Blood Defense

NINE

When I got home, I changed into sweats and poured myself a double shot of Patrón Silver-a gift from a client who’d cleaned house when she went into rehab. The press was well on its way to making Dale’s case a daily feast, and the jury pool was out there listening. I’d need to start using those reporters to talk to that pool right away-about burglars and drug dealers and maybe ex-boyfriends. Basically, anything that would point the finger at someone else.

I thought about where we should start digging, made some notes, and put myself to bed early. I wanted to hit the ground running.

The next morning, I was up by six thirty. I finished my first cup of coffee, then called Dale. He sounded wide awake and clear headed. I told him I was arranging to surrender him at the station so we could avoid a parade. “Has the press found your house or your phone number yet?”

“Not yet.”

“They will. So try not to do a lot of running around. If anyone does call and you accidentally pick up, just refer him or her to me. You’ve got my number handy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Get your place in order. Have they searched it yet?”

“Yeah. First thing they did. Left it a friggin’ mess.”

“They seize anything I need to worry about?”

“Just my set of murder knives.”

“That’s a real knee-slapper, Dale. But watch out with the jokes. If the wrong person hears you, it won’t play well. So I’ll take that as a ‘no’?”

“No. I mean, they did what I’d expect. They grabbed my comb and the clothes I wore that night. I’m sure they will find my hairs and clothing fibers at the scene. But, so what? It’s no secret I was there that night. Hell, I was there a lot of nights.”

True. But still, if they found his hairs or clothing fibers on her body, it wouldn’t help. “They’ll probably toss your place again when the DA files, which could be any minute. So stand by. I’ll be back in touch.”

I showered and dressed in camera-worthy slacks and a blouse. Alex called while I was eating breakfast. “I’ve got the IO. His name is Wayne Little.”

I’d heard the name, but I’d never had a case with him. “Did he say when he thought the DA would get him the paperwork?”

“He thinks by this afternoon. And he said he’d call us as soon as he gets it and arrange a time for Dale to surrender. They’re planning to book him at Twin Towers.”

That figured. They’d need all the security they could get for a cop, and Twin Towers had maximum-security modules. “Got it.” I looked at my watch. “Okay, I’ll see you at the office.”

I ended the call. I was about to go to my computer and start typing up my notes for the To Do list when I got a premonition. I headed for my car instead.

And that is why, when Detective Wayne Little showed up at Dale’s house with an arrest warrant at eight thirty a.m., I was there waiting for him. I pointedly looked at my watch. “Guess the DA put a rush on that paperwork, after all. Thanks for the heads up.”

Detective Little, his arms hanging loosely from a square, dumpy body, just shrugged and answered in a flatly unapologetic voice, “Sorry ’bout that. We kind of got busy.”

Meanwhile, other detectives were cuffing Dale. I counted the blue-uniformed and sports-jacketed bodies. “Eleven men?” One of them started reading Dale his rights. I stepped over to him. “He’s not waiving.” I turned back to Little. “I assume you’ve got a search warrant as well?” He nodded. “I’ll have one of my associates on hand, just to make sure nothing gets… lost or dented.” Police can be careful or they can leave the place looking like it’d been through a hurricane. Judging by their last visit, the latter seemed more likely.

Starting now, I’d be making notes of every shitty thing they did. It’d all be part of my campaign to show the viewing public, AKA the jury pool, how Dale Pearson had been unjustly accused and mistreated-and by his own “family,” no less. I called Alex and told him to come over and stand watch while they served the warrant. “Keep your eyes open for any unnecessary roughness, and take notes and pictures.”

“Got it. I’m on my way.”

The officers milled around trying to decide who’d take Dale, who’d ride in the follow-car, and who’d stay and help serve the warrant. In the meantime-of course-the press got wind of what was going down, and a crowd of reporters was starting to gather in the street. “I’d like to talk to my client for a moment.”

Wayne Little looked like he wanted to argue. I hoped he did. It’d be another line on my List of Shitty Things They Did to Dale. I gave him a bland smile.

He finally seemed to realize this fight was a bad idea and waved to the officers holding Dale. “Let her.”

The officers stepped back a few feet, and I whispered in Dale’s ear. “The press is out there. I want you to walk out standing tall, no stooping, no hiding. Don’t say anything, and for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t smile. Got it?”

He took a tense breath and nodded. “What’re they doing about security for me in the jail?”

“They have to put you in maximum. But I’ll remind them how much it’ll cost if you so much as stub your toe.” I wanted to tell him not to worry, but that would be impossible-and insane. His life was going to be in constant jeopardy.

I went over to Little. “You’ve got special security arranged for him, I assume?”

Little scratched his round, balding head and spread his fingers along his chimney broom of a mustache. “Uh, yeah. I mean, we’re putting him in max.”

“That’s the least you can do. And right now, when things are hot and fresh, I’d advise you to do the most.” I drilled him with a look. “Because if anything happens to him…”

He gave me a heavily lidded glare. “I’ll see what I can do.” He walked away, trying to act like he was dusting me off, but I saw him pull out his cell phone.

By the time we left, the press had filled the entire street. The only free space was the area around the squad cars. And that was only because there were uniforms keeping them away. The cops marched Dale out as though he were Lee Harvey Oswald. All six of them. There was no way anyone within range could’ve gotten a shot at Dale without taking out an officer first. I appreciated the security, but I wasn’t sure whether they really thought they needed that much manpower or they just wanted to be on camera.

Dale was pretty well hidden inside the phalanx of uniforms-which was fine by me-but the press screamed out questions anyway.

“Are you pleading not guilty?”

“Did she try to break up with you? Is that why you killed her?”

“What’s your defense going to be?”

“Do you have an alibi?”

Then, one lone voice on the fringe called out, “How come they didn’t let you surrender at the station?”

I’d been walking behind the group of officers holding Dale, but now I stopped and turned to see who’d asked a sane question for a change. It seemed to have come from a tallish, slender guy with curly brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed since Kanye West dissed Taylor Swift at the Grammys. He was standing away from the crowd, off to my right. I fell back and waved him over. “Who are you?”

He jerked back as though I’d slapped him. “Who are you?”

Fair question. “I’m Dale Pearson’s lawyer.”

“You got a card?”

“Do you?”

He paused, then reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a business card that said his name was Trevor Skotler and he was a contributing reporter for Buzzworthy. I recognized the name. It was an online news mag that was starting to seriously encroach on Huffpo and the Daily Beast. This could be useful. I gave him my card. Then I told him how they’d done an end run so Dale wouldn’t have a chance to surrender.

“No shit.”

“No shit. And they’ll be tossing Dale’s place pretty soon. My associate is going to be here to make sure they don’t play ‘Thrash This Pad.’ You going to hang around?”

“For a bit.”

“I’ll tell him to look out for you.” And I’d tell Alex to point it out to Trevor if he saw the cops step out of line. With a little luck, my new buddy Trevor might help me fire the first salvo in the war for juror sympathy.

Off to my left, I saw one of the detectives put a hand on the back of Dale’s head, preparing to duck him down into the squad car. “I’ve gotta go.”