Blood Defense (35 page)

SIXTY-FOUR

I
was pretty amped
when
I rode to court the next morning. Tired, sore, and looking like I’d spent the night in a washing machine on the spin cycle—but amped. Alex and Michelle were with me. They deserved to take this victory lap.

I headed back to the holding tank to see Dale. It was a whole new experience now that he’d been cleared. I could look him in the eye and not wonder whether he’d murdered two innocent girls. I could share a smile with him and not worry that I was in the company of a psychopath. And I could hold my head up without feeling judged for being the daughter of a multiple murderer. It surprised me to realize how much that had weighed on me. It wasn’t as though he’d ever been a real father to me. But there was no denying that we were connected by blood. Like it or not, on some elemental, lizard-brain level, his sins were my sins. So knowing he hadn’t killed Paige and Chloe was more than just a relief—it was almost as though
I’d
been exonerated.

Dale was beaming. “Does this mean I’ll actually get to talk to you with no bars or bulletproof glass between us? I won’t know how to act.”

I smiled. “Me neither.”

His eyes were misty. “I’d say thank you, but it seems so lame. You saved my life.” His expression turned anxious. “When I heard about the fire at your office, I thought I was going to lose my mind. If anything had happened to you, Sam . . .” He trailed off, unable to speak.

I waited for him to recover. When he looked up again, I gave him a little smile. “We don’t have to go there.”

Dale sighed. “No, better not.”

But my smile wavered. The image of Brent putting the gun to his head, the roar of the shot, his blood and brains splattering the walls, kept coming back to me, again and again.

Dale watched me knowingly. “I’ve seen some ugly things—even saw a jumper once—but I’ve never seen anyone commit suicide that way. How’d you sleep?”

“Not great.” That was nothing new. But last night, I got to have a whole new nightmare and dreamed nonstop about blasts of gunfire and torn, bloody faces. I woke up over and over again, breathless and shaking. “I just hope it’ll stop sometime soon.”

Dale nodded. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I can tell you from experience, it does get better—eventually. And if you want to talk, I’m here.”

That’s right, he really could be. Now. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

Dale’s brow furrowed. “They arrest Aubrey yet?”

I nodded. “Up in Sacramento. He was at a campaign fund-raiser. Guess he’ll need those funds for something else now.”

As we exchanged grins, the bailiff tapped me on the shoulder. “The judge’s about to come out, Samantha. Wrap it up.”

I gave the bailiff a salute and turned back to Dale. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The benches in the gallery were so packed I didn’t know how anyone was breathing. The story had been all over the news, but the audience sat in rapt silence as Detective Little spoke. To his credit, he admitted we’d put it together for him.

When he finished, Zack asked for two weeks to let the crime lab process the evidence at Chloe’s apartment and the Larsens’ beach house, “Just to make sure it all jibes.”

The judge glared at him. “Two weeks? So this man can spend
more
time in custody for crimes he didn’t commit? I’ll give you three days. You either bring in solid proof that Dale Pearson committed these murders by then, or I’m dismissing this case. And in the meantime, I’m setting bail at ten thousand dollars.” He turned to me. “I assume he can make that?”

I’d anticipated the judge might grant bail, so I’d asked Alex to bring his uncle Tomas, the bail bondsman. I looked back at Tomas now, and he nodded. “Yes, he can make that.”

“Very well. You’re all ordered back Thursday morning. Until then, we’ll be in recess.”

When the judge left the bench, Dale and I had a long hug. Our first real one. It felt strange but somehow familiar. The clicking of cameras filled the room. For a change, I’d get to go out and talk to the press without worrying about what I needed to spin.

I stood in front of the courthouse in the thin winter sunshine and answered obvious questions like, “Do you feel vindicated?” (Of course) and “Does Dale plan to sue?” (No comment at this time).

This was better than a hung jury—or even an acquittal. Dale was completely cleared. And the story was huge. By tomorrow morning, there’d be no corner of the country that hadn’t heard it. Dale would never have to deal with the doubts that always lingered around defendants whose convictions got reversed on a “technicality.”

And public opinion had turned on a dime. Now the waving posters touted
DALE PEARSON
—
INNOCENT
!
and
DALE PEARSON
,
VICTIM OF INJUSTICE
!
There was even some comic relief: a woman in high heels and a bikini waved a poster reading:
DALE PEARSON
,
WILL YOU MARRY ME
?

I took her picture. When I picked Dale up at the jail later that day, I showed it to him. “Just wanted you to know you’ve got a lot of ‘options.’ Even if some of them are a little sketchy.”

He laughed, then he looked up at the sky. “I can’t believe I’m out of that dungeon.” We didn’t talk much on the ride home. Dale spent most of the time staring out the window. When I pulled into his driveway, he sat unmoving for several long moments as he looked at his house. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this place again.”

He pulled on the door handle and tried to push the passenger door open, but it stuck. He had to put his shoulder into it, and when it gave, the old hinges let out a metallic shriek. Dale frowned, then leaned over and checked out the mileage. “Don’t you think it’s time to let this thing go to car heaven?”

I spread my arms across the dashboard. “Do not let Beulah hear you say that. She’ll make me push her home.”

Dale grinned. “My bad. We’ll discuss it later, when she’s not listening. Maybe over dinner? We really should celebrate.”

“I agree. You get settled and we’ll figure it out.”

Dale squeezed my hand and got out. I watched him unlock the door. He turned and waved to me, and I waved back. As I drove away, I realized I didn’t know whether this was a beginning or an end. And I wasn’t sure which one I wanted it to be.

SIXTY-FIVE

T
he courtroom wasn’t nearly as packed
on Thursday morning. The hearing was kind of an anticlimax. No one expected Zack to come up with anything, and he didn’t. Case closed—for Dale.

Edie’s was just beginning. The stray hairs on Paige’s robe and in Chloe’s bedroom were consistent with Edie’s, and the stray prints in Paige’s bedroom matched Edie’s. And an unexpected bonus: they’d found Edie’s prints on the balcony as well. Zack had charged her with two counts of first-degree murder. But even if the jury only went for first degree on Chloe’s murder and gave her a second degree on Paige’s, she’d still wind up doing life without parole.

After the case against Dale was dismissed, we all walked out
together.

Dale gave me a broad smile. “Dinner next week?”

I answered with a lot more certainty than I felt. “Absolutely.”

When Dale left, I saw Zack talking to a reporter near the elevators. Aubrey Miles had just been transported to Los Angeles that morning, and it was big news. They’d found his blood and Marc’s at the Malibu house. It’d take a little while longer to finish processing the crime scene, but the writing was on the wall: Aubrey Miles was going down. The reporter left and Zack waved to me.

I walked over to him. “You going to let Miles plead to a manslaughter?” Zack nodded. I figured as much. “The cops get a statement from him?”

“Such as it was. He claimed it was an accident; they got into a fight, and Marc fell and hit his head. We probably can’t prove otherwise.”

“You think Aubrey knew that Edie did the murders?”

“He says he didn’t. But unless she talks, which I seriously doubt will happen, we’ll never know for sure.” Zack shrugged, then smiled at me. “Anyway, that was some nice work you did finding that surveillance camera. You know, you should join the DA’s office—”

“Couldn’t pass the background check.”

Zack laughed. “No, seriously. You should.”

“No, seriously. I can’t pass the background check.” Plus, just the thought of it made me gag. “But to be honest, Alex was the one who found it.”

Zack nodded. “I hope you finally believe that I had nothing to do with that leak on Jenny Knox’s rape case.”

“Yeah, I do.” I’d never be able to prove it, but I was pretty sure Edie was behind that.

He tilted his head toward the snack bar. “Want to get some coffee?”

“Next time. I’ve got to get moving.”

I had to set up the new office so I could start seeing clients. I’d thought I’d have to work out of my apartment for the next few years to save up money for a new place. But it turned out the one bill Michelle always paid on time was our insurance premium. We wound up with a pretty nice place in West Hollywood. It wasn’t exactly a luxury suite, but it was in a pretty decent neighborhood.

When we found it, Michelle had let out a whoop of victory. “An office that
isn’t
in Gangsville. I can’t believe it—”

“Aw, come on, Michy, admit it. You’ll miss the bangers, the pitter-patter of little feet as they hunt each other down, the nightly gunfire. The exciting dash to your car at night . . .”

She’d ignored me. “And we have a security guard.”

I’d given a mock yawn. “Man, it’s gonna be boring.”

In the days that followed, I was busy nearly 24-7. Setting up a new office was a full-time chore.

We got our phone system up and running, and it looked like I was going to score a few new—
paying
—clients. It helped that the story was still a hot topic with the media. I’d been giving print interviews here and there, but I needed to get into the studio. I wouldn’t be a big ticket forever, and I had to squeeze the last drop out of every chance I got to beef up our business. Sheri’s producers had been blowing up my cell phone for the past week, offering to give me two solo segments with her. It didn’t get much better than that, so I asked Michelle to call the producers and put me on the show today.

But Michelle said I couldn’t do it. “You’ve got a client meeting, and it’s at four o’clock.”

I looked at my calendar. “How come it’s not on the books?”

“I sent you an e-mail. It’d help if you checked it once in a while. Do Sheri’s show on Monday. Believe me, she’ll make it work.”

At four o’clock, I heard Michelle say, “She’s in her office.” A few seconds later, my office door opened and Dale stood at the threshold. He gave me a little smile as he looked around the room. “I like your new digs.”

It took me a second to get over my surprise, but I went over and gave him a hug. “It doesn’t have the charm of being on Barrios Van Nuys turf, but I guess you can’t have everything.” I had a feeling this wasn’t just a social call, so I cut to the chase. “What brings you here? I mean, why the office?”

Dale cleared his throat. His eyes briefly met mine, then shifted off to the right. “I think I need to hire a lawyer.”

SIXTY-SIX

I
gestured for him to sit down
in one of the chairs in front of my desk. I had two matching chairs now. I was so uptown. I went around the desk and sat down. I thought I knew what he was here to talk about. And I was afraid it might get ugly—might in fact be the last time I ever saw him. But I was relieved. It was time to put our cards on the table and find out who we were going to be to each other. “What’s up?”

Dale cleared his throat again and swallowed. “Jenny Knox.”

I nodded. I’d guessed right. This was it.

His face was tight, and I could see it was a strain for him to hold my gaze. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I—I killed her.” His eyes shifted to the right.

I waited for him to make eye contact again. “Yes. I know.”

Dale opened his mouth, then closed it. He clasped his hands in front of his stomach, his body rigid. “How?”

It was Alex’s only real rookie mistake. But it was a monster. I gave a deep sigh. “I told Alex to drop the Jenny Knox investigation after Ignacio gave you an alibi. But he didn’t. I didn’t know it, but he kept going back to Jenny’s building to see if he could find a witness who’d point the finger at someone else for her murder.” Given who she was, I couldn’t blame Alex for thinking that’d be easy. “But he wound up finding a guy named Cricket who lived in the building next door to hers. Cricket got out of rehab the night Jenny died, and he was on the street looking to score. He ran into a friend who was in pocket, and they were about to do the deal when the friend spotted a cop he knew—a detective he’d worked with before.” I paused and looked at Dale. He was staring at me, his lips pinched, his face pale. “It was you. Cricket showed Alex the street where they saw you. It was a half block away from the alley where Jenny’s body was found.” I took a beat. “And there’s one more thing. When I told you that Jenny was dead, you didn’t ask me how she died. You said, ‘Who killed her?’” I studied Dale’s reaction.

He stared at his hands, still clenched together in front of him. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat again in a harsh, rasping grunt. When he finally spoke, his voice was choked. “I’m sorry, Sam. I—I wanted to tell you, but I was . . . afraid of . . . of what you’d think.”

A part of me wanted to accept that, to pretend I believed him and let it go. But I couldn’t. “Afraid of what I’d think? Or what I’d do? Weren’t you really just worried that I wouldn’t fight as hard for you?”

He drew back as though I’d slapped him. But then his eyes shifted over my shoulder to look out the window. After a moment, he slowly nodded. “Maybe. I guess it was partly that.” He met my gaze now, and I saw pain in his eyes. “But with two murders already hanging over my head, I was afraid you’d pull away, write me off as a . . . criminal. That I’d never get the chance to show you who I really was.”

Was that true? I supposed it might be. “But you are a criminal. You killed her. Why? No one was going to buy her bullshit rape claim. They’d already washed it out. That is, unless . . .” I looked him in the eye.

His face suddenly reddened, and he gripped the arms of the chair. “No! I never raped her! I did lie to you, and yes, partly for my own benefit. But that bogus fucking rape charge had
nothing
to do with it!”

I stared at him. “You need to calm down.” Dale’s eyes widened, but after a few moments, he sat back. I could see he was still breathing hard. “Okay, if it wasn’t the rape charge, then why?”

Dale stared out the window. His expression hardened, and his voice was cold, bitter. “A few days after Jenny made the rape charge, she called me and said she was sorry. That she was going to withdraw it. But she needed a ride to the hospital. She’d been jumped by a couple of crackheads, and they’d beaten her up. And she sounded bad, real bad. I was just a couple of blocks away, so I went to pick her up—”

“In that alley?”

Dale nodded as he stared out the window. His hands had balled into fists on his lap. He had a look of disgust on his face. “But of course, she lied. When I saw her and realized she was fine, I told her if she ever called me again, I’d make sure her story about getting jumped came true. She said she was doing me a favor, that she was giving me one more chance to pay up. I told her to go fuck off and started to leave. But then she showed me . . .” Dale reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a cell phone. He dropped it on my desk. “This.”

I looked at it, then back at him. “It’s hers?”

He nodded and jerked his head at the phone. “Go ahead, look.”

I stared at the phone for a moment, wondering why he’d hung on to it. When I looked up, I found Dale watching me. His eyes were narrowed, measuring. But there was nothing contrite about his expression.

I picked up the phone and refreshed the screen. When I saw the picture, a wave of shock that felt like a thousand needles spread over my body. It was Lisa—Dale’s daughter. My half sister. She was looking straight ahead, her hands on the straps of her backpack. It was a candid shot, taken from no more than ten feet away. There was only one reason why Jenny would’ve taken that photo and shown it to Dale. I put down the phone. “What did she say?”

Dale stared at the phone, his jaw clenched. His voice was quieter now, but an icy fury still lay just under the words. “She said Lisa—”

Holy shit. “Jenny knew her name?”

His eyes were hard as he met my gaze. “Yeah. She said that Lisa looked like a nice kid. That Lisa was lucky to be in a good school like Arthur B. Wright. That . . .” He had to stop. When he continued, his voice was hoarse. “That there was more than one way to get the money I owed her.” Dale was rubbing his fisted right hand with his left.

Now I understood why he’d kept the phone. He was looking into her contacts, trying to find out if there was anyone who really might pose a threat to Lisa. I hadn’t known whether he’d give me another half truth—a story I could never be sure of. But I’d read about girls—even in good neighborhoods—being snatched off the street and sold. I didn’t know if Jenny really had those connections, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Dale’s story felt true. And I definitely didn’t mourn the loss of a foul snake like Jenny Knox. But that didn’t answer the final question. “I get it. But why kill her? Why not just turn her in?”

The angry energy drained away as Dale sighed and leaned back in his chair. He stared at the cell phone as he spoke in a slow, heavy voice. “I could tell you I didn’t know whether any charges against her would stick. And I could tell you I was worried that even from jail she’d be able to retaliate by getting her connections to go after Lisa. And it’d all be true.” He finally looked up at me, and his expression was naked, vulnerable. “But the real truth is, I heard her threat and . . . I just . . . snapped.” He frowned and shook his head. But when he looked at me, his expression was frank. “I’m not proud of what I did. But I can’t honestly say I’m sorry, either.” His eyes softened as he added, “The only thing I’m sorry for is lying to you, Sam. I do hate myself for that.”

I was glad he’d come clean. And I believed his story. But I didn’t buy the notion that he’d bared his soul to me now just because of a guilty conscience. He’d kept the lie going for too long.

I knew in my gut he’d never have told me if he’d thought he could get away with it. Why risk rejection? What I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me—or more to the point, him. No, the only reason he’d told me about Jenny Knox was because he knew, or strongly suspected, that I’d figure it out.

But then it struck me: How did I know that? For all we’d been through, I still barely knew him. So how come I was so sure?

The answer crept forward, like a cowering, guilty child: because it’s what I would’ve done. It’d been my motto since I was a kid: Slide by with a lie; don’t admit it till you quit it. It was such second nature I never even thought about it. And that thought forced me to finally confront the bigger, core truth. The one I’d been avoiding ever since I found out he’d killed Jenny.

Dale knew he didn’t have to kill her. But he wasn’t having any guilt pangs over it. And neither would I. I might not have been as sloppy about it, but if I’d been in Dale’s position, I’d probably have killed her, too. I was who I was, and Dale was who he was. And we were a lot more alike than I—or he—could possibly have known. It occurred to me in that moment that it really wasn’t such a coincidence that our paths had crossed, after all. To the contrary, it seemed almost inevitable.

I looked at Dale now, saw his tense, worried expression as he looked into my eyes. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “I don’t know how you feel about me right now. Maybe you don’t, either.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “But I need to know what you’re going to do about . . . all this . . .”

The question almost made me smile. Dale knew so little about me. “You know it’s privileged. I can’t tell—”

Dale waved me off. “Yeah, I know you can’t
tell
anyone what I said. But we both know you can get around that if you want to.”

He was right. Alex had already put the wheels on the wagon by finding Cricket. It wouldn’t take much to set them in motion. All I’d have to do was get Cricket busted and then drop an anonymous call to the cops saying he had information on Jenny Knox’s murder. I shook my head. “If I’d wanted to take you down, I’d have done it already.”

Dale exhaled and nodded slowly, but his eyes searched my face. He wasn’t 100 percent sure of me. But I wasn’t 100 percent sure that I could trust him, either. He was a loose cannon with a short fuse, and he had no compunction about lying.

Then again, neither did I.

But his hair-trigger temper worried me. The image of Dale exploding with rage after I told him I’d been molested was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t want to wind up sitting next to him in court again. I couldn’t afford it—for a lot of reasons. I had to be honest with myself. Being close to him posed a real danger. But being honest, I also had to admit that seeing his fury in those moments, I’d felt a wild, howl-at-the-moon, bloodlust satisfaction. And
that
was what I’d always wanted. Not Superman, not Bruce Lee. I’d wanted that raging, untamed monster who’d shred and tear the limbs off anyone who dared to hurt me.

And I still did. That monster, managed right, could be just what I needed.

Dale glanced down at his hands. They were laced together in front of him. “I’ll get it if you don’t want to see me again.” He looked up and searched my face. “But I’m hoping you will.”

I wasn’t sure what our relationship would look like or where it would take us. And it might wind up being a disaster—for both of us. But there was only one way to find out. I looked into his eyes. “I’m in.”