“That may be the point,” I said.
I explained that assuming she’d committed the murder, Bailey and I believed she’d deliberately done it in the most gruesome manner possible. For just that reason.
“I get it, but still,” Toni replied. “Even if she did it to throw off a jury…that’s one ice-cold bitch.”
Bailey and I nodded. No argument there.
41
Sabrina left the top two buttons on her emerald silk blouse undone. Just enough to intrigue but not advertise. She twisted her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and chose the silver chain earrings to add a little sparkle. She glanced at her watch. She had an hour before Chase was due. More than enough time for what she had planned.
She stopped the taxi at Second and Spring and walked the rest of the way to the Redwood Bar & Grill. Minutes later, she pushed into the darkened lounge and paused just inside the door to let her eyes adjust. After a few seconds, she spotted him. He was sitting alone, a glass with ice and the remains of a drink in front of him. She stood there, watching, getting the lay of the land. He didn’t appear to be expecting company. She walked over to the bar and slowly climbed onto the chair two seats to his right. As she settled in, she surreptitiously glanced in his direction. He was staring straight ahead. He did not look happy.
The bartender, who’d been serving two mustached men in shirtsleeves at the other end of the bar, stopped in front of the man. “Another Glenlivet?”
The man looked down at his glass. “Make this one a Russian Standard Platinum.”
“Thought that was your prettier half’s drink.” The bartender turned and pulled the bottle out of the refrigerator and scooped ice into a glass, then poured a generous shot and set it down. “She coming?”
The man clenched his jaw a moment before answering. “No.”
Sabrina leaned in. “Russian Standard Platinum?”
The man seemed not to hear her, but the bartender, who’d been wiping his hands on a towel, turned to Sabrina. His eyes widened and for a moment his mind went blank as he stared. Finally he found his voice. “It’s terrific. Would you like to try it?”
“Why not?” she replied, annoyed that the bartender had been the one to answer.
Sabrina took a sip and gave her approval, then stole a look to see if the man was paying attention. He wasn’t. She crossed her legs and turned toward him. “I’m Sabrina. And you’re Detective…?”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye without turning.
“I can always spot a cop,” she said with a smirk.
He continued to stare straight ahead. “Since this place is two blocks from the Police Administration Building, your odds were pretty good.” He took a sip of his drink.
She tried again. “I would’ve known anyway. I interned with the DA’s office, I know the look.” She sipped her drink and waited for his reaction.
He sighed and took another sip but didn’t respond.
Sabrina finished her drink. “This is smooth.” She jiggled her glass at the bartender, who, like the men at the other end of the bar, had been staring at her. But if the man next to her had noticed all the attention she was getting, he gave no sign.
The bartender poured her another shot, which was more like a double. She favored him with a smile and he nodded dumbly, gratefully.
The man lifted his glass for another shot. The bartender, still transfixed by Sabrina’s smile, took a moment before the order registered.
“Here’s to trying new things,” Sabrina said, lifting her glass.
Graden Hales exhaled and finally faced her. His expression gave no sign that he was affected by the view. “Look, if you’re trolling for cop love, you’ve got plenty of other opportunities here. And if you don’t mind them being married, your odds just doubled.”
Sabrina took a long pull from her drink. “You might find it refreshing to have a woman who can pay her own way. And yours. That ‘opportunity’ will never happen with a county lawyer. Have another one on me, Lieutenant.”
Sabrina slapped down a one-hundred-dollar bill, then slid off the bar stool in one fluid motion and walked out. Graden Hales stared after her as he absorbed the import of what she’d just said. Disturbed, he got up and went to the door to see where she was headed. But when he looked outside, she was gone.
When Sabrina stepped off her private elevator, she found Chase sitting on the floor outside the locked door of her office, his head back against the wall, eyes closed.
He took in her cocktail attire and updo, his expression puzzled.
“Just needed a walk.” She unlocked the door and looked down at him. “You coming?”
But her eyes glittered with a distant energy. Chase wanted to press her for the truth. Instead, he silently followed her into the office.
42
Bailey and I headed out early for our meeting with the investigating officer on Zack’s murder, Rick Meyer.
I hadn’t known there was such a thing as an upscale trailer park, let alone one that had gated security, until Bailey described where Rick lived. Rick had bided his time until his dream lot came up for sale: a sweet spot on a bluff overlooking the ocean in Point Dume, Malibu. His small but charming one-bedroom semipermanent trailer had a view of the Pacific unrivaled by the multimillion-dollar properties that crowded the coastline. Now retired at fifty-eight, he was one of the oldest surfers in the water, and probably the happiest. It was too cold in December to sit out on the deck and watch the dolphins, but we could see the ocean from his living room, and that view, plus the sea air, was so relaxing I wanted to ask if I could crash on his sofa for a few months.
Rick himself had gone native in a big way. In his Teva sandals, a torn T-shirt, and faded baggy jeans, no one would ever guess he’d been a homicide detective for the past twenty years-unless they looked closely at his eyes. They still had the sharp glint of skepticism, the result of hearing too many lies from too many people-only some of whom were in handcuffs.
We spent the first half hour reviewing the evidence in Zack’s case, just to make sure we hadn’t missed anything in our interview with Larry. I ended by asking about the communiqué between the inmates who were members of Public Enemy Number One.
“Do you have the kite that passed between those skinheads, by any chance?” I asked.
“Got a copy,” Rick replied. He leafed through the folder in his lap and handed us a page in a clear plastic sleeve.
We read the note. PEN1 Ruehls! We nailed that pig in his own pen. NLR suckasses, don’t even try to claim this one!
“Just two punks bullshitting,” I said.
Rick nodded. “Way we saw it.”
“You looked into Zack’s life-insurance policy, I assume?” I asked.
“SOP,” Rick confirmed. He looked away for a moment. When he turned back, his jaw was set, but his expression was pained. “Named his brother, Simon, as the beneficiary.”
“No shit?” Bailey remarked.
That was significant. Spouses and children are the named beneficiaries on life-insurance policies almost 100 percent of the time. The fact that Lilah wasn’t Zack’s beneficiary was more than odd. And problematic. Lilah’s motive to kill was getting more remote by the minute.
“And what about the house?” I asked. “Who’d it go to?”
“His parents,” Rick said. “But that seemed a little less strange-Zack’s parents gave it to them in the first place.”
“Did you ever look into any of the cases Lilah worked on, the clients she handled?” I asked.
“You mean, did Lilah have a hot prospect for the high life, so she killed Zack-?”
“Or maybe had a client who’d arrange it for her?”
Rick shook his head. “I went there too. But from what I could tell, since she was a junior associate, she didn’t have much contact with the clients.” Rick shifted in his chair. “’Course that didn’t mean the firm didn’t dangle her around to pretty up the landscape now and then.”