RK02 - Guilt By Degrees (21 page)

Bailey drove
down Alameda Avenue toward the Golden State Freeway, which would take us back downtown. I’d wanted to interview some of Zack and Lilah’s neighbors who’d lived nearby, but it had been a long day and we’d both run out of steam. Not to mention the fact that the likelihood of finding a neighbor at this point who’d add anything of substance was pretty low. Door-knocking the ’hood was Standard Police Procedure 101, and Rick had hit every single house within a five-block radius. In short, the neighborhood interviews would keep.

But I did want to get a look at the murder house. I always had to see crime scenes for myself. Even in cases like this, where the crime was already years old and the exact site of the murder no longer existed—the new owners had filled the basement with concrete in an effort to wipe out all memory of its bloody history—I liked to at least see the area. It put the events in context for me.

“How about if we go to the house?” I suggested. “Just a quick drive-by.”

Bailey looked at her watch. “May as well. It’s already rush hour, so we’re screwed anyway.”

She made a U-turn, then took Glenoaks Boulevard to Louise Street and pulled to the curb across the street from the house. It was completely unremarkable. Roughly two thousand square feet, it had a fresh-looking coat of white paint and green shutters that framed the two paned windows facing the road. I could see that all the lots on the block were narrow but ran deep, providing a decent backyard for planting or playing. A great house for kids, as the minivan in the driveway attested.

“Did you know that real estate agents are required to tell prospective buyers if a violent crime was committed on a property?” I asked Bailey.

“Do now.”

“Would you buy a house if you knew someone had committed a murder in it?”

Bailey looked in her rearview mirror for traffic, then pulled away from the curb. “Doubt it.”

Bailey?Afraid of ghosts?
“Bad vibes?” I asked.

“Nah. I just wouldn’t be able to stop looking for evidence.”

Of course.

Bailey merged with the barely crawling traffic on the freeway, and we inched along in silence as the weak gray light of day faded into darkness.

“I don’t know what to make of that fertility-drug business,” I said. “Even if she decided she didn’t want kids, there are a lot less drastic ways to avoid pregnancy than killing the guy.”

Bailey nodded. “But I also don’t buy the claim that it shows she didn’t do it either.”

“Not because of that, no.”

“‘Not because of that’?” Bailey asked. “You’re thinking she didn’t do it?”

“I’m just wondering,” I said. “The harder we look, the less I see. Seems like the evidence gets less and less compelling—at least from where I’m sitting.”

It was like watching the sand flow out from under your feet when the wave recedes.

Bailey sighed. “It does, doesn’t it?”

It was a relief to hear that I wasn’t the only one having doubts. “I’d like to come up with one rock-solid piece of evidence that’d make me sure—either way.”

“Yeah. I keep going back and forth in my head. ‘She did, she didn’t.’ The jury’s verdict seems less and less crazy.”

I agreed. It was maddening. I felt as though no matter how I twisted the lenses to bring Lilah into focus, her image stubbornly remained blurry. I watched the downtown buildings grow as we drew closer to the city and pictured myself going back to my room and ordering dinner, knowing there’d be no call from Graden. An icy chill spread inside my chest, and I reflexively wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Hey, would you mind dropping me at Checkers? I need a change of scenery.”

The restaurant was near enough for me to walk home, and being alone wouldn’t feel so bad in a different place.

One minute later, she pulled over to let me out.

“I’ll call you,” she said.

“Good deal.” I got out, patted the roof of the car, and nodded to the doorman, who welcomed me inside.

I could’ve eaten at the bar but decided to give myself a solitary fine-dining experience instead. The dining room was spacious but not so big that it lost warmth, and the decor of soft, warm colors, gentle lighting, and white tablecloths was soothing. I asked for a corner seat against the wall.

A waiter who really knew how to work his fitted vest gave me a menu and took my drink order. I decided to splurge on a bottle of Ancien Pinot Noir.

A few minutes later, he returned and poured a taste for me. Delicious. The waiter filled my glass, and I ordered a grilled-artichoke appetizer. Then I took a long sip of wine, sat back, and felt the rough edges of the day begin to smooth out. I looked around the restaurant. From my relatively hidden corner, I could be subtle about watching my fellow diners.

An older woman in her seventies, dripping with heavy diamonds and also dining solo, imperiously gave her waiter one of the most detailed critiques of a bread basket I’d ever heard, added an elaborate order that included how each dish was to be prepared, and capped it all off by commanding that her food be brought “right away.” The waiter took it all in stride with a courteous bow. I’d done a few stints as a waitress during undergrad and law school, and I couldn’t remember anyone being as high-handed as this lady.

The waiter brought my artichoke, and as I pulled off the first leaves, I heard the woman talking. I turned to see that she was in animated conversation, hands flying, expression lively, laughing and gesturing…to an empty chair. Riveted by the bizarre scene, I didn’t notice that anyone was nearby until I heard my name.

“Rachel?”

The familiar voice startled me. It was out of place, so I couldn’t immediately make the connection. But when I looked up, there he was, smiling.

The former love of my life.

Daniel Rose
was a lawyer’s lawyer. When attorneys talked about the best in the business, his name was always front and center. He’d turned that considerable reputation into a niche business by becoming a Strickland expert—a lawyer who gives
expert
testimony on the competence, or lack thereof, of other lawyers. It was a job that took him all over the country, both for testimony and for lectures. But we’d begun dating during his slow season, so I hadn’t known how much time he actually spent on the road. We had six blissful months before the other shoe fell. When it did, my old fears of abandonment and commitment came flooding back and ultimately drowned our love. Of course, at the time I didn’t have enough insight to realize that that was the problem—understanding came later. It’d taken me a long time to get over him, and there’d been many nights when I’d thought it’d never happen. Eventually, though, the wounds became scars and the scars thickened and grew tough. I moved on. And with Graden in my life, I’d thought my feelings for Daniel had finally ebbed away. But seeing him now, twinkling eyes behind wire-rimmed glass, thick salt-and-pepper hair—now a little more salt than pepper—I wasn’t so sure.

“Daniel,” I said, trying to force my throat to open. “What are you doing here?”

His smile was warm. “I’d guess the same as you.”

I glanced behind him but didn’t see anyone.

He saw me looking. “I’m alone,” he said. “You too?”

I nodded, aware that my answer applied to more than just dinner.

“Would you like some company?” he asked. “Please feel free to say no. I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, not at all,” I said, feeling a smile spread across my face. “Sit. Try this wine.”

After he sat down, I leaned in and whispered, “And don’t look at that lady behind you.”

“Now I
have
to.”

“I know, but be subtle.”

He managed to be graceful about it, turning just a hair farther than necessary when the waiter came to take his drink order. Daniel said he’d share my wine, then took another moment to watch as the waiter responded to the woman’s peremptory wave. Daniel turned back, chuckling softly.

“She’s drunk as a skunk,” he observed. “And still manages to be imperious.”

“But her imaginary friend seems like fun,” I remarked.

“Lucky her,” Daniel said. “Mine are all pissed-off judges.”

“They’re not imaginary. And they’re not your friends.”

“That explains a lot,” Daniel said with a rueful smile.

“What brings you downtown for dinner all by yourself?”

“I’ve got a trial of my own for a change,” Daniel replied. As opposed to being a witness on someone else’s case.

“What’ve you got?”

“Civil case. I’m suing an insurance company for denial of benefits.”

“Doing the Lord’s work. Here’s to that.” I raised my glass, and we clinked and drank. I’d finished my wine, and Daniel picked up the bottle to pour.

“Empty,” he said, examining the Pinot Noir in the light. “This is unacceptable. I deserve more toasts for my display of valor against the forces of darkness—”

“So we’re not counting your hefty contingency fee?”

“The one I don’t yet have and may never get?” he replied, flagging the waiter over.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. That one.”

I knew he’d win the case, but we don’t jinx each other by saying things like that. The waiter appeared, and Daniel ordered another bottle. We both asked for the Colorado rack of lamb with osso buco ragout.

“So you’re driving downtown every day?” I asked. “That’s a hell of a commute.”

Daniel had a home in Hidden Hills, near Calabasas. It was a beautiful, horse-zoned, very pricey neighborhood, but it was at least an hour from downtown. With morning commuter traffic, it’d take him closer to two hours.

“I know, that’s why I’m not doing it,” Daniel replied.

The waiter returned with the bottle and poured a taste for both of us. We approved, and he poured us each a glass.

“You’re not?” I asked when the waiter left.

Daniel shook his head. “I’m staying downtown in a condo for the duration. You still in the Biltmore?”

I nodded.

“I’m about six blocks away from you,” he said, smiling.

I managed to stretch a polite smile across my face and say something like “That’s great.” Then I picked up my glass of wine and gulped it like it was a Slurpee.

Though I
was definitely enjoying myself, it was also stressful trying to have a friendly chat with a man who’d once been my most significant other, and for the first half hour, I’d avoided Daniel’s eyes, afraid of the intimacy. The discovery that he was living just a short walk away didn’t help matters any.

But bit by bit I relaxed as we fell back into the effortless conversation of two people who’d shared their lives and still shared a world. By the time we called for the check—I insisted on splitting—I was sorry to see it end.

“You heading back to the Biltmore?” Daniel said as we stood and pulled on our coats.

“I am.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask to join me there for a nightcap. It’d been a great evening, but I was still emotionally wobbly, and in that condition, more alcohol plus Daniel might equal doing something really stupid.

“I’ve got my car,” Daniel said. “Let me drop you.”

I wasn’t sure that being alone in a car with Daniel was my best move either. Actually I
was
sure. It wasn’t.

“Thanks, but I need the exercise. I’ve been cooped up in a car all day with Bailey.” I smiled and added, to ease the moment, “But I’ll wait for your car with you. The more air I can get, the better.”

Daniel responded with a tight smile, aware of the unspoken message behind my words. It was a vivid reminder of the heaven and the hell of him: he missed nothing. It’d been a real source of stress in our relationship, because he never bought my bullshit excuses—even when I, in my usual self-
deluded
state, believed them.

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“I’ll give your ticket to the valet.”

“Great, thanks,” he said, and loped up the stairs in the direction of the restroom.

I stepped outside into a blast of cold air and buttoned my coat as I handed the ticket to the valet. The doorman wasn’t around, and when the valet trotted off to get Daniel’s car, I was alone on the sidewalk.

The street was dark and empty at ten o’clock, even on a Friday night. Suddenly a feeling of menace crawled up my back. My heart gave a thud as I peered into the darkness, trying to find a shape or silhouette that was out of place. I stepped off the curb to get a better view as I pushed my hand deeper into my pocket, reaching for the reassuring feeling of my gun. It wasn’t there. I remembered I’d decided not to take it this morning. It figured. I stared into every doorway and alcove but saw nothing. Still, the sense that someone was watching, waiting, stayed with me. It’d be a stupid place to attack someone, but people got killed in stupid ways all the time. I edged back up onto the sidewalk. Just then, something brushed my back. Electric with fear, I jumped and opened my mouth to scream.

“Hey,” Daniel said.

I froze and clamped my mouth shut. Before turning to face him, I quickly blinked to rid my eyes of the panic I knew was written there.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

I could feel Daniel’s skeptical look, so I pulled my head down into my coat and made a big show of huddling against the cold to cover my nerves. He started to say something, but thankfully at that moment the valet pulled up to the curb. I looked up Grand Avenue toward the Biltmore and envisioned the walk ahead. What had seemed like a brief, refreshing jog now felt like a treacherous gauntlet.

I turned and patted him on the chest, aiming for a playful note. “You know what?” I said. “I’ll take you up on that ride after all.”

Daniel looked at me closely and nodded. “Good.”

He opened the passenger door for me. As he rounded the car and paid the valet, I again searched the darkness. Nothing.

“So when did you move in?” I asked as Daniel drove down Grand Avenue.

“Just a few days ago. We start trial next week, so I wanted to give myself time to get acclimated.”

We talked about places to buy groceries and how to manage a few of the other mundane but necessary life activities downtown, and within two minutes, we were idling in the driveway of the Biltmore.

“Thanks for the ride, Daniel,” I said, my hand on the door.

“Yeah, you owe me large for this major hassle,” he joked. Then his tone turned serious. “Listen, I’d like it if we could have a meal now and then. Is that a possibility?”

“Of course,” I said, my smile bright with the effort to reassure him. The truth was, I didn’t really know how I felt about that. I said good night and stepped out of the car.

Angel tipped his hat. “Evening, Ms. Knight,” he said. He threw a pointed glance at Daniel’s car, which was pulling away, then opened the lobby door for me.

“Just an old friend, Angel. Nothing else,” I said. I loved having people around who cared, but at the moment my Biltmore family was feeling a little intrusive.

Back in my room, I took a long, hot shower, then poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir and settled on the couch with my feet up.

Daniel and I hadn’t broken up because I’d stopped loving him. No one cheated or did anything really shitty. I just hadn’t been able to handle his frequent and sometimes protracted business trips. But I’d no more share that information with him than I’d tell him about Romy. So the relationship had foundered largely because of a “failure to communicate.” Mine, that is.

That admission led me back to Graden. That breakup too was about my past. Or was it, rather, my inability to deal with my past? No—I wasn’t going to put it all on me. Graden had gone behind my back and violated my privacy. My history was mine to tell, not his to ferret out on a whim. I felt myself bristling again, the spring inside me winding up for battle. If I kept this up, I wouldn’t sleep all night.

I took my glass of wine and a magazine that featured an interview with Johnny Depp to bed with me. I’m a big fan of his, but it’d been a long day and a lot of wine. Within minutes, my eyes had closed and the magazine slipped off my lap.

It was only as I turned out the light that I briefly remembered the sense of danger I’d felt standing in front of Checkers. But I was an old hand when it came to dealing with fear, and I knew better than to try and figure it out in the middle of the night. Promising myself to think about it all in the morning, I fell back on the pillow and into a deep but turbulent sleep.