“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.
