Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1) Read online

  The courtroom had gone dead silent.

  I glanced at Rita, then turned to the judge. “I’d ask the court to order that the videotape of the evidence locker be produced and that this weapon be tested for prints and DNA. By a neutral agency, like the sheriff’s office.” I sat down. Your move, Rita.

  The judge looked like he’d just taken a bite of rotten fish. He turned to the prosecutor. “People?”

  This time, Rita didn’t bounce. She didn’t even stand. “I have no questions.”

  Judge Raymond didn’t want to do it. I could see it was killing him. But he had no choice. “I’m going to issue those orders.” He glared at Rita. “It’s not my job to tell you how to do yours. But if I were you, I’d give my superiors the heads up that the judge will be ordering an investigation. They might want to do one of their own.” He glared at Ambrose. “And I’m ordering you to go back to the station forthwith and tell your captain what happened here.” He banged his gavel. “We’ll be in recess.”

  Rita stomped out with Ambrose trailing behind her. Neither of them looked at me. They knew as well as I did that the lab wouldn’t find Deshawn’s anything on that gun. This case was history.

  Deshawn started whooping and fist-bumping the minute we got outside the courtroom, but I held up a hand and gave him the facts of life. “Deshawn, listen to me: Ambrose went to a lot of trouble to set you up. That’s how bad they want you. You’ve had a target on your back for a long time, and it just got ten times bigger. You keep crime-ing, they’ll get you for sure. And next time you won’t have me.”

  “I hear you. I really do. Starting now, I’m out of the life for good.”

  I knew he meant it. Now. But I also knew that tomorrow, or the next day, Lil’ J or Big Blue or whoever would show up and say, “I just need [fill in the blank] just this one time,” and he’d go for it. As the saying goes, it was in Deshawn’s nature.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was four o’clock by the time I got in to see Dale. There are only seven attorney “rooms”—really just cubicles—in each module, and they were all full when I got there. I had to wait a half hour for one to open up. Dale looked better today. His face didn’t sag as much, and there was more life in his eyes. He wasn’t all the way back to the man I’d met in my office, and he probably wouldn’t be as long as he was in here. But he was doing better. Which was a good thing, because I was going to have to get into it with him.

  I picked up the phone. “Hey. They treating you okay so far?”

  “Probably as okay as they can. They put me next to a juicehead who sleeps all day. And farts. But it could be a lot worse.” He looked in my eyes. “How are you doing? I’ve been worrying about you. You must be getting some serious flack for representing the monster who killed America’s sweetheart.”

  I’d never had a client in custody ask how I was doing. Especially one who was facing a sentence of life without parole. “I’ve gotten some . . . interesting comments on my website and on Twitter. But it goes with the territory. Don’t worry about me; I can handle it.”

  I told him about our interviews.

  He remembered Nikki—who hadn’t been subtle about her irritation at not getting a rise out of him. “But what she told you was true. I was driving around the neighborhood. I thought the burglar was a local amateur who might decide to try it again.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “It’s the truth. I told you, I’m not like your other clients, Samantha. I’m not going to lie to you.”

  I gave him a long look. “Holding out on me is exactly what my other clients would do. How come you didn’t tell me Chloe broke up with you that night?”

  He blew out a breath. “Janet, right?”

  I nodded. “And Chloe’s sister confirms it. During their last phone call, Chloe said she was planning to break up.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I guess I was worried that you’d make more of it than it really was. The truth is, we were both through with each other. She was getting back into the junk, and I couldn’t just stand by and watch her throw her life away.”

  A jury would probably buy it, since the toxicology report backed him up. But it’d help if someone else could back up his claim that she was a regular user. “Did anyone else know she was using again?”

  “I’d bet her sister knew. But I doubt she’ll tell you. In my experience, next of kin tends to clam up when it comes to things like that.” He gave me a searching look. “Speaking of family, how does yours feel about you taking this case?”

  What a weird question. “Uh, my mom wasn’t thrilled.”

  He flicked a piece of dust off the counter in front of him. “What about your dad?”

  Even weirder. What was this about? “I think my stepdad’s okay with it.” Celeste would’ve made a point of telling me if he wasn’t.

  He looked up at me and cocked his head. “What about your biological father? Is he in the picture?”

  This was getting stranger by the second. “No. Never met him. Look, about the drug dealer—”

  “What if you could? Meet him, I mean. Would you want to?”

  What the . . . ? “I don’t know. When I was a kid, I wanted to.” Actually, I’d dreamed of it day and night. Even now, the old feelings came rushing back. The pain of feeling alone, vulnerable, at everyone’s mercy, of wishing I had someone in my corner. Someone strong and fierce, who’d protect me . . . who’d make them all pay. I pulled myself back with effort. “Why do you care?”

  “I know him.” He looked at me with soft eyes. “So do you.”

  I stared at him. “What the fuck . . . ?”

  Dale took a deep breath. After a long moment, he said, “It’s me.” His eyes searched mine as he continued. “I’m your father.”

  I heard the words, but they made no sense. It was as though he was speaking backward. When my brain managed to unscramble the sounds, I was sure I’d heard wrong. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  He spoke gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blindside you like this. But I couldn’t seem to find the right time. I met you and then . . . everything happened so fast.”

  “Couldn’t find the right time?” I felt a little dizzy, like the room had just tilted forty-five degrees. I shook my head slowly, thinking I must be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. I looked down at the pen in my left hand, poised over a legal pad. I looked around at the cubicles, at the observation window where a guard was standing—and watching me. I was definitely not dreaming. The words echoed again in my brain: I’m your father. How could it be?

  I’d forgotten to breathe. Light-headed, I gulped for air. Finally, I looked at him. I took in the strong chin; the widow’s peak; the dark-brown, almost-black hair—all of it so like mine. And so unlike Celeste, with her blonde mane. Then I remembered seeing him sign the retainer agreement; he was left-handed—like I was. But I still couldn’t wrap my brain around it. I stammered, “H-how do you know? What makes you think . . .” I couldn’t manage all the questions that flooded through my mind.

  Dale looked at me apologetically. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  I wasn’t sure of anything right now. But I nodded slowly.

  Dale searched my face for a moment. “Okay. I dated your mother when we were in college. We went out for a while, then she broke up with me. About a month later, she called to tell me she was pregnant and needed money for an abortion. I gave it to her, offered to take her to the doctor, help her out afterward, but she shut me down. Said it was her problem and she could handle it. I called her a week later to see if she was okay, but she didn’t answer. And I never saw or heard from her again. I had no idea she’d had the baby.”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not right. Celeste got pregnant after a one-night stand. She went to a party, got drunk, slept with a guy whose name she never knew.”

  “That’s what she told you?” Dale shook his head, then a little smile
crossed his lips. “Celeste. She was Charlene when I knew her. But I’m not surprised she changed it. She hated the name, thought it sounded too hillbilly.”

  Hillbilly? He was definitely talking about Celeste. But it just wouldn’t sink in. I had another dizzy spell. I’d stopped breathing again. I inhaled. Better. My brain started to work. “Why would she say she didn’t know the father? Why tell me he was just a one-nighter?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I have a good guess. Maybe because if you knew the truth, you might find me. And then I’d be coming around—which was the last thing she’d have wanted.” Dale hesitated, his expression pained. “Look, Samantha, I don’t want to speak ill of her—”

  Most of my pistons were firing now. This had to be bullshit. I snapped at him. “Really? ’Cause I do. All the time. But why wouldn’t she want to keep you around? We were broke. She needed the money. And besides, she’d have been thrilled to have a free babysitter.” Getting tied down with a kid was the last thing in the world she’d wanted.

  He sighed. “I didn’t have money—certainly not the kind she was aiming for—and she didn’t want a low-rent loser in her life. It’s one thing to be a single mom with a little girl. A lot of men wouldn’t mind stepping into that picture. But it’s another to be a single mom with a child and an ex-boyfriend who’s always around. She was looking for a guy with big bucks, and she didn’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

  That explanation made me slow down and reconsider. It was exactly how she’d think. Celeste was all about the money. I’d spent my childhood watching her pan for gold with one boyfriend after another. “Then why’d she go out with you to begin with?”

  “I looked better off than I was. I went to UCLA, and she went to Cal State Northridge. I had a better car than I deserved—an Audi that I’d inherited from a cousin who had some money. And when I met her, I didn’t have to work. But when my dad got laid off and I had to get a job, Char—I mean Celeste—saw that I was almost as broke as she was. It took her about five minutes to decide we weren’t ‘right’ for each other.” He shook his head. “And actually, she was right. We weren’t. I don’t know why it took me so long to admit it. I guess I was just deluding myself that she was someone else. Someone who’d wake up and realize love was more important.”

  Everything he was saying about her fit. That was her. That was Celeste. But I still couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be true. It was some bizarre coincidence. It had to be. And there was an easy way to prove it. “Would you be willing to take a paternity test?”

  “Absolutely. And I don’t blame you for being skeptical. They can swab me in the infirmary and send it . . . wherever you want. If you get a private lab, you’ll have the answer in a day or two.”

  Just the fact that he’d agreed to do it so readily was a jolt. He might be mistaken—I was sure he was—but he wasn’t lying. “How . . . when did you . . . figure this out?”

  “When I found out I might be charged with the murders, I put together a list of lawyers and checked out everyone on it—their whole life history.” He saw my raised eyebrow and nodded. “I know. I’m a little OCD. It’s how I cope, by trying to know everything. When I saw your birth date and that your mother was Charlene Brinkman, I couldn’t believe it. But the timing was too perfect, and I knew she hadn’t been seeing anyone else.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “How can you be so sure?”

  Dale shrugged. “We were together all the time until she broke up with me. And after that, I still saw her around, heard about her from mutual friends. She wasn’t with anyone.” He sighed. “Look, I know this is hard for you. It’s a lot to take in. Tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it myself at first.” Dale paused and shook his head. “It was so crazy. To find out that not only did I have another daughter but . . .” His voice trailed off as his gaze took in my hair, my eyes, my face. “But when I met you in person, I knew it was true.” Dale frowned. “Anyway, like I said, I’ll be glad to take the test—”

  I cut him off. “Is that why you hired me?”

  Dale pulled back abruptly. “What? No! It’s why I almost didn’t. I met with five other lawyers, and I was still thinking about going with the last one before I met with you—”

  “Messinger?”

  “Right. But I wasn’t that impressed with him. And this is my life we’re talking about. I wanted the best.” He looked at me with a mixture of pride and sadness. “You were it.” He looked down and rubbed a spot on the counter in front of him. “I’m sorry about all of this. Especially having to meet this way.” He looked up with a little smile. “But you just blow me away. I can’t believe I have a grown-up daughter who’s so brilliant, so beautiful.” His eyes misted and he blinked fast, then cleared his throat. “Not that I take any credit for it.”

  In that moment, my mother’s phone call, her strange fury at my taking the case, came back to me. It all made sense now. She knew that even if Dale didn’t tell me, if the press dug hard enough, they could find the connection. Then everyone would know she’d dated—and had a child with—a murderer. In her mind, she’d never live it down.

  Dale spoke again. “Samantha, if you want to get off the case, I’ll understand. It was probably crazy to think this could be okay. I just felt like in the middle of this friggin’ nightmare, it was the one ray of light.” He shook his head. “I guess going from cop to murder suspect in the space of a week left me kind of . . . unhinged.” He dropped his gaze down at the counter again. “I considered not telling you, but I couldn’t risk you finding out on the four o’clock news.” He looked up at me. “I can only hope that you’ll forgive me.”

  I couldn’t find any words. I had no coherent thoughts. My feelings were so tangled I couldn’t even name them. When I spoke, my lips felt numb. “I—I need to think about this. I’m . . . not sure what I should do.” Dale’s case had to get to trial as soon as possible, and it wasn’t just a trial strategy. Maximum security or not, his life was in danger here. “I’ll figure this out. Tonight. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  I hung up the phone and signaled for the guard to let me out.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I wound up in my car with no memory of having left the jail or walking through the parking lot. It probably wasn’t safe for me to be on the road, but since traffic was bumper-to-bumper and moving about three miles an hour, I couldn’t get into any serious trouble.

  I barely noticed how I was inching along as my brain fumbled with the surreality of what I’d just heard. I remembered how I used to fantasize about who my father was when I was a kid. Especially during the dark time. I’d dream he was a martial-arts fighter or a Navy Seal or a Green Beret, who’d come to save me and never let anyone hurt me again. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. I made myself take a deep breath. In. Out. Let it go.

  And then another realization hit me. It was one thing to be the lawyer for the man who’d killed two innocent young women. But it was a whole different world to be his daughter. The gruesome crime-scene pictures flashed through my mind. Then Janet’s words came back to me—how she described his flashpoint temper, his fights with Chloe. I tried to square it with the man who’d looked at me with such pride and . . . tenderness. But he was charged with a brutal double homicide. And it looked like he’d done it.

  I felt nauseous—like I’d just stepped off a Tilt-A-Whirl. My head swam with all the implications. It took me an hour and a half to get home, but I was so preoccupied, I didn’t notice. It was after seven by the time I got back to my apartment, and only then did it dawn on me that I was supposed to check in with Michelle. She’d left a message saying that requests were coming in for interviews, and reporters were looking for background information on me.

  The irony hit me almost as hard as the fresh wave of panic. Now I had a whole new vista of “background information” to worry about.

  The press hadn’t dug up the connection between Dale and me yet, but it’d been only two days. If they cared enough to keep d
igging, they’d figure it out eventually. I knew I should call Michelle, tell her what’d happened, and figure out what to do. But the thought of putting it all into words was more than I could handle.

  I drew a hot bath, took a few sips of pinot noir, and curled up in the tub. I must’ve fallen asleep because when my phone rang, I couldn’t remember where I was, and my right arm had fallen asleep. By the time I pulled myself out, the call had gone to voice mail. I dried off, threw on my sweats, and listened to the message. It was Michelle. I looked at the number. She’d called from the office, and it was after eighty thirty. It wasn’t fair to go incommunicado this way. I had to call her back.

  I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice sound normal. “Hey, sorry I didn’t check in. It’s been a bitch of a day and I was fried.”

  There was a beat of silence. “You sound funny. Did it go okay with Dale?”

  I guess it was partly the wine. But mostly it was the right person with the right touch at the right time. I began to cry. “I—I don’t know where to start.”

  “I’m coming over. Have you had dinner?”

  I’d forgotten about that. “Uh-uh.”

  She hung up.

  I wanted to make myself get some work done, but I couldn’t focus. My mind kept toggling between Dale’s apologetic expression and the crime-scene photos, between the man Janet described and the man I’d just seen. The killer—my father. I whispered the words. My father. I could barely choke them out.

  I lay down on the couch, exhausted. I’d done all the coping I could stand for the moment. I turned on the TV and watched a rerun of Friends. Michelle showed up a half hour later. She pulled me into a hug and held on for a long time. I felt the spring in my chest start to uncoil and took a full breath for the first time since leaving the jail.

  She stepped back and held me by the shoulders. “Ready to tell me?” I shook my head. “Okay, then try to eat something.”