Blood Defense (11 page)

EIGHTEEN

W
e headed to Chloe’s building,
which was next door to Sheila’s. I didn’t need to know Chloe’s address to figure out it was where she’d lived. The entire sidewalk and grass median in front of the building was filled with flowers, teddy bears, candles, and hand-painted signs that wept with love for Chloe, and anguish at having lost her. When we managed to weave our way through it all, I saw that the building was a little more worn than Sheila’s, dingy white with peeling green trim, and it was positioned so that the side faced the street and the back faced the canyon.

I wanted to get an idea of the layout, so we walked down the open corridor that led past the first-floor apartments. There were six units on the first floor and six on the second floor. Chloe and Paige lived on the second floor in apartment 208.

There was only one witness I wanted to talk to here. Others had said they’d heard Dale and Chloe fighting, but the most detailed, and damaging, statement had come from Janet Rader. She was the prosecution’s key eyewitness—or rather, ear-witness. I’d debated whether I should even bother talking to her. Even if she tried to hedge on the witness stand, the DA would get her to confirm what she’d said to the police—which was plenty. But I had to see if I could find any weak spots.

“I’ll take this one, Alex. But feel free to step in if you think I’m missing something.”

He nodded. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I waited a few seconds and raised my hand to knock again, but the door unexpectedly opened, leaving my fist in midair. A slender young man stood in the doorway. I’d expected an older woman in her seventies. I told him we were here to speak to Janet Rader about Chloe Monahan and Paige Avner.

“Oh, you want my mother.” He looked from me to Alex. “You don’t look like cops. Who are you?”

“We represent Dale Pearson, and we’re speaking to all the witnesses listed in the police reports.” I always try to make it sound like everyone else has talked to me.

“I—I don’t really think she’s up to it. Maybe she could call you?”

Alex chimed in. “It’ll take only a few minutes, really—”

A voice came from somewhere behind the young man. “Evan? Who is that?” He told her. “It’s okay, let them in. I’ll talk to them.” A taller, stocky woman with short graying hair, wearing black rubber nurse’s shoes and polyester slacks, came to the door and gestured for us to come in. “I don’t want you saying in court that I refused to talk to you.”

She’d obviously been a witness before. When witnesses refuse to talk to me, I always make them admit it to the jury. It shows they’re biased against me. Sometimes that helps. More often, it doesn’t.

Evan started to follow us into the tiny dining area off the kitchen, but Janet waved him off. “I can handle this myself. You go finish figuring out what’s wrong with my computer.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Now go.”

He went. Janet put on a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses that had been hanging from the neck of her T-shirt and gestured for us to sit down at the dining table. “I assume you want to hear about that night.”

“I do.” I took a notepad out of my purse. “How well did you know Chloe and Paige?”

“I didn’t know them beyond saying hello when we passed on the walkway. But I saw their comings and goings quite a bit. I used to be a manager at Target, but I’m retired now, so I’m home a lot.”

“Did they have a lot of visitors?”

“Not lately, no. When Chloe first moved in, she seemed to be pretty popular. A lot of young men came around.”

“How do you know they were there to see Chloe? Why not Paige?”

“Because I’d see them leave with Chloe.”

See them leave.
There weren’t any windows that offered a view of the walkway. “How did you see them leave?”

“Through the peephole in my door. And sometimes I’d see her coming or going with them when I was out doing chores or laundry.”

Aha. Janet was the Gladys Kravitz of the building. Every apartment building has one. “Did you ever meet Dale Pearson?”

“Well, of course. He was here almost every day.”

“Can you describe your first meeting?” I expected to get some vague I-don’t-know type of answer. Wrong.

“He was knocking on their door, and when no one opened up, he kept on knocking and knocking. I thought he’d break the door down, so I went out and told him they weren’t home. He got really angry, said Chloe knew he was coming.”

“Was he yelling?”

“No. I could just tell he was . . . well, let’s say very annoyed.”

Okay, let’s. “Did he leave after you told him they weren’t there?”

“No. I told him to come back later, and he gave me a dirty look—”

“What did he say to you?”

“To me? Nothing. But then Chloe came home, and he really laid into her. Asked her where she’d been and why she didn’t call to tell him she’d be late.” Janet paused. “It doesn’t sound like much now, but it was the way he said it. He wasn’t yelling at the time, but there was . . . heat in his voice. It felt as though if I hadn’t been there, he would’ve really gone off on her. There was something kind of, I don’t know, scary about him.”

I wished I could say Janet seemed like the type to embellish, but she didn’t. It made me wonder whether Nikki was a little more accurate than I’d given her credit for—and how many more witnesses the cops would dig up who’d paint a similar picture of Dale. “How long ago was that?”

“About a month ago.”

“Did they get into a fight?”

“Not that time, no.”

“But they fought at other times? Before that last night?”

“Several times. From what I could hear, it sounded like he was upset about her doing drugs.” She shook her head. “Can’t blame him for that.”

“How did you manage to hear all that?”

“They left their sliding glass door open a lot. I do, too. These apartments aren’t big, and they can get pretty stuffy. Anyway, the night she died, they had a terrible fight, worst one ever. I figured she’d break up with him sooner or later, and I was right.”

“She broke up with him?” Janet nodded. “You heard her say that?” That hadn’t been in Janet’s statement.

“Loud and clear.”

“Then why didn’t you tell the police about it?”

“I thought I did.” Janet frowned.

I didn’t want to believe her. But it wasn’t just the flat certainty in her voice. It was the fact that I knew Chloe’s sister had said she intended to break up that night, too. This was bad. Worse than bad. A hair-trigger temper and a classic motive. The likelihood of being able to pin this on someone else was getting slimmer by the minute. I looked at her sliding glass door. The drapes were closed. “Were they yelling at the time?”

“Almost from the moment they walked in the door.” Janet looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “I knew I should’ve called the police. But they had so many fights. And he’s a police officer. I never would’ve thought he’d . . .” Her voice trailed off.

I’d known she was going to be a tough witness for us. But now I knew Janet was going to cream us. I had to find out how much more damage she could do. “Did you happen to see Paige that night?”

“I might’ve heard her come home. But I can’t be sure. I went to bed early that night. The fighting’s what woke me up.”

“Then you think Paige came home before Chloe?”

“Maybe. I’m really not sure about that.”

“Do you know what time you woke up? I mean, because of the fighting?” Maybe she could help us fix a time that would show Dale was out of there too early to have killed them.

“I can get close. By the time I got up, they’d been fighting for a while. I decided to make myself some warm milk, and I remember looking at the clock on the oven. It said one thirty in the morning. It can be off by a minute or two, but not much more.”

Shit. The coroner put the time of death between one a.m. and four a.m. “Did you go back to bed after that?”

“Not right away. I stayed in the kitchen and drank my milk. That’s how come I heard their front door open and close. When I went to look, I saw him walking down the hallway toward the stairs.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about him?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t see much. I was looking through the peephole, and his back was to me.”

I needed to regroup and think for a minute. “Do you mind if I go out on your balcony?”

Janet pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Be my guest. You’ll see. You can hear everything clear as a bell when the glass doors are opened.”

“I’m not doubting you.” I kind of was. Or maybe just hoping. “I just want to see what the balconies look like. I assume all the apartments have the same floor plan?”

“As far as I know.”

Alex and I crossed the living room, and I pulled the drapes aside. It was a small but serviceable balcony with a wood railing. A rusting hibachi sat in the right corner. Chloe’s apartment was on the left, and her balcony was within arm’s reach. No doubt about it, if both of their sliding glass doors were open, Janet could easily have heard every word. I told Alex to get some pictures.

As I looked around, I noticed that the ground behind the building was higher and that all the units had identical balconies. I’d wondered how a burglar could’ve gotten to a second-floor apartment. But now I saw that it’d be easy. Anyone who was reasonably agile could stand on the railing of the balcony below and pull himself up to Chloe’s balcony. And the area was pretty much sheltered from view. The carport was at the other end of the building, and the houses behind it didn’t have windows facing this way.

I went back inside. “When did you go back to sleep?”

“I stayed up for another ten minutes or so after Dale left. So around two a.m., I guess.”

“After Dale left, did you hear anyone else come to their apartment?”

“No.”

Janet’s son came back into the room. “You’re all set, Mom.” He shook his head at us. “You know, before that cop got arrested, I thought the killer would turn out to be that guy in 212.”

“Who’s that?”

Janet pursed her lips together. “A drug dealer. Everyone knows it, but they’re all afraid to call the police.”

“Did you ever call them?”

“No. I’m just an old woman living alone. Who knows what he’d do if he found out I’d reported him?”

The son spoke up. “I told her not to. There’s no point in her taking a risk like that. The cops aren’t going to bust him just because my mother thinks he’s a drug dealer.”

I wouldn’t be so sure. But he was probably right that it was safer for Janet to stay out of it.

I moved toward the door, and Alex followed. “Thanks for your time.”

Janet took a parting shot. “I never understood what a man that age was doing with a young girl like Chloe. I didn’t expect him to kill her, but I knew right from the start nothing good could come of it.”

I didn’t bother to argue with her. Clearly nothing good had come of it. And right or wrong, I knew I’d wind up with a fair number of “Janets” on my jury.

NINETEEN

A
lex looked down toward the end
of the corridor. “Are we going to check out that dealer?”

“Heck yeah.” I might be able to claim he was yet another suspect the cops failed to investigate. The more of those I could dangle in front of the jury, the merrier. I took in Alex’s navy blazer and button-down shirt. “But I’ll take the lead. No way he’ll answer the door if he sees you.”

“According to the book, business attire inspires more confidence and respect—”

“Wait. What book?”

“
The
Comprehensive Guide for Private Investigators
. It says—”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care what some out-of-work ex-cop says.
I
say you dress for your audience. Always go native.”

Alex opened, then closed his mouth. “Got it.”

We walked down to number 212. I motioned for him to stay out of range of the peephole and knocked on the door. I heard music playing inside. It sounded like jazz—Miles Davis.

A voice came through the door. “I gave at the office.”

“I’m not asking for money. I want to talk to you about Chloe and Paige.”

“You a cop?”

“No. I’m a lawyer.” I pulled out my business card and held it up to the peephole.

I heard the deadbolt turn. The door opened a crack with the sliding chain lock still on. I poked my card through, and a white male hand reached out and took it. The voice—it sounded somewhere between old and young—said, “Never heard of lawyers going door to door. Seems kind of desperate.”

I sighed. “I represent the defendant.”

The chain came off and the door opened. A pot-filled cloud floated out. It was so heavy I thought I might get a contact high. “You represent that cop?” I nodded. “Tough case.” He noticed Alex. “He with you?”

“Yeah. He’s my investigator.”

Alex put out his hand. “I’m Alex Medrano.” They shook.

“Chas Gorman. Come on in.”

Chas led us to a brown lumpy-looking couch, and he plopped down in a recliner. Our host was a beanpole, skinny and well over six feet tall. His dirty-blond shoulder-length hair was combed back off his face, which was almost handsome. High cheekbones, regular features, but his eyes were a little close together. Funny how just a millimeter can make all the difference. He was barefoot and dressed in jeans and a Thelonious Monk T-shirt.

The source of the pot cloud stood on the coffee table. It was an elaborately beautiful bong, painted in metallic blues and greens. The furniture looked like garage-sale rejects, the carpet had gaping holes, but the bong and the flat-screen were top of the line. He picked up the bong and took a lighter out of his pocket. “Want some?”

Alex nodded. “Sure, man.”

What the . . . ? Damn. I’d told him to go native, and he’d taken it to heart. Chas fired it up, and they both took long pulls. I waited for them to exhale. “You talked to the police?”

“Hell, no. Under no circumstances.” He set the bong on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you know Chloe and Paige?”

“A little. Chloe came over for a hit a few times when she first moved in. But she hadn’t come around for the past three or four months. I liked her; she was cool. Bummer what happened to her.”

“That’s one way of putting it. Did you see any of her friends? Or boyfriends?”

“Just that cop . . . I mean, your guy.”

“You ever talk to him?”

“Nah. Just saw him around a few times.”

“What about Paige?”

“I really dug her. She was sweet. I asked her out once, but . . .”

“It didn’t happen?” Chas shook his head. “Did you ever see her with a guy?”

He frowned and reached for the bong. “I seem to remember a dude with a motorcycle helmet. I think he picked her up here a couple times.”

“Recently?”

He fired up the bong again and took a long pull, then offered it to Alex—who took it. Shit. He was going to be useless. And hungry. Chas spoke while he held in the smoke. “A couple months ago?” He answered his own question. “Yeah.”

“That was the last time you saw him?” Chas nodded. “You never got his name?” He shook his head and let out a stream of smoke.

“Can you describe him?”

“About my height, maybe a little shorter. Longish hair, brown . . . and that helmet. It had, like, red flames on the sides.” He thought for a moment. “That’s about it.”

“You see his bike?”

Chas nodded. “Saw him riding it when he left.”

“What’d it look like?”

“Beat up. And loud. Was it a Harley?” He thought for a moment, then answered his own question again. “Don’t know.”

“Were you home the night of the murders?” He nodded. “Did you hear anything unusual?”

Chas looked at me through slitted eyes. “I heard loud voices. But I couldn’t make out words or anything.”

“Did you see Chloe and Dale come home?”

“No.” He yawned and patted his open mouth. “Can’t even tell you if they were the ones fighting. I just know people in the building are saying it was them.”

“Did you see Paige come home?”

He frowned. “No. But for some reason . . . I think she got home before Chloe.” His words were coming out slower and slower.

“Why is that?”

Chas worked his dry mouth. “Good question. Gotta get some water. You guys want some?”

I declined. Alex, of course, said, “Yeah, thanks.”

Chas pushed himself off the recliner in slow motion and shuffled into the kitchen. He came back with two bottles of water, handed one to Alex, then flopped back into his recliner. He poured almost the entire bottle down his throat in one long gulp.

When he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, I took another run at him. “What makes you think Paige got home first?”

Chas stared at a spot on the wall just over my head, his mouth slightly open. “Uh, I’m not sure. But I think. Someone maybe knocked on their door.”

“And that person who knocked, he got inside?”

He frowned. “Yeah, I think . . . because I heard the door close.”

“Was that before you heard the people fighting? Or after?”

“Um . . . I think it was before.”

Before? That wouldn’t help. “Do you know if it was before or after midnight?”

Chas scratched his chin. “Somewhere around there. Midnight-ish.” He chuckled to himself. “I was blazing with a buddy, so I wasn’t, you know, looking at the clock.”

I suppressed a sigh. The reliability of any of this was so dubious. “Are you sure it was Chloe and Paige’s door? Could it have been the people next door to them, or two doors down?”

Chas tilted his head back and gave a soft chuckle. “Not the guy in 206. He’s in his nineties. I’m not dissing the dude. We’d all be lucky to get there. But no one’s coming to see him past, like, lunchtime.” His eyes closed. I thought we’d lost him, but then he stretched, arched his back, and sighed. “The people in 207. It could’ve been their door, I guess.”

“Who lives there?”

“A guy and his girlfriend. They’re not home much. I think they must travel a lot. Mail piles up at their door all the time.”

Alex grinned. “That was cool the way you put that together.”

Chas grinned back. “Hey, man, maybe I could be an investigator.”

They shared a chuckle.

I shot a look at Alex. Just what I needed right now: Cheech and Chong. “Do you know if the couple in 207 was home that night?”

He yawned again and stretched his arms over his head. “No clue.”

“The person who knocked, did you hear him say anything?”

“I don’t think . . . wait, did I?” He looked up at the ceiling again. “Uh, no. Don’t think so.”

How much of this could I trust? The guy was a major-league stoner.
Maybe
someone had come to
an
apartment. And maybe it was Chloe’s. But maybe not.
Maybe
it was around midnight. And he thought it was before Chloe got home. But maybe not. I looked at Alex. I’d been about to ask if he had questions, but he had a sloppy smile on his face. I bumped around a little longer to see if Chas remembered anything else, but he could barely get three words out between yawns that were so cavernous I thought he might pull something. Finally, after a string of questions that elicited “I don’t know” and shrugs, I gave up. He was tapped out. The reliability of what little information I’d gotten out of him was up for grabs. But one thing I was sure of: Chas would never play as a possible suspect. He couldn’t have stayed awake long enough to kill anyone.

I stood up and tilted my head at Alex. It took him a second to get the hint, but he eventually got up. I smiled at our host. “Chas, thanks. I really appreciate you talking to us.”

He followed us to the door. “Anytime, man. Always happy to talk to a lovely lady.” He patted Alex’s back. “You too, dude.”

Alex gave him a lopsided smile. “It was real, man.”

When we got out to the corridor, I told Alex to head to the car. “You go sleep it off. I’m going to hit up number 207.”

He drew back and looked at me like I’d grown a third arm. “Sleep what off? I’m not stoned. I didn’t inhale. That would be totally unprofessional. But you said to go native.”

I laughed. “Nice.” We headed to 207. As we passed number 208, Chloe and Paige’s apartment, I looked at the door. The crime-scene tape was gone, but I could still see black print powder around the doorknob. I had a feeling that apartment wouldn’t be rented anytime soon.

A woman in her twenties answered the door at 207. She didn’t know Chloe or Paige other than to say “Hey” when they passed in the corridor, and she and her boyfriend had been out of town at the time of the murders. No help there. And the old guy in 206 hadn’t heard or seen anything that night. Not surprising, since he could barely hear us from two feet away.

We headed to Alex’s car and I thought about what we’d learned from Chas. “Well, that motorcycle guy obviously wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was seeing Paige. And it doesn’t sound like he has the money to buy her diamonds.”

Alex nodded. “Besides, I’d have figured Mr. Perfect would be
more . . . perfect.”

“Yeah, the motorcycle guy isn’t him.”

Alex unlocked the car. “Janet’s going to shred us. And Chas thinks someone was at their place
before
Chloe got home with Dale. That doesn’t help.”

“Janet will absolutely shred us. And timing is the least of our problems with Chas. If he were reliable at all, it’d be great to prove someone came knocking on the door that night—no matter what time he says it happened.”

“Then you want me to serve him a subpoena?”

We got into the car. “Look at you, all knowing the legal lingo. No.”

Alex looked at me, perplexed. “The book says we should always have subpoenas ready in case—”

This book business was going to drive me nuts very soon. “Yeah, Alex. But what do you think the jury’s going to do with a witness like Chas? He’s probably got a conviction or two, and even if he doesn’t, he’s a major stoner and he’s not sure of a friggin’ thing.”

“Then we can’t use him at all?”

“I’m not saying that. We might be able to use him for something. Just not for court.” I already had an idea.

My phone rang. It was the mechanic. Beulah had made a full recovery. Well, as full a recovery as a car that has 157,000 miles can make.

Alex dropped me off at the station, and I sent him back to the office.

I’d have to get downtown to Twin Towers and talk to Dale about . . . everything. Not the least of which was why he hadn’t bothered to tell me about his breakup with Chloe.

Or as the prosecution would put it: his motive.