Marcia Clark - Guilt By Degrees

In the meantime, I was hell-bent on finding out who had leaked Simon’s story to the press. It may’ve been irrational-maybe I just needed someone to blame for the tragedy of Gary’s death-but I believed that the story coming out had set Lilah off. True, I’d been attacked previously, but it clearly wasn’t meant to be lethal. The attack in Venice, on the other hand, was intended to be nothing else. I had to know who to blame. Then I’d figure out what to do to that filthy cretin.

At my insistence, Bailey worked her office while I worked mine. Eric had no idea who might’ve leaked and he hadn’t seen Melia talking to any reporters. When I asked her directly, she denied it with a look sour enough to tell me she wished she’d had the information to give and was pissed at having been left out of the loop to begin with. Toni’d carefully asked around, but she too had come up empty. After a few days, Bailey admitted defeat.

I refused to give up.

I continued to dig around for clues, but ultimately the mystery was solved by a more direct source. I got a call from Miles Rykoff, a reporter for the Times. Now that the case was public, so was my involvement. He wanted an exclusive, or at least a heads-up when something big was going to break. I saw my chance.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’m not allowed to promise exclusives, but you’ll be my first call on everything that happens in this case-”

Miles sighed. “What do you want?”

“The name of the person who leaked the story.”

A long silence told me he knew.

“No name, no favors,” I said.

“You never heard this from me-”

“Duh, Miles.” The disclaimer was expected. His answer wasn’t.

“Brandon Averill.”

“That despicable piece of dung,” Bailey said. “But it figures, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, still bitter. I hadn’t yet figured out how I’d exact revenge, but I would eventually. I wanted to make sure I hit him where it would hurt the most.

Bailey refilled our glasses with our latest discovery: Adastra Proximus Pinot Noir.

In part to celebrate the revelation that Brandon Averill was the leak-and in part just to take a needed break-we’d decided to hit Checkers for dinner.

“But so totally in character.” I sipped the wine appreciatively.

“What’re you planning?”

“Don’t know yet.” There was a special place in hell for bottom-feeding assholes like Brandon, but I didn’t want to trust this payback to otherworldly powers. This one was mine. But I wouldn’t act in haste. I’d wait and keep my eyes open for the right opportunity. I knew it’d come eventually.

“Isn’t this the scene of the crime?” Bailey asked. “Where you and Daniel had your romantic dinner.”

“It wasn’t romantic,” I protested. “It was an accident.”

“Did you know that Daniel’s been talking about hanging out his shingle again? Wants to get back to having his own practice. Might even buy that condo he’s been renting downtown.”

“Who’s your source?” I asked.

“Toni, by way of J.D.,” Bailey said.

The judge was about as solid a source as you could get.

“That’s huge for him,” I said, trying to act nonchalant.

“Maybe not just for him,” Bailey remarked.

I pretended indifference, but the news rocked me. Bailey was looking at me shrewdly. My effort to appear blasé had not convinced her.

“So what’re you going to do?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

And I really didn’t.

The nextmorning, I got a delivery from the mail room.

It turned out to be the return to the subpoena duces tecum we’d served on the doctor who’d done the fertility treatments for Lilah and Zack. I’d promised the head nurse we’d send out the official-records request, just to cover her butt for giving us Lilah’s information on the down low. But I didn’t really have any interest in the state of Lilah’s ovaries, so I set the package aside and went back to my in-box.

By four o’clock, I needed a break from legalese and I remembered the subpoena return. What I read kick-started the wheels that’d begun turning in my mind some time ago. Slowly, as I put together what I was now reading with what I already knew, I saw what everyone had missed. It wasn’t so much a legal thing. In fact, it’d never make it into court. But it explained a lot.

I called the head nurse and thanked her for the records. Then I asked her for one piece of information that wasn’t in the file. She said she’d get right back to me.

I hung up and called Bailey.

“Can you set up a meeting with Lilah’s parents?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I get the rest of the info. Just set it up as soon as you can. Tonight, if possible.”

“I’ll call you back,” she said, and hung up.

I stared out the window at the Times Building, watching the colors of sunset paint the horizon. At four thirty, the sky was already preparing for nightfall. The phone rang, and I let Melia pick up-always a dicey proposition. But if it was the head nurse, I wanted her to have proof she’d reached the right party. I was in all kinds of luck. It was the head nurse and Melia put her call through. She gave me the last piece of information that confirmed what I’d suspected. I again thanked her and hung up. I called Bailey.

“Any progress on Lilah’s parents?” I asked.

“You mean, since you last asked me ten minutes ago?”

“More like…twelve.”

Bailey sighed. “They’ll see us at five thirty. I’m leaving now. Pick you up downstairs.”

I told Mario, the new leader of our security detail, that Bailey and I were going to pay a visit to the Rossmoynes, then packed up my briefcase, grabbed my purse out of the bottom drawer, and pulled on my coat.

While Bailey inched through rush-hour traffic, I filled her in on what I’d just learned. By the time I told her what I thought it all meant, we’d arrived.

Guy and Pamela Rossmoyne seemed more on edge than they had at our first meeting, and they hadn’t been all that smooth then. All to the good, I thought. When we were seated, I deliberately set a sympathetic tone.

“I just learned that Lilah had been going in for fertility treatments for nearly two years,” I said. “That’s a long time to keep trying after having had two miscarriages.”

Guy’s expression darkened. “I told Zack to let it go. Stop torturing her.” He shook his head and his face reddened. “But he wouldn’t listen. Never listened. Just wanted what he wanted.”

Torturing her. An interesting choice of words. Pamela, on the other hand, wore a sardonic expression. I aimed my next question at her.

“Did Lilah always have gynecological problems?”

“Not that I ever knew.” She paused, as though weighing whether to say more.

I waited and hoped the say more part of her would win.

“But the birth control pills didn’t help,” Pamela added.

“Lilah was on birth control?” I asked.

Pamela gave a twist of a smile. “I saw the pills in her purse about a week before the first miscarriage,” she said.

“Did Lilah ever talk to you about wanting to have children?” I asked.

Pamela gave a short bark of a laugh. “Never met anyone who wanted them less. Only kid on the block who wouldn’t babysit even for top dollar.”

“But we know she got the treatments. In fact, according to the doctor, Zack went with her for all of them.”

Guy cut in, his voice harsh. “Of course he did. The bastard was forcing her. Just couldn’t let her be.” He stood abruptly and stalked out of the room.

I started to say we weren’t through but decided we’d be better off without him.