Blood Defense

SIX

I told Michelle and Alex about Ringer when I got back to the office.

Alex looked stunned. “Seriously? Why?”

Michelle’s mouth fell open. “No way. How could they walk that filthy worm?”

I shook my head. “I’d like to think I’m just that good-”

“Actually, you are. But still.” Michelle gave a sharp sigh. Her e-mail pinged. She went to her computer and held up a hand. “Listen to this. ‘Errol Messinger has given a statement saying that due to previous commitments, he will not be able to take Dale Pearson’s case.’” Michelle looked up. “You’d think Messinger would’ve known that before he met with Dale.”

I smiled. “Oh, he knew. He’s just saving face. Pearson turned him down.”

It might’ve been the thrill of the hunt. That same animal instinct that makes you grab for the last blouse on the bargain table even though it’s a hideous shade of puce, is missing a button, and you know deep down that you’ll never wear it.

Or maybe it was because I was feeling invincible after the win on Ringer’s case. I wasn’t sure. I just knew in that moment that I was going to go for it. “Do you guys have a number for Pearson?”

They cracked wide grins. Alex pumped a fist in the air. “All right!”

But when I went into my office and picked up the phone, I hesitated. I told myself to just do it. Just make the call. But I was still standing at my window, staring at the sliver of sky that peeked between the buildings when Michelle buzzed. Her voice was low. “This is so bizarre. Guess who just called? Dale Pearson. Line one.”

“I… uh…”

“Take the damn call, Samantha.”

I clicked over. Dale Pearson introduced himself and asked me if I knew about his case. I told him of course I did. He got right down to business.

“I’d like to discuss the possibility of you representing me.”

His voice was deep and smooth, like old single-malt scotch. And it had the authoritative timbre of someone who was used to giving orders. But it stopped just short of the macho, condescending tone some cops have. Then again, I reminded myself, he was on his best behavior.

“I’m not sure I can, Dale. I’ve got a pretty heavy caseload.” It was a strategic move, a way to keep the upper hand. If I did take his case, I wanted him to know he was lucky to get me.

“I kind of figured you would. But I thought I’d give it a try before I moved on to the others who’ve lined up, because you came highly recommended by someone I trust.”

Someone recommended me to a cop? Couldn’t be anyone who really knew me. “Who?”

“Rick Saunders.”

Now I got it. I’d had a case with Saunders before. He was an honest cop. If Saunders really was a buddy, Pearson might not be all bad. It’d be easy enough to verify. I checked my calendar. “Why don’t you come by the day after tomorrow?”

“I might already be in custody by then. Can you spare any time today? I can come in as late as you want.”

We agreed on five o’clock. I walked out to tell Alex and Michelle. “He’s coming by at five o’clock. You guys don’t have to wait. I’m sure he won’t feed my body to the shredder.”

Alex tsked. “Your shredder’s way too small.”

Michelle shook her head. “And you’re high if you think we’re going to miss this.”

I figured. “Give me everything you’ve got on Pearson. And Alex, see if you can find out whether he’s tight with this LAPD detective Rick Saunders.”

Michelle tapped a few keys on her computer. “There. Go read.”

It wasn’t much. Dale Pearson, fifty-one years old, had been married and divorced twice. Nothing unusual for a cop. Or a trial lawyer. We’re notoriously bad marriage material. One daughter from the first marriage, Lisa Milstrom, who was seventeen now. He’d graduated cum laude with a BA in political science from UCLA. So he hadn’t always wanted to be a cop. Whatever he’d been planning to do, it took him just one year to figure out it wasn’t happening and sign up with the LAPD.

And he’d done well. He’d made detective within five years, which was pretty fast. He’d done stints in West LA, Rampart, and South Central before winding up in the Hollywood Division.

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.”