pointed to the phone and whispered, “Ask him—”
She looked at me. “Could you hold on for just a sec, Doctor? The DA has a question.” She handed the phone to me.
“Dr. Loujian, thank you for taking the time,” I said. “Is this a final conclusion or a preliminary?”
“It’s just preliminary at this point,” he replied in his oddly high-pitched voice, which was even more incongruous when you saw him: he was a solid six feet five.
“Was his physical condition completely consistent with a heart attack?” I asked.
The doctor paused. “Well, let’s say it wasn’t inconsistent,” he replied. “His heart wasn’t good. Then again, it wasn’t as bad as his liver. Now that was something to behold. It looked like it was ready to crawl out of his body on its own.” He chuckled at the macabre joke. Not all coroners have that sick sense of humor, but enough do to justify the cliché.
I tried to give him a polite laugh, but it stuck in my throat. “If someone wanted to administer a drug that would make the cause of death look like a heart attack, what would that be?” I asked.
“A number of substances could do it,” he replied. “It’ll take me a while to screen for them all, though.”
I thought for a moment. Stayner had been killed within hours after I’d shown the photo to Densmore. If Densmore had done it, the substance would have to be readily at hand. “I’m thinking of something a doctor could get ahold of relatively quickly.”
“That should narrow it down,” he said. “I’ll have them redo the tox and see what shows up.”
“That would be great,” I said. “How long will it take?”
“As long as it takes,” he replied.
A beat of silence passed as I tried to think of a polite way to tell him to get the lead out. Before inspiration could hit, the doctor spoke with a sigh. “I’ll put in a rush, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I really appreciate it.” Knowing I was pushing my luck but unable to resist, I added another request. “Would you mind faxing me your preliminary report?”
“Ms. Knight, you know that’s not kosher.”
“I won’t let anyone else see it, I promise,” I said. “You can trust me, Dr. Loujian,” I said quickly. “Ask Scott. He’ll tell you. We go back a long way.”
I didn’t think it would help to add that Scott could also vouch for me because no one had found out about his pilfering Jake’s autopsy report at my request.
After a pause, the doctor spoke. “I’ll do it,” he said reluctantly. “But you’ve got to keep it to yourself. And when I write the final report, you’ll have to destroy the preliminary.”
“I promise,” I said.
“Go stand by your fax machine, and don’t let anyone see you,” the doctor said. “I’ll get back to you on the rest as soon as I can.”
I told Bailey to come with me as I headed for the machine in Melia’s office. As we walked, I told her what the coroner had said.
“Those tox screens can take some time,” she remarked grimly.
“I know,” I replied. When we entered the anteroom to Eric’s office, I noticed with relief that Melia wasn’t there. The last thing I needed was her nosing around and asking questions. “But this is pretty specific stuff he’s looking for, so that should speed things up.”
Within seconds, the fax machine lit up and started spitting out pages of the preliminary autopsy report. I took the sheets as they came out, and we went back to my office, where I plopped down in my giant judge’s chair and prepared to read.
“Feel like a snack?” Bailey asked.
At the mention of food, my stomach came to life with an answering rumble, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast. The clock on the Times Building said it was 10:00 a.m. already.
“I’m starving,” I replied. I started to reach for my purse, but Bailey stopped me.
“This one’s on me,” she said.
I looked at her, suspicious. “No bagels and no muffins. I can’t take the stress right now.”
She threw me a mock wounded look and moved toward the door. “You cut me, Knight,” she said.
“Seriously,” I said. “I’m hungry and I have a gun. Do not fuck with me, Keller.”
Bailey raised an eyebrow and walked out.
I grabbed a handful of mini-pretzels from my bottom drawer to stave off the hunger pangs and picked up the autopsy report.
Stayner and Densmore. The Hollywood clinic a connection between them. I turned the triangle over and over in my mind as I scanned the description of Stayner’s external condition: “A well-nourished adult male… weighing 189 pounds… measured at 70 inches.” I stopped. Measured at. Something skittered through the back of my brain. I tried to make the phantom thought take shape, but it eluded me. I let out an exasperated sigh and slapped my desk in frustration.
At that moment, Bailey walked in and dropped a bag of celery and carrots and an apple on my desk. “What’s your damage, Knight?” she asked.
“Something in the autopsy report… reminded me of…,” I said. I paused as the wisp of a thought floated closer. Then slipped away… again. I shook my head. It was maddening.
Bailey picked up the report and read out loud: “ ‘Weighing one hundred eighty-nine pounds… measured at—’ ”
“Measured at,” I repeated. I held up my hand to stop Bailey from reading any further.
I quickly grabbed my printout of Kit’s photograph from the zippered pocket in my purse. Where was my magnifying glass? I eagerly rummaged through my desk drawers, slamming them closed one by one.
“Knight?”
I shook my head, looking around my desk, and was about to move to the file cabinet near the door when I spotted the magnifying glass on the table near the window. I jumped up, snatched it, and slammed back into my chair. I held the magnifier over the picture and peered closely at the vertical black line in the background. Now that I knew what it was, it seemed so obvious.
“What?” Bailey asked.
“Look at this,” I said.
I held the magnifying glass out to her. She took it and studied the picture.
“That black line in the background?” Bailey asked.
“It’s a height-measuring line,” I said. “We saw one in every exam room in the Holl
ywood clinic.”
52
“So the pictures Clive found on the Net were all taken in that clinic,” Bailey said almost to herself as she looked down at the printout again.
“Which explains why none of the kids looked posed,” I said.
“Yeah, none of ’em looked particularly sexy,” she agreed. “Then again, kiddie pictures often don’t.” Bailey put down the magnifying glass and sat back.
I nodded. The innocent look was usually a big part of the allure. I moved off the nauseating thought as a more stunning revelation suddenly hit me. The force of it held me transfixed in my seat. I stared out the window as I mentally played out the implications of what we’d just learned.
“What?” Bailey asked.
I paused. My conclusion was incredible but inescapable. “If we’re right about all this, it means that Susan’s rape and Jake’s case are connected.”
Bailey stared at me for a moment, blinking rapidly as the realization struck her.
I spoke slowly, thinking as I put the pieces together. “Kit is photographed in Densmore’s clinic. The photo is found on Jake. Densmore killed Stayner—and probably because Stayner raped Susan.”
“I’ll be dipped in shit,” she said softly, her tone incredulous. “You’re right.”
There’s no such thing as a case without surprises, but they’re generally little minnow-size twists that only involve side issues. What we had here was a game-changing sperm whale.
“But how and why did Densmore hook up with a cretin like Stayner?” I asked.
“No clue,” Bailey said. “But whatever we were thinking about the cases before, all bets are off now.”
I nodded. At this point, anything was possible.
“So this means Densmore’s a pornographer?” she asked, her voice heavy with disbelief.
“I’m having a hard time with that one too,” I admitted. I shook my head. “It makes no sense that this multimillionaire power broker would do something like this. Even if he was bent that way himself—”
“Which, frankly, I don’t get from him,” Bailey said. “Not that I’m a fan.”
“No, I agree,” I said. “On both counts. But we can’t rule him out.”
She nodded. “And even if Densmore isn’t the one doing the porn, it’s got to be someone with easy access to the rooms.”
“The only thing I can say for sure about that is I’m not liking Nurse Sheila for it,” I said.
“Yeah, I’d guess that someone who says ‘Be my guest’ when cops ask to look around isn’t someone who knows they’ve got something to hide,” Bailey agreed.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The more answers we found, the more questions popped up. Bailey posed another one.
“I’ve been picturing the clinic in my mind,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing any place for a camera in the exam rooms. Do you?”
I thought for a moment, then shook my head.
“We could head out there, take a look,” Bailey suggested.
“May as well. But we should come up with a cover story for Nurse Sheila,” I said. “We don’t want her telling anyone what we’re doing there.”
Even if Sheila wasn’t involved, we couldn’t risk the possibility that she might inadvertently tip Densmore off by telling him what we were up to. There was also the minor detail that I’d been specifically ordered not to get within ten miles of Jake’s case. Twice.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Bailey replied. She stood up and moved to the door. “We’ll figure it out on the way.”
“One more thing,” I said. “We’re going to have to keep the connection between the rape and the murders to ourselves for now.”
“No shit,” she agreed with a small chuckle.
If we told the powers that be about the link right now, they’d throw us off the Densmore case and hammer us for tromping on forbidden territory. But if they found out after we delivered both cases all nicely wrapped up with a bow, it’d be tough to justify any disciplinary action. All things considered, I decided to follow my motto: Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
“Of course, even if you did tell anyone—,” I began.
“They’d never believe it anyway,” Bailey finished for me.
We shared a rueful smile.
I picked up my coat, stuffed Stayner’s autopsy report into my purse, and put the printout of Kit’s photo back into the zippered pocket. We walked out and headed down the hallway.
“We could tell Sheila we wanted to score some Ecstasy,” I suggested.
“Nah,” Bailey replied. “It’s a sappy drug. Make it crystal meth.”
“Never figured you for the tweaker type,” I said.
“I’m a control freak,” Bailey said. “It’s a control-freak drug.”
“Interesting. I never thought of it that way.”
We’d almost reached the main door when I heard Melia call out, “Rachel!”
I spun around to see her waving at me from the door of Eric’s anteroom. Annoyed, I turned back. When I got close enough to avoid having to yell, I stopped. “Yes?”
“You’ve got a call,” she said. “A doctor. I think his name is… uh… Luanne?”
Loujian. The coroner. That was fast. “Thanks, Melia,” I said. Bailey and I rushed back to my office. I called out to Melia over my shoulder. “Tell him I’m coming.”
I was breathless as I picked up the phone. “Dr. Loujian?”
“I suppose I owe you one, Ms. Knight,” he said. “I went back to the body and found an injection site in the upper-right buttocks area. I decided to run some additional tests, and I suspect the killer may have used succinylcholine, or Anectine—a smart move because its half-life is about two minutes, then it’s gone. But I can still test for the metabolites.”
“What’s Anectine?”
“It’s used to relax the respiratory muscles in order to insert a breathing tube for anesthesia. Basically it paralyzes the respiratory muscles, which makes an overdose look like a heart attack,” Dr. Loujian explained.
“Is this something a doctor might have on hand?”
“Easily,” he replied. “Though I wouldn’t think he’d administer it without having an anesthesiologist present. Of course, that wouldn’t be such a big concern if he was using it to kill people,” the doctor said, chuckling at his own joke.
Actually it was kind of funny, so I chuckled with him for a moment. I promised to destroy the preliminary report, thanked him profusely, and hung up.
I brought Bailey up to speed, and she immediately pulled out her cell phone.
“Who’re you calling?”
“I’m sending units out to Densmore’s clinics to find out whether they stocked Anectine and, if so, whether there’s any missing,” she replied.
“Perfect.”
While Bailey made the calls, I turned to my computer and started preparing search warrants for Densmore’s house and clinics. Most of the personnel in the health centers would probably give us consent. But since I figured the pornography was an inside job, there had to be at least one person who’d refuse permission to search if he could.
Bailey got off the phone and turned to me. “They’ll be calling in with results as they get them. Assuming everyone at the clinics cooperates.”
I told her I was working on the warrants. “But if we want to make sure the judge approves an arrest warrant for Densmore, we should lay out a scenario for how he could’ve done the murder,” I said. “The judge isn’t going to want to go out on a limb any more than we did.”
“Right,” Bailey agreed. “I’ve been thinking about that. My guess is that Densmore got Stayner to meet him somewhere—”
“I’d bet the Hollywood clinic,” I said. “He’d need a private place he could control so he could knock Stayner out and inject him without being seen. And that clinic is the one point of intersection for them.”
“Sounds right,” Bailey said. “Then he loaded his bike and Stayner’s body into Stayner’s Escalade and drove up
to the top of Malibu Canyon.”
“And that Quench Gum fell out of his bike bag.”
Bailey nodded. “Densmore took out the bike, put Stayner into the driver’s seat, and sent the car off the cliff. Then Densmore rode his bike down the canyon.”
“All the way to the Palisades? That’s a pretty long ride,” I remarked.
“Not for him,” Bailey explained. “Don’t forget, it’s downhill all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway, and then it’s level ground on PCH. For a rider like him, it’s very doable. But even if he got tired, there’s a bus on PCH that’d take him almost all the way home.”
“Better add the bike to the search warrant,” I said as I turned back to my computer. “And we’ll need to check the records at the guard gate to see if they show him coming in late that night.”
“I don’t think there’ll be a record,” Bailey said. “The gate picks up the signal from the transponders that the residents have on their cars. His bike wouldn’t have one.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “Maybe one of the guards will remember letting him in.” I thought about that for a moment. “On second thought, no. If I were him, I wouldn’t chance that. I’d stash the bike nearby and climb the fence somewhere I wouldn’t be spotted.”
Bailey nodded again. “Then he could ride it back the next day without attracting attention. We’ll have the search team check the perimeter of the hood for a point of entry.”
Her cell phone rang.
“The troops checking in?” I asked.
“Hope so,” she replied. “Keller.” She listened for a few moments, then ended the call. “Brentwood, Palisades, and Calabasas do have Anectine,” she said.
“And?”
“It’s all present and accounted for.”
I exhaled and sat back. “I’ll keep working on the warrants,” I said. “But I don’t want to go to the judge with them until we’ve heard back from all the clinics.”
Bailey nodded. After another ten minutes, her cell rang again. This was nerve-racking. I stopped and watched as she took the call.
After a few moments, she signed off and put her phone in her pocket. “Sherman Oaks and Beverly Hills—ditto,” she said. “Nothing missing.”