by Don Lasseter
“So when the gun went off, were you shocked? Was it unexpected?”
“What makes you think—where is this coming from that the gun even went off?”
By this time, David Mahler certainly knew that Donnie Van Develde had provided the information leading to these accusations. “I don’t know why he would say that. I have absolutely no clue other than the fact that we’ve had disagreements in regard to his paying the rent.”
Small asked, “Did Kristi say something to you to get you going? She just wanted away from you.”
“Kristi and I get along fine. Did Donnie say different?” Using the present tense for Kristi made it sound as if Mahler thought she was still alive. And he seemed to have forgotten talking about the dispute that prompted him to abandon her in a hotel, and his description of ordering her to leave his house.
It hadn’t left Small’s mind, though. “Did she hold a grudge because you left her in Newport? Did she owe you some money too? Is she ripping you off?”
“No.”
“Did she sic someone on you?”
Mahler asked if they could take a break. All three agreed, and Vicki Bynum left the room. Both men continued to chat, however. Mahler commented, “I’m a lawyer. When I go to court, I’m in control. I’m damn good at what I do. In this room, you’re damn good at what you do. And you’re good, because you knew exactly where you were headed.”
“I’m just trying to find the truth,” Small countered. “And I want to know where Kristi is.”
Mahler gave the first hint of cooperating. “I know I can find that out.”
They continued bantering in mutually complimentary terms. Mahler said, “I’m talking to you because I’m looking at you in the eyes and I’m saying, ‘This man is good at what he does.’ Maybe sometimes you’ve got to slide the truth, but [you are] always on the right side of the truth. And I’m telling you point-blank—what do you want or need from me so that I [can] sleep at home or in a hotel this evening and not in jail?”
To Detective Small, David Mahler had played his first bargaining chip. He had made clear his willingness to trade information in exchange for getting out of jail. Still, the detective needed crucial information. He met the offer with a curt reply.
“I’m not going to promise that you’re going to sleep at home, and I’m not going to promise that you’re going to sleep in a hotel. I can’t make any promises, and you know that.”
Disappointment clouded Mahler’s face.
Offering a little leeway, Small said he thought the whole thing might have been an accident. “If that is so, you need to tell me about it. Otherwise, I’m left with what I’ve been told by other witnesses and by evidence we find.”
Still probing for negotiation opportunities, Mahler asked if they had more than Donnie’s version of what had happened. Small said that they did indeed have corroboration of Donnie’s statements. “And I can tell you, we believe Donnie is telling the truth.”
Vicki Bynum returned to the room. She again made an appeal to David Mahler, to think of himself and not waste his future by getting deeper and deeper into a hole.
He expressed his understanding of the situation and acknowledged that it would be stupid to force the detectives into writing a harsh report depicting him in negative terms. Mahler realized that he needed their presentation to the district attorney (DA) to be in as favorable terms as possible.
The trio batted the issues of “doing the right thing” versus “self-preservation” back and forth for the next hour.
For Mahler, the challenge seemed to be discovery of how much evidence and how many statements had been piled up against him, but the detectives let him keep wondering.
Regarding witnesses, Tom Small played another chip. “You called your best friend up and asked him to help you get rid of a body.”
It sent Mahler into a dizzy spin. He replied, “I don’t even have a best friend. Who are you talking about?” He puzzled over it and speculated, “The only person that could be is Damien. But I don’t consider him as a friend. Have you looked into his history?”
Ignoring the comments, Detective Small reiterated, “Where are we going to find Kristi?”
Mahler deftly dodged it, pointing out that any kind of an answer, even if he had one, would incriminate him. After more jousting, he came up with an idea.
Mahler said, “Let’s look at it hypothetically. Let’s presume that I’m able to pinpoint her exact location. Let’s further presume that once she’s located, she won’t be in good health.” He wanted to know if providing “hearsay” information to help locate her would help him avoid being jailed.
A judge would have to make that decision, said Small. “I think it would carry some weight that you stepped up and did the right thing.”
Vicki Bynum made a powerful appeal to Mahler’s logic. “David, let’s stop it now before it becomes an avalanche. Make it stop... . I know you are going to go the right way. I feel that about you. I think you are a decent guy, a smart guy, an accomplished person. But something has happened to you in the last six months. People I have spoken to say that something has changed in your demeanor, your behavior. I think that whatever’s happened to you—whether it be drugs, financial, whatever—it has caused you to make this horrible mistake. You are not the kind of person to do something like that. But if you let it continue, it’s not going to work in your benefit.”
Tom Small returned to pragmatic basics. “I want to know three things. One, where she’s at. Two, where the gun is. Three, who moved her? Was it you? Or did you have help?”
David Mahler snapped, “Those are three pretty serious, incriminating statements if I were to answer any of them, aren’t they?”
Now Vicki Bynum grew impatient. “Look, we’ve been doing this job for a long time. And you know we’re not bullshitting you here, David. You know that.”
Her language seemed to impress Mahler. “I wouldn’t even be talking here if I thought you were. You don’t think I’m disrespecting you, I hope.”
Another half hour of gambits and verbal chess followed. As the clock ticked close to noon, Mahler said, “I’m willing to meet you halfway. But you can’t ask me to give you— show you all my cards in hope that they’re good enough. That’s not fair.”
Small put it in clearer terms. “What you’re asking me is—‘Can we deal?’”
“Not necessarily ‘deal,’” Mahler said, “but what can we do to minimize the charges?”
“I don’t have anything to do with what a charge would be, other than present the facts as I obtain them.”
“What charge would you recommend if everything got answered?”
After thinking it over for a moment, Small said, “If the evidence shows it was an accident, I would say it could be involuntary. It could very well be that. I don’t know. Based on the totality of the circumstances as we know it right now, we are going to continue to investigate.” He unequivocally stated, “I cannot play ‘let’s make a deal.’”
Mahler appeared to withdraw, so Small offered a tidbit of encouragement. “Look, if you are the kind of person who’s going to stand up and tell us where we can find her, and you’re going to help us complete this part of the investigation, the DA is going to know that you helped us.”
Still dreading the thought of spending that Saturday night, Sunday, and Monday in jail, David Mahler asked if something could be done to request a judge to grant him freedom through bail or release on his own recognizance.
The subject of lunch came up at half past twelve. Mahler registered surprise. “I didn’t know it was that late. Can we have a meeting with a judge in chambers before four o’clock?”
Bynum stepped out to arrange for food to be brought to the room for Mahler.
“Do you know where Kristi is?” Small repeated.
Mahler growled out, “At this point, it doesn’t matter to me.” Instantly realizing his strategic error, he tried to smooth it over. “I don’t mean it like that. I can’t even believe I said that.
I take it back completely. Pretend I never said that. What I mean is—this is my best bargaining chip, because her parents want her alive. Let me tell you this. The last time I saw her, she was alive.”
Sensing an opening, Small bored in. “Where was she hit?”
For the first time, Mahler hinted that he knew Kristi had possibly suffered a life-threatening injury. “The last—you know, the last I saw her, there was movement and there was the attempt at speech. How long does that last? I’m no doctor.”
With renewed energy, Small pushed even harder. “Where is she? If she’s alive, we need to get medical attention to her.”
Mahler, though, saw the slight admission as an opportunity to request an immediate hearing with a judge to seek release in exchange for information. He voiced the suggestion. Small remained tenacious. “So it’s your belief we could probably find her?”
“With my assistance, I think it’s possible. And I also think you can find the gun, and a lot of other things you don’t even know about... . I want bail set so I can get out of here. And then you get what you want.”
“You know I can’t make any promises,” Small reasserted. “Are you telling me that you are able to find a way to locate her?”
“I am able to find a way to find her, probably in one phone call, to tell the truth. What else do you want? You want the shells? Do you want the bullets? They’re all in different places. But somebody—and I’m not saying who—knows where they all are. I know you don’t want anyone else using that gun, do you? Now I’m not admitting anything here. And I’m not going to admit anything. I can help you, but it’s not for free.”
Putting on a facial expression of deep thought, Small said, “Let me make some phone calls.”
An attendant showed up with a sandwich and soft drink for Mahler’s lunch.
Accepting it, Mahler made a request of Small. Could he also have his cell phone to call someone? He implied that it would be to the person who could supply information that the detectives wanted. In addition, he hoped to reach Stacy. “If you could work that out, that would be fabulous.”
Small left Mahler alone in the room. But the suspect didn’t realize that a video recorder, with a monitor in an adjacent room, kept running. It picked up Mahler’s whispering, growling soliloquy of fury. “Asshole. I want to get the hell out. Goddamn it. Fucking Stacy. Why did I have to [do] the stupidest fucking thing I ever did? This is fucking ridiculous. (Inaudible) fucking, I want to leave. How the hell was I so stupid? I’m getting tired. That’s why. I was just getting tired. I have one more thing to do, one fucking thing. Everything was fucking handled. (Inaudible) Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every fucking night except Thursday.”
It would be interpreted that he referred to being satisfied with Sunday, the day of the shooting, Monday and Tuesday at hotels, but furious at the events of Thursday. When the detectives replayed the recording, they realized he probably referred to the early-morning trip to the desert on that Thursday. Mahler’s vulgar monologue continued. “I’m sick of this goddamn little room. It’s not right. I’m fucking losing it. Waiting like an idiot in a closed room.”
Vicki Bynum unlocked the door, swung it open, and found David Mahler lying on the floor near a tipped-over chair.
CHAPTER 19
REVEALING SECRETS
Detective Bynum gasped. “Are you okay?”
Mahler stirred. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Realizing that the collapse was doubtlessly a ploy for sympathy, she again spoke in her usual sweet tones. “Oh, so you’re just lying down?”
“I don’t know. My head gets dizzy. It’s my own fault. Don’t worry about it.”
Bynum asked, “So you are all right?”
He snarled, “I’m not all right, but let’s—what the hell are we doing?”
Tom Small, who had seen the minidrama on the television monitor next door, rushed in and spoke, tongue firmly in cheek. “I heard this noise. I thought you were knocking. I thought, ‘Dang, that sounds like someone knocking.’”
“Nah, I fell over. I’m okay, though.”
Simultaneously both detectives asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m cool. I’m cool.”
Still disguising his contempt by being oversolicitous, Tom Small asked, “Was it the sandwich? Do you need some water?”
Mahler declined any more aid. Small announced some bad news. No judge would be available for an immediate hearing. Nor would they receive anyone in chambers under these circumstances. Instead, any judge would rely on information presented to the DA.
Obviously disappointed, David Mahler said, “I know you were trying to help out. Where do we go from here?”
“Well, that depends on you. Do you have anything further you’d like to tell us, because we have learned more? ...”
“Why don’t you just tell me what evidence you have? Because as far as I’m concerned, there is none.”
Flexing his jaws, and giving Mahler a cold stare, Small said that he thought Mahler had probably been high on cocaine that Saturday night and Sunday morning. “The facts are that you shot and killed that girl in your bedroom. And you wanted to cover it up and maybe elicit some support from some of your friends... .”
“Oh, so you are saying that there were some phone calls recorded?”
The question gave Small and Bynum one more piece of the puzzle. His worry showed consciousness of guilt. Small kept talking. “If you want to put a better light on it and tell us everything you know, I will present that to the district attorney. Otherwise, I’m going to go with what I’ve got. And with what I’ve got, you are screwed.” Mahler slumped and made innocuous quarreling noises. Small moved in. “No, no, no. Sit up to the table like a man. Let’s go one-on-one... . I’m going to turn up the heat a little because I’m tired of goofing off with you.”
Actually straightening his posture a little, Mahler uttered a soft “Okay.”
“You know—this little charade about falling on the floor—I heard you kick the chair over. What is this, a game you are playing?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I think you’ve got a body hidden somewhere. You shot this poor girl.”
With his eyes darting back and forth—worried—Mahler’s retort made little sense. “Let’s leave that out of it, ’cause that has nothing to do with it.”
“No, we’re not going to leave that out, because that’s what it’s all about.”
“You think I’m—”
“At this point, I’m starting to think a whole lot different of you. I thought maybe you had some good in you. Look, I’ve given you lots of opportunities to help yourself and do the right thing. I’m not going to keep coming back with more.”
Perhaps worried that he had blown a chance, Mahler played his next card. “So you are going to let her—no medical attention the rest of the weekend? You think she will last?”
Small barked out, “I think she’s gone, and you know it.”
“If you think that, why are you ... ?”
“If you know where she is, you give it up right now.”
Stiffening his spine, Mahler said, “Let’s talk like gentlemen and try to get some results here.”
Small shot back, “The results are you want a cakewalk out of here. Ain’t happening, okay? You’re here to stay.”
Somehow interpreting the comment as a threat to raise the amount of bail, Mahler protested, “The bail should be two million. I’ve got it. Don’t tell me I am staying. I ain’t staying anywhere. I’ll stay in town and I’ll face the case.”
The sparring continued for another twenty minutes with jibes, veiled insults, and no change in what each side hoped to accomplish. David Mahler’s thrusts hoped to squeeze promises from the detective, and Tom Small adamantly stated he could make no promises. The exchange appeared to be stalemated several times, with both Mahler and Small ready to end it. But they continued.
Small asked, “Are we going to keep this adversarial, or [are] we going t
o talk turkey?”
Mahler snorted. “I’m trying to talk turkey. You raised the heat, thinking I’m going to back down like a punk, and I’m not.” He accused Small of not being a gentleman.
Vicki Bynum interceded as a referee. “This is not getting us anywhere. Detective Small is always a gentleman. David, do you understand that what we think you are asking of us is something we cannot provide? Let’s try to get this back to where we were before it got adversarial. Okay?”
As the tension lowered, Bynum spoke softly to Mahler, recognizing that he was probably confused, in denial, a little scared, and unsure just what to do. “I think you are acting as you would with someone you are representing in court.”
“But you also think that I’ve done some things—more than I have really done.”
In her usual, pleasant, melodic voice, Bynum said, “Well, I’ll tell you what you’ve done. You’ve been on a drug binge. You’ve been partying. You’ve had problems with women. You’ve been kicked out of hotels. You’ve had fights at hotels. You’ve had fights with girls. You’ve had somebody let you down. You’ve been ticked off. All of this is coming around and spinning around. It’s gotten out of control for you. That’s what’s happened.”
Mahler nodded his agreement. “You’re right on point on every one.”
“And you were not acting maliciously or with the intent to hurt anyone when it happened. But it happened. And instead of just dealing with it, you spun out of control, maybe thought about flight. Maybe that’s why you went to a hotel by the airport. You spent some time thinking about how to cover it up. And now, here you are, sitting here, and you’ve dug yourself into a hole a little bit. And we’ve been telling you for hours how all we really want to do is help you get out of this. But we’re not going to do it much longer because we have a lot—”
Mahler corrected one point. “Not ‘get out’ of it, but diminish it.”
“Okay. Diminish it. Thank you. And you’re not going to get out of it—and we’re trying to help you diminish it. But we’re not going to sit here much longer because, personally, we’re tired. We’ve got a lot to do. You can make our job a lot easier and we can present this in the best light possible. But we’re just about done. You know we can’t make any promises or represent the DA or speak for a judge. Okay? All we can do is complete our investigation and go from there. And, of course, we want to know where she is. By the way, I’m a mother and I have a daughter about the same age as this young woman, and I would be worried sick.”