Blood Defense

SIXTEEN

I had the friggin’ nightmare again and woke myself up with the sound of my croaking scream. It took four cups of coffee to loosen the grip of the ugly images and stop the shakes, so I was running a little late. Of course, that meant Alex showed up fifteen minutes early. “Sorry, Sam. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“No problem.” That’s LA. You’re either an hour early or two hours late. Two large coffees were in a cardboard tray on the passenger seat. I was probably pushing it with a fifth cup, but I’d rather have a caffeine buzz than a nightmare fog. “Plain, right?” I’m not a fan of all that latte, frappe business. Just give me the caffeine and no one gets hurt. Alex nodded. “Thanks.”

Alex was wearing slacks and a blazer. He took in my outfit as I pulled on my seat belt. “Jeans and a black leather jacket? Don’t you want them to believe you’re a lawyer?”

“Sure, but I also want them to talk to me.” I eyed his outfit. “A suit doesn’t say, ‘Relax and spill.’”

He looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “First, Laurel Canyon, then Santa Monica to see Kaitlyn, right?”

I nodded. Laurel Canyon used to be one of the hippest places on the planet, creatively speaking. Joni Mitchell, Jim Morrison, Mama Cass, Glenn Frey-everybody lived there back in the day. The Canyon Country store on Laurel Canyon Boulevard still has a psychedelic sign. But now it’s more of a mixed bag. The canyon has peaks and valleys. Literally and figuratively. The higher up you go, the better the view and the ritzier the properties-like multi-million-dollar-type properties. Steven Tyler lives in one of those. I heard Justin Timberlake does, too. So it still has cool people-albeit, bazillionaire-type cool people.

But the lower parts don’t have a view, and they can be pretty raggedy. Some of the houses look like they’re not much more than caves with plumbing. And I’m guessing about the plumbing.

Chloe and Paige lived all the way at the bottom of the canyon on the Hollywood side. The last stretch where Hollywood Boulevard dovetails into Laurel Canyon Boulevard. It had the hip-sounding address but none of the coolness factor. Their building was one of many two-story clapboard-style affairs that were thrown up back in the sixties without much attention to charm or detail-or, according to our police reports, soundproofing.

Alex turned left onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s hit the building next door.” I read from the police report. “Nikki Ingalls in 1C claimed she saw Dale driving up and down the street almost every night-with a ‘creepy look on his face.’”

“How’d she see the ‘creepy look’ if he was driving by at night?”

“Well, Supergirl has X-ray vision. But on the off chance she’s not an immortal, that’s what we’ll have to find out.”

High-profile cases attract and repel all types. Our Nikki might be a wannabe actress/model/game-show host looking for free face time, or just your ordinary loser horny for attention-or she might be a nutjob who thought most people looked “creepy.” The possibility of an honest, sane witness was too statistically insignificant to even make the list.

Apartment 1C was on the ground floor of a faded, pink two-story building on Hollywood Boulevard that had a couple of sun-bleached plastic flamingos on the small stretch of lawn. All of the units had windows that faced the street. Nikki did have a decent-enough view. But I noticed that even though there were streetlights on both sides of the street, none of them were close to 1C. And they weren’t all necessarily working. We walked up two concrete steps to a tiny front patio area and found a gray door that had a silver 1C hanging just above the peephole. I knocked and stood back to give Nikki a chance to check us out. Also to give her a chance to check out the gorgeousness of Alex. According to the police report, she was in her thirties and lived alone.

I heard footsteps thud on the wooden floor inside. There was a pause, and then the door opened. She was wearing tight navy-blue sweatpants and a sweatshirt that had the arms and most of the midriff cut off. She pushed back a hank of chin-length, overprocessed platinum hair and leaned against the door with a lazy smile. “What can I do for you?”

Her eyes were so occupied with Alex that she didn’t even realize I was there. So I took a perverse pleasure in bursting her bubble by speaking up. “Just give us a few moments of your time.”

The lazy smile went away. She gave me an irritated squint. “What for?”

“We’re looking into the case involving Chloe and Paige, and we hoped you could answer a few questions.” I try to hold off on saying that I’m working for the defendant for as long as possible. It’s something you pick up after having fifty-seven doors slammed in your face.

Nikki’s eyes strayed back to Alex. The lazy smile switched back on. She still had hope.

Knowing how to work witnesses is an important part of an investigation. I hung back to see how Alex would handle it. He played her like a clarinet. He started with a sincere, from-the-heart look. “Ms. Ingalls, I’d really appreciate it if you could spare us some time. I promise just five minutes and we’ll get out of your hair.”

She melted like a dropped ice-cream cone on a hot sidewalk. “Okay.” She turned and gestured for us to follow her inside. “But we need to make this fast. I’ve got an audition in an hour, and I have to get ready.”

Alex and I exchanged a look behind her back as we headed for the ratty, blue-chenille couch in the living room. Sometimes I wish people weren’t such clichés. Other times, I’m glad they’re so predictable. Nikki sat down on the ottoman chair across from us and ostentatiously crossed her legs-toes pageant-pointed and everything. I noticed her toenails were painted bubblegum pink and had sparkly designs on the big toes. I wondered if she’d ever get around to asking us who we were.

She oozed another smile at Alex. “I told the police I saw the suspect around here a lot.”

Alex made a show of taking out his notepad, even though his pocket recorder was on. It was a trick I’d learned early in my career, and I’d taught it to Alex yesterday. Those recordings stay secret; I use them only to beef up the notes I take in front of the witness. Nothing that hurts my client gets written down, because if I wind up calling the witness, I have to turn over a report of what they said. And it looks better to the jury if they see that we take written statements just like the cops do. Well, sort of like the cops do.

Alex took out his pen. “Did you see Dale Pearson on the night of the murder?”

“No. I was at Hyde Lounge that night.”

In her dreams. Just like the fantasy age she’d given the police. Nikki had left thirty-five behind at least ten hard years ago. And there was no way she was hanging out at a club as pricey as Hyde Lounge.

But Alex gave her a twinkle of a smile. “Hyde Lounge. Very cool. Do you remember when you first met Dale Pearson?”

She pouted and pulled on her lower lip. “About two months ago? I ran into him behind the building. The parking areas are next to each other.”

“How did you know who he was?”

“Because he told me. I figured he’d just moved in, so I introduced myself. You know, being a good neighbor and all.”

And probably hoping to be a really great neighbor.

Alex gave her an understanding smile. “Was he friendly?”

Nikki made a face. “No. He was kind of rude. Told me he was in a hurry and said to have a nice day.”

“When was the next time you saw him?”

“Maybe a week? Two weeks later? I saw him drive past my place, heading east on Hollywood Boulevard, then he turned around and drove back toward Chloe’s place.”

“How did he look? Happy? Sad? Upset?”

“He looked… intense. Like he was searching for something. Or for someone.” She gave Alex a meaningful look.

“Who do you think he was looking for?”

Nikki gave an elaborate shrug that hiked her sweatshirt up enough to show the bottom of her bra. It was an act that couldn’t have found a less interested audience, which amused the hell out of me. And Alex-gotta hand it to him-played the part beautifully, giving her the eye bounce she’d aimed for. This boy was a natural.

Nikki gave a pouty frown. “I don’t know. Another guy, maybe? It seemed kind of stalk-y to me.”

Huh? So he was driving up and down the street to… what? Catch his rival? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just park outside her building?

“When did you see him next?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a week? Two weeks later? Same thing. It happened a couple more times. And he had this… look on his face. It was kind of scary.”

My bullshit-o-meter was in the red zone. I had to jump in. “By scary, do you mean angry?”

Nikki glanced at me, then turned back to Alex. “Creepier than that.” She gave a little shiver. “But it was angry, too. That’s why I thought he was, like, suspicious of Chloe.”

I could definitely see why the acting career hadn’t taken off. “Do you know if anyone else in the building noticed Dale Pearson looking like that?”

She barely glanced at me as she answered. “I think Sheila did. Sheila Wagner. She’s in 2C.” Nikki jerked a thumb at the ceiling.

I didn’t remember reading about any Sheila Wagners in the police reports. “What did she tell you about Dale?”

I’d asked one too many questions. Nikki frowned at me. “Hey, who are you guys?”

Alex stepped in with an extra dose of smooth. “I’m sorry, Nikki. I thought we told you already. We work for the defense.” He pulled out a card. “Here you go.”

She took the card. It was one of mine. I hadn’t had time to make cards for Alex yet. Nikki looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “You guys are on his side?”

Busted at last. “I’m his lawyer. Alex is-”

“I’m an investigator.” Alex stood up and we headed for the door. He paused at the entry and gave her a buttery smile. “If you think of anything else, please feel free to call. Anytime.”

I watched the tug-of-war on her face. Distaste for the sleazy defense lawyer fought with desire for the gorgeous investigator. Gorgeous investigator won.

As we moved down the sidewalk, Nikki leaned against the doorjamb and gave Alex her best sex-kitten smile. “I’ll definitely do that.”

Alex waved to her. I kept walking until I heard the door close, then stopped. “Nice job, Alex. Good to know you’re willing to slut it up for the team.”

“You kidding? That was nothing. I sold high-end cars, remember?”