REASON TO DOUBT Read online

  In an attempt to make certain KTLK was the first with the news of Pete’s plea, Tyler and I had agreed I would text him once the plea had been officially entered into the court’s record. Upon receipt of my text, Tyler would then interrupt Kit and Carson’s morning show to report the news, which would undoubtedly become the topic for KTLK’s court of public opinion.

  When Pete entered the courtroom, I was taken back by his appearance. Gone was his youthful, blond, boyish look. Replacing it was a lost soul I barely recognized. He was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit with his hands cuffed behind his back. Two beefy-looking security guards led him to a seat next to his attorney, a public defender named Melinda Croft. Croft, a heavy-set, middle-aged woman, looked like she hadn’t slept or had much time to prep for this morning’s proceeding.

  Judge Petrossian asked Pete to stand and informed him of the first-degree murder charges against him, then instructed Ms. Croft to advise her client of his choices. Guilty. Not guilty. Or with the consent of the court, Nolo Contendere. Which meant Pete would accept a conviction without pleading guilty.

  Croft whispered into Pete’s ear, and Pete answered, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  After entering the plea, the court then assigned a trial date for six weeks from today. Not a lot of time for prosecutors to gather evidence and build a case. The entire process took less than ten minutes.

  I texted Tyler back with news of Pete’s not guilty plea and made a beeline for the elevators. If the prosecution had six weeks to build a case, I had less than that to try to find something to convince the cops they had the wrong guy and drop the charges. If I didn’t, Pete would go to trial, and if convicted, would likely face a life sentence or worse. Death by lethal injection. And based upon the cold shoulder Cate had been giving me, she would probably never talk to me again. I had to get busy.

  I never thought I’d be so thankful for an earthquake in my life, but I was. At noon, a three-point-eight tumbler hit the San Fernando Valley, and news of Pete’s arrest quickly became a secondary story. News is like that. Last week, an eight-point-two earthquake had hit Mexico City and earthquake aficionados feared our smaller quake might be related. As a result, talk of Pete’s arrest was back-burnered for talk about shattered dishes and the city’s readiness for the Big One. All of which I considered good news. An earthquake meant I was no longer required to hang out in the studio to back up KTLK’s station hosts with facts about the Model Slayer as they continued their on-air chatter about this morning’s arraignment. Instead, it allowed me time to slip from the news booth so that I might comb through some of the station’s archives, where the station stashed old broadcasts and newspapers in hopes of digging up something about Xstacy and Ely Wade.

  After doing a quick search through the station’s morgue, where anything and everything that had ever run on KTLK’s air was kept in a kind of digital heaven, I found nothing concerning a pedestrian fatality behind the Sky High Club or any mention of Ely Wade. I decided to try Tyler’s office.

  Next to Tyler’s desk was a stack of newspapers going back six months or more. Newspapers, particularly the smaller local ones, were better at covering local news. I hoped one of the westside rags might have covered it. I was on my hands and knees sorting through the pile when I noticed a pair of red high tops next to me.

  “Looking for this?” Tyler stood over me with a copy of the LA Argonaut in his hands. A popular westside newspaper.

  “Pedestrian Struck by Car in West L.A.” I took the paper from his hand and sat down on the stack of papers behind me. I towered over Tyler, who, at five-two, was more comfortable with eye-to-eye contact. Sitting seemed like a much better idea.

  “Story’s not much,” he said, “but if you’re looking for information about Xstacy’s accident, this is it. You can thank me later. I pulled a few strings with LAPD’s traffic division as well. Got a copy of the accident report. You’ll find it in your email.”

  “How did you–”

  “Get a copy of the report? I talked with a Sergeant Lane at LAPD. Told him KTLK was considering doing a town hall meeting on the increasing number of pedestrian accidents in the city. I asked if he might help us out with some actual reports. Of course, I explained we wouldn’t be using any names. Just some facts and stats. That kind of thing. I told him you’d be in touch to follow up.”

  “Me?” I pointed to myself.

  “Yes, you, Carol.” Tyler walked back to his desk and sat down. “And Sergeant Lane appeared to like the idea. He emailed over a year’s worth of files. They’re all a matter of public record, but if you had to request them, it’d probably take you six weeks. I forwarded the batch to you. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  I glanced back down at the newspaper in my hand. Tyler was right, the story was barely two column inches. The actual police report would have everything. Time. Date. Responsible parties. Including the names of the responding officers.

  “And, Carol, I’m going to need your help on something else. A Town Hall Meeting. Work up a fact sheet for me. Number of accidents. Worst locations in the city. You know what to do.” Tyler turned his attention back to his computer screen, and I stood up.

  I was about to walk out of the office when Tyler added, “Oh, and write up some promo spots. We need to get something on the air soon as possible. I’ll need them by the end of the day. I’ve scheduled it on the program log for a week from Sunday. Eleven a.m. I’d like you to sit in with me as co-host.”

  When I got back to my office, I skimmed through my emails looking for what Tyler had forwarded to me and found a zip file from LAPD. Inside was a batch of recent pedestrian accident reports. A quick search of Ely Wade’s name brought me to the file I needed.

  Everything Xstacy had told me and more was in the report, including her legal name. Stacy Minor. Age nineteen. Birthday date August 18, 1998. The report stated on May 25, at approximately 1:25 a.m., Ms. Minor had placed an emergency call to 911 to report an accident. The dispatcher reported the caller said she had accidentally struck a man in the alleyway behind the Sky High Club on Sepulveda Boulevard. A patrol unit along with an emergency response team was immediately dispatched. LAPD Officers Ross and Evans arrived minutes later and reported finding the victim lying unconscious in the roadway. The attending EMTs declared the victim to be unresponsive. The victim, identified as Ely Wade, forty-two, was later pronounced DOA at Cedars Sinai Hospital.

  In the notes section of the report, Sergeant Evans indicated Mr. Wade appeared to have gone outside the club for a cigarette and was standing next to a dumpster when Ms. Minor entered the alleyway off Sepulveda and, not noticing Wade, accidentally struck him with her van. Evans noted the surface street conditions. It had been raining. The alley was dark. There were no street lights. The police performed their usual investigation. Secured the scene, measured for skid marks and found there were none. Ms. Minor was tested for alcohol and since she hadn’t been drinking, passed the test without incident. All of which tallied with Xstacy’s claim she hadn’t seen Wade until it was too late to stop. Xstacy had signed the report with her real name, Stacy Minor, and was sent home. No charges were filed.

  Satisfied Xstacy had been telling the truth, I picked up the phone and dialed the number she had given me for Jewels. The phone rang four times. I was prepared to leave a message when a woman’s voice answered.

  “Hello?” The voice was soft and youthful, almost breathy.

  “Jewels?” I wasn’t certain I had the right number.

  “Who’s calling?” Whoever Jewels was, she sounded suspicious.

  “My name’s Carol Childs. Xstacy asked me to call. I’m a–”

  “Is she in trouble?” The voice came back quickly.

  “No. Absolutely not. But she said I should talk to you. About Ely Wade and the accident?”

  “You a cop?”

  “No. I’m a reporter,” I said.

 
; There was an uneasy silence and I feared she was about to hang up. “She made me promise I’d keep your names out of it.”

  “So she really did it then.”

  “Did what?” I asked.

  “Called a reporter. I told her it might be a good idea. But you never know with Xstacy. She does what she does. Tells you later, if at all. So what do you want?”

  “I was hoping we might talk.”

  “You familiar with the campus at UCLA?”

  “I’m an alumn,” I said.

  “You know sorority row off Hilgard?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Good. Meet me there tonight. The Tri-Delta house. Nine p.m.”

  I paused. Did I hear that right? “The sorority house?”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Ring the bell and tell them you’re looking for Sam.”

  “Sam?”

  “I’ll explain later. Jewels is a stage name. Keep it to yourself, will you? Nobody there knows me by that name.”

  I was still trying to figure out how an erotic dancer named Jewels had anything to do with the Tri-Delts at UCLA when my cell phone buzzed. It was Cate, and I took the call before it could ring twice.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. A Detective Soto just called. He said he’s investigating the model murders and wants to talk to me. First thing tomorrow morning.” Cate’s voice was thin, and she sounded close to tears.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What was I supposed to tell him? I told him yes.”

  “What time?”

  “Ten o’clock. LAPD Headquarters. Mom, I’m scared. What’s he want? I asked if I could see Pete and he said no.”

  “Catie, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. I’ll call Mr. King. We’ll get him to come with us.”

  “I don’t want Mr. King, Mom. I want my dad. I’m not going anywhere without him.”

  “Okay, call your dad.” I closed my eyes and wished I could have put my arms around her. She sounded so fragile. “But just to be on the safe side, I’ll call Mr. King anyway. He won’t care if your dad’s with you. But like I said before, Catie, your dad’s a civil attorney. You’re going to need someone more experienced with criminal law.”

  Cate sighed. I could picture her rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I’m serious, Cate. King knows what he’s doing when it comes to criminal cases. He’s the best.”

  “Fine. Call Mr. King. But, Mom, I’m going to Dad’s tonight. I know none of this is your fault, but I need to be with Dad right now.”

  “Catie...I–” I wanted to say I was sorry. I needed her to come home tonight. I understood how confused she was. How she might blame me for breaking the story of Pete’s arrest, but I loved her, and we’d work through this.

  “I’ll meet you at the police station in the morning. And Mom–” Cate paused, and I braced myself for another disappointment.

  “Yes?”

  “Bring Chase, too. Okay?”

  Cate hung up the phone and I stared at my keyboard. I felt like my daughter was angry at me for doing my job. I was in a race against time. The clock had started ticking on the investigation with Pete and I knew it would be a tight race. I had to find something that would cause the cops to slow down and look elsewhere, and unless Jewels could offer me something concrete proving Ely Wade was the Model Slayer, that wasn’t going to happen.

  CHAPTER 7

  Later that night, as I drove to UCLA, I kept thinking how odd it was to be meeting with an erotic dancer named Jewels inside a sorority house. I knew a lot about UCLA. I had graduated from there. What I didn’t know about were the inner-workings of a sorority. I had never pledged or gone through rush, and I had no idea about Greek life or the activities that surrounded it. But it mystified me that some fresh-faced college sorority girl, particularly a Tri-Delt, was working in a dive like the Sky High Club. Back when I was in school, the Tri-Delts had a reputation that appealed more to an aloof set of pretty, blonde, serious-minded girls with an eye toward academia, than that of a party girl. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of double life Sam must be living.

  I wasn’t at all sure what the protocol was for visitors to the Tri-Delt House. Did I knock? Ring the bell or just walk in? Would a house mother answer or some sister open the door and announce me?

  The situation rectified itself when two young girls with books in their arms opened the door as I approached.

  “Hi, you looking for someone? Your daughter maybe?” A pretty blonde with a ponytail stopped in the doorway and gave me the once-over. It was obvious, despite the fact people frequently told me my daughter and I could pass for sisters, she wasn’t confusing me for a college student.

  “No, a friend. Her name’s Sam. She asked me to meet her here. My name’s Carol Childs, I’m a...” I stopped myself before telling them I was a reporter. Sam’s warning, asking me not to use her stage name, made me think she wouldn’t want anyone to know she was talking to a reporter. I smiled and said, “a family friend. She’s expecting me.”

  “I’m Brita,” the girl said. “Sam’s finishing up a yoga class in the playroom. If you’d like to come in, I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  I’d never been inside a sorority house before, and I was amazed how big and palatial looking it was. From the outside, the house looked like one of the smaller on sorority row, but inside with its sweeping staircase and arched porticos, it possessed all the charm of a southern mansion.

  “Sorry, guests aren’t allowed to wander around, but you can wait for her here.” Brita showed me to a small sitting room to the left of the foyer. The room was furnished with a love seat, coffee table, and three Queen Anne chairs. All the furnishings were covered in Tri Delt’s colors, cerulean-blue velvet and accented with gold throw pillows. On the coffee table was a copy of the latest issue of The Trident, Tri-Delt’s quarterly publication. I picked it up and breezed through it. Lots of pretty girls with big smiles and quotes about what different chapters were doing around the country.

  Several minutes later Sam appeared in the doorway. She was small, maybe five three, slim and dressed in a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of large, square-framed eyeglasses, the type that made me think she was trying to hide behind them.

  “You must be Carol.” She smiled a Pepsodent smile, revealing straight white teeth exactly like those in the magazine, and a face that lit up with an inner glow that radiated confidence. I recognized the stage training immediately. Actresses all have that certain stage presence they can turn on and off at will.

  I started to stand.

  “Please, don’t.” She pointed to the couch. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer we meet here. It’s quiet this time of night and I’ve asked that we not be disturbed.”

  I waited until she took a seat at the other end of the couch.

  “You look surprised,” she said.

  “I wasn’t expecting to meet with a college student.” I took out my notepad. “You are a student, right?”

  “I am. My real name is Samantha Anne Miller. Friends call me Sam for short. But if you’re curious as to my part-time job, it’s just that. A job. Nothing else.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked me in the eye. “I’m not a working girl if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m strictly a dancer. Topless clubs only.”

  “I’m not here to judge,” I said.

  “Of course you’re not. But just so you know, I’ve never done totally nude. I don’t do lap dances. And I’m not a prostitute. I’m a college student. Around here, nobody knows about my work at the club. Just like nobody at the club knows I’m a college student or that my real name is Sam Miller, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “I’m not
going to say anything,” I said.

  “It’d be a problem if you did. You see, I’m on a dance scholarship, and I’d be in violation of their moral clause if anyone were to find out what I was doing.” She paused and looked over her shoulder as though to make certain no one could hear our conversation and then looked back at me. “But what am I going to do? I’ve got another year to go until I graduate, and a stack of bills that will keep me in debt until I’m ready for social security. Dancing at the clubs pays more than I could make anywhere else and my scholarship doesn’t touch the cost of room and board.”

  Sam didn’t have to explain. Cate’s scholarship, probably like Sam’s, was for tuition only and didn’t begin to cover the ancillary expenses. Between books, room and board, and any extra-curricular activities, I felt like I was cash-strapped at the end of every month.

  “Believe me, I get it. I’ve got a daughter in college, and like I said, I’m not here to judge.”

  “But you are here to ask about what happened.”

  “I need to know if what Xstacy told me is true.”

  “You mean about Pete?”

  “You know him?” My heart started to beat a little faster.

  “We all do. He’s the reason Xstacy called the radio station. When she saw his picture in the paper, she wanted to do something. Xstacy wasn’t about to call the cops, and I told her she should call a reporter.”

  “And you don’t think he’s the Model Slayer?”

  “Pete?” Sam winced her nose and shook her head. “No way. He’s one of the good guys. He’s taken my picture a couple of times. I don’t know how he’s gotten himself mixed up in all this. Doesn’t deserve it. Not any of it.”

  I was relieved Sam didn’t have any reservations about Pete. As for Xstacy, I still had questions.

  “How long have you known Xstacy?”

  “Awhile. Maybe a year. I met her after she started working the club and we became friends.”