And then he’d killed two women.
The day moved as slowly as all days do when you’re waiting for them to end. I read up on the latest state and Supreme Court decisions, answered some letters and e-mails, and prayed my mother wouldn’t call.
At ten after five, the buzzer sounded. Michelle spoke into the intercom, our only form of security. Dale Pearson announced himself and Michelle buzzed him in. I’d left the door to my office open so I could listen in while he met Michelle and Alex. It’s always telling how someone treats “the help.” If he was a jackass with Michelle and Alex, he’d be toast.
I’d seen photos of him, so I had some idea of what to expect: reasonably attractive, dark brown hair and eyes, thick eyebrows, and a strong jaw. But he looked better in person.
He was just under six feet and in good shape. He wasn’t Rob Lowe or Colin Farrell gorgeous, but I’d say he was hot enough to snag more than his fair share of attention. Even though Chloe had been more than twenty years younger than he was, I could see the attraction. I guess. I mean, he was a cop, after all.
He shook hands with Alex and Michelle, introduced himself, and thanked them for staying past what he was sure were their normal hours. “I’m sorry I’m late. The traffic was really bad coming over the hill.”
I could well believe that. He lived in the Valley-in Porter Ranch, to be exact, which was one hell of a schlep for him at this time of day. I left my office and went over to him as I held out my hand. “Samantha Brinkman.”
A warm, slightly surprised smile spread across his face as he took my hand. The softness in his eyes gave me a bit of a surprise, too. His grip was strong, but not a “drop you to one knee” bone crusher. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Brinkman.”
I didn’t tell him to call me Samantha. I’d see if things got that far. “Come on in.”
SEVEN
I could tell just by the way he’d handled the introductions that Dale Pearson wasn’t your typical barbecue, beer, and broads cop. And he’d dressed to show respect, in a pale-blue button-down collared shirt and black slacks.
He was seemingly relaxed as he sat in the chair across from my desk with his legs crossed guy-style, ankle on top of knee. But his hands were clutched in his lap as though he was afraid that if he let go, they’d start throwing haymakers. I’d given him a thumbnail sketch of my experience, graduated with honors from Loyola Law School, spent seven years in the public defender’s office, handled two hundred homicides, and so on. Dale nodded, but I got the feeling I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, so I moved on to the meat of the matter.
“Everything you say here is privileged, and the more I know, the better off you’ll be. So I encourage you to be as forthcoming as possible. Okay?”
Dale nodded, but his look was guarded. That was pretty typical. No matter how many times I gave that spiel, I had yet to find a client who really spilled all the beans-then or ever. “I understand the victims’ apartment was burglarized about two months before, and you responded to the call. What was a homicide detective doing on a burglary call?”
“I was doing a favor for Chuck Demeter; he’s on the burglary desk.” He shook his head. “Talk about no good deed.”
“That’s when you met Chloe.” He nodded. “Do you always date your crime victims?” Dale’s face darkened. This wasn’t good. “Look, you might have to take the stand. If you can’t even handle my asking you questions like that, you’ll get shredded when the DA gets in your face. So let’s try that again. If you’ve dated other victims, some of them might come out and say you used your position to push them into it.”
He exhaled, but his expression was pained. “No, I’ve never dated a crime victim before.”
“But since you’ve been working in Homicide for the past ten years, I’d guess victims are off the table. Hopefully. What about witnesses?”
He shook his head. “No. No one.”
“Tell me about that burglary.” From what I’d heard, the burglar had been Suspect Number One. Our first strategy would be to dig up evidence that showed the police should’ve stuck with that theory instead of zeroing in on Dale. “Was there forced entry?”
“No. The girls had a small balcony with a sliding glass door where they kept a few potted plants. They said they liked to leave it open to let in the air, and they forgot to lock it when they went out that night. When they got home, they found it pushed open wide.”
I could relate. I left my windows open all the time. Even in my office. “What’d he take?”
“Just jewelry. But it looked like pretty nice stuff. Chloe had photos. A diamond necklace, two-carat diamond studs, a tennis bracelet. I can’t remember exactly what she said it was worth. Something like ten grand, I think.”
“Did you believe it was worth that much?”
Dale shrugged. “Seemed about right to me, but that’s the insurance company’s problem. I just take the report.”
“Did they have anything else? Like a TV, a laptop, a stereo?”
“Yeah, but they weren’t high-end, and it would’ve been tough to get anything big over that balcony. It didn’t seem like a planned hit to me. The building’s nothing special. Neither is the neighborhood. You wouldn’t go there thinking you’d find anything worth stealing.”
“So you think this guy happened to spot the open sliding glass door and decided to take a chance?”
“Yeah. That’s why I had the place dusted from top to bottom. The job was strictly amateur hour, so I figured he had to have left prints.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I think he probably did. The print guys just couldn’t find any that were usable.”
“Did that have to do with your print guys or the conditions in the apartment?”
Dale sighed. “Spangler isn’t the best tech in the world. But the wood on the balcony was rough and splintered, and it’d been raining, so everything was damp.” He shrugged. “I think the jerk just got lucky.”
“How could Chloe afford that jewelry? From what I read, she was pretty close to homeless just a few months earlier. I would’ve thought she’d have pawned that stuff long ago.”
“Me, too.” Dale’s expression was sad. “But they might’ve had sentimental value, gifts from friends back when she was still big-time-”
“Did she tell you who gave it to her?”
“She said a bunch of different people. Her manager, a boyfriend… she didn’t give me any names. But she didn’t flinch when I told her I’d have to run the photos to see if they turned up in any pawnshops.”
So however she’d acquired that jewelry, it was legit. “What can you tell me about those neighbors who say they heard you and Chloe fighting that night?”
Dale stared down at his hands for a long moment. When he looked up, there was real pain in his eyes. “That they’re telling the truth. We did have a fight. A big one. Chloe was high. She’d started using again in the past few weeks, and we’d gotten into it a few times. But that night it really got ugly. She slapped me, started scratching and clawing at me. I tried to hold her off, but she just kept coming. I-I hit her.” He rubbed his face, and his hand covered his mouth briefly, as though he wanted to stop the next words from coming out. “Harder than I meant to-”
“Where? In the head? The stomach?”
“I think… the side of her head. It’s all kind of a blur now. We’d both been drinking.” Dale swallowed hard. “I started to leave, but she came at me again. She took a couple of swings. I think I shoved her, but I might’ve hit her again… I don’t know. I just know she fell down.”
“Did anyone take photos of you?”
Dale nodded. “When I got arrested. But it’d been more than a week by then. I don’t know if the photos will show much.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “You’ve got to believe me-when I left her apartment, she was alive. I know she was.”