Marcia Clark: The Competition

Toni, on the other hand, had finished her trial and was available to play. We spent our first day off getting mani-pedis and taking in a movie at the iPic in Pasadena. It’s a theater that features recliner loungers for seats and serves food and liquor. We ordered martinis and watched a goofy rom-com starring a hottie whose name I forgot five minutes after it ended. It was decadent fun.

I spent the next day going through my closet. Toni had proposed a shopping trip, and I wanted to see what I needed. Midway through the afternoon, I decided I couldn’t try on another skirt. I’d just decided to call to see if Graden was up for lunch, when my hotel phone rang.

“Hey, Rache,” Graden said. “Want some company?”

“I was just about to call you. It’s about lunchtime. Want me to order something here? Or you want to go out?”

“Let’s eat at your place. Order whatever you think sounds good.”

I ordered a cheeseburger and fries for Graden-actually, the fries were for me-and a Caesar salad with salmon for myself. Then I put on some makeup, fluffed my hair, and spritzed on some cologne. If I played my cards right, I might get lucky.

But Graden’s expression when he walked in the door told me “lucky” was not on the menu. He gave me a warm kiss and a hug, but his expression was serious. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” I said. “Really good.”

Room service had already delivered our lunch. We sat down to eat. I asked him about the investigation, but Graden gave me short, terse answers. When we’d finished lunch, he put down his napkin and leaned forward.

“I have news. It’s about the bug in your office. Are you ready?”

I sat up. My heart began to pound. “No, but okay.”

Graden gave a tight little smile. “First, we figured out who put it there. It was a woman on the cleaning crew.”

I sat back and thought about that for a moment. “Someone hired her, didn’t they?” Graden nodded. I started to speak, but my throat constricted. I did-and didn’t-want to hear the answer to my next question. “Who?” Somehow, I knew an instant before he said the name. “Who was it?” I asked again.

“Lilah Bayer.”

A knot twisted in my stomach. “How?” As far as we knew, Lilah wasn’t even in the country.

“The cleaning woman has family in Croatia. She met Lilah there last spring. The woman wanted to bring her children to the States. Lilah promised her money and visas.”

I nodded slowly. “And she didn’t know why Lilah wanted my office bugged.”

“Or care,” Graden said. “But we know why. Lilah wanted to keep tabs on us, on you. To find out whether we were closing in on her. And whether Chase Erling has recovered and started talking.”

“Croatia? We’ll never get our hands on her.”

Graden smiled. “Actually, we have a source who says she’s in the States now. I don’t want to say any more at the moment. But I can promise you this: we will get her. And soon.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Graden came around the table, pulled me to my feet, and put his arms around me. “It’s over, Rachel. You’re safe.”

That night, Graden and I celebrated the good news in a quiet but spectacular way in my suite. The next day, I went shopping with Toni-a less quiet but only slightly less spectacular celebration.

I was a little apprehensive about the expense, but Toni scoffed. “You’ve been through a lot, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Therapy’s a good idea, then, isn’t it?”

“So they say.”

“Retail’s the best kind I know.”

We drove to the Premium Outlets at Camarillo-I’d spotted them during our travels on the case-and spent the day finding lots of things we didn’t need and a few things we did. We’d made plans for all of us to have dinner later at the Pacific Dining Car.

After an insanely fun day of spending-shoes, jeans, tops, and no suits-Toni and I returned to my room and changed for dinner. When we went down to the bar, we found J.D. there, talking to Bailey and Drew. J.D. stood up and gave me a hug. “You’ve sure been through the wringer. How are you feeling?”

“Like I haven’t seen you in forever,” I said.

J.D. shrugged. “It’s been about three weeks…”

“Seriously? It feels like three years.” I shook my head.

“You know how time flies when you’re having fun?” Bailey said. “It goes slower than shit when you’re not.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Toni said. “Anyone else?”

It was unanimous. We all piled into J.D.’s car, with Bailey on Drew’s lap, and headed to the Pacific Dining Car. Toni and Bailey and I ordered our usual. Ketel One martinis, very dry, very cold, straight up, with olives on the side. Drew and J.D. opted for a bottle of Ancien Pinot Noir. Graden ordered a shot of Glenlivet.

“Did you see the letter Evan’s parents wrote to the families of the victims?” Graden said.

“No,” J.D. said. “It was a public thing?”

“Yeah,” Bailey said. “They posted it on the Fairmont High Facebook page-”

Evan’s parents-like Logan’s-had been bombarded with death threats and hate mail, so they’d moved away. But shortly after relocating, they’d written an open letter to all the victims’ families, including the family of the as yet unidentified man Evan had used as a decoy at Taft.

“What did they say?” J.D. asked.

“The only thing they could say,” Toni said. “How sorry they were, how they’d have done anything to stop it if they could-”

“‘If they could,’” Bailey said. “It just gets to me the way they had no clue-”

I nodded. “The way they still have no clue.”

“And the victims’ families?” J.D. said. “Did they respond?”

“They’re going to. They sent me a draft to look at. It’s incredible. They said they know the parents aren’t to blame and that they’d lost their children too. Just asked that they help Jenny and Michael with their project-”

“Your shrinks?” Drew asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “They’re heading up a study on these mass shooters. The plan is to come up with a handbook to help parents and teachers spot the warning signs.”

“Damn,” Toni said. “That is incredible. So they’ve already found a way to make something good come of this.”

J.D. shook his head. “Those people…those families. Amazing.”

“They really are,” Bailey said. “I’m not sure I could do that.”

We all fell silent for a few moments. Then Graden asked what Toni was up to.

“Just finished a kidnap/attempted murder. The wife wanted a divorce. The husband didn’t. So of course he had to kidnap and kill her. What else could he do?”

“He didn’t say that,” Bailey said.

“Yeah, he did. Well, close. It was a version of ‘the bitch had it coming.’”

“Kind of weird a case like that wound up in Special Trials,” I said. Sadly, a husband killing his disenchanted wife was not unusual.

“Not so weird. He was a cop down in Riverside. They moved up here because he got a job with LAPD.”

“Oh, man,” Drew said. “That’s crazy.”

Bailey looked aghast. “We hired him? He couldn’t have been around long.”

“Try twelve years,” Toni said.

Bailey groaned. “Embarrassing. Just friggin’ embarrassing.”

Graden shook his head.

“Hey,” I said. “We’ve got Vanderhorn.”

Graden laughed. “Right. You win.”

“Lucky, lucky us,” Toni said.

We all laughed and drank to that.

It had been a while since I’d laughed like that. Living through so much darkness, I’d forgotten about the light-about the goodness that would always ultimately outweigh the evil. I thought about the strength of the Fairmont High parents, the selfless forgiveness and determination to do all they could to prevent others from suffering the same tragedy. But most of all, I thought about the bonding love that would somehow get them through. Then I looked around the table.