Blood Defense

TWENTY-SEVEN

When I got home, I made the mistake of turning on the television. A photo taken of me back in my public-defender days was in a box next to a photo of Dale in uniform. The anchor announced the “stunning new development!” in the Pearson case. I changed the channel, but twenty seconds later, our mugs were on the screen again as a reporter made the breathless announcement, “He’s her father!” When it happened a third time, I gave up and went to bed. I knew it’d blow over when the next freak show arrived, but it couldn’t be soon enough for me. I fell asleep praying that Donald Trump would announce he was planning to become a woman.

Surprisingly, I had a dream-free night’s sleep, but I knew better than to turn on the television the next morning. I thought about the interview with Tonya. Her information definitely qualified as progress. All in all, I was in a pretty good mood. I drove to the office singing “Gangsta’s Paradise.”

But my spirits sank when I heard the sound of ringing phone lines before I even opened the door. Just because I’d tuned out the madness at home, that didn’t mean it’d stopped. I found Michelle staring at her computer, her expression stricken. “You look like you just saw my tax returns. What’s up?”

“The news. They’re saying Dale was accused of rape a year ago. Supposedly by a prostitute.”

“What?” The next freak show had arrived. And it was Dale. I sank onto the edge of her desk, and she turned the monitor toward me. But I couldn’t bear to read. “What happened with it? Did they ever file the case?”

“No. It got washed out as unsubstantiated. No physical evidence.”

“Then how the hell…?” Civilian complaints like that might wind up in a cop’s personnel file. But those personnel files are supposed to be confidential. “Those assholes. They leaked this on purpose.”

I’d wondered what kind of player Zack Chastain was. Now I knew.

But I’d have to deal with this. Fast. “Michelle, get us on calendar tomorrow.”

She picked up the phone. “What are we going to do?”

Good question. I started pacing. This story was going to spread like poison. I could spin to the press all I wanted, but it wouldn’t matter. “For starters, I’m going to rip Zack a new one for leaking this.” But proving Zack was a dirty player ultimately wouldn’t matter. I had to come up with proof that Dale hadn’t raped her. I paced faster, stomping back and forth in front of Michelle’s desk. I was pissed at Zack for being a sleaze, but I was one hell of a lot more pissed at Dale.

Alex had come out of his little office. “I just read the story. I can track her down. Maybe we can try and get her to say she lied…”

“Hopeless. She’d get busted for making a false report. No way she’ll do it. I need to get downtown and see Dale, find out his side of the story.”

And why he hadn’t told me about this. I’d been blindsided. Again. This shit was getting old, fast.

“Want me to go with you?” Alex asked.

“Thanks, but no. I have to kick some ass, and it’s best not to embarrass a client by doing it in front of someone else.” And I really didn’t need company while I asked my newfound “dad” about raping a hooker. I borrowed a twenty from Michelle for gas-I’d given Tonya all my cash-and headed for my car.

I spent the drive downtown fuming-partly at myself. I’d stupidly let myself start to trust him. What was I thinking? I didn’t know Dale Pearson. He was a stranger. A criminal who happened to be my mother’s sperm donor. Not the superhero I’d fantasized about when I was a kid.

What a lovely family I’d landed in. Mommy the narcissist and Daddy the sociopathic cop. Our holiday newsletter would be extra spicy this year.

I could tell when they led him into the attorney room that he’d heard the news. His whole body sagged, and his expression was miserable. I didn’t care. I picked up the phone and gave it to him right between the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about that hooker?”

He looked down and spoke quietly. “Because I was afraid you’d believe it.” He met my eyes. “It’s a lie, Samantha. I’d never do a thing like that.”

Dale sold it well. I’d give him that. But I wasn’t about to get reeled in by him. My voice came out harsh, flat. “What’s the story? She wanted to get even because you busted her?” It was what the cops always said when they got a citizen complaint. But Dale was a homicide dick. He had no reason to be busting hookers.

“No, I didn’t arrest her. I brought in a tweaker one night, and she was in the next cell. She was crying. Her pimp wouldn’t bail her out, and she had no one left. I felt sorry for her. I checked her rap sheet. It didn’t look like she’d been in the life very long. So I told the desk sergeant to cut her loose, and I gave her a referral to county services. Told her they’d help her get a real job. A few weeks later, I ran into her at the Coffee Bean on Sunset. She said she was getting her act together, had a few job applications pending. I was about to knock off for the night, so I bought her a drink to celebrate…” Dale gave a sigh so deep his whole body seemed to deflate.

“You had sex.”

Dale nodded miserably. “Consensual sex. But afterward, she asked me for money-”

“You refused and she reported you.”

“No. I didn’t refuse. I gave her a hundred dollars. I figured it was more than what she’d ordinarily get. But she said that wouldn’t cut it. She wanted ten thousand, and if I didn’t pay, she’d say I raped her. I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t think anyone else would, either. So I said, go ahead.”

And she did. “They just dropped it without any follow-up?”

“Internal Affairs set a meeting for her, but she never showed.”

That explained why it hadn’t gone any further. But I saw a common thread here. “So you’d been drinking when you slept with that prostitute, and you’d been drinking when you had the fight with Chloe-”

Dale shook his head. “It’s not a drinking problem; it’s a judgment problem.” He frowned. “And maybe a bit of an anger-management issue.”

Sounded like both to me, but it wasn’t my job to psychoanalyze him. “That prostitute, what’s her name again?”

“Jenny. Jenny Knox.”

“Right. That doesn’t sound like a hooker name.”

“Like I said, I don’t think she’d been in the business long. And she didn’t look like your typical hooker.” He frowned as he stared down at the counter. “I don’t want to come off like I’m defending what I did. I should never have slept with her. But I certainly didn’t rape her. I’ve never raped anyone in my life.” His eyes were pleading. “I swear.”

Dale looked entirely sincere. I could feel myself falling for it, believing him. But I pulled myself back. He’d looked sincere the last time he told me he wasn’t hiding anything. I knew it shouldn’t matter whether I believed him. It definitely wouldn’t have with any other client. I had to stop thinking of him as anything more than just another client. All that mattered was that the jury believed him. And with that performance, they would. “The next issue is, who might’ve leaked this story? Does anyone in IA hate you enough to leak this?” It’d have to be quite an enemy to want to see him go down for a double.

Dale rubbed at a spot on the window between us. “I can’t think of anyone in the department who’d have that big of a beef with me.” He looked at me. “I was thinking this sounded more like your neck of the woods.”

Prosecutors weren’t supposed to have access to those personnel files without a court order. But if Zack had a buddy in IA, he could get the information under the table. I nodded. “I’ll get into that in court tomorrow. Michelle’s going to put us on calendar so I can do some backspin.” I thought about whether I should have Dale in court with me when I thrashed about this leak. The cameras would do close-ups on Dale’s face while I argued that my client-my father-was being unfairly maligned with a bogus rape charge. But all the public would hear was “Dale” plus “rape.” And seeing Dale’s image would only reinforce the connection. “I want to keep you as far away from this as I can, so I think you should waive your appearance tomorrow. Okay?” Dale nodded. I pulled the waiver-of-appearance form out of my briefcase.

I leaned in. “Look, I need you to get this: You can’t keep hiding shit from me. One more bomb explodes in my face and I’m out. I don’t care who you are. So what else is there?”

His expression was earnest. “There’s nothing else. I swear.”

I didn’t know whether to believe him. I just knew I didn’t want to care so much.