Beware Beware (25 page)

Daphne had told me some big lies in a short period of time, enough to make me dismiss almost anyone as a pathological liar. But when I saw her, my heart softened against my will.

I turned to Chaz. “We'll just go grab a drink. We won't be gone long.”

We walked around the corner to a dive bar with a half-assed pirate theme. Netting hung on a couple of walls, along with banners of Johnny Depp from
Pirates of the Caribbean
, printed off the Internet. The place was empty—it was three in the afternoon. I ordered a Bloody Mary by way of acknowledging the early hour. It was a functional mix of V8 and vodka, on fast-melting ice. Daphne got a glass of chardonnay.

“They arrested Jamie,” I said, staring into my drink.

“I heard.”

The silence grew long and awkward, and we sat there, sipping in turns to avoid conversation.

“I had to go to the station,” she said finally. “Detective Sanchez said to tell you hello.”

“When?”

“A few hours ago.”

“She questioned you?”

“For a long time.”

“What did you tell her?”

She smiled. “Not much. I think she wanted to use me as a sounding board for her own theories. I think she was hoping I'd react to something. Like throwing spaghetti against a wall.”

“Did anything stick?”

“I believe I disappointed her.”

I nodded. I was far from surprised.

“But she had a theory I'd like you to hear. It's a classic tale of Hollywood. You've heard parts of it before.”

I raised my head and took another silent sip of tomato vodka. “I'm listening,” I said.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to be a star. She grew up in an abusive home, within ten miles of the shining center of the Tinseltown universe. And every night, after her stepfather put her away, she dreamed about the life she'd have when she could finally leave home.”

I closed my eyes and nodded with my hand on my face.

“She moved away to the magical land, but she found it was hard to get into the castle. So she set up camp on the periphery, doing stepdaughter things. One day, she got an invitation inside—she would be allowed across the drawbridge, as the lowliest servant. When the crowned prince himself took notice of her over all the other servants, she was powerless to stop him. At first, she didn't want to—but later, she did. It was too late then. He took what he wanted, and he couldn't give it back.”

I looked up to see if she was crying. There was a tremor in her voice, but her face was still, like she was in a trance.

“The girl was angry, and ashamed, and heartbroken. Maybe it was childish of her, but she thought that nightmare was locked in her past, that once she escaped she'd be safe in the wider world. She didn't think princes could be so beastly, and she was so angry. You can't imagine how angry.

“But she saw that what was done couldn't be taken back, so she made the best of a bad situation. Lemons, lemonade. But she never forgot.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I had no words to share.

“So the girl left again. Tried one more time for a good life, a
decent
life. And she succeeded, more or less, in finding some measure of peace and happiness. She found independence, gained stature in the eyes of the world. She even met a boy—a boy who loved her.

“The boy had his own dreams, dreams that looked back to the world she'd fled. She wanted nothing less than to go back to Hollywood, and she almost left him. But she saw how badly he wanted, and she remembered the man who hurt her, and she decided he still owed her. She hadn't seen him in years, since that one night, and as far as she was concerned, she didn't have to see him again. But he was a powerful man, a career maker, as she already knew. So she made a few phone calls, and sent the boy walking toward that shiny old dream.

“She never told him how she did it. He didn't have to know. And so he became friends with the man, who was lonely, and needy, and full of secrets. One night, the man told the boy his greatest secret, the one about the girl. After that, the boy felt a flash of the girl's anger, and he killed the man.”

I listened with my mouth clamped so tight I felt an ache in my jaw when she stopped talking.

“That's the working theory, at any rate,” she added.

My Bloody Mary was decimated. I ordered another one and thought about lighting a cigarette. This was the kind of bar that would turn a blind eye, and I wanted something else to focus on, even for seconds at a time.

“I talked to Rory Buckner,” I said. “After I saw you.”

She smirked. “Why?”

“I had a feeling you hadn't told me everything.”

“So what if I hadn't?”

“I don't like being lied to, first of all. And second, you're my client. Knowing your story is part of my job.”

“You don't have to know everything,” she said, enunciating sharply. “What I just told you, the parts that were true, was about as personal as anything gets.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm not trying to be nosy. And it's not just my job to know, either. I'd like for you to be able to talk to me.”

“I'm talking to you now.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded tentatively.

“Don't take this the wrong way, because I can think of a lot of good answers. I just want to know yours.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Why didn't you report the rape?”

“You're from L.A. You followed the Kobe Bryant rape case, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. I'd been in college then, one of the few Angelenos in my dorm. It was a huge story—Kobe was the biggest name in basketball, and Los Angeles worshipped him. People I barely knew would stop me in the halls to talk about it, and I ended up being a sort of authority. I was surprised by the level of controversy surrounding the case. It was as if talent converted to virtue at a hidden rate, as naturally as mass to energy. I remembered one boy in particular, who was incensed by the greed and frivolity of Kobe's accuser—she wanted a koala and a boob job with her settlement money, and those details made this boy angrier than anything else about the entire story.

“So you have some idea of how popular she was with the public?”

I nodded. The question was clearly rhetorical. The woman had refused to testify after her reputation went on trial.

“And where is Kobe now? Who talks about that
incident
now?” She laughed. “Kobe is a black man who raped a white woman, but she was still a woman. How do you think I would've done? What do you think Joe Tilley's team would have said about me?”

I pictured Alex Caldwell in that cold office, spinning and spinning until the truth was shrouded in eight layers of bullshit.

“They would have said you were lying.”

“Of course. And I was guilty of a great sin to begin with—I wanted to be famous.”

“And what better way…”

“There are better ways to get famous, sure. But maybe none so surefire as getting your name in the papers, or even just the tabloids, next to a name the size of Joe Tilley's.”

“But he raped you. Wouldn't a doctor have known that?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'm just a wild girl, one of those kinky jezebels who like it rough. It's not like he cuffed me to his bed and held a knife to my throat. And I couldn't deny that I followed him into that room of my own free will.”

“But he got off scot-free. Doesn't that make you sick?”

“He might have gotten off scot-free anyway. What do people say about Kobe these days? And besides—he's dead now. If the police are to be believed, he didn't get away with it at all.”

“Are the police to be believed, then?”

She smiled. “You think I know?”

“You have the air of someone who knows all things at all times.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It is, actually.”

“That's too bad for me, then. Because it isn't true.”

“Did you ever tell Jamie?”

“About the rape? The abuse?” She shook her head. “No on both counts.”

“Too personal?”

“I didn't think it was any of his business,” she said.

“Did you talk to him about your past at all?”

“Of course. I told him all he needed to know about me, about all the things
I
did. That night, with Joe Tilley—that's his secret, not mine.”

“Do you think he could have found out and killed Joe?”

“I don't know,” she said. “He's a sweet man.”

“As motives go, his wouldn't have been the meanest,” I said. “If he somehow found out, if Tilley told him what he'd done and he lost control…”

“It was supposed to look like a suicide, right?” she asked. “It was staged. That sounds premeditated.”

“I'll bet the police are asking around about his bathing habits,” I said. “If he liked taking baths, then Jamie might have seen an easy opportunity.”

She shook her head. “That just doesn't sound like Jamie.”

I agreed, but I stopped myself from saying so. What did I know about Jamie, really? I remembered the feeling of his lips on mine, as if that could tell me anything.

“Jamie came over the other night,” I told her.

She arched one eyebrow. “That's special,” she said.

“He wanted someone to talk to. After you broke up with him.”

“What kind of comfort was he after?”

“It wasn't like that,” I said. And it hadn't been, I thought. Certainly not at first. “He was really upset. Can I ask why you broke up with him?”

“You can ask, sure. But it's complicated,” she said. “Do you need another drink?”

I nodded and flagged down a waiter for another chardonnay and bloody mary.

“I told him about Lanya Waters, and about how I started my art career. I left out some of the details—the ones the police think he might have known. Still, it was a weight off my chest.”

“He said he forgave you. That that wasn't the problem.”

“He did. He did forgive me. And maybe that was it—the presumption that he could forgive me for something I never did to him.”

“You did lie to him.”

She shrugged. “I just didn't tell him everything. And anyway, I didn't ask to be forgiven.”

“You broke up with him over that?”

“No. I broke up with him because after all that, after the clutter was cleared away, I saw that I didn't love him. And once I saw that, I couldn't stand to pretend, not even for a minute.”

I winced. “That's not complicated. It's harsh, but it's not complicated. Did you tell him that?”

“No,” she said. “And maybe it would be best if you didn't either.”

I nodded and sipped at my drink. “Did you think about waiting until this all blew over?”

“Of course I thought about it. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand by him and hold his hand and pretend like I'd always be there. It felt perverse. It made my stomach turn.”

“Have you talked to him since? Today, for instance?”

She shook her head. “I will.”

“He's had a rough run of it.”

“I know,” she said. “But it's been a long day for me, too.”

We had one more round, then she paid the whole check and said she had to go. I suspected she wanted to be alone.

“Thank you,” she said as soon as we left the bar. “For listening, understanding, everything. I know I haven't been the easiest person to work for.”

“No.” I laughed, a little tipsily. “You haven't.”

“We'll talk soon.”

She gave me a long, squeezing hug then turned and walked away.

*   *   *

I was less than sober when I got back to the office, and Chaz noticed as soon as I walked in his door.

“Is it wet outside?” he asked, shaking his head.

I slinked into a chair, feeling pretty fluid. “Kind of a rough conversation.”

I gave him the latest and he nodded along.

“I wonder,” he said. “If someone told me he'd raped Molly…”

“What, you might kill him?”

He shrugged. “Probably not, but how would I know?”

“I'm getting paid to prove his innocence.”

“Sure,” he said. “Didn't OJ vow to find the real killer, too?”

I sighed. “I don't know, man. My brain's all cooked.”

“Take it easy, girl detective. I'd send you home, but you should probably dry out first.”

*   *   *

I sat long enough to metabolize the vodka in my system. I still had a couple hours to kill before my meeting with Donnie, and I decided to visit Jackie and baby Cristina. They were both home when I called and Jackie told me to come on over as long as I didn't mind a mess.

She gave me a strange look when she opened the door.

“What?” I asked.

She sniffed conspicuously.

“Oh,” I said. “I had a few Bloody Marys. Stressful day.”

She wrinkled her nose and I remembered how she used to annoy me sometimes, when Diego was still alive. “It's a Tuesday. The sun's still out.”

“Ah, yeah, I know. But Bloody Marys are always respectable.”

She smiled and I realized she was actually uncomfortable.

“I can come back if you're worried I'll get the baby drunk,” I said.

“No, come in. Honestly, I envy you. I haven't had a Bloody Mary in over a year.”

We sat down on the couch and Jackie asked me, a little pointedly, if I wanted anything to drink. I declined.

“Did you get in touch with a lawyer?” she asked.

“I passed along the contact info you gave me, but I don't know what was decided.” I sighed. “I imagine he's lawyered up by now, though.”

“Why, did something happen?”

“Ha,” I said. “Yeah. A whole lot of shit.”

“Are you okay?”