Lena nodded, glancing at the cell-phone bill that had been in the murder book Cobb had given her. “So why isn’t this number listed on this bill?”
The answer seemed obvious. They were dealing with a group of desperate people. People who felt cornered and had been willing to manipulate and manufacture evidence. People who didn’t want her or anyone else in the future to see that phone number. They were dealing with a man like Dan Cobb who had filled out a property request card from a case he worked eight years ago because he needed a gun. The same 9-mm Smith that was used to murder Bosco and Gant. And in all probability, the same gun that put three holes in Escabar and was used to coldcock his guard before that trash bag went over his head and the man smothered to death.
Vaughan opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick file. “That’s not the question, Lena. The question is, what did Bennett and Watson use in court?”
Leafing through the papers, he found another copy of the cell-phone bill and set it beside the other two. Most of the numbers had been blacked out with a Sharpie-the bill featuring only those calls that came from Jacob Gant. But even a permanent marker couldn’t cover the text underneath once they turned the bill into the bright light. The number from the TracFone had been removed.
A moment passed like they’d hit a gap in the universe. They were dealing with a dirty cop and a triad of dirty prosecutors.
Lena lowered her voice. “You want to bet that the copy Paladino received didn’t include this phone number, either?”
Vaughan still appeared stunned. “No,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t take that bet. I think the same thing’s going on with the e-mails Gant sent the girl.”
“How?”
“I was reading these while you were on the phone. They don’t match, either. The version in the murder book Cobb gave you makes Gant sound like an angry man who’s threatening to hurt Lily. The version from the binder you found in Cobb’s closet reads like Gant was worried about her and offering help.”
Vaughan set the two e-mails down. While Lena read them, he returned to his briefcase and found the version Bennett and Watson had used in court. As Lena examined the third document, she couldn’t help thinking about how much this ripped at her faith and trust.
“They submitted an edited version,” she whispered.
He gave her a look. “You ever hear of the Michael Skakel case?”
She nodded. “Ethel Kennedy’s nephew. He was tried for the murder of Martha Moxley. They were kids. She was fifteen at the time.”
Vaughan pulled a chair over and sat down. “The prosecutor took audio recordings of Skakel talking about masturbation and his fear of being seen and edited them to sound like he was confessing to the murder and afraid he might get caught. When Skakel appealed his conviction, the judge turned out to be just as ignorant, just as morally challenged as the prosecutor.”
Lena reached for the murder book she had taken from Cobb’s apartment. The binder was stuffed with hundreds of documents that weren’t included in the book she had received from the detective just a few days ago. As she paged through the binder, she saw something she recognized and stopped. It was a copy of the polygraph results Paladino had sent to Higgins, Bennett, and Watson. But there was something stapled to the back of the report. It turned out to be a letter addressed to Bennett. A letter from Cesar Rodriguez, the forensic psycho- physiologist who had performed the polygraph on Gant. As Lena started reading she began to realize that Rodriguez was making a plea to Bennett on Gant’s behalf. According to Rodriguez, there was no indication whatsoever that Gant had anything to do with Lily Hight’s murder. In all his years working for the LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division, Rodriguez had never seen a case so clear-cut and was willing to champion Gant’s cause and put his reputation on the line.
It was a plea that Bennett obviously saw fit to ignore.
For Lena, reading Rodriguez’s letter burned in her chest like a white-hot sun drying up rain before it could hit the ground. Trial attorneys playing with the facts like politicians running for office happened every day. She knew that. But this was something different. Something beyond sleazy. Something beyond sick.
“I want to meet with Bennett,” she said.
“Why? You look pissed off, and these people are dangerous. I don’t want to scare you, Lena. But all of a sudden, we’re sitting in the same seats Bosco and Gant sat in.”
She shook her head. “I need to see him about something. Would you call him for me? I don’t have his number.”
Vaughan gave her a long look, but finally picked up the phone and dialed Bennett’s office.
“Tracy, it’s Greg,” he said into the phone. “Is he available? I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
Vaughan listened to Bennett’s assistant for several moments, then thanked her and hung up.
“What happened?” Lena asked.
“He’s not in his office,” he said. “He went to lunch.”
“Where?”
“Tracy said he’s with Watson.”
“Do you have his cell number? Where are they?”
Vaughan shot her another look, then lowered his voice. “She thinks they’re at the Bonaventure.”
44
The security director at the Bonaventure didn’t look like he wanted to play ball. Lena had asked him to use his pass key to open a tower suite on the twenty-fifth floor. It was clear to Lena that he knew the suite was leased by the district attorney’s office. It was just as clear to her that he had a good idea of what was going on inside. The only tangible card she held was that Roy Romero had spent twenty years carrying a badge and had been a good cop.
“I’ll get fired,” he said. “And I like this job. I like it a lot.”
“Whose to say anyone’s in there?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. Romero had more than a good idea. He knew.
“No offense, Detective. But are you really sure that you want to go in there? Seems like it could get you into some trouble, too.”
“No one has to know who pushed the card key into the door, Romero. Now are you gonna cooperate and work with the department? Or are you gonna prevent a detective from carrying out police business?”
“Police business?” he said sarcastically.
She liked the guy, but didn’t let on. After a few moments, he nodded in futility and motioned her over to the elevators.
“I’ve always hated Higgins,” he whispered under his breath. “The DA to the stars. The guy’s a piece of shit. And these two blew that trial like a couple of fricking ingrates shooting blanks.”
An elevator ride at the Bonaventure offered a view of Los Angeles like no other. If Lena hadn’t been thinking about the road she’d traveled over the past few days, she might have seen it. Instead, her mind was filled with a long series of stark images. She could see the bodies piling up; the lives of the victim’s families and friends ruined and left behind. By the time the elevator opened on the twenty-fifth floor, all she could see was Steven Bennett’s bullshit face.
Romero led her down the hall. When they reached the suite, he gave her a last-chance look, then pushed his card key into the door. The light on the lock turned green and the bolt clicked.
“You’re in,” he whispered. “And I’m fucking out of here.”
Lena watched him hurry back toward the elevators as she entered and closed the door. She paused a moment, listening to them in the bedroom. The thrashing of sheets, Watson moaning, Bennett panting like a dog. As she crossed the living room, she spotted Watson’s bra and pantyhose on the couch, Bennett’s boxer shorts on the floor.
She reached the bedroom and looked past the door. Bennett was on top, grinding it out with his mean little head buried between Watson’s breasts. In the past, Lena had always made a conscious effort to avoid looking at
