her breasts. She had heard the rumors-she couldn’t tell if they were real or not … and she didn’t care. But as she stood just outside the room, she couldn’t help but notice their unnatural shape and size and tendency to defy the planet’s gravitational pull. They looked like a pair of balloons filled with helium ready to fly off and pop.
The image dissipated quickly, and she walked over to the bed as if she were entering Bennett’s office and everything was copasetic.
For Lena, the moment was unfolding in slow motion. She could hear Watson gasp and shriek. She could see Bennett in panic mode-frantically pushing himself off Watson’s body, kicking his legs, and fighting to cover himself with the sheets. When Bennett started screaming, she opened her jacket and rested her hand on her gun.
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” he said.
“Probably.”
“Get your hand away from that gun.”
Lena shook her head. “No.”
Those green eyes of his were big and glassy. And the hair on his body was as thick as fur. She could see fear pulsating through his entire being. He didn’t know if he was safe. Lena knew that she had picked the right moment. The least likely moment.
“I’m just trying to understand something, Bennett. I needed to see you.”
“Fuck you, you stupid bitch. Make an appointment.”
Watson slapped him. “Stop it,” she said. “And get this over with.”
Lena took a step closer. “I’m trying to understand why the two of you destroyed evidence in the Jacob Gant trial. Why you deleted it, rewrote it, manufactured it, and corrupted it.”
Bennett’s demeanor changed. His eyes hardened. He was speechless.
“That’s right,” she said. “I know what you did. And that’s why I needed to see you. That’s why it couldn’t wait. I don’t understand why you went to trial when both of you knew for six weeks that Gant should have been cut loose. I’m trying to understand why anything that pointed to a more probable killer was ignored or suppressed or altered to look like it wasn’t even there. I’m trying to predict what’s gonna happen to everyone involved when the story gets out. All stories get out, Bennett. No matter how many people go down.”
It hung there. All of it out in the open.
Bennett traded a long look with Watson, then turned back.
“That little prick was guilty,” he said.
“Is that what you keep telling yourself, Bennett? Is that your mantra? Does it help you sleep at night?”
“Gant murdered Lily Hight, you bitch. He deserved what he got. He deserved to die by her father’s hand.”
It’s what she expected to hear. What she wanted to hear. The corporate line. It had two necessary components. First, Gant murders Lily. Second, Hight murders Gant in an act of revenge. It was clean and neat. It had a beginning and an end. Something that everybody could live with.
Except that it didn’t work anymore. On any level. Not after Escabar was murdered.
But she needed to hear Bennett say it. She needed to be sure. She gave them a last look, hiding beneath the sheets. Then she closed her jacket and walked out, feeling dizzy. Sometimes the truth did that.
45
Sitting for a moment in her car, she still felt light-headed. She had broken into Cobb’s apartment, walked in on Bennett and Watson’s lunchtime love fest and shown her hand, spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening at her desk bringing her own murder book up to date.
She needed to eat something and get some rest.
She checked her rearview mirror as she drove through the hills on her way home. No one was following her. She’d kept an eye out for Dick Harvey, but hadn’t seen him all day. She hoped that the gossip reporter had moved on to another story.
The radio was still tuned to 88.1 FM out of Long Beach. They were playing Robert Glasper’s “Of Dreams to Come”-and she found the piano music more than soothing. As she pulled into her drive and parked, she listened until the jazz piece ended.
She walked into the house, dumping her briefcase on the couch and heading for the kitchen. But as she stepped around the counter, she noticed the light blinking on her telephone. She checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. When she listened to the message and heard Debi Watson’s voice, she pulled over a stool and sat down.
Her risk had paid off. Watson wanted to talk.
But even better, the deputy DA sounded anxious and had left her home phone number. There was the chance that she had something real to say.
Lena checked the time and entered the number into the handset. After four rings, Watson’s service picked up so she left a message that included her cell number. Returning the phone to its cradle, curiosity began to work on her and she hoped that Watson would call back tonight. She glanced at her briefcase, her energy returning. But as she climbed off the stool, time seemed to shoot forward and break in half before her eyes.
She heard a loud
He hit her hard. He blindsided her with all his weight, and tackled her to the ground.
Lena smashed onto the hardwood floor and felt the air rush out of her lungs. He was on top of her now. He pulled her gun away and tossed it by the couch, pressing his hand over her face and pushing her head down.
She forced herself to breathe. After two quick gasps, she drew in more air, then rocked her body onto her side and tried to squirm out from underneath. She kicked him in the stomach and chest, kept her feet moving, and tried to pull herself away. She reached out for the side table, but Cobb batted it away with such force that the legs broke off as it hit the floor.
He grabbed her by the waist, rolled her onto her back, and reeled her in. He was on top of her again, grunting and groaning and using his body weight to keep her arms and fists still. He was pulling her hair and gripping her head and slowly working his way downward.
She felt his hands close around her neck. His grip tightened and began squeezing the life out of her. She looked for her gun-tried not to panic-and saw it on the shards of broken glass. She knew it was too far away.
She looked at his face, the sweat beading on his forehead. His nose looked broken-his goatee framing his clenched teeth.
“You corrupt piece of shit,” he was saying. “You corrupt piece of-”
She started choking. She tried to find his fingertips. Tried to pry them-
“You broke into my fucking place. You stole my files. My fucking murder book. My fucking murder-”
His grip tightened. She was dizzy again. He lowered his face into hers. They were nose to nose now. She could feel herself-
“You’re the new fucking deal all right,” he said. “A total fucking fraud. A liar and a cheat, a thief and a dirty fucking-”
She tried to find her voice. When the words came out, they broke up like a bad cell signal.
“Kill me, Cobb. But it won’t make any difference.”
His rage seemed to double. “It’ll be better.”
“It won’t make any difference because they know.”
He laughed at her and banged her head into the floor. She tried to pull his hands away. She couldn’t. She thought that she might already be dead. Everything seemed upside down.
“They know you did it,” she said. “They know you shot Bosco and Gant.”
He let go of her neck.
She didn’t know why.
She started coughing and tried to catch her breath. Cobb was still on top of her-his chest heaving, his face an
