“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, cases-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.”
THIRTY-SIX
The case was already hot, but the news of Jenny Knox’s murder had turned it into a blazing inferno. And that meant lots more loony-tune court gawkers. The tinfoil-hat brigade was drawn to these big cases like nerds to a Star Trek convention. Usually all they did was mill around outside the courthouse and shout and wave signs, but now that Amanda Trace had spent her entire show last night snarling about this “rapist, serial-killer cop” who was a “rabid dog that needs to be put down,” things were going to get scary.
So I was glad Xander was driving me. I didn’t want to have to make the long trek from the parking lot to the courthouse through those hordes.
But when we pulled up in front of the courthouse, I saw that I’d underestimated the mob scene. It was even crazier than I’d predicted. From the courthouse doors to the sidewalk, it was wall-to-wall bodies. People were waving signs that read: HANG THE KILLER COP and LAPD: MURDERERS’ ROW. Thanks, Amanda. There were a couple that more benignly read: JUSTICE FOR CHLOE AND PAIGE. But I only spotted one that I could even pretend to chalk up for our side-it had RUSH TO JUDGMENT in a circle with a line through it. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
Xander circled around the car and opened the door for me. The moment I got out, someone in the crowd yelled, “That’s her! That’s the lawyer!” Heads began to turn toward me, then others joined in. “Yeah, look! That’s his lawyer!”
This could get very bad, very fast. I leaned toward Xander. “Do me a favor. Don’t take off till I get inside.”
He gave the crowd a wary look. “I’d walk you, but they’ll ticket me in five seconds if I leave the car.”
I started to move forward, but the crowd surged toward me. I backed up and started to reach for the handle of the car door when three sheriff’s deputies broke through and surrounded me.