Blood Defense (9 page)

“What about Chloe? Any stray hairs on her?” Michelle asked.

“Not on her body. A couple on the floor. But that’s just as bad. Could’ve been left there anytime, by anyone. Even if they match the ones on Paige, it probably won’t take me very far.”

“What about prints?” Michelle asked.

“They found two that don’t match anyone on the door of Paige’s closet—”

Michelle looked up from her legal pad. “That’s something. The video shows the door was left open.”

“Yeah. But again, we can’t say when those prints got there. And there were some stray prints on Chloe’s dresser—but same thing. They could’ve been there for days, weeks, even months.”

Alex frowned. “So what’re you going to do?”

“Oh, I’ll still argue that stuff proves someone else was there. The question is, will anyone buy it? Would you?”

He looked down at his iPad. “Not so far.”

“Anyway, the tox report might be our only bit of really good news.” I pulled it out of the stack of discovery Zack had given me. “Paige had a low level of cocaine and a .06 blood alcohol level. I don’t know what we can do with that yet. And they found semen in Paige’s body that indicated recent sexual activity.”

Alex looked up. “Mr. Perfect?”

“Maybe. Chloe had a low level of heroin in her blood. So Dale was right. She was kind of loaded. That might help us with the homicidal drug-dealer theory. So how about this? Chloe owed him money, and he went to the apartment looking for it. Or for the drugs he’d sold her.”

Michelle frowned. “Maybe.”

But no matter whom I tried to lay it off on—a burglar or a drug dealer—I’d have to concede that Dale and Chloe had a fight, and that he’d knocked her around. Juries don’t like guys who punch their girlfriends—especially if that guy is a cop.

It wouldn’t be enough to slam the shoddy investigation, pound the table about lazy cops, or point to some vague, possible straw man.

I needed a real suspect.

FOURTEEN

I
gave Alex a copy
of the discovery so he could get up to speed on the witnesses, because I’d be taking him with me to do the interviews. I never talk to witnesses alone. If they decide to “forget” something on the witness stand, I need someone who can testify to what they told me—and that can’t be me.

Michelle went back to man the phones, which had slowed down some. Alex went to his office, and I went back to work. An hour later, I heard Michelle tell someone in the anteroom to take a seat. A few seconds later, there was a sharp rap on my door, and Michy stepped in. “You’ve got a visitor—”

“No press. I don’t have time right—”

“It’s Dale’s daughter. Lisa Milstrom.”

I glanced at the paperwork on my desk to make sure there were no grisly crime-scene photos. “Send her in.” I hadn’t intended to talk to her until we got closer to trial, but since she was here, I might as well see if there was a chance she might be a good character witness—or maybe good camera fodder on the cable news circuit. Dale wouldn’t like it, but I couldn’t afford to worry about that. He needed all the help he could get.

Michelle waved her over, and a slender girl in a blue-and-black maxi dress and boots walked in. I introduced myself and reached out to shake her hand, expecting to wind up holding the dead fish I usually got from kids. But Lisa’s shake was surprisingly firm. A little cold and clammy, but firm. I studied her face as she settled into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Her long, light-brown hair and delicate features showed she took after her mother. But I saw a little of Dale in her high cheekbones and slightly bent nose.

I sat down and folded my hands on the desk. “Nice to meet you, Lisa. What brings you here?”

Her tongue darted over her lips as she glanced around the office. When her eyes finally settled on me, she took a deep breath. “I—uh, I just wanted to tell you that my dad didn’t . . . I don’t think he did this.” Lisa cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I mean, I know he couldn’t have done it.”

She’d tried to deliver the message with solid conviction. But it was laced with fear and wobbly hope. I could tell she thought I knew the truth, but she was too scared to ask. It impressed me that she had the courage to come here on her own—and that she cared enough to do it for a dad she hadn’t really known for most of her life.

There was no way I was going to tell her how bad it looked for him, but I didn’t want to lie to her, either. “I promise you, we’ll do all we can to prove he’s innocent.” I didn’t want to let her start asking questions, so I steered the conversation away from the case. “Your dad told me you just moved here a couple of years ago. How do you like LA?”

Lisa shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. It was a drag at first, when I didn’t know anyone.”

“When was that?”

“Freshman year.”

“That must’ve been rough.” I felt for her. Being a freshman was bad enough. But being a new girl on top of that was a real bitch. A real lonely bitch. Still, she seemed pretty together. Nothing like the hot mess I’d been when I was in high school.

She dipped her head and sighed. “It totally sucked. But it’s a lot better now. And Dad really helped. He took me out to dinner, took me to the station.” Lisa spoke with a look of pride. “He even took me on a ride-along.”

I smiled. “I did a couple when I first joined the public defender’s office. Kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

She returned my smile, and her face finally relaxed. “Yeah. I really loved it.” She tilted her head and gazed over my shoulder. “It kind of made me think . . . it might be kind of cool to be a detective.”

“Absolutely.” But I doubted she’d follow in Daddy’s footsteps. She didn’t seem the type—too soft, too nice. I guess that might’ve been my bias showing. In any case, it looked like Dale had been a positive force in her life. But in the next moment, the memory of those gruesome crime-scene photos flashed through my mind. It was hard to reconcile them with the man who’d shown up for Lisa. Hard—but not impossible. It’s a truth you learn early when you’re on the defense side of things: very few people are all bad. I once defended a serial killer who cared for a whole family of rescue dogs. “Sounds like it’s been good getting to know him.”

Lisa nodded. “It has—not that I don’t like my stepdad.”

“When did your mom remarry?”

“Three years ago. That’s why we moved back here. Lonnie’s a sound editor. He works at Paramount.” She paused and dropped her eyes, a guilty look on her face. “He’s a nice guy, but . . .”

“He’s a stepdad.”

She looked at me with relief. “Exactly.”

I could relate. I hadn’t met my stepdad, Jack, until I was a junior in high school. He was a great guy, but I’d had a hard time warming up to him—even without the competition of a real father coming into the mix.

We chatted for a little while longer about school and her plans for college. I let her do most of the talking so I could get a bead on her, see how she’d play in court or on camera. But there was one question I’d had on my mind since Lisa had walked into my office. I held off until she was about to leave. “What does your mom think about all this?”

Lisa pressed her lips tightly for a second. “She doesn’t believe he did it, either. But . . .” Lisa trailed off. “She said he did have a temper.” She added quickly, “Not that he ever hurt her or anything. She just said she didn’t want to believe it but that anything’s possible.” Lisa tilted her chin up, her expression defiant. “But I told her she’s wrong. I know he didn’t do it. Just because I haven’t known Dale all my life, that doesn’t mean I can’t tell.”

Her loyalty was as touching as it was painful. I did my best to give her an encouraging smile, and as I walked her to the door, I told her again that we’d be fighting for him. “It was great to meet you, Lisa.”

She stepped back and gave me a swift hug. “I’m so glad he has you. I know you’ll win.” She headed out through the anteroom and stopped with one hand on the door. She looked from me to Michelle. “Thanks for—for everything.”

I waved, and as the door closed behind her, Michelle said,
“Nice kid.”

“She really is.”

Michelle and I exchanged a look: if we lost this case, it’d crush her.

FIFTEEN

I
went back to work,
feeling the weight of Lisa’s faith in me. At four o’clock, Michelle came into my office. “We just got another batch of reports from the DA, and one of them is an interview with Chloe’s sister, Kaitlyn. I think you should take a look at it.” She stared at my open window and rubbed her arms. “It’s like a refrigerator in here. Must you?”

“As always, yes. I must.” I like to leave my window open. It keeps me awake. And Michelle complains about it every time.

Michelle folded her arms, her lips twisted with irritation. “And we just lost our Wi-Fi connection.”

We needed to upgrade, but we couldn’t afford it. “Again?”

“Again.” Michelle sighed. “I’ll have to go down to Apex and use their computer.”

Our downstairs neighbor, Apex Printing, almost never had customers, but they had an industrial-strength connection, and they were pretty generous about letting us use it. But hanging around there wasn’t a smart move. The few customers they did have showed up only after five o’clock—sporting tats, piercings, and bone-crushing rings on most fingers. Michy and I pegged it as a drug front the day we moved in. I expected the DEA to raid the place any minute. “Let me call the carrier and see if I can get us a deal on an upgrade.”

“I tried, Sam. They won’t do it.”

“Can’t hurt to try again.” Michelle rolled her eyes and walked out.

I’d been down to Apex a few times in the past month, just being neighborly. And, of course, dropping off my business cards. Someone in that place—whether the employees or their customers—was bound to need my services sooner or later. The last time I was there, I’d asked an employee about their Wi-Fi carrier, saying I was shopping for a new one. He’d said theirs was the best and logged on to show me. Now, I remembered noticing the length of his password. These guys weren’t exactly tech wizards. I had a hunch. I used my iPad to find their network provider and typed in
AP8182458989
. The business initials and their phone number. Stupid. Obvious. And right. I was in.

I went out and told Michelle. “Hey, good news! I got us the upgrade. Same provider as Apex.” I handed her the Post-it sticker with the password.

“That’s fantastic!” Michelle took the sticker and logged on. Two seconds later, she spun around and stared at me with narrowed eyes. “You stole their password.”

I shrugged. “A little. But hey, we deserve it.”

“If they catch us, Sam—”

I waved her off. “Please. Piggybacking on their Wi-Fi’s the least of their concerns.” Michelle shook her head. I put my hands on my hips. “What? Now you don’t have to go hang with a bunch of cartel mules
and
you’ve got a great connection. You’re welcome.”

As I headed back to my office, I heard her say something under her breath about us “winding up in a block of cement.”

I called out over my shoulder, “They’re not that creative, Michy.”

Michy called back, “Real comforting, Sam.”

I sat back down at my computer and jumped on with the Apex Wi-Fi. It was the fastest I’d ever connected to the ’net. I should’ve done this months ago. I scrolled down, looking for the e-mail from Zack.

I’d been hoping we’d get Kaitlyn’s statement soon. Dale had said Chloe was on the phone with her when he came by that night. I found the statement. “Damn it!”

Michelle came in. “What?”

“Chloe told her sister she was going to break up with Dale that night. Damn it!” Fighting over a drug habit is one thing. But fighting over a breakup is classic murder motive.

“I take it Dale never mentioned anything about a breakup?”

“No.”

“Maybe they got stuck on the drug thing and she didn’t get around to it.”

Maybe. Hopefully. Because I didn’t want to believe Dale was holding out on me so soon. “You know where to find Kaitlyn?”

“She works afternoons at a Starbucks near Santa Monica Community College. The four p.m. to nine p.m. shift.”

“Thanks, Michy. I might hit her up tomorrow.”

It was eight thirty when Michelle and I packed up to leave for the day. Alex was still in his office, hard at work. I stopped at the doorway. “Hey, don’t kill yourself. You’re not getting paid by the hour. And we need to get on the road early tomorrow.”

Alex smiled. “I already finished the discovery. I’m reading up on PI techniques now. What time?”

I’d so lucked out with him. “Make it eight o’clock. You’ll have to pick me up at my place. Beulah’s still not running.” I pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “And bring coffee.”

He took the money and saluted, and Michelle and I left. She was giving me a lift home.

My cell phone rang just as Michelle pulled out of the parking lot. The caller ID said Blocked. I knew what that meant. I could’ve let it go to voice mail, but I decided I might as well bite the bullet now.

Michelle looked at me. I mouthed, “Mommy dearest.” She shook her head. “Give her my love.”

Celeste came at me like I’d told
People
magazine she wore knockoff Louboutins. “It’s just a publicity stunt, right? You’re not really going to do it!”

“Do what?” I knew what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to make this any easier on her than I had to.

“Represent that awful murderer! I just saw you on the E! channel news. That man is dangerous. What if he comes after you?”

“He’s in jail, Celeste. He can’t come after anyone.”

“But he might have people on the outside who can do it for him!”

“He’s a cop. Not a Crip. Or John Gotti. And why would he come after me? I’m on his side.”

“Because he’s a
criminal
, Samantha. He doesn’t need a reason. He’s insane. Otherwise why would he kill that sweet actress and her roommate?”

“Whatever happened to presumed innocent? You know, it’s possible he didn’t do it.” Not likely, but possible.

“Please, Samantha. They’d never charge a
detective
unless they knew for sure he’d done it—”

There was that. But I’d rather chew ground glass than agree with her. “They make mistakes just like everyone else.” Her they’re-all-guilty attitude was nothing new—and besides, I agreed. I moved on to what
was
new. “Since when do you care what I’m doing or who my clients are?”

Her voice grew sharp. “Don’t take that tone with me. I care about everything you do.”

The hell. “When it affects you.”

There was a long beat of silence. “You always think the worst of me, Samantha.”

“I think the reality of you, Celeste.”

Her voice was rising. “Well, you’re wrong! I’m telling you this for your own good. Don’t take this case. Get away from that man—that cop! Do you hear me? Let it go!”

I was one block away from my building. “I’m about to pull into the garage; I’m going to lose the signal.”

“Listen to me, Samantha! Have I ever said this to you before?”

She’d said plenty of other obnoxious and undermining things, but she was right. This was a new one. “I’ll think about it. ’Bye.”

I ended the call, and Michelle pulled up to the curb in front of my building.

“I take it your mother is less than thrilled with you taking the case.”

“Your powers of deduction are, as always, astounding.”

“Why don’t you tell her you need the money?”

“Because she’d tell Jack to give it to me, and I’d rather cut off my right hand than take money from her.”

Michelle sighed. “What time do you think you’ll get back to the office tomorrow?”

“Can’t tell. I’ll call with updates.”

When I got upstairs and changed into my sweats, I kept my promise to Celeste. I did think about it. Not about getting off the case. About why she wanted me to.

I’d had thirty-three years of up-close-and-personal experience with Celeste Brinkman (changed from the original “Charlene” because she thought Charlene was a “hillbilly” name). Enough to know that this had nothing to do with her concern for my safety. When she got this whipped up about something, it always had to do with her. Her image, her status, her convenience.

Conclusion? Someone at the country club or her Pilates class must’ve dropped a comment that made her believe my taking the case would make her look bad.

As earth-shattering as that event might be for her, I was willing to let her deal with it. Because that’s the kind of evil, selfish bitch I am.