I’d been right. The jewelry was Paige’s. “Maybe because it was such expensive stuff.”
Tonya’s eyes got huge. “You mean they’re real?”
“Seems so. Did she say where she got them?”
“Just said they were gifts.”
“But not who gave them to her?” Tonya shook her head. We talked a while longer, but I’d gotten all the information she had to give. I motioned for the waiter to bring the check. “Tonya, would you mind showing me your ID?”
“Why?”
“Trust me, okay?”
She took the ID out of her wallet and handed it to me with a wary look.
I studied it with my cell-phone flashlight, then handed it back to her. “This is not a good fake. I don’t know how it fooled your manager.” Though having met that dim-witted prune, I supposed I did. “But trust me, a cop will spot it in ten seconds. Have they talked to you about Paige yet?”
“The cops?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “They came to the restaurant on my day off.”
“They probably won’t come back, but if they do, stay away.” They’d send her back to the hell she’d run from in a fast second.
Tonya hugged her body and leaned forward. “What if they do get to me?”
I pulled out my card. “Then you call me. You don’t talk to them; you don’t tell them anything. The only thing you say is that you want your lawyer. I don’t care what time it is or where they take you, I’ll be there. Got it?”
Tears sprang into her eyes. She nodded and looked at my card. “Thank you, Ms. Brinkman.”
I leaned in and looked at the card. “Doesn’t it say Samantha on there?”
She gave a little smile and wiped the tears away. “Yeah.”
I slipped her a couple of twenties. “For the ride home.” She started to protest. “Don’t argue with your elders.”
When she’d left, I called Alex. He was my ride.
He answered the phone without preamble. “How’d it go? She give us anything good?”
“A little. Are you close?”
“You might say that.”
I looked up to see Alex walking into the bar. We hung up. “You waited in the other lounge?” He nodded. I told him what I’d learned-about Tonya as well as Paige.
He shook his head. “What a fucked-up world we live in. But now we know for sure what’s up with that jewelry. And Chloe reported it stolen because Paige didn’t want the cops asking her questions about who’d given it to her. You were right.”
“Try not to sound so surprised about that.” Alex gave me a sheepish look. “Anyway, we definitely have to get a line on that motorcycle friend of hers.”
Alex had a confident smile. “Someone’s going to give it to us.”
His confidence made me smile back. “That book of yours say so?”
“Sometimes I just know things.”
“That so?”
He nodded. “I knew you’d take my case. And I knew you’d get me a deal.”
I pushed away my glass of wine, flagged down the waiter, and ordered a real drink.
TWENTY-SEVEN
When I got home, I made the mistake of turning on the television. A photo taken of me back in my public-defender days was in a box next to a photo of Dale in uniform. The anchor announced the “stunning new development!” in the Pearson case. I changed the channel, but twenty seconds later, our mugs were on the screen again as a reporter made the breathless announcement, “He’s her father!” When it happened a third time, I gave up and went to bed. I knew it’d blow over when the next freak show arrived, but it couldn’t be soon enough for me. I fell asleep praying that Donald Trump would announce he was planning to become a woman.
Surprisingly, I had a dream-free night’s sleep, but I knew better than to turn on the television the next morning. I thought about the interview with Tonya. Her information definitely qualified as progress. All in all, I was in a pretty good mood. I drove to the office singing “Gangsta’s Paradise.”
But my spirits sank when I heard the sound of ringing phone lines before I even opened the door. Just because I’d tuned out the madness at home, that didn’t mean it’d stopped. I found Michelle staring at her computer, her expression stricken. “You look like you just saw my tax returns. What’s up?”
“The news. They’re saying Dale was accused of rape a year ago. Supposedly by a prostitute.”
“What?” The next freak show had arrived. And it was Dale. I sank onto the edge of her desk, and she turned the monitor toward me. But I couldn’t bear to read. “What happened with it? Did they ever file the case?”
“No. It got washed out as unsubstantiated. No physical evidence.”
“Then how the hell…?” Civilian complaints like that might wind up in a cop’s personnel file. But those personnel files are supposed to be confidential. “Those assholes. They leaked this on purpose.”
I’d wondered what kind of player Zack Chastain was. Now I knew.
But I’d have to deal with this. Fast. “Michelle, get us on calendar tomorrow.”
She picked up the phone. “What are we going to do?”
Good question. I started pacing. This story was going to spread like poison. I could spin to the press all I wanted, but it wouldn’t matter. “For starters, I’m going to rip Zack a new one for leaking this.” But proving Zack was a dirty player ultimately wouldn’t matter. I had to come up with proof that Dale hadn’t raped her. I paced faster, stomping back and forth in front of Michelle’s desk. I was pissed at Zack for being a sleaze, but I was one hell of a lot more pissed at Dale.
Alex had come out of his little office. “I just read the story. I can track her down. Maybe we can try and get her to say she lied…”
“Hopeless. She’d get busted for making a false report. No way she’ll do it. I need to get downtown and see Dale, find out his side of the story.”
And why he hadn’t told me about this. I’d been blindsided. Again. This shit was getting old, fast.
“Want me to go with you?” Alex asked.
“Thanks, but no. I have to kick some ass, and it’s best not to embarrass a client by doing it in front of someone else.” And I really didn’t need company while I asked my newfound “dad” about raping a hooker. I borrowed a twenty from Michelle for gas-I’d given Tonya all my cash-and headed for my car.
I spent the drive downtown fuming-partly at myself. I’d stupidly let myself start to trust him. What was I thinking? I didn’t know Dale Pearson. He was a stranger. A criminal who happened to be my mother’s sperm donor. Not the superhero I’d fantasized about when I was a kid.
What a lovely family I’d landed in. Mommy the narcissist and Daddy the sociopathic cop. Our holiday newsletter would be extra spicy this year.
I could tell when they led him into the attorney room that he’d heard the news. His whole body sagged, and his expression was miserable. I didn’t care. I picked up the phone and gave it to him right between the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about that hooker?”
He looked down and spoke quietly. “Because I was afraid you’d believe it.” He met my eyes. “It’s a lie, Samantha. I’d never do a thing like that.”
Dale sold it well. I’d give him that. But I wasn’t about to get reeled in by him. My voice came out harsh, flat. “What’s the story? She wanted to get even because you busted her?” It was what the cops always said when they got a citizen complaint. But Dale was a homicide dick. He had no reason to be busting hookers.
“No, I didn’t arrest her. I brought in a tweaker one night, and she was in the next cell. She was crying. Her pimp wouldn’t bail her out, and she had no one left. I felt sorry for her. I checked her rap sheet. It didn’t look like she’d been in the life very long. So I told the desk sergeant to cut her loose, and I gave her a referral to county services. Told her they’d help her get a real job. A few weeks later, I ran into her at the Coffee Bean on Sunset. She said she was getting her act together, had a few job applications pending. I was about to knock off for the night, so I bought her a drink to celebrate…” Dale gave a sigh so deep his whole body seemed to deflate.