Authors: Marcia Clark
THIRTY-FOUR
T
here was a leaden feeling
in my chest as I headed out to the car with Alex. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t want to let my thoughts coalesce. If I did, I’d sink even further.
But I wanted to know what Alex thought. I waited until we got into the car. “Did you believe him?”
He shrugged. “If I didn’t know about the rape charge, I probably would. He really sounds sincere. But now? I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
So even Alex was feeling differently about Dale. I had to find a way to stanch the bleeding or Dale would be DOA by the time we got to trial. I’d gotten onto the 101 Freeway and was heading back to the office when I saw the Warner Bros. water tank towering above the freeway. I remembered we still hadn’t cornered that writer, Geoffrey Brocklin, the guy Chloe had been seeing at some point. I had less hope than ever that he’d do us any good, but I was feeling desperate. He was our last thread to pull with Chloe. And besides, I needed the distraction. I asked Alex if he was up for a fight.
“Hell, yeah. I don’t know if he’s back yet, but it’s worth a try.”
The last time we visited the set, Alex had made a fan of Ramie, the showrunner’s assistant. Now, he called her and found out that Geoff was in the writer’s room. She agreed to get us onto the lot.
When he ended the call, I told him to give Michelle the information we’d gotten from Amaya and let her follow up on Marc Palmer.
“You don’t want me to do that?”
“No. Marc’s a side issue. I need you to move on Dale’s alibi witnesses.”
Alex nodded and pulled out his phone. He looked almost as grim as I felt. As Alex spoke to Michelle, I faced the fact that there were just too many “coincidences” happening around Dale and the women in his life. The truth was, Dale had probably killed them all—Chloe, Paige, and Jenny. And if I could do the math, so could the cops. They were probably already pulling up all the unsolved homicides in every division Dale had worked—which was all over the county. That’s what I would’ve done.
Dale was probably a serial killer. My throat tightened as tears threatened to well up. I forced a deep breath. I couldn’t afford to let this get to me. I was fighting a war on two fronts now that Jenny Knox’s murder was out in the open.
I pulled onto the lot and found a parking space close to the building that housed the writing staff. When Ramie saw us approaching, she smiled and waved. It had nothing to do with me. She was twitterpated with Alex. She walked over to us, then glanced around and whispered to him, “I’ll tell Geoff someone’s waiting for him in the director’s office. You’ll have to take it from there.”
She led us to the office, then went to get Geoffrey Brocklin. I braced myself. Any friend of Chloe’s was bound to be an enemy of ours.
Geoffrey stopped in the doorway and frowned. “Who are you?” His hair was shaggy, his wire-rimmed glasses sat too far down on his nose, and his clothes looked like they’d been slept in.
“I’m Samantha Brinkman and this is my associate, Alex Medrano.” I figured
associate
sounded better than
investigator
.
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “You’re that killer’s lawyer? No fucking way am I talking to you—”
He turned to go. Ordinarily, I would’ve let him. There’s no point in trying to beat down a witness who doesn’t want to talk to you. But I was in an angry mood and more than willing to share it.
“That’s fine. Then here’s how it’s going to go: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves why Geoffrey Brocklin wouldn’t even give us five minutes to tell him why we thought Dale Pearson might not be the killer? Wouldn’t an innocent man, one who has nothing to hide, want to do all he could to make sure the real murderer is brought to justice? Because we all know the police can get it wrong. We’ve all seen the stories about men and women who spent twenty, thirty years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. But Geoffrey Brocklin didn’t want to hear it. Because Geoffrey Brocklin knew who did it—and he knew it wasn’t Dale Pear—”
“Are you kidding me? No one’s going to buy that!”
I tilted my head. “You sure? You and Chloe were close. Everyone knows it. So when she dumped you for Dale, you got jealous.” I actually had no idea whether that was true. “And you don’t have an alibi for that night.” I was bluffing about that, too. If I was wrong, he’d call security and we’d be bounced out on our asses. At this point, I didn’t care.
Geoffrey set his jaw. “We were never a couple. I was just a friend.”
Yes. Like they say, I’d rather be lucky than good. “What did she tell you about Dale?”
“Just that he was a pain in the ass. She kind of liked the idea of dating a cop; it was a change of pace for her. But she said he gave her a lot of shit.”
“About what?”
A defiant look crossed his face. “I don’t know. She didn’t really say.”
“Bullshit. It was about using. She was back on the needle.”
Geoffrey stared at me for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I was actually on his side about that.” He looked out the window, his expression bleak. “I couldn’t believe it when I found out. She went through hell to get clean and put her life back together. Watching her slide back down, inch by inch . . . it killed me.”
“You tried to get her to stop?”
He sighed. “It was maddening. She’d promise, I’d believe her. And then I’d catch her on the nod.” Geoffrey shook his head. “The day she died, I heard she’d had to leave the set. I found her in her trailer. Getting sick.” He looked at me. “I knew that meant she’d just shot up. But this time she didn’t try to deny it. She said she knew she was out of control.” He swallowed hard. “She asked me for help. She’d never done that before.”
“Then her source had to be on the lot.” She wouldn’t have waited to shoot up in her trailer if she’d scored before she got to work.
Geoffrey’s eyes moved from me to Alex, then back again. “I’m pretty sure I know who it is. But if I tell you, you’ll have to cover me.”
Studio lots were little Peyton Places, and Geoffrey didn’t want to get branded as a snitch. “If we can’t find anything to link him up to Chloe’s murder, this goes nowhere.”
Geoffrey looked behind him, then spoke in a low voice. “It’s not a ‘him,’ it’s a ‘her.’ Jaylene Thomas. She’s a PA—uh, production assistant.”
Low on the totem pole, it was a job that involved running around the lot all day. A great gig for a dealer. We got a description: five foot six, medium build, short black hair, and a nose ring. “Do you know whether Chloe saw her after you two talked in her trailer?”
“No, but she could have. Chloe was scheduled to do the last shot of the day, so she was here pretty late.”
Geoffrey told us we could probably find Jaylene somewhere between Building 26 and the trailers. I thanked him. He gave me a curt nod and headed back to the writers’ room. We went out to see if we could head Jaylene off at the pass.
“You crossing him off the list?” Alex asked.
“For now. He doesn’t feel right to me. You?”
“Agreed. I think he probably did want to be more than a friend, but I don’t buy him as a killer. You really think a five-foot-six girl could’ve killed two women?” Alex asked.
“I can’t afford to be picky—or sexist—right now. I need suspects.”
But as it turned out, Jaylene was a better prospect than I’d anticipated. We found her coming out of Building 26 with a cigarette behind her ear and a lighter in her hand. Perfect.
I stepped up to her, just out of swinging range. “Jaylene?”
She turned and peered at me. “Angus is up now; I’m on break.” She pulled out the cigarette and lit it.
“I’m not on the show. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. We’re looking into Chloe’s death and—”
Jaylene blew out a stream of smoke. “You a cop?”
“No. I’m Samantha Brinkman—”
Jaylene stared for a moment, then moved closer and poked a finger at my chest. “You’re that fucker’s lawyer, aren’t you? Well, you can go screw yourself.”
I pushed her hand away. “Yeah, ’cause you were such a
good
friend to her.”
Jaylene dropped her cigarette and came at me, her right fist cocked. Alex jumped between us and pushed her back, saving me from a trip to the hospital. He held on to her, his back to me.
Safe now, with Alex holding her in check, I got in her face. “You’re the one who was ruining her life, selling her that—”
“You’re full of crap!” Jaylene spit her words at me over Alex’s shoulder. “She was about to have a nervous breakdown, but no one cared. They just wanted to use her. I was the only one who gave a shit about her. I don’t care what anyone says. She couldn’t have made it through one fucking day without me!”
She threw Alex’s arm off her shoulder and stomped away. I watched her go.
“I get the feeling Chloe was more than just a customer to our buddy Jaylene,” Alex said.
I nodded. “Let’s find out if Jaylene has an alibi.”
“I’m on it.”
THIRTY-FIVE
W
hen we got back to the office,
Michelle greeted us with an announcement. “The grand jury just handed down a true bill. Dale’s been indicted.”
I just nodded. It was a measure of how shitty things were that this almost qualified as good news. At this point, any news that didn’t include yet another dead woman in Dale’s life was cause for celebration.
“And I actually got somewhere on Marc Palmer—the guy who did some modeling gigs with Paige. He was pretty active on Facebook, and his friends are still posting on his page. I got some background.” Michelle read from her monitor. “He moved out to LA from Blencoe, Iowa, three years ago, but he just started modeling last year. Seems like he met Paige at his first modeling gig.”
“Did you find any articles about his death? Any indication how he wound up in Malibu?”
Michelle shook her head. “It was just a local news story. The coroner couldn’t be sure how long he’d been in the water. Said it was more than a day, maybe as long as ten days. There were signs of blunt-force trauma, but that might’ve happened after he fell into the water.”
“Any information on whether he was drinking or drugging?”
“Both. He had a .13 blood alcohol level and a pretty high level of cocaine. Plus, he was nude. It sounds to me like he was partying on the beach and went for a swim, or maybe fell off a boat.”
“But no one reported it.”
“Maybe because everyone else was high, too, and didn’t notice he was gone until it was too late,” Alex said. “And then they were afraid to get involved.”
That sounded sadly plausible. “When did they find his body?”
Michelle looked back at her monitor. “March fifteenth.”
“Six days after Paige died,” Alex said.
What had been just a vague notion now seemed to be solidifying into a real possibility. I might actually be able to sell a connection between Marc’s and Paige’s deaths. “I want to talk to Marc’s buddies. Michy, do you have enough there to track them down?”
“Sure, if they’re in the mood to cooperate. If not . . . all I have are Facebook handles.”
Alex smiled. “I can probably work with that.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re on probation, remember? I can’t afford to lose you.”
“They’ll never catch me.”
I didn’t like the idea of him taking any risks, but I knew he was that good. And besides, we needed to see where this led. “Okay. But if anyone bitches about how you got their number, have a good cover story ready.”
Alex put his hands on his hips. “Please. I started social engineering when I was eleven.”
Of course he had. “Okay, but keep it tight. It’s not about Marc per se. It’s about Marc’s connection to Paige. So we only want people who knew Paige.”
Michelle stood up and rolled her shoulders. “How’d you guys do today?”
I didn’t feel like talking about Dale, so I just told her about Geoffrey and Jaylene. When I threw out the possibility that Jaylene might be the killer, Michelle raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying a
woman
stabbed both of them?”
“I know,” Alex said. “Believe me, I didn’t buy it either at first. But let me tell you, that woman is pretty strong—and kind of crazy. And it wouldn’t have been that hard. Whoever did this probably got the jump on both of them.”
I nodded. “And a knife doesn’t make noise. Plus, Paige was probably in the shower when Chloe got stabbed.”
Michelle shrugged. “I guess . . . I just never thought . . . it always felt like a man to me.”
I couldn’t disagree. “To me, too. And Jaylene might be a tough sell, but no one’s going to buy Geoffrey.”
Alex nodded. “That guy really liked her.” He stood up. “I’m going to get to work on Dale’s alibi for the Jenny Knox murder.”
“And let me know the minute you have something solid. Amanda Trace is going to go batshit with that story.”
Amanda Trace, cable news’s most nasty pit bull of a host, existed to shred anyone accused of a crime. No evidence? No problem. She’d stitch together rumors, innuendo, and irrelevant garbage; slap some graphics on the screen; and spit and snarl her way through the story. She’d been teeing off on Dale all along, but now, with Jenny’s death, Amanda’s fangs would be dripping blood.
Alex moved toward the door. “I think I can get most of them to see me tonight. You want to come?”
I shook my head. “You can handle them alone.” These cops were friendly witnesses. Alex didn’t need backup. “If Dale’s actually got an alibi, I want to be able to tell the press tomorrow. Report back to me tonight; I don’t care how late it is.”
“You got it.” Alex headed out and I went to my office.
I worked on a few other cases, then went through all the autopsy and crime reports on Dale’s case—or rather, case
s
—with an eye toward what I could say to the press tomorrow. I had to do more than give the usual “Dale’s innocent” line. I had to make people think we really had something cooking. No names. I never mention any names till the very last second. The less time I give the prosecution to dig into my witnesses, the better.
Michelle wanted to wait with me, but when we still hadn’t heard from Alex at eight thirty, I sent her home. There was no sense in all of us getting thrashed. It was almost ten o’clock by the time Alex got back. I gestured for him to have a seat. “Just tell me, are we hosed?”
He blew out a long breath and plopped down sideways, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. “I don’t think we’re golden, but we’re definitely not hosed. Dale owes Ignacio Silva a great big kiss and a hug.” He opened his iPad and scanned his notes. “Ignacio says he and Dale were at Hoops the night Jenny was killed.” Alex swiped a finger across the screen of his iPad. “That’s a sports bar in Culver City. They got there at ten p.m. and closed the place down. Ignacio was driving. He dropped Dale at home at about three a.m.”
And Dale lived in Porter Ranch. There was no way he could’ve gotten from there to Hollywood in time to do the murder. “So far, so good. How come Ignacio remembers all this more than a year later?”
“Because there was a big basketball game, and this coach”—he looked down at his iPad—“Shawn Haley, got into a fight with the referee. Chest-bumped him. Got fined more than a quarter of a million dollars.” Alex looked up at me. “Chest-bumped? Seriously? Why not just slug the guy?”
“Because that would’ve cost him two million.”
Alex shook his head. “Whatever. Anyway, Ignacio said Patrick, the bartender, would back him up, so I went to see him. That’s what took me so long.” Alex paused.
“Did he?”
“Sort of. He didn’t specifically remember that night, but he said it might be true. Dale and Ignacio—and a bunch of other cops—were regulars.”
Hardly a slam dunk. “So it’s a cop bar.” Alex nodded. I supposed it was better than nothing . . . but just barely. “What did you think of Ignacio?”
“He’s good, a little tightly wound—”
“As in, if he gets pushed he’s going to push back?”
“Yeah. When I nudged him on the details, he got a little . . . edgy with me.”
If Ignacio was “edgy” with Alex, who was on his side, I didn’t like his chances of keeping it together with Zack on cross—or with the press. I’d need to keep both him and the bartender under wraps. But that required them to cooperate and keep a low profile. I wasn’t worried about Ignacio; he’d do what was best for Dale. But Patrick was an unknown.
Some witnesses will trample their crippled grandmothers to get on camera; others would rather shove hot pokers in their eyes. “Does Patrick seem like the type to want his fifteen minutes?”
“Definitely not. But just to be on the safe side, I told them both it’d be best to keep this quiet—”
“What reason did you give them?” I didn’t want Patrick telling anyone that we were trying to hide him—though we were.
“I told them it’d hurt their credibility if they talked to the press.”
I smiled at Alex. He was so good it was scary. “Perfect.”
“Actually, it was just the truth. The book said that in high-profile cases, it’s best to—”
I held up a hand. “Just take the credit, Alex.”
Alex gave me a triumphant smile. “But you’ve got to admit it was right, wasn’t it?”
“Even a clock that’s broken is right twice a day.”
“You’ve got to believe me, Sam. It’s a great book.” I stared at him. Alex sighed. “Fine. You know, what would really help is if I could dig up some other suspects for Jenny’s murder.”
“What about Bozo? That guy she ripped off for his oxy?”
Alex shook his head. “He’s too puny. And whiny. No one would buy him as a strangler. But I bet if I go back to her ’hood, I can find others. From what I’ve seen, that girl must’ve had a buttload of enemies. She ripped everyone off—”
“No. Let it go. I’ll take it from here.”