Snap Judgment (Samantha Brinkman Book 3)

by Marcia Clark

Dale stared at his coffee, then shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

  I spooled out the plan. “We’ll have to tell Tiffany what’s really going on with Tracy, since we’re asking her to help sell our lie. And who knows? Maybe with a little luck, we might be able to build a real case against Ronnie—the asshole.”

  “I definitely like the idea of building a real case against that punk.” He looked me in the eye. “A lot better than whatever else you were planning to do to him.”

  My face was a mask of innocence. “That was what I was planning to do to him.” Okay, so it wasn’t my first choice. But it was in the mix.

  Dale blew out a breath. “Of course, your plan goes down the shitter if Tracy doesn’t care about getting revenge on Ronnie—or helping her little sister.”

  I nodded. “That’s true. My plan is based on a hunch. But I think it’s a good one.” I did have a certain expertise in the area of molestation.

  He stared out the window for a moment, then turned back to me. “Assuming this works and you do get to talk to Tracy, what then?”

  I’d been thinking about that. “I’ll warn her about Cabazon, tell her we want to save—”

  Dale interrupted me again. “And she’ll believe you because . . . ? I don’t know why she’d trust you—or me. And beyond that, exactly how are we going to save her?”

  His edginess was understandable, but it wasn’t helping matters. I was nervous, too. I took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as I could. “First of all, given her background, I think she might have an easier time trusting me than you.”

  Dale hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Maybe so. But still . . .”

  “I know. And you’re right. I can’t make her trust me.” I lifted my hands, palms up. “All I can do is hope for the best. But as for rescuing her, I do have a plan.” And it’d wrap in nicely with the story we were going to sell about Ronnie abusing Tammy. I mapped out the general outlines of what I’d been thinking.

  Dale pointed out some flaws and offered some tweaks. But when we’d finished, he still didn’t look thrilled. “It’s dicey as hell, Sam.”

  It was. But as far as I could tell, there was no such thing as foolproof—or risk-proof—given the parties we were dealing with. “Again, I’m happy to take suggestions if you’ve got something better.”

  Dale had a stubborn look. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  “Fine. In the meantime, let me know when you get the names of those FBI agents.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  It was after three when I headed back to the office, and I was hungry. Comfort food sounded good to me right now, so I hit the drive-through at the Taco Bell near the office and bought us a bunch of tacos and quesadillas.

  As I walked through the door carrying my bounty, I said, “Who’s the best lawyer in LA?”

  Michy eyed the bags. “Is some of that for me?”

  “Yes.” I pulled one of the goodies out of the bag and handed it to her.

  She gave a fist pump. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You are the greatest lawyer in all of California.” She started to unwrap it. “Is this a Taco Supreme?”

  I put a hand on my hip. “What cruel monster would neglect to bring Taco Supremes?”

  Michy took a bite of her taco and spoke around her mouthful. “Did I say California? I meant all of North America.”

  Alex came out of his office and raised an eyebrow at Michy. “It’s Taco Bell, not prime rib and lobster.”

  Michy gave a mock gasp and covered her mouth. “Sam, tell him to stop.”

  I turned to Alex. “You must never put down Taco Bell. It is forbidden.”

  He rolled his eyes, then went over and picked up a taco. “It does smell good.”

  Michy gave him a superior look. “I rest my case.”

  I picked up a couple of tacos and told them to come eat in my office. I wanted to kick around our new information on Graham’s case. When we’d all settled in, I asked Michy if Alex had given her the latest on Roan and Professor Barth.

  She licked some hot sauce off her fingers. “Yeah. And now the question is, what could Roan have had on Barth that might have made Barth kill him?”

  I took a sip of water. “Alex, did you get a chance to make any headway on this?”

  He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I bumped around on Barth’s Facebook page, checked the Internet for any past lawsuits, and reviewed what I’d downloaded on Roan. So far, nothing.”

  I took a sip of my Coke. “And no one we spoke to mentioned anything happening between them. So whatever it was probably only involved the two of them—no witnesses.” I picked up the chicken quesadilla. “Alex, did you happen to get into Barth’s bank accounts?”

  “Did that a while ago. I didn’t see any unusual activity—no sudden balance jumps up or down. Typical professor’s pay—for USC anyway. As far as other financial activity around the relevant time, I noticed that he bought a car one week before Alicia died.”

  I finished chewing my bite of quesadilla. “What’d he buy?”

  Alex balled up his taco wrapper and tossed it into the wastebasket near my desk. It went in—all net—and he looked pleased with himself. “Nothing fancy. A seven-year-old Volkswagen Jetta.”

  Michy asked, “What’d he do with his old car?” She balled up her taco wrapper and made the basket as well. “Girls so rule.”

  Alex flicked his fingers at her. “Mine was a harder shot,” he said. “As far as I could tell, he still has his old Audi. Old being a relative term. It’s a lot newer than that Jetta.”

  “How much newer?” I balled up my quesadilla wrapper and made the toss—and missed. “It’s the wrapper—it’s bigger than yours.” Michy and Alex exchanged smirks. I held up a middle finger.

  Alex ignored me. “The Audi’s only three years old.”

  And he bought a seven-year-old Jetta. That seemed weird. “Why buy an old Jetta when he’s got a newer Audi? Unless he needed to downsize. But in that case, wouldn’t you think he’d sell the Audi?”

  Michy looked confused, too. “I sure would. And I’m sure USC pays better than most, but he’s an undergrad professor. It can’t be huge bucks. Besides, he’s single. Why does he need two cars?”

  Alex shrugged. “I think it’s odd, too. But to your point, Michy, maybe he did sell the Audi and just didn’t report it so he wouldn’t have to claim the income.”

  I supposed that was a possibility—maybe even likely. But you can’t develop leads by assuming anything, no matter how logical. “I think we should go check out Barth’s place and see whether he still has that car.”

  Alex went over to the wastebasket and pointedly looked at me as he picked up my quesadilla wrapper—which had landed a solid foot to the right—and threw it in. “He lives in Mount Washington.”

  Mount Washington was a cool ’hood, just seven or eight miles northeast of downtown, which made it an easy commute for Barth. Lots of hills, great views, and most of the houses were custom, so the wide variety of styles gave it kind of a bohemian vibe, even though the population was solidly upper-middle class. “Then we could go tonight.”

  Alex looked at his watch. “It’s almost seven. If we leave now, we should get there by eight or so.”

  I pulled on my coat and nodded toward the table with the rest of the Taco Bell feast. “Michy, feel free to take the rest of it home.” Just to be on the safe side, I put my gun in my purse. I didn’t expect any trouble, but why take chances?

  Michy followed us out and started packing the food into the plastic bag. “Yum, tacos for breakfast.”

  I made a face. “That sounds awful.” Alex went to his office to get his coat. I put the extra napkins into her bag. “Want to do a movie tomorrow? Or is it a Brad night?”

  Michy pushed her blue Scünci back and fluffed out her hair. “Brad is dead to me. Movie night sounds great.”

  I was surprised. “You guys had a fight?”

  She sighed. “Nothing major. It’s just that he likes to
drag me to all his office parties, and they have so many of them. And they all suck. I passed on one a couple of nights ago, and he got mad.” She waved a hand in the air. “He’ll just have to get over it.” She peered at me. “How’re you doing? You’ve been looking kind of tired lately. You sleeping?”

  I gave her a resigned smile. “On occasion.” I wished I could tell her about Tracy and her depressingly awful family. Michy didn’t know the lurid details of my childhood, but she knew that I’d been in very bad shape when we moved in with Sebastian. And, of course, she knew the narcissist that was Celeste. Bottom line: she’d understand perfectly why Tracy’s situation got to me. But I couldn’t do it to her. Keeping all knowledge of Cabazon from her—and from Alex—was the only thing I could do to protect them. Alex came out of his office, and we headed for the door. I waved to Michy. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  We took Alex’s car because we needed to keep a low profile, and it would blend in where we were going. After he navigated onto the freeway, I asked, “How’s it coming with the other website owner?”

  He smiled. “By the way, his name is Simon Lutz. I’ve siphoned three thousand five hundred and sixty-eight dollars from his website. And his nude photo got more than two thousand hits. I’m about ready to let him know he can stop the pain by taking down his website.”

  The double whammy of hitting his wallet and putting him in the victims’ shoes was so satisfying. “Love it. Feel free to let him twist in the wind for as long as you like. The more money for the worthy causes, the better.”

  Alex sighed. “I agree. But that means Laurie’s photos stay up, too.”

  “Oh, right.” I’d been caught up in the thrill of revenge.

  Alex said, “How about if I split the baby and let it go for another week?”

  “Or you could let Laurie make the choice.”

  He smiled. “Even better. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  We found the professor’s house on West Avenue, a narrow, winding street with no sidewalks. It was blue with white trim, and it was the smallest one on the block—possibly in the whole neighborhood. It overlooked a canyon and had a detached garage that was only big enough to hold one car. The garage was closed, but I noticed it had a window in the door. A Volkswagen Jetta was in the driveway. As Alex found a parking spot farther up the street, I pointed to it. “Is that his?”

  “Looks like it.” Alex peered at the license plate, the pulled out his iPad and hit some keys. “Yep, that’s his.”

  “Then he must be home, so we’ll have to wait.”

  We couldn’t go snooping in his garage and risk getting caught. “I’m betting he’s not the type to stay in on a Friday night.”

  Alex slid down in his seat. “Let’s hope not anyway.”

  I slid down, too, and checked the car clock. It was eight. Hopefully he’d be leaving soon. “There might not be a car in that garage. Some people use the space for storage.”

  Alex glanced at the property. “Especially with a house that small. He probably needs all the room he can get.”

  The prospect of this mission turning out to be a bust was not a happy one. I needed this lead to take us somewhere. Plus, it was freezing inside the car, and Alex couldn’t leave the engine running without attracting attention. By eight thirty, I was shivering. “If he doesn’t come out by nine, we’re pulling the plug.”

  Alex shook his head. “You are such a weather pussy.”

  A couple approached, walking a small poodle. I leaned over and put my head on his shoulder. And noticed how much thicker his coat was than mine. Pretending to say romantic nothings, I said, “Feel the difference between my coat and yours.”

  He put an arm around me and pinched the fabric as he pretended to whisper softly in my ear. “It’s thinner. But you’re still a weather wimp. You should wear a vest.”

  The couple glanced at us, smiled, and kept walking. I waited until I couldn’t hear their footsteps, then sat up. Leaning against Alex had warmed me up a little. “Thanks for the body heat.”

  He slid back down in his seat. “Anytime.”

  I heard a door open. It was Barth. He was leaving. Finally. “We’re in business.”

  Alex watched over the steering wheel as Barth got into his Jetta. “Give it five minutes after he pulls out.”

  I watched as Barth backed out and drove down the street, then counted the minutes on the car clock. At four minutes and fifty-nine seconds, I opened my door. “Ready?”

  Alex nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We got out, checked the area to make sure no one was coming, then went over to the garage. I looked through the window. “I see a black Audi. How about you?”

  Alex rubbed the section of window he was looking through and took a closer look. “Yep, that’s his license plate.” He scanned the area behind us, then turned back to the door.

  I knew what he was thinking. I pointed to a padlock on the right side. “Unless you brought bolt cutters, we’re not getting through that.”

  Alex looked at the sturdy lock and sighed. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It’d be too risky anyway.”

  He nodded, then pulled out his phone and took a picture of the car through the window. “Well, we found it. Now what?”

  I had no idea.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  We headed back, and I let Alex concentrate on navigating the tight, winding roads. There were almost no streetlights, and we’d spotted more than one raccoon—and a couple of skunks—while we’d waited for Barth to leave.

  When he made it down the hill and onto a main thoroughfare, Alex said, “It’s not necessarily any big deal that he bought an old Jetta and kept the Audi. Maybe he just wants to use the Jetta as a daily driver. Or maybe he hasn’t gotten around to selling the Audi yet.”

  Both explanations were reasonable. “Yeah, I don’t know that this is going to lead to anything—but it is interesting that he’s got it padlocked in the garage. It’s not like he lives in a rough neighborhood.”

  Alex pulled up the on-ramp to the freeway. “But he might have other stuff in there that’s stealable. And even if there isn’t, why take chances?”

  That was true, too. Car thieves exist in nature, even up there, and a car in an unlocked garage would be such an easy mark for hot-wiring. Still, something about this car business was bugging me. “You didn’t notice anything on his DMV record?”

  Alex shook his head as he pulled into the fast lane. “Couple of speeding tickets before he got hired at USC, but nothing in the past couple of years.”

  I mulled it over, but as Alex pulled into the office garage and parked next to Beulah, I still hadn’t been able to come up with any way to push this angle. “I’m fresh out of ideas.”

  Alex was staring out the windshield with a stubborn look. “I’ll keep thinking.”

  I told him not to let it get in the way of his weekend, and he said he wouldn’t dream of it.

  But as I opened my door, I saw that he was distracted. One of the most important traits of a great investigator is tenacity, and Alex had it in spades. I patted the roof of his car, then got into Beulah. As we drove out, I knew he’d be chewing on this all weekend.

  It stayed on my mind, too, but other than my ruminations, I had a fairly peaceful weekend. Movie nights with Michy are always relaxing. We catch up on the personal and mostly block out the professional.

  Over dinner on Saturday night, she told me that she and Brad had already patched things up, which made me happy—and amused. “He can’t live without you.”

  Michy nodded, matter of fact. “True.” She took a sip of her wine. “What about your pitiful excuse for a love life?”

  I pointed out that Niko and I were doing well. “Not a single fight.”

  She gave me a deadpan look. “A remarkable achievement. But since you’ve only had one real date in the past seven months, you’ll excuse me if I don’t break out the bubbly.” Michy looked down at her wine, then back at me. “He really is on th
e road a lot, Sam. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  I smirked. “Niko being on the road a lot is what makes it work.”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “My point being, don’t you think it’s time for a real relationship?”

  “No.”

  Michy rolled her eyes, but she gave up, and we moved on to more fruitful subjects—like the film we’d just seen, which pretty much sucked.

  And the rest of the weekend was fairly mundane—until Dale called on Sunday night with an update on his search for the local cops who’d handled the Maldonado murder.

  He sounded agitated. “I found them. They’re both in Rampart division now. The problem is, I don’t know either of them, so it’s kind of tough to find a plausible reason to ask them questions—especially about a case I have no reason to care about. But I was just thinking, don’t you have a friend in Rampart?”

  There was only one cop who could possibly qualify as a friend. And Dale was right about her assignment. “Yeah, Hank transferred over there about a year ago. I can ask her to talk to them.” I thought about what I could use for a cover story. “I’ll give it a shot. But I don’t know how long it’ll take her to get to them. You sure there’s no way you can access the department database without getting caught?”

  There was a pause, and I heard ice clink against glass. “Believe me, I’ve been trying to think of a way ever since we got into this mess. But it’d take more tech smarts than I’ve got to cover my tracks. Alex could probably do it, but we can’t use him.”

  No, we couldn’t. It was frustrating having to do things the old-fashioned way. You don’t realize how much you depend on computers until you can’t use them. “Okay, Hank it is. I’ll call her now.”

  And I did. I told her I was checking out Maldonado’s lawyer, because he wanted to merge his practice with mine. “You ever hear of Diego Ferrara?”

  She was silent for a moment. “No. Do you want me to run him through the system?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I’d just assumed he was a scumbag. But it couldn’t hurt to see how big a scumbag he was. “That’d be great. And since you’re doing me one favor, I may as well pile on and ask for another one. Ferrara claims he’s got a federal case—a gang-related murder. Defendant’s name is Jorge Maldonado. A couple of guys in your division caught it first.” I gave her their names. “You know them?”