Blood Defense (14 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

W
hen I got to the courthouse,
Edie was already out front with her cameraman.

“Samantha, thank you so much for giving me the story. I’m dying of suspense. Michelle wouldn’t say what it’s about.”

I smiled. “Ready?” She nodded. “Dale Pearson is my biological father.”

Her jaw dropped. “Your what?” I nodded. Edie immediately turned to her cameraman. “Roll it. Let’s go!” She let me make the announcement, then asked, “So you knew when you took the case, right? I assume your mother must have told you.”

That was exactly what I figured people would think: that I took the case because I felt sorry for my guilty, estranged father. Or that Dale had hired me because he knew I was his daughter. So I had my story ready. “Actually, no. My mother doesn’t follow this kind of news much, and she never suspected that Dale might be the fling she had in college. And Dale and I didn’t figure it out until after he hired me and I started reviewing his background.” Edie asked about my mother and Dale, how they’d met and how long they were together. “Didn’t Dale know he had a daughter somewhere?”

The question played right into my hands. I needed to make it clear that Dale never knew about me so people wouldn’t think he was a deadbeat asshole who’d abandoned a pregnant girlfriend and her baby. “Dale never knew about me. By the time my mother found out she was pregnant, they’d broken up.” I had to push down the gag reflex to add, “She didn’t think it’d be right to obligate him to take care of a baby they’d never planned to have.”

It was total bullshit, but I had to make Celeste sound noble so she’d go along with my story. When we finished, Edie thanked me with shining eyes. “Thank you, Samantha. I really owe you one. This is going to be huge. So just for your sake, a word of warning: if you don’t want to spend the next week giving interviews, you’d better lay low.”

“That’s the plan.” And we both knew that piece of advice wasn’t just for my sake. By telling Edie I didn’t intend to talk to anyone else, I’d just given her an exclusive. Now everyone would have to credit her and piggyback on her footage. “I have news about the case, too.”

She turned to the cameraman. “Are you still rolling?” He said he was. She turned back to me and raised her microphone again. “Do you have some new development on the case?”

Time to make use of Chas. “I have evidence that someone else came to Chloe and Paige’s apartment late that night.”

Edie’s eyes widened. “Can you tell us who that person is?”

“Not yet. But we will soon.”

“I assume your witness must be someone in the building. Who is it?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t give out that information just yet. But again, I will. Very soon.”

“Thank you!” She turned to the camera. “For those who just tuned in, that was Samantha Brinkman, the attorney who’s representing accused murderer Dale Pearson, with some incredible news.”

Edie took another few seconds to wrap up, then grabbed my hand. “Thank you for this. And congratulations on finding your father. That’s fantastic!”

“Thanks.” I turned to go.

“Just tell me off the record, who’s the new witness? I promise not to tell.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not yet.”

“Okay, just promise you’ll let me be the first to know when you go public with it.”

I didn’t want to commit, so I just smiled and trotted away. I had only a limited number of party favors to pass around, and I needed more than one reporter in my corner. Plus, I didn’t want anyone finding out that my new, secret star witness was a loadie who’d probably dreamed the whole thing.

I headed out to meet Alex at the Warner Bros. studio lot in Burbank. The plan was to see if someone on Chloe’s show could give us a lead on who’d been her dealer. But no such luck. I couldn’t tell whether they really didn’t know or just weren’t inclined to tell me. Either way, that line of inquiry was a bust.

The one thing everyone did seem to know was that Dale was my father. Edie’s piece had already aired as “Breaking News!” and apparently, it’d gone viral. Every single person I talked to stared at me like I was a circus freak and “just had to ask” what it was like to have a murder suspect for a father, and did I “think he did it?” It didn’t take long for me to get sick and tired of it, and by the third interview, I snapped and said, “Yeah, he did it. And I hear it runs in the family.” The witness’s eyes got big and round. I sighed. “
No
, I don’t think he did it.” Alex suggested that from now on, I stick with a simple “No comment” and let Michy handle the press calls for a while.

But I did find out that Chloe might’ve been seeing one of the young writers, Geoffrey Brocklin. No one knew how serious it’d been, but they’d spent a fair amount of time together on the lot. He might’ve had an idea who was selling to Chloe, but he wasn’t around. He was off writing a script. We’d have to track him down when he came back.

And I showed everyone photographs of the jewelry that’d been stolen in the burglary. No one had ever seen Chloe wearing anything that pricey. Alex and Michelle had checked out every photo they could find of Chloe—at press parties, A-list parties, and wrap parties. She wasn’t wearing the jewelry in any of them.

Alex shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why have jewelry like that if you’re not going to wear it?”

I’d been thinking about that for a while. “I have a hunch that jewelry didn’t belong to Chloe.”

“Then why’d she report it as hers?”

“To cover for someone else. Like her roomie, Paige. And Paige didn’t want to report it because it was a secret gift.”

We got to Alex’s car. He stopped and looked at me over the hood. “From Mr. Perfect?”

I nodded. “That’s my theory. And if I’m right, it’s just more proof that he’s got to be married.” And a married lover opens up a rich vein for all kinds of possible fall guys I can toss into the mix: the man himself, his wife, maybe even adult children. Any one of them could lose it with the “home wrecker.” I told him, “Let’s move on Paige. I want to try and figure out who Mr. Perfect is.”

Alex headed out of the lot. “Don’t you want to see Chloe’s sister? She could probably tell us if Chloe was using on a regular basis.”

“But she won’t. Families aren’t exactly delighted to see us, Alex. Especially when we’re looking for information that makes the victim look bad.”

“Even if the cops might have the wrong guy?”

“They never think that. They’ll think we’re just trying to get our client off. Which we are.” And that’s why I almost never talk to the family of the victim. There’s no point. “Besides, we don’t have time to waste on long shots. The preliminary hearing is next week, and I have to find a zinger that’ll get people to start doubting the prosecution’s case.”

“So where am I going?”

“Beverly Hills.” Alex had plumbed Paige’s social media, but she hadn’t been a big “sharer.” All he found for the past year were a few photos from a trip she took to Napa Valley with Chloe and her sister, Kaitlyn; a group photo with other waitresses at Majesty; and a couple of photos with fellow models. No personal postings about her life or anyone in it. Paige was smart to play it close to the vest. As many have learned the hard way, there are too many jerks out there who’ll abuse the access to all that information.

But it left us with relatively few threads to pull: her modeling buddies, the other waiters at Majesty, and her mother. I didn’t think the latter could help us even if she’d wanted to. I doubted Paige would confide in her mother about a relationship with a married man. That basically left us with her coworkers.

I called Michelle and asked her to get us permission to talk to the waitstaff at Majesty. She called back ten minutes later. “The manager’s a real piece of work. But I got him to give you a few minutes to—and I quote—‘see if anyone is willing to talk to you.’ And the story about you and Dale went nuclear. Listen to this.” The sound of phones ringing nonstop came through. “It’s been like that all day. By the way, did you really tell someone all your relatives are murder suspects?”

“Shit. Yeah. I kind of lost it. Tell ’em that was a joke.” I got the address of the restaurant and the manager’s name and told Michelle I’d check in after we got kicked to the curb.

TWENTY-FIVE

M
ajesty was one of those high-end
restaurants that did the minimalist swank thing. Very subdued décor—original abstract art and clever hanging lights that were virtually sculptures. I noticed the chef and sous chefs were already working in the kitchen, and delicious smells were floating through the air.

The manager, Bernard Shore, reminded me of the English butler character in one of those old movies. Slicked-back steel-gray hair, a pinched nose, and permanently pursed lips. He even gave a prissy sniff when he saw us at the door. Bernard made us come in through the back door and pointed to the closest table to the bathroom. “You can sit there.”

I looked at all the empty tables. Message received. “Why don’t we start with you?”

Bernard’s expression showed he’d like to tell us why not. But he said, “Fine,” in a bored voice.

We were all still standing. Bernard didn’t wait for a question. “Paige was a beautiful girl and a hard worker. She never gave me any trouble. That’s all I know.”

I pulled out my notepad. “So you hired her without knowing anything about who she was? Where she worked before? Whether she had a rap sheet?”

Three twentysomething guys and a woman about the same age came in through the back door carrying aprons. The waitstaff was starting to show up.

Bernard gave me a hard look, then deliberately turned his gaze over my shoulder. “I know she got her BA at Cal State Northridge. And she used to work at Ciao on Sunset.” Bernard’s sour expression told us what he thought of that restaurant.

“Did you know who she was friendly with? Who she might’ve been dating?”

“I had no idea and no wish to know.”

Alex looked at Bernard and leaned in, trying to force the man to make eye contact. It didn’t work. Another two young guys and two women with aprons came tumbling in, laughing.

I tried again. “Then she wasn’t particularly friendly with any of the staff here?”

Bernard gave an irritable sigh that blew the smell of industrial-strength mouthwash into my face. “I didn’t take any notice of that. I’m not a den mother; I’m the manager of a high-end restaurant. What my employees do on their own time is their business. As long as it doesn’t affect their job performance, they can socialize with pelicans for all I care.”

I stared at Bernard. His eyes remained fixed over my left shoulder. I turned to see what was back there. Just the door. I’d noticed some of the waitstaff throwing us glances while we talked to Bernard.

Alex spoke up. “Did Chloe ever come in here?”

“No.” Bernard glanced at his watch. “I have to get to work. You’ve got ten minutes to talk to the staff—if they want to—and then you’ll have to leave.”

I smiled at the manager and held out my hand. “It’s been lovely chatting with you.”

He ignored my hand and headed for the kitchen.

The waiters and waitresses had gathered at a large round table near the front of the restaurant. Alex was scoping them out. “I think one of the guys is on the team.”

I gave him an apologetic look. “I hate to play the gay card, but . . .”

“I don’t.”

We walked over to the table. I followed a few paces behind to let Alex storm the beachhead. When he introduced us, their expressions ranged from wary to downright hostile. More fun was on its way. The guy Alex had clocked sized Alex up, then turned his head. So much for the gay card.

I stepped up and talked fast. “Look, we’re not here to dig up dirt on Paige. A lot of questions are coming up about the case against Dale Pearson. It’s not as slam-dunk as the press makes it seem. And if Dale Pearson didn’t do this, then the person who did is still out there. You want to make sure you do everything you can to get that guy, don’t you?”

A couple of them nodded. A couple of them shrugged. But the rest weren’t buying it. One of those, a woman whose hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and who looked like the oldest of the bunch, stood up. “I know he’s your father and all, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re defending a murderer. I get that you’re just doing your job. But I don’t have to help you do it.”

She walked off. Alex’s “teammate” gave him a cold look and left with her. A couple of others seemed inclined to do the same but stayed seated—probably out of curiosity. One of the younger-looking waiters, who had a tattoo of an iron cross on his neck and wore black-framed glasses, watched them leave, then turned back and studied Alex and me for a moment. “I’ll talk to you, but I doubt I’ll be of much use.”

We took the two now-empty chairs. I asked whether anyone knew whom Paige was dating. The tattoo guy in the glasses, who said his name was Greg, spoke first. “I think she had a friends-with-benefits thing going with a guy.” He looked around the table. “Remember that dude on the motorcycle?” There were nods and
Oh yeah
s. “I think he was an actor or something. But she never really talked about him.”

The waitress with freckles and a ponytail added, “I thought I remembered her saying he was a stuntman, but he might’ve been an actor.”

But no one knew his name. “Did you ever hear about her dating someone who was famous? Possibly married? Someone she called Mr. Perfect?” The ponytailed waitress gave me a dirty look. I shook my head. “I’m not looking to slam her for it. I have information that she was seeing someone like that and he might have a reason . . .”

Greg nodded. “We get a lot of famous people coming in here. But I never knew about her dating anyone famous. Or married.”

The others agreed. A young girl, tall and thin, with long dark hair and exotic features, came in through the back door. The ponytailed waitress pointed her out. “That’s Tonya. I think she and Paige used to hang out.”

Bernard had emerged from the kitchen and was shooting us daggers. I gave him a friendly wave. He tapped his watch, then turned and went back into the kitchen.

I got up and started to pass out my cards, but the ponytailed waitress held up a hand. “Wait, um . . . I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what’s it like? You know, him being your father. Is it totally weird?”

I was no stranger to the power of the media, but the speed with which this story had spread was breathtaking. It felt like I’d been asked that question a million times during the past few hours, but I still had no better answer than the simple truth. “Yeah, it really is.” I told them to give me a call if they thought of anything else, then we headed over to Tonya.

Now that I got a better look, I realized I’d noticed her in the group photo on Paige’s Facebook page. She’d been in the background, but there’d been something about the way she stood, like a deer poised to bolt at the slightest sound, that made me take a second look. Otherwise, I probably would’ve skipped right past her, because her face was closed off in a way that said,
Don’t notice me
.

Tonya looked a lot younger in person than she did in the photo. Alex and I introduced ourselves. She glanced from me to him without expression, but I could feel the tension in her body, and I knew she was about to tell us to buzz off.

I talked fast. “I know we’re probably the last people you want to see, but we only want to figure out who did this.” I gave her my spiel about the possibility that Dale was innocent and wrapped up with a line I use with reluctant witnesses. “And I promise we’ll keep whatever you say confidential.”

That was a big fat lie. Well, sort of a big fat lie. If she didn’t have anything helpful, I really would keep it confidential. And if it hurt us, I’d take it to the grave. But if she said anything I could use, I’d haul her into court and pry her statement out of her with Crisco and a crowbar.

Tonya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “D-do you really think someone else did it?”

“I think it’s very possible. But I need to get more information.” I gave her a gently pleading look.

“I don’t really know anything. I didn’t see her the night of the . . .” Her lip began to tremble. She bit down on it.

They’d obviously been close. This was exactly the person I was hoping to find. Someone who might know Mr. Perfect. I had to go easy on her, though, or she’d shut us down. “How long had you known her?”

“About six months. She was really nice to me.”

“Did you guys ever hang out after work?”

Tonya nodded. “A little. We’d go out for drinks, stuff like that.”

She’d tried to make it sound occasional, no biggie, but she was a lousy liar. It’d been more than “a little” and more than just drinks. “Did you know who she was dating?”

Tonya’s eyes slipped over to Alex, then came back to me. “No.”

Yes. But she clearly didn’t want to talk in front of Alex. I looked at my watch. “You probably have to get back to work. Why don’t we meet up after? Drinks are on me. But it’ll just be you and me. Alex won’t be able to make it. Are you okay with that?”

She nodded. I suggested we meet at the Tower Bar on Sunset. It had private corners and it’d probably be quiet on a weeknight by the time she got off. I took her contact information. She said she could get there by ten thirty.

Maybe, finally, I’d found someone who could give me an inside line on Paige’s life.

And especially on Mr. Perfect.