“Bobbi, I’m so sorry.”
She gave me a brief nod. “Thanks. Things got pretty bad. I had to check into an inpatient facility for a while.” Tears glistened in her eyes, but then she smiled. “But Dale showed up every single day. And when they released me, he was the one who moved me back to my apartment.” Bobbi looked away as she swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “He wanted to get back together. And I did, too, but…” She stared down at the table and shook her head. “But just looking at him was a constant reminder. There was no way.”
“And you’re afraid that if you testify, the press will dig into your life and find out about it.”
“They will. I mean, I’ve seen stories about everyone who has anything to do with the case. It’s all over the news every day.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. “They probably would, but I don’t see that it’s anything-”
“To be ashamed of? Maybe not, but I am. And Dale knows that. That’s why he told you not to talk to me. Because he knew it’d put all my history out there and how much I’d hate that.” Bobbi looked out the window for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath and set her jaw. “But I’ll do it. If you need me, if it’ll help at all, I’ll do whatever I can.”
It was a noble sacrifice, and if I got desperate enough, I might ask her to make it. The client’s welfare comes first. But not yet. It wasn’t worth what it’d cost Bobbi. It would’ve been good to have a civilian-a woman-say nice things about Dale, but I could already hear Amanda Trace claiming that Bobbi had either been threatened or bought off to get her to whitewash her ex-husband.
“As of now, I don’t see the need to put you through that. But just to give you fair warning, I might later on.”
She gave me a wan smile. “I’ll try not to skip town.”
So much for Bobbi being my leaker. But she might have some ideas about who it was. “You’ve seen the stories about Jenny Knox? The prostitute?”
“Yeah. Any clue who leaked that rape charge yet? That was really shitty.”
“It is, and I don’t. Do you have any ideas?”
Bobbi blew out a breath. “I’ve got thousands of ’em. The LAPD is a big ocean with lots of little fish who wouldn’t mind making some extra money. But I don’t know of anyone in particular.” Bobbi sighed. “You know, Dale’s a good guy. I don’t believe he raped that prostitute. And I really doubt that he killed her.” She looked at me steadily. “Just in case you were wondering.”
I could tell she believed that. And I wanted to believe it, too. But it was just an opinion. I smiled. “Good to hear.”
“Sure. But just between you and me, Chloe had to be about the worst choice in the world for him.”
I looked at her, confused.
“Because of the drugs.” Bobbi gave me a meaningful look. “Dale’s mother.”
“But she’s dead. Isn’t she?”
“Yeah. Of an overdose. She took a header down the stairs and messed up her spine when Dale and his sister were young-maybe ten, eleven years old? They put her on painkillers and she got addicted. She OD’d right after Dale graduated from high school. The insurance payout put Dale through college for a couple of years.”
And when the insurance money ran out and he had to get a job-my mother left him. “Then his issue with drugs isn’t just a cop thing.”
“No, it’s personal. He really has zero tolerance. And apart from that, he has one heck of a temper.”
“How bad?” I searched Bobbi’s face. “Did he ever-”
“No, he never hit me. But he’d hit the walls, kick the furniture. It could get scary. Especially because it’d come out of nowhere. He’d be okay one second, and in the next he’d just explode. So when I heard Chloe had a drug problem and they’d been fighting about it that night, I thought…” Bobbi shrugged.
“He might’ve done it.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
For a few moments there, I’d started to think I was wrong about Dale. I sighed. “Me, too.”
FORTY-ONE
I didn’t know whether I was glad I’d met Bobbi-though I supposed it was best to know all I could about Dale, for a lot of reasons. But I did know I felt sorry for her, and I liked her. And I was relieved to find out she didn’t hate Dale. Unfortunately, that only made her suspicions about his guilt that much more credible. If she’d hated Dale, I could’ve dismissed it as ex-spouse bitterness.
But Bobbi obviously still loved him-more than that, she still liked him. And I could see why. Flash-point temper or no, he’d been there for her in every possible way. And he still was. Even now, when he was facing life in prison-when anyone could be expected to get a little selfish-he’d put her needs first. So to hear even someone like Bobbi say she thought Dale might be guilty was a real gut shot.
It didn’t stop me from working night and day on his case. Nothing short of his televised confession could do that. But it was one more thing weighing on me. On all of us. And time was running out. I couldn’t afford to chase any more dead ends.
So when Michelle said she had a call from an inmate at Men’s Central Jail on Bauchet Street who claimed he had something that’d be “super important” to me, I told her to have him write me a letter. I had just three days to go before we started jury selection, and I had a stack of two hundred juror questionnaires to read. I wasn’t about to waste a minute on some goofball who was looking for a free ride.
But Michelle told me to take it, that I needed the break. “Besides, he’s only got five minutes left on his call.”
I sighed and picked up. “Samantha Brinkman. Remember this call is being monitored-”
His voice was high and pressured. “Yeah, I know. You’re the lawyer for that cop dude who killed those girls, right?”
“For that cop who’s charged with killing those girls-”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m Scott Henderson, prisoner number 1011432. I’m in for possession for sale of coke. I need you to take my case-”
“Why don’t you get the public defender-”
“’Cause you’re better, and I’ve got something you need.”
“Write me a letter. If it works out, I’ll substitute in-”
His voice got even higher. “I don’t have time. I’ve got a lot of enemies in here. You’ve gotta get me out. And trust me, you’ll want to jump on what I have.”
The recording came on saying this call was being monitored. I looked at my phone. We had only one minute left. I was sure this wasn’t worth my time. But I did have to go see Dale. I’d been sending Alex to keep him company for the past two weeks. It was more than my turn, so I’d be in the neighborhood. But visiting prisoners was a huge time suck. I didn’t want to commit. “Maybe I’ll come by later today.”
“Don’t tell anyone you’re coming to see me.”
I sighed. “Scott, you already did.”
There was a beat of silence. “Oh.”
It was eleven o’clock. I decided to spend the next hour getting started on the juror questionnaires and leave for Twin Towers at noon. But after I’d gotten through the first ten, I thought I saw an alarming trend.
I quickly checked the first page of the next fifty questionnaires. I was right. Almost all of the jurors were in their twenties. That never happens. The twentysomethings are working, or they have little kids, or they’re in school-or all of the above. They don’t have time to sit in court all day.
That’s why older, retired people always dominate jury pools. Plus, older folks are more inclined to feel like they should do their civic duty. And usually, they’re the bane of my existence. If this were any other case, I would’ve been in heaven with this jury pool. But in this case, with a cop as my client, I needed those senior citizens. They had a more benign view of cops. And they’d been my best hope.