Marcia Clark - Guilt By Degrees

“Seriously, Ms. Knight.” Yamaguchi leaned forward, his body tense. “I won’t run. I can tell you’re reasonable. Not like that other douche-” Yamaguchi stopped as Walter put his hand out.

I barely suppressed a smile, and I could see Bailey’s lips twitch too. Brandon Averill was a douche.

“Tell you what,” Yamaguchi continued, “you let me make bail, I’ll give you a free massage. Hour and a half. You know you need it. What do you say?”

“I say you just added a count of bribing a public official,” I deadpanned.

Yamaguchi stared at me, stricken.

I shook my head. “Kidding.”

Yamaguchi blew his breath out through his mouth and sat back. “You guys have a sick sense of humor, you know that?”

“It’s been suggested in the past,” I admitted.

I looked over at Bailey, who nodded. We were on the same page.

“Tell you what, Mr. Yamaguchi, I need to check out a couple of things. I’ll have an answer for you in no more than two days.” I stood up to go. “Thanks for talking to us.”

Yamaguchi replied, “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

I would, but that wouldn’t necessarily be good news for him.

“What’s the name of your bank?” I asked.

He gave it to me, along with the exact address, and I motioned to the guard that we were done.

“I’m going to stay a little longer,” Walter said. “You’ll call me?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, and Bailey and I walked to the door. As the guard opened it, Yamaguchi spoke again.

“Hot, wet rags.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“For the neck and shoulders. It’ll do wonders,” he said sagely. “At least until you can get in to see me.”

My muscles were in such a bad knot, I was tempted to make the appointment right then and there. Then again, it might be a little soon. After all, he was still in custody for murder.

Maxwell Chevorinwas flying in. Sabrina had called the lobbyist to let him know the package was ready. Give him enough time to get the two million in cash. And if he was smart, a hefty bonus to reward them for a home run of a job. Compared to the money Chevorin would make for delivering Congressman Rankin’s swing vote on offshore drilling, even three million was pocket lint.

Sabrina stared out across the L.A. skyline from the balcony of her penthouse suite. The condos on the upper floors in downtown Bunker Hill afforded a view that made Catalina Island look close enough to swim to. But today the clouds hung low over a gray ocean, obscuring the line between sea and sky, and Catalina was only a suggestion in the misty gloom. Sabrina didn’t notice. Her mind was racing to analyze the ramifications of what Chase had just reported. Though she couldn’t yet formulate precisely why, alarm bells were sounding in every cell of her body. She knew that Chase would tell her she was being paranoid and obsessive, but her internal warning system had never failed her. She’d told him countless times over the years that he was too nonchalant. She turned to watch him now, hunched in a corner of the couch, typing furiously on his laptop. Sabrina walked back into the expansive living room, where smooth jazz played softly in the background, a counterpoint to her jangling energy.

“You’re sure that was him?” she asked.

Chase lifted his hands off the keyboard and looked at Sabrina warily. “Yes. And I double-checked with the coroner’s office. But don’t worry, they’ve still got the guy in custody-”

“But they haven’t dropped the case.”

“No. But they will, trust-”

Sabrina stared him into silence. Chase never seemed to understand that threats ignored only came closer-they didn’t go away.

Chase sighed. It was pointless to argue when she got like this. “What do you want me to do?”

Sabrina told him. His expression, as he listened to his marching orders, told her that he thought this was overkill. But she knew he’d do as she asked, just as he’d always done since they’d first met in the fifth grade, in that crappy prison of a boarding school.

When she finished, she glanced at her watch. “You’d better get going.”

“Can I come back later?”

“I’ll call you when we’re done.” Chevorin would be here soon, and she wanted Chase gone before he appeared. She’d never allowed the lobbyist to meet Chase or any of her other employees.

After Chase left, Sabrina moved quickly to her bedroom. The original walls that had divided the dressing room from the sleeping area had been knocked down to create one large space. The uncluttered, somewhat austere modern decor-spare lines, all fabrics in black and white, alleviated by the few splashes of red throw pillows on the bed and divan-made the room seem even larger, if somewhat impersonal. The choices were Sabrina’s alone. She’d always favored that kind of simplicity, even in early childhood. Yet another way in which she’d presented a stark contrast to all the other little girls, who were covered in pinks, sparkles, and ruffles.

Sabrina checked her look in the mirrored wall next to the walk-in closet. The black V-necked sweater sat well above her cleavage. Good. But the black pencil skirt showed too much hip and thigh. She changed into wide-legged trousers and added a pair of four-inch heels to make her more imposing, then assessed her look again. The downstairs buzzer sounded. Sabrina quickly ran her fingers through her hair and, after one last critical glance in the mirror, went to the living room and checked the monitor. The lobbyist had arrived. She pressed the button to the outer door and punched in the code to let him into her private elevator. Then she went to the couch and slipped her hand under the far seat cushion. She felt for the.44 Glock and patted the cushion back down. Then she punched the button on the remote to turn off the music and went to answer the door.

After she’d played the footage of Congressman Rankin for him, Chevorin turned to her with a wide, sharklike grin. “Incredible. I never imagined anything like this.” The lobbyist shook his head and chuckled. “We all knew he was a little loosely wrapped, but this? Pure gold. I’m gonna own this guy for life.” He opened his briefcase. On top of the stacks of money was a bottle of champagne wrapped in a white cloth napkin. He picked it up and looked around the room. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

“I don’t drink,” Sabrina reminded him. Which was true. She didn’t…anymore. Not that it mattered. There was no chance she ever would’ve shared champagne with Chevorin under any circumstances. Sabrina didn’t mix anything in her life, let alone business with pleasure. “But I can get you a glass if you like.”

His smile faded. “No thanks.” He put the bottle aside and began to stack the money on the brushed-steel coffee table. “You want to count this?”

“I trust you.”

They shared a grim smile at the obvious lie.

When the lobbyist had finished unpacking the money, he put the bottle back in his briefcase and snapped it shut.

“I have another job for you,” he said. “This one’s a CEO who’s fighting a merger with a client. We need something to twist him with. I’ve tried to get dirt on this guy in the past, but I always came up empty. So this job might not be doable. But it’s worth a lot to me, so I figured we may as well give it one more shot with you.”

Sabrina gave him a cool and subtly contemptuous smile, seeing through the attempted manipulation. Telling her about his failure to get the dirt on this CEO was an obvious effort to amp up her motivation by adding the prospect of proving she could outdo him. What Chevorin didn’t understand was that Sabrina had no desire to prove anything to him. She was better. In fact she was the best, and she knew it. If she didn’t find anything on this target, it would be because there was nothing to find. But the past two years had taught her one thing above all: no one was completely clean. No one. There was always dirt somewhere. You just had to know where to look. “Give me what you’ve got on him. I’ll see what I can do.”