by Marcia Clark
He frowned. “Relationship? Why would he have a relationship with a puta?”
As I’d suspected, he didn’t know about Tracy and Jorge. “You need to know that she is not a whore. She’s a victim.” Cabazon looked at me like I was an all-day sucker. There was no point explaining the horrors of human trafficking to someone like him. “The man Jorge shot had been beating and abusing Tracy. Jorge rescued her. And Tracy loves him. More importantly for you, Jorge loves her. I’ve learned that the agents told him they’d dismiss the charges against him if he tells them what he knows about you.” Cabazon’s eyes lit up with fury. It was a truly terrifying sight. I had to force a calm poker face as I continued. “And he said that if Tracy is harmed, he’ll start talking.”
Cabazon gave a snort and turned to look out his window. Anger crackled like fire in the air around him. When he turned back to me, his gaze was steely, but his voice was low. “If she testifies and he is convicted, what will his sentence be?”
I didn’t like that question, but he could easily find out on his own. “Probably fifteen to life.”
His eyes narrowed to icy pinpoints. “I cannot trust that he will stay quiet if he is given a life sentence. I have too many enemies.”
Everything now hinged on selling my next answer. “I believe I have a way to fix this problem. And it won’t require that anyone get killed.”
His eyes bored into mine. I took his silence as an invitation. And began to talk.
When we’d finished, I ran up the stairs to my apartment as fast as I could, feeling a tingling in the spot on my back where I imagined a bullet would hit. I was gulping for air by the time I got into my apartment and locked the door.
Cabazon hadn’t agreed to my plan, but he hadn’t disagreed, either. He’d only said he would “be in touch.” If I never heard those words again, I’d die happy. I called Dale to give him the news, using language almost as cryptic as I’d used with Jorge.
Dale asked, “What’s your take? You think he’ll go for it?”
I really couldn’t tell. “I wish I knew.” I said I’d get in touch with him as soon as I heard anything and ended the call.
I spent all of Saturday catching up on chores. I’d planned to go clothes shopping with Michy on Sunday but decided I really couldn’t afford it. We opted for dinner instead.
I was getting ready to go out and meet her when Alex called. A pleasant surprise. “Hey, what’s up?”
I heard “Freddie Freeloader” by Miles Davis playing in the background. He must be at Paul’s place. Alex didn’t share my love of straight-up jazz. He said, “I just wanted to let you know that I did a little extracurricular work today and hacked Davey’s phone.”
All this phone hacking was making me a little uneasy. “Are you sure you can’t get caught? I mean, I love it, and I’m glad, but . . .” Anyone can slip up.
There was a smile in his voice as he said, “I appreciate your concern—though you should know better. There’s not a chance I’ll get caught. I only jumped in to see what he had in the way of photos, e-mails, stuff like that.”
Good. That was the kind of thing that might at least show whether Davey had been stalking Alicia. “And?”
He sniffed. “Nada. Clean as a whistle. At least as far as Alicia’s concerned. He’s got a prof in marketing who might want to avoid dark alleys, though.”
“So maybe I’m just being way too suspicious. Hard to believe, I know. But there it is.”
Alex laughed. “Maybe this one time. Anyway, just thought you’d want to know.”
I thanked him and headed out to meet Michy at the Tower Bar—a classic Old Hollywood lounge and restaurant on Sunset that had great views and even better drinks. It was a splurge, but we decided we could afford it, since we’d saved all that money by not going shopping. Over icy vodka martinis, I told her that Alex hadn’t found anything suspicious on Davey’s phone.
She was less surprised than I’d been. “I think he was just intrigued by the fact that he had a sister. And then he found out she was really cool—and had nice friends.” She shrugged. “He found a little family of his own. I can see it.”
That was certainly one way of looking at it.
We talked and laughed till after midnight, then we both Ubered home. All in all, it’d been a pretty nice weekend, and by the time I got into bed, I’d decided to drop the Davey and Alicia issue. It was going nowhere. Michy was probably right.
But the next morning, I had a change of heart. When I got to work, I told Alex and Michy to come to my office.
After they’d settled in, I said, “I’d been wondering whether Davey might’ve killed Alicia. But that didn’t fit. He really seemed to care for her. What might fit is the possibility that Davey killed Roan. He did seem pretty protective of Alicia. What do you think?”
Alex wrinkled his brow. “Seriously? Are we desperate enough to throw Graham’s son under the bus?” He held up a hand. “Dumb question. Of course we are. Do you want me to tail him?”
The idea didn’t thrill me, but I didn’t know what else to do. “Yeah, for a day or so.” I drummed my fingers on my desk. “Michy, you have any ideas?”
She gave a sidelong glance at the television. An ad for Pepto-Bismol was playing. A little smile played on her lips. “What was the name of that place where Alicia and Diana used to dance? The Pink Panther?”
I’d forgotten about that pole-dancing business. “No, I wish. It was called The Pink Palace.” Michy made a face. “Right? Awful name.”
But that was an angle we hadn’t pursued. I turned to Alex. “Give it a day. If you don’t come up with anything on Davey, that’s where we’ll dig next.”
I had some ideas already.
FIFTY-ONE
Alex hit the road—he planned to catch Davey as he left for his first class—and I spent the rest of the day clearing the decks on my other cases. If Alex came up empty-handed, I’d have to start running on Graham’s case full time. And then, of course, there was Tracy. Our plan was in Dale’s hands now. But it wouldn’t take long for him to pull his end of it together. For possibly the thousandth time, I wondered why everything had to happen at once.
I powered through lunch and into the evening. When Michy left at six thirty, I barely looked up to say good night.
Alex called at eight o’clock to say he was sitting outside Davey’s apartment. “So far, so nothing. When do you want me to pull off?”
I’d had hope but no real expectation that we’d get lucky with this last-minute surveillance. Nevertheless, it was a bummer. “Give it until midnight if you can stand it.”
Because I hate to ask him to do anything I wouldn’t do, I stayed in the office until past midnight. I didn’t hear from Alex until I’d gone home and gotten into bed at one thirty a.m. He texted to say he’d just pulled off. Davey hadn’t done a thing but go to class and go home.
I texted him back to say we’d hit the ground running tomorrow—but not until ten a.m. I wrote, “Get some sleep.”
Of course, he didn’t listen. When I got into the office at nine a.m., I could hear him typing furiously on his computer. This time, as I knocked on his door, I didn’t even bother to make a lame joke. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He called out, “Much better.”
I opened the door. “Much better?”
He paused and looked up. “Than your usual effort at clever.”
I glared at him. “At no time was I attempting to be clever. I aimed to torture. And clearly, I succeeded.” I nodded at his computer. “What are you working on?”
Alex glanced back at his screen. “I was just collating our reports on Alicia’s buddies to see if there was something that didn’t fit.”
“And?”
He scrolled for a moment. “Like Michy said, the pole-dancing stalker seems like a place to go. I think it’s interesting that Phil was the only one who knew about it.”
I’d been running down the same path. “And the long hair and mustache—and glasses—seem like an
easy disguise. If it was a disguise, then the stalker must’ve known Alicia.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t need one.
Alex gave a half nod. “Maybe. But anyway, it’s a working theory.”
Phil was the only one of her circle we really hadn’t zeroed in on. If he was the stalker, then he might’ve been upset enough by Alicia’s murder to kill Roan. I couldn’t say I really bought that theory. Nothing about Phil’s behavior squared with his being the killer. Plus, although I knew better than most that it didn’t take any particular “type” to commit murder, it was pretty hard to imagine that stoner doing something that . . . active. But even if the Phil angle was a dead end, it couldn’t hurt to look into it. The cops could dig up something that’d give them probable cause to bust Graham any day now. If there was evidence that’d help us point the finger at anyone other than Graham, I needed to reel it in fast. So the more stones we kicked over—regardless of the theory—the better. “Let’s hit Davey up, find out whether Phil ever mentioned anything to him about the strip club.”
Alex shut down his computer and stood up. As he grabbed his coat, I noticed he had a little grin.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, still smiling. “I was just thinking how cool it would be if Davey said he’d seen a disguise like that in Phil’s room.”
I rolled my eyes. “You mean like in Columbo?”
Alex laughed. “Probably more like Dick Tracy.”
I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, the good old days.”
When crimes could be solved that easily. There wasn’t a chance in hell that we’d get that lucky. But it didn’t mean I wouldn’t give it a shot. Because as they say: I’d rather be lucky than good.
As we headed out to Michy’s desk, Alex said Davey didn’t have class until noon today, and Phil was in class until three.
I slung my purse over my shoulder. “That should work out perfectly.” I told Michy what we were up to. “I’m guessing we’ll be back around five.”
Michy gave me a mock salute. “See ya when I see ya.”
We headed out on what was probably a fool’s errand, but desperate times and all that. I decided to go straight to Davey’s apartment and hope that the element of surprise would shake something loose.
We made pretty good time and got there by ten o’clock. When Davey answered the buzzer and heard it was me, he didn’t sound thrilled—but he did agree to talk to us. He spoke into the intercom. “I’ve got to go see my TA in econ, so I don’t have much time.”
I told him that was okay, that we wouldn’t take long. As we headed for the elevator, Alex said, “He didn’t exactly sound thrilled to see us.”
I pressed the button for the elevator. “Can you blame him?”
Alex shrugged as the elevator arrived. “Well . . . no, actually.”
Lately, all we’d been doing was confronting him with lying and accusing him of holding out on us. We’d been right, but why should he look forward to more of that?
On the way up, we agreed to double-team him and trade off on the questioning. Keeping witnesses off-balance could make them give up more information than they’d intended.
Davey let us in, and I could see he’d been hard at work. Papers and books were strewn all over the living room, and he had dark circles under his eyes. We sat down on the small, worn couch, and he pulled the chair away from his desk to face us.
I apologized for the intrusion, then went straight to the point. “Have you been to The Pink Palace?”
He frowned. “That the place in Glendale?” I nodded. “I think I’ve heard of it, but no. Why?”
I watched him shift in his seat. “Did you know Alicia was dancing there?”
Davey looked rattled. “What? No. I don’t believe you.”
Was he really shocked? Or was it an act? I couldn’t tell. “It’s true. But we’re interested in finding out what you know about a guy with glasses, a mustache, and long hair. He used to show up whenever Alicia was dancing, and he only seemed to go when she was there.”
Alex joined in. “It seems like that was a disguise.”
Davey stared off for a moment. “So she did have a stalker.” He looked back at me. “Who do you think it is?”
I again wondered whether we were just watching a good act. “Most likely someone who knew her, someone who was afraid she’d recognize him.”
Davey’s expression froze. “Wh-what are you saying?”
Alex took over. “Phil knew she was dancing there. It might be him. And if it was, he was a lot more into Alicia than anyone knew.”
Davey looked from Alex to me. “Then you think he might’ve killed Roan?”
I nodded. “Do you ever remember seeing a disguise like that—a wig, a mustache, glasses—in his apartment?”
Davey took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his knees. “I really haven’t been in his room much, but no, I haven’t.”
I watched him closely. “Do you think you might find a reason to go to his place and look around? Let us know if you see anything like that?”
Davey had a pained expression. “You mean spy on him?”
Pretty much. “No, no. I’m not asking you to eavesdrop or snoop around. Just . . . look around, be observant.”
Alex added, “Davey, if it makes you uncomfortable, don’t do it. We just need to get to the bottom of this.”
Time to work in a little emotional manipulation. “And I honestly don’t believe Graham killed Roan, so I have to do whatever I can to solve this case. He just lost his daughter.” I looked him in the eye. “And he only just met his son. After all he’s been through, it’d be a tragedy if he winds up getting arrested for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Davey looked away, but I could see his expression was sad. “Yeah, I do feel bad for the guy.”
I remembered that I’d wanted to ask him about Graham’s visit. Regardless of whether Phil was right about the timing being before Roan’s death, I wanted to know what Graham had said. “This must be pretty hard on you, too. You find out you have a sister, only to lose her. But it must’ve been good to find your father, right?”
Davey clasped his hands together on his knees. “Graham never told me he was my father. We just talked about Alicia, what she was like, whether I thought Roan had killed her.”
I kept my expression neutral as I recognized what seemed to be an inconsistency. The last time I’d questioned Davey about his conversation with Graham, he’d said he only spoke to Graham once, a few days ago, when Graham had called to ask him about the “gnarly” secret Roan claimed to know about Alicia. But the conversation Davey had just described didn’t seem to have anything to do with that secret. Was Davey just remembering more of the conversation they’d had about Roan’s secret? Or had he slipped up and accidentally revealed an earlier conversation with Graham—one that’d taken place before Roan’s death? Davey’s answer had just raised so many questions. “But you knew he was your father by then. Why didn’t you say something?”
Davey shrugged. “I thought since he didn’t bring it up, he probably didn’t want me to know. Which is pretty much what I’d figured, since he clearly didn’t want me . . . period.”
There was a world of hurt in those words. I wanted to tell him, It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He never knew you. But that would only lead into territory about his being the product of an illicit affair—more pain. And I didn’t know what his mother had told him about how he was conceived. Though I doubted she’d told him as hurtful a lie as mine had—unlike Celeste, Heather Jorgenson seemed to be a normal human—it seemed wiser not to go stomping blindly through this minefield. Besides, I had a much more immediate issue to broach. “When he asked whether you thought Roan had killed Alicia, what did you say?”
He shrugged. “That I didn’t know who else would do it.”
Now the timing of this conversation was critical to find out whether it’d taken place before or after Roan’s death. “And you guys had that talk before Roan died, right?”
Davey looked confused for a moment. “N-no. It was after.”
I again tried to figure out whether this was just a good act, or an honest answer. I wasn’t sure. I decided to try and shake him up a little. “That’s weird, I could’ve sworn you said it was before.”
Alex took the cue. “Yeah. Phil said he saw Graham leaving your building before Roan died. Sounds like that conversation probably happened then.”
Davey frowned and shook his head. “No. He’s wrong. I never spoke to Graham before Roan died. It was after. I’m sure.”
I studied him. He seemed sure now, but just seconds ago he’d wavered. What was true? Certainly there was nothing in it for me to push his version of the timing. If they’d had that conversation before Roan died, it’d look like the grief-stricken father was making sure that he was planning to kill the right guy. So I wanted to believe that they’d talked only after Roan died. I needed it to be true. The problem was, Davey had wavered, and Phil had been certain they’d spoken before then. I couldn’t tell what was true.
As always in this case, I felt like there was a whole other story playing out just beneath the surface.
We chatted a few minutes longer, then Davey had to leave for his appointment. As Alex and I got into his car, I pointed out Davey’s stutter step when I’d asked whether he’d spoken to Graham before Roan died. “What’d you think?”
Alex lifted his hands, palms up. “He might’ve just been momentarily confused about it.”
I pulled on my seat belt. “Yeah, I can’t tell whether that means anything. But something’s just . . .”
Alex finished off the cup of coffee he’d brought from the office. “I know.”
I sighed with frustration. “Let’s go see Phil.”
FIFTY-TWO
We had a couple of hours to kill before Phil finished his classes for the day, so we decided to go have lunch on campus at The Lab Gastropub. I hadn’t had a chance to eat when I’d met Davey there last time, and I wanted to check it out.