“How goes it?”
I looked up to see my boss, Eric, standing in my doorway. His wavy brown hair was unusually wild today, and in his rolled-up shirtsleeves and scuffed loafers, he presented the very picture of an “aw shucks” country boy lawyer. Which is why defense attorneys never saw him coming. And by the time they realized that he was the smoothest shark in the tank, it was too late.
“Yeah. We’ve got a lot of evidence cooking, but no results yet, so…”
“You’re waiting, and loving it.” Eric smiled. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
I gave him the latest developments, ending with my decision to bring in Daniel Rose as a Special Master.
He nodded approvingly. “It’s good to be cautious on this one.” Not usually my strong suit, but a lot of unusual was about to come my way.
A week later, news of Brian’s murder was finally announced, and it reinvigorated the press coverage, though we’d managed to keep a tight rein on the details. With no suspect in custody, media interest was a simmering cauldron-semi-contained, but ready to boil over at a moment’s notice. And if we did arrest Ian Powers, the case would go nuclear.
Eric stopped by my office, looking as anxious as I felt. “I’ll keep giving Vanderhorn the updates for now,” he told me, “but you’ll have to give me a major heads-up if it looks like Powers is getting arrested.”
My expression must’ve shown what I thought of having to put Vanderhorn in the loop. “There’s nothing he can do,” Eric said. “He can’t stop Bailey from making the arrest. But he does have to be prepared. The press will want a statement and-”
“The press will want it? Vanderhorn will trip over his own tie to get the press to take his statement.”
Eric gave a wry smile. “And you should be there when he does.”
Because he’d need someone around who actually knew something about the case when his good buddies in the fourth estate asked questions.
“What do you want to do with Jack Averly?” he asked.
“Unless we find proof that he’s the killer, I’d let him plead out for testimony.”
“Plead to what?”
“I can’t say right now. I don’t want to go there until I have something more on either him or Ian.”
Eric stared out the window, momentarily silent. When he looked back at me, his expression was concerned. “Going after a big wheel like Powers is a dangerous thing, Rachel. If this goes to trial, Ian’s defense will go after you with everything they’ve got. In every media outlet available. They’ll make up stories to undermine your credibility and your integrity. And it’ll all creep into the courtroom because they’ll have the press at their beck and call. Forget about fact-checking or corroborating sources; it’ll go straight out from the lying horse’s mouth.”
He spoke with a quiet intensity that told me this was no general warning. “Been there?”
Eric nodded. “Huge fraud case. The defendant owned several banks and he cost the customers millions.”
“Do I know about this one?” It sounded familiar, but not recent.
“It was years ago. Just before I got transferred over here to head up Special Trials. It was the day before jury selection, and I was supposed to meet some friends at a bar near my old office in Norwalk. While I was waiting, this tipsy girl starts flirting with me. The next thing I know, she’s sitting on my lap, unbuttoning my shirt-it was crazy. I pushed her off and eventually she gave up and left, but the next day, there was a story in one of the tabloids about the prosecutor having an affair with a teenager. The story got picked up by the local press and it almost cost me the case-and my job.”
“But it didn’t. And it obviously didn’t hurt your career any.”
“I was lucky, not smart. The bartender knew something was fishy and he was able to identify the person who took the picture as one of the defendant’s buddies. The whole thing blew up in their faces, and the press was happy to carry that part of the story too. But a fraud case is nowhere near as sexy as this one, Rachel. It’s a bad combination of heavy hitters, money, celebrity, and a glamorous world. The press will be crawling all over this the moment you file, and every eye in the country will be glued.”
I nodded.
“If your killer turns out to be Jack Averly, just a loser dope dealer, it’ll stay manageable. But if it turns out to be Ian Powers…you’ve got yourself one gigantic cluster fuck.”
I let the information sink in. Eric’s story was chilling, but I appreciated his telling me. Forewarned is forearmed as they say, though I had no idea what I could do about it if Ian’s people decided to set me up. “Thanks, Eric.”
“Keep me in the loop. I’ll do what I can to manage Vanderhorn.”
“Will do.”
Eric left, and for the first time, I stopped to consider whether I was really up for the kind of nasty ride he’d described. I was still pondering the question when my cell phone played Bailey’s ringtone.
“Daniel’s done with the computer. He gave us the all clear.”
“Great-” I sat up, and my heart gave a heavy thud as I suddenly realized I’d forgotten something. “Bailey, what about prints? Did you call-”
“I got Ben, the criminalist who did Brian’s car at the airport, to dust it before Daniel got here. We’ve got some nice prints all over that thing. And Daniel wore gloves, just in case.”
I sagged with relief. “Thanks, Bailey.” I took a second to breathe. “Did Daniel tell you whether there was anything that looked good for us?”
“Unfortunately, he said he didn’t see anything to get excited about.”
Damn. All that for nothing. “Okay, then let’s give it to our computer whizbangs in my office. Maybe Ian’s got some information hidden or encrypted or…something.”
“I’ll bring it over.”
“So now we’re just waiting for Dorian and Gelfer.”
“I checked. They won’t have anything until tomorrow. And I think Dorian blocked my number.”
I was silent as I tried to figure out what else we could do besides wait. Bailey read my silence.
“There’s nothing we can do right now,” Bailey said.
I looked at my desk. I estimated it’d take me only an hour to clear it off. Then what would I do? Pace in my hotel room? Even I didn’t think that would help anything. “I’ll call Toni.” We’d been playing phone tag for a while.
But first I called the head deputy of our computer crimes section, Cliff Meisner. He agreed to take a whack at the laptop but warned, “People have gotten pretty sophisticated about hiding information, so it’ll take some time.”
Translation: I had to wait. Again. And I wasn’t getting any better at it.
41
Bailey returned with our round of martinis. We all clinked and sipped. A cold martini on a warm summer night. My besties, Bailey and Toni, and the lights of the city spread out around us like a glittering swath of sequined lace.
“I probably should’ve called Graden,” I said, taking in the nighttime view of downtown L.A. from the corner of the rooftop bar at Perch.
“Really, Rache,” Toni said. “‘Should’ makes it sound like you’d be doing it out of guilt. That ain’t right.”
“’Toine’s right,” Bailey said. She pronounced it “Twan.” “Just because you have a night off doesn’t mean you owe it to him. And besides, you’re wiped out, edgy, and pissy. You wouldn’t be able to play nice tonight. So you did him a favor.”
I couldn’t argue with one word of it.
“And you’ll notice I’m not with Drew either.”
“So I’m the only one who’s normal around here?” Toni asked.
“Relatively speaking,” I said. “Though given present company, that isn’t saying much.”