Date With the Devil

by Don Lasseter

  Driving alone gave Stacy the opportunity to mentally relive highlights and low points of their long relationship.

  It had all started out so nicely. She loved the way he treated her in the early years, courteously opening doors, allowing her to enter a room in front of him, and ordering for her in restaurants. Even when they worked on business matters together in his apartment, they made it a team effort. She later described it. “He concentrated deeply and we kept conversation to a minimum. He spent a lot of time with intensive telephone conversations. But he would always break at twelve noon and we would have our little bagels with cream cheese and our fifteen minutes together in the kitchen. That’s when we could talk. To me, that just showed how dedicated he was. Even though he was doing business at home, he would always dress professionally.”

  When Stacy met David’s mother, it had been a thrill to hear her say that David had never talked to her about any woman in his life except Stacy.

  The move West, though, had altered everything. Mahler’s behavior had slipped downhill gradually. He became domineering and selfish. His desire for strippers, hookers, and porn actresses had hurt Stacy, but she didn’t want to end the relationship. People feared him and he seemed to enjoy dominating them. Still, she clung to love ties.

  The miles zoomed past Stacy as she drove south on I-99 and approached Bakersfield, where she and David had rendezvoused a couple of times. The corners of her mouth turned up in memory of the fun times, but other recollections pained her.

  Stacy recently had found solace in her dogs. She had started raising pugs and would say, “They are the love of my life. I have owned three litters of the cute little pug puppies. They are my babies. Love me, love my dogs.”

  Once, a dog had been the start of an unhappy experience at Cole Crest. “I was outside, late at night, playing with my dog, and David was yelling at me about it, criticizing my doggy. I just walked away and went to a neighbor’s house. It was cold and windy, and I had this light outfit on with my little dog in my arms—nowhere to go. Some guys had just moved into the house and were running some kind of computer operation. I used my cell to call a taxi and was waiting for it, but cabdrivers could never find their way up there. It was like hours. I wanted to get somewhere to get warm. Those guys invited me in and offered me a shot of tequila ’cause I was freezing and my nerves were shot. Finally the taxi showed up and took me and my pup down to a motel on Sunset Strip. Usually, I had very little money with me, but that time, fortunately, I had enough to take care of my expenses. The next day, I went down to Newport Beach, where I had friends. The point is, don’t ever mess with my dogs.”

  Ascending a stretch called “the grapevine,” over the Tejon Pass crest at 4,144 feet, and through the Tehachapi Mountains, along a stretch known for generations as the “Ridge Route,” Stacy thought about the most recent argument with David. He had been furious because he expected her to be with him on that Sunday, May 27. But she had bought the new Jeep Cherokee and her father had insisted on some final mechanical adjustments, including assuring the door locks worked. She had tried to call David, but she hadn’t made the connections. Then, on Monday, he had called to say he had been arrested. He was still angry at her for standing him up on the previous Sunday. But it had been so innocent. Perhaps, she wondered, if she had been there that weekend, she could have kept him out of the trouble he was in.

  With about an hour more to drive, Stacy looked forward to seeing David and hoped things would turn out well for him.

  CHAPTER 18

  THEY WERE GOING TO LEAVE SOMEONE’S HEAD AT MY DOOR

  Moving on after a short break, Tom Small asked if Edmund had been a drug supplier to David Mahler. He replied, “I’m not going to lie. Yes, I’ve gotten coke from him.” He emphasized that it was for his personal use. “I have never sold any of it. I will admit that I once bought nine hundred dollars’ worth of meth so Cheryl could have it at my house when she needed it. She had a real problem and that’s partly why we broke up.” He admitted that he had tried meth a few times for enhancement of sexual experiences.

  Out of the blue, Mahler asked Small, “Are you married?”

  “Yes.”

  “You seem like a genuine nice guy to me. You’re the kind of guy that likes making love. You make love to your wife. You may have wild sex now and then to keep it passionate, right?”

  The ploy of intimate personal ingratiation didn’t fool Small. He answered, “Very interesting. Very astute.”

  “So you don’t need a stimulant like meth for sex. But I’m in a different zone.”

  David Mahler had concluded that the police raid at Cole Crest must have been the result of an informant calling them. Dying to know who, and what the person might have said, he resorted to inserting inquiries into his answers in the hope that Tom Small or Vicki Bynum would reveal it. Speaking casually, Mahler said, “So I’m just thinking. We got Robert Jimenez probably calling you to give you information. Rick—now there’s another guy I’m curious what he would do. And that guy Damien ... You know who contacted you, and I don’t. So I’m just trying to put the pieces together.”

  The bait didn’t even tempt Small. He used the comment as a transition to his next question. “So what is Damien’s play in this?”

  “I told you. He’s the guy who introduced me to Kristi. And he would call me every now and then and say, ‘I got a girl here. You want to meet her?’”

  To Small and Bynum, that description fit several people: Atticus King, Edmund, and now Damien. “How often do you get these girls?”

  “Lately, not at all, because, remember, I’ve had girlfriends. I had my fiancée, Kitty, and Cheryl, and Stacy. So I haven’t done it for a while.” Mahler seemed to have forgotten speaking about having a prostitute at the Marriott Hotel with Atticus King.

  Small brought up another subject. “We did a little check on you and we know you have guns in the house.”

  Mahler turned indignant. “You know I have guns? I do not have guns. If they checked my whole house today, you will see there are no guns there.”

  “No guns at all?”

  “None at all. There was—at one point, there was a gun that Robert left there, but it was picked up.”

  “Other than that, have there ever been guns in your house?”

  “Never.” He guessed that Cheryl had told the police he had a gun, and then speculated it may have been reported by Karl Norvik. “Now, if that’s coming from Karl, I’ll be very honest with you. Karl sometimes gets a little riley when he gets drunk. I have a very real-looking water pistol. This drunken idiot sometimes—when he’s drunk, I’ll say, ‘Get out of my room.’ It’s nothing but a water pistol.”

  At Small’s request, Mahler described the toy in detail and said it could be found in a drawer under some black sweatpants.

  “Okay, that’s the only gun you have ever had?”

  “That’s it, in my whole life.”

  Veering away from that subject, the detectives spent some time hearing about Mahler’s business and personal relationships with Sheldon Weinberg, and the links with Kitty, Cheryl, Kristi, and Michael Conoscenti who was also known as Damien.

  Small’s facial expression tensed. He asked, “Do you know where Kristi is?”

  “No, other than the fact that I was told she was looking for drugs two days ago.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Rick.”

  To Small and Bynum, this made no sense at all. Rick, the guy who had been extorting money and threatening Mahler, was now feeding him information about Kristi searching for drugs?

  “Where does she live?”

  “She stays in Sheldon Weinberg’s place, in Calabasas.” Mahler gave them the address and phone number.

  After a prolonged discussion about Mahler’s cars, and his part ownership of a Mercedes and a home in Orange County, he admitted that they had been obtained from a relative of Karl Norvik through some financial arrangements.

  “Where is Karl?” Small inquired.
>
  “You know, it’s funny you asked that, because it’s freaking me out right now. I spoke to Karl [by phone] not thirty minutes before the officers arrived at my house and he told me he was in Orange County. But when the police came, I knocked on his bedroom door and someone said, ‘Hold on.’ I’m like, ‘Karl, the police are here.’”

  The detectives noted that David Mahler had given a protracted alibi of being frightened for his life, fearing that people who wanted to hurt him might have been outside. But now, he spoke of telling Karl the police were there. His inconsistencies weren’t helping him.

  Small said, “I’m going to ask you a question I’m really curious about. How did you wind up in Jeremy’s closet?”

  Perhaps realizing his mistake, Mahler tried to recover lost ground. “Scared shitless, okay? Here’s why. I’ve had all these threats. After knocking on Karl’s room, I hear someone screaming, ‘Just a minute.’ I know Karl is not there. I had just spoken to him in Orange County. My mind started saying, ‘Is Robert up to something? Is Rick in there? Who is in Karl’s room knowing the police are here and not answering the door?’ I didn’t even want to know. I went down to talk to Jeremy and I went in his closet. It’s not like I was, you know—”

  “Was Jeremy expecting you?”

  “No.”

  “Did he and his girlfriend hide you in the closet?”

  “No. I just wanted him to answer the gate and see what the police wanted... . I overreacted and got scared.”

  Small wouldn’t let him off the hook. “Why didn’t you go let them in? You are the main resident, and you knew it was the police. I’m just curious.”

  “I thought it was possibly someone setting me up. I had received a text mail telling me that someone’s head was going to be dropped off outside my door. I didn’t know what to think, to be quite honest with you.”

  “Was there ever a head left at your house?”

  “No.”

  “Were any kind of body parts deposited there?”

  “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous about it. These guys are experts. I wouldn’t put it past them to leave a head at my door.”

  A series of questions followed about Mahler’s drug usage. He complained that he had already answered them several times. Small apologized. “Sometimes I forget what I have asked.”

  Mahler responded, “You don’t have a short memory. You’re smart. I’m a lawyer. I know the technique of repeating questions to see if the answers are consistent.”

  Vicki Bynum broke the growing tension with her musical laugh, saying, “That’s better than admitting that we’re really getting old and we don’t remember.”

  Returning to the alleged incident of Edmund slapping Kristin in Mahler’s presence, Small asked, “Did anybody else come to the room?”

  “Donnie did. Remember, I mentioned that?”

  “So Donnie saw Edmund and Krissy going into this little episode?”

  “Yeah, and then he left right away. He was smart.”

  “Did you summon him up there, or did he just arrive on his own?”

  Indignant again, Mahler snapped, “First of all, I’ve never summoned him up there. If I called him at all, it was in answer to him calling me first.”

  “Okay, how were you dressed when Donnie was there?”

  Mahler wasn’t certain. He said he could have been wearing shorts, his pants, or a bathrobe. Small wanted to know what kind of a bathrobe. Mahler said, “A white Marriott robe. I always take them from hotels. Sorry. Arrest me.”

  “At the time you had the robe on, were you wearing anything else?”

  “I would imagine nothing. I’m not sure where this is going, but—”

  Ignoring his concern, Small inquired why Mahler went to the Marriott that night. The reply came out sounding sarcastic. “Because that’s where Atticus was. It’s my favorite. You should try it. I had called Atticus and told him there was too much drama at my place, and he suggested we meet at the Marriott.”

  A harsh tone colored Small’s next words. “So you go to the hotel, and right after that, Kristi turns up missing.”

  Mahler tensed. “Uh-huh, okay. Are you making an implication here?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out where Kristi wound up.”

  “Okay. Well, that would be something that Edmund or one of her other friends would have to tell you.”

  “What do you think happened to her?”

  “Well, I’m not so sure she is missing. I’m getting told from Rick just two days ago that she asked him for drugs. She and Rick are close enough that he wouldn’t make up a story like that.”

  Small grew edgier. “We’re trying to locate Kristi, and that’s really what this is all about. And I think you can help us.”

  Mahler appeared to scramble. He suggested calling her cell phone and mentioned that she often stayed with a guy named Jeff. “Allegedly, he’s the guy who picked her up from Newport Beach, so she says.”

  Small unloaded. “David, I think your story’s full of shit!”

  Mahler recoiled as if he had been shot. “Why?”

  “Because Edmund wasn’t in that room at the time you were prancing around in that bathrobe.”

  Quickly recovering his bravado, Mahler replied, “Why do you say that? I do it all the time.”

  “It comes from what people have been telling me. I think you are mistaken. Maybe you had a little too much vodka in you.”

  Sounding like his feelings had been hurt, Mahler whined, “But I’m not full of shit.”

  That’s not what Small had said. He had told Mahler that his story was full of shit. But the detective didn’t bother to respond and clarify the distinction. Instead, he said, “Maybe you’re clouding things because something happened in that room you don’t want to remember. Or maybe there was an accident. Something went on in there that left a lot of blood. And there’s blood in other places in your house.”

  Still dancing around the main point, Mahler retorted, “I haven’t had time to check the place out and look. I haven’t even looked around. My concern was my bedroom.”

  Later discussing that segment of the interview, Tom Small said, “I lost my temper with him. I was fed up with his evasions and lies. He just wanted to hear himself keep talking. So I figured, why not push his buttons and see what happens?”

  Turning to Vicki Bynum, Tom said, “You kinda kept the situation nice. I basically told him that everything he was saying was bullshit.”

  Laughing, Vicki complimented her partner. “It was an amazing game, mostly between Tom and Mahler. They were sparring with each other for hours.”

  Small explained, “Mahler didn’t want to put it down. With him, everything is negotiable, so he started trying to set up some trading chips and negotiate his way out of being charged.”

  Keeping his focus on the main issue, Detective Small said to Mahler, “Until I lay eyes on Kristi, I have to consider her missing. No one knows where she is, but people did see you and Kristi together.”

  David Mahler muttered, “Who saw us together?”

  “People we have talked to saw you and her in that room.”

  “She wasn’t there that long.”

  “You were seen with her in that room—just you and her, with no Edmund.” Small threw another boulder into Mahler’s sinking boat. “You were seen waving that gun around, acting all crazy.”

  To this new and significant charge, Mahler could manage no more than “Uh-huh.”

  Unrelenting, the detective added, “You probably had a load on. You were upset. You were tired. You’ve had enough drama. Krissy’s causing you grief. You want her out. You’re pissed off about this Rick guy, right?”

  Donning a cloak of calm, Mahler replied, “I’m listening to what you are saying.”

  Small queried, “Does it make sense to you? And then you summoned Donnie up there.”

  “Uh-huh. Donnie, yeah.”

  “Yeah,” Small echoed. “He shows up, and you pretend like you’re going to cap a ro
und into him.”

  “Into him?” Mahler’s question sounded as if he was incredulous that the round would be intended for Donnie rather than Kristi.

  “It scared the crap out of him and he splits,” said Small. “He closes the door and then hears the sound of a gunshot.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you ... if that’s what you’re—”

  “That’s what I got.”

  “You’re telling me—”

  “I’m telling you that another witness goes up and views her body in your room.”

  “With me there?” Mahler probably assumed Small meant Karl Norvik, but the detective’s follow-up confused him.

  “No. You weren’t there. Can you explain all that?”

  “In two ways. But first of all, there’s—”

  Small wanted no diversions. “How about the truthful way?”

  At this point, Vicki Bynum stepped in to defuse the growing hostility with a little touch of “good cop” gentleness. She spoke sweetly to Mahler, hoping it might inspire him to reveal what he knew.

  David Mahler remained on the defense. “I think you guys are insinuating that in some way I had something to do with her disappearance. I am stunned.”

  Suggesting that perhaps an unintentional accident had taken place, Small gave Mahler an opportunity to rationalize events. He rejected it. “If an accident happened, it wasn’t at my hands.”

  Small felt fire in his belly again. “You were the only one there. And you are the only one with a gun in his hand.”

  “Donnie was there, first of all. I mean, I know Donnie was there, because he was in and out—like you say. Edmund was there too.”