Ed wrote down all the information. “I don’t suppose you got a license plate,” he asked, half-seriously.
Stella laughed self-consciously. “No. I try to draw the line somewhere between star-watcher and stalker, you know?”
Tessa thanked Stella for her help, then strolled back down the drive with Ed. “Do you want to try another neighbor?”
“Why bother?” Ed asked. “It doesn’t seem like much gets by Stella and Precious.”
Tessa paused at the sound of a motorcycle without a muffler coming down the street. They jogged over to the gate at Aiken’s driveway as a large man stepped off a vintage Harley Davidson and pressed the intercom button.
“I forgot my clicker, Lupita. Open the gate.” Sledge Aiken turned back to the motorcycle, but stopped short as he saw Tessa and Ed. A flash of annoyance gave his boyishly handsome features a petulant look. “No autographs, please.”
Ed gave Sledge a smile with lots of teeth. “We’re not here for your autograph, Sledge. We want to hear about your alibi.” He opened his badge and held it closer to Aiken’s face than was necessary.
“Sorry, Officer.” Sledge stepped back. “What’s going on?” He gave them a charming smile that had been getting him out of trouble since he was in the second grade.
“We’d like to talk to you about Kelly Martin. And what happened early in the morning on February 20,” Tessa said, showing her own ID as an officer of the court.
Aiken’s face immediately lost his smile. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. If you have any questions, talk to my lawyer.”
“Not good PR, Sledge.” Ed shook his head as if he were disappointed. “A beautiful eighteen-year-old girl accuses you of date rape and you lawyer up? It’s not going to play well in the media.”
“She says I raped her? That’s a fucking lie,” Sledge said hotly.
Tessa looked at his red face, tight body language, and clenched fists. She was suddenly very glad she’d brought Ed with her. Sledge caught her considering look and paused for a deep breath.
Once he had gained a little control, he smiled grimly at Tessa. “Look, anything that happens between me and a woman is consensual. Come on, do I look like a guy who needs to use force to get some action?” He spread his arms out to encompass the Harley and the upscale neighborhood.
“If nothing happened,” Tessa asked evenly, “then why won’t you make a statement for the record?”
“Painful experience,” Sledge said. “I may look like a dumb redneck from Alabama, but even I eventually learn my lesson. Sometime after the fifth fake palimony suit, I decided it was best to let my lawyer handle complaints from lying women wanting to sponge off my hard work.”
“This isn’t a palimony claim, it’s a charge of felony sexual assault,” Ed said.
“Come on, you know how it is. There are groupies and sports fans who think if they spend the night with me, they can cash in and make the rest of their lives real cushy. They accuse me of anything from promising them a ring to fathering their bastard children, then they demand hush money to go away. I’ve got to protect my image, because there are always women out there fixing to take advantage of my celebrity and human needs.”
“Human needs?” Tessa asked, thinking of how small and fragile Kelly was. “You son of a bitch—”
Ed clamped a hand over her shoulder and squeezed. Hard. Then he turned to Sledge. “At this point you’re refusing to talk to us?”
Sledge shrugged. “I’m sorry, the instructions came straight from my lawyer. Here’s his card if you want to contact him.” He withdrew a business card from his wallet and handed it to Ed.
Sledge started to roll his motorcycle through the open gate. “One more thing, Officer. If you come to my house without an invitation or a warrant again, I’ll have to talk to my lawyer about filing a complaint of police harassment. I’m sure you can understand what’s at stake for me and the companies I endorse. For your sake, I hope you’ll be doing things through appropriate channels in the future.”
Tessa ground her teeth at the arrogance behind Sledge’s parting comment. “I’m going to enjoy watching him lose each and every one of his endorsement contracts.”
“Simmer down, Tessie. He’s already picked up on the fact that this case is personal for you. It only gives him and his lawyer ammunition.”
Tessa turned and got in the car. “You’re right. I just couldn’t listen to him talking about Kelly like that. Like she’s some kind of groupie.” She caught Ed’s glance. “Okay, maybe she was dazzled by his celebrity. But she didn’t ask to be raped. All she wanted was to go out with the man.”
“She picked the wrong celebrity to cut her teeth on,” Ed said. “Aiken is a snake.”
Tessa smiled. “Is that what I’m going to put in my notes? ‘Subject has a reptilian nature’?”
“No. You’re going to put down that it was apparent the subject recognized the victim’s name, and his answers indicated evasion. You’ll note that it seems the subject has something to hide.”
“Yes he does. I can’t wait to expose the good ol’ boy, starting with any similar complaints he may have in his past,” Tessa said. She was already plotting in her head the argument she would use to get her boss to support this new angle of the investigation.
“Tread easy. Sledge Aiken is a man who’s got no respect for women—or anyone else who gets between him and what he wants. He has fame and a fortune in endorsements to protect, which makes him damned dangerous.”
Tessa heard the tone of caution in Ed’s voice.
At least he believes that Sledge Aiken is responsible for whatever happened to Kelly.
It was a start, even if Ed’s warning did send a shiver through her body.
Chapter 7
Los Angeles, California
Friday, February 26
Tessa got back to the District Attorney’s office after seven that evening, thanks to LA’s famously gridlocked freeways. Despite the hour, she was eager to begin planning her strategy for building a case against Sledge Aiken. She went into her cramped office, flipped on the light switch, and walked to the whiteboard nailed on the wall across from her desk.
Several minutes later she had a diagram of the case labeled in her notorious shorthand. She turned when she heard a voice from the doorway.
“Working after six on a Friday gets you double brownie points, you know. Especially when your boss catches you doing it.”
“Hi, Carmen.” Tessa turned to look at Carmen Ramirez, who at age forty was one of the youngest district attorneys in the history of Los Angeles. Carmen was dressed in a stunning red cocktail gown, apparently heading off to some political function. Tessa knew a lot of the D.A.’s work was done after hours and outside of courtrooms, so her dark-haired boss was dressed to kill.
“Working on the Aiken investigation? I already gave you the case,” Carmen said. “You don’t have to prove to me that you’ve earned it.”
“I just came from talking to him, so I wanted to get some stuff down while the information is fresh.”
“I’ve got a few minutes before the Hispanic League fund-raiser. Bottom-line it for me.” Carmen perched on the edge of Tessa’s desk.
“Eighteen-year-old girl goes on a date with Aiken, then goes back to his place for a nightcap. From there, the stories diverge. She says he refused to take no for an answer and raped her. He says anything they did was consensual, and he’s always being pursued by groupies wanting a cash settlement for spending the night with him.”
“Any witnesses or forensic evidence?”
“Witnesses can only show a prior association, starting about a month before the assault. The rape kit turned up evidence of rough sexual contact, but was inconclusive for anything else.”
“You know the burden is on us—and the victim—to prove that what happened was an assault. Historically, juries don’t favor the woman in this type of case.”
“I know,” Tessa said. “But the victim was later physically assaulted—I saw the black
eye and bruises myself, even though she denies anyone hit her.”
“Then what’s the holdup with the police?” Carmen asked, her dark eyes impatient.
“First of all, she’s not cooperating.”
“Then why do we care about her?” Carmen asked.
“Because she’s a scared kid. I’m working to build her trust—I’m almost there. Once she believes in us, I think the truth will come out.”
“So we work on the aspects of the investigation that don’t require cooperation from the victim,” Carmen mused.
“Yes,” Tessa said. “I’m still clearing up a couple of issues with the victim’s background. She was in possession of several credit cards belonging to other men as well as a large sum of cash, and she eventually gave a plausible reason for that. The cards, along with her lack of ID, initially threw off our investigation.”
“What does Flynn think about this?” Carmen asked.
“He’s agreed that Kelly is telling the truth about the assault. He was, ah, concerned about the other details of the case and the effect they might have on the victim’s credibility. That’s why I’m trying to gather additional evidence to push forward—much more evidence than would normally be required for a rape case. But right now I can’t even get another interview with the suspect. He refuses to speak to us unless we go through his lawyer.”
“Who is his counsel?” Carmen asked.
“Carl Abrahms.” Tessa winced, waiting for the explosion.
“¡Santa María! No way, do you hear me? I’m not going to tangle with that shark in my first year as district attorney. Carajo, the honeymoon is already over as far as the voters are concerned—this kind of bad publicity would be like declaring open season on Carmen Ramirez.”
Tessa nodded glumly. Carl Abrahms was a legend for taking on seemingly impossible cases with high-profile clients—and winning them. He had a tireless staff that could turn out enough well-researched motions and other legal documents to keep the D.A.’s entire staff busy for years to come.
“Have you talked to Abrahms yet?” Carmen asked.
“No. We just wanted an informal, off-the-record statement from Aiken first. But he lawyered up right away. I’m sure we’ll be hearing from Abrahms soon, though.”
The D.A. snorted. “He’s probably filing a police harassment case as we speak. He does that if someone even looks sideways at one of his clients.”
Tessa nodded again. “I believe Aiken mentioned those words. Still, he dropped a tidbit that I just can’t leave alone.”
“What?”
“He mentioned some experience with palimony suits in the past. I’m just wondering what else might have been involved, and if there is enough to show a pattern of sexual abuse of women.” Tessa drew a line leading away from Sledge Aiken’s name on her whiteboard, then put a question mark at the end of it.
“You’re going to have to be very careful—as in, don’t bother Sledge Aiken or his lawyer while you do the background work,” Carmen said.
“But—”
“No. Aiken and his lawyer know too many powerful people in this city. If you go after him up front, he’ll take you down and me with you.”
“So basically we can’t disturb the famous people with pesky little things like state and federal laws, a victim’s rights, or anything like that?” Tessa asked. She had known the edict was coming, but was still angry that politics would come ahead of the law and Kelly Martin’s rights.
“Not until you have enough proof to make an arrest. With the Kobe Bryant and Michael Jackson cases in the past, we have to be very careful about releasing the name of accused celebrities before we have any evidence. And judges have underscored that trend in the last year by not giving much leeway to prosecutors and police who want to open up the life of the accused merely to go fishing.”
“How else are we supposed to gather evidence?” Tessa asked.
“Quietly. And make sure the members of the media don’t catch wind of this, or we could be looking at a lawsuit if the case falls apart. So work with Ed Flynn inconspicuously and put together enough evidence for warrants behind Aiken’s back. Then we can look through his financial records and openly interview previous associates—and you can fry his ass for all I care. He went to a fund-raiser for my opponent during the election,” Carmen said with a feline smile.
“You’re tying my hands—how am I supposed to get proof without ‘bothering’ Aiken?” Tessa asked.
“It’s called discretion. You guys will probably need to team up with an investigator outside the police force, one who can poke around without tripping any alarms. At this point, if we so much as do an official check of Aiken’s credit, his lawyer is going to get a phone call. I’d rather lull them into a false sense of security.”
Carmen stood and paced, tapping her fingers along her arms as she continued. “Talk to your father. We need an investigator who’s wired into the system, but not currently a part of it. That rules out anyone we’ve used for recent cases. Maybe he can suggest a firm that would allow us to go private with the investigation—without having to break the rules. Just bend them a little.”
Tessa bit her tongue against an instinctive protest. She hated that Carmen knew who her father was. And she really didn’t want to use her personal connections to gain information, even to further a case. She’d never once done that in four years with the D.A. But that reluctance was due to Tessa’s tense relationship with her father, not because she didn’t understand the nature of contacts and politics. Having a father who was the former director of the FBI was a valuable thing. She just hated to cash in on it.
“I’ve already thought of contacting an outside P.I. firm,” Tessa began. With Carmen’s new edict in mind, Tessa was formulating a plan to say the private investigators would only be looking at the credit cards found in Kelly’s possession. In reality, they could do the background research into Sledge Aiken’s past without alerting the star or his lawyer.
“I can see by your expression that you’re already plotting something new. So why don’t you run it by your father when you call him? I really think he could be helpful in this situation, since he’ll have contacts that will come in under Carl Abrahms’s radar.” Carmen raised an eyebrow while waiting for a response.
No help for it, Tessa decided as she checked her watch. “I’ll do it now. I should be able to catch him before he goes to his supper club. He’s big about his routines.”
“Good. In the meantime, stay away from direct contact with Aiken. We can’t afford to antagonize him or his lawyer any further until we have concrete evidence.” Carmen picked up her jeweled cocktail purse and left for the fund-raiser.
Tessa reached for the phone before she lost her nerve. Talking to her father never went well. It was usually impossible to keep the feelings of disappointment and antagonism that colored their relationship from spilling over into anything but the most shallow of discussions.
She cleared her throat as the housekeeper answered the phone. “Hello, this is Tessa. Is Mr. Jacobi in?” She didn’t refer to him as Dad—and hadn’t done so since her mother’s funeral, when Tessa was eight years old. That was the day Paul Jacobi had shipped her off to a boarding school in Connecticut and begun a steady relationship with a nineteen-year-old fashion model.
Tessa sat at her computer and pulled open a file, refusing to dwell on the past and her damaged family life. When Paul Jacobi’s voice came over the line, there were no initial pleasantries or small talk—he knew something had to be up for Tessa to call him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tessa said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hesitated.
Just do it. This is no big deal, he gets asked stuff like this every day.
“I need a favor,” she said baldly.
Paul Jacobi’s silence was deafening. He knew something big was going on in his daughter’s life to get her to ask him for anything.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“Sure.
I just need to pick your brain for a good private investigation firm. We have a very high-profile case, and if things aren’t handled discreetly, it could create a lot of heat for the D.A.”
“The best firm in town is Novak International. They’ve done work for the local, state, and federal governments.”
“Ah, is there another firm you can recommend?” Tessa asked.
“Lucas Novak has set up a first-class investigation firm. I’m sure he can handle whatever case you’re working on,” Paul said.
“No, he can’t. He’s already refused to take this case. Do you know of anyone else?”
“As far as I’m concerned, there is no one else. Look, why don’t I talk to him and straighten out your little misunderstanding?”
Tessa ground her teeth. “I didn’t misunderstand anything. Novak said he couldn’t help me.” A tension headache was building at the base of her skull.
“If he can’t help you, I don’t know who can.” There was a tone of stubborn finality in Paul’s voice. Tessa knew from experience that a full-blown argument was not far off, so she ended the call.
“Thanks for your time, anyway. I’ve got to get going. Oh, and tell Kevin to be ready tomorrow night at seven,” she said.
“Your brother is at a football game right now, but I’ll leave him a note.”
Tessa hung up and thought for a moment. Then she got ready to leave, pausing to straighten the files on her desk. There was no way she’d get any quality work done after the frustrations of the day. She planned to spend a quiet evening at home trying to forget about politics, celebrities, and investigations.
And tomorrow night she would take Kelly out to one of the city’s hot spots for teens—a new pizza parlor and video arcade. Tessa wanted to take along her sixteen-year-old brother Kevin as well, to act as an icebreaker and provide some entertainment.
Hopefully the quiet weekend would be enough to help Tessa reground herself and remind everyone what the investigation into Sledge Aiken was really about. Not district attorney election politics, not star quarterbacks with multimillion-dollar endorsement deals. But a fragile, naive eighteen-year-old girl and a man who believed that his wealth and fame gave him license to do whatever he wanted to her.
No Escape Page 5