Chapter 22

August 2, 1996

Early Friday Evening

On the drive home, Ronnie managed to schedule two showings for that evening. Almost as soon as we got home, he was out the door. The house was empty. John was probably at work and Junior was likely doing something at The Center. I'd unpacked our bags into the laundry basket and was poking around in the refrigerator looking for something to eat when I heard the doorbell. I walked through the house to answer it. Lydia.

"Come on in."

She walked in. She was wearing a well-tailored pair of slacks and a white blouse with a built-in bow. I asked if I could get her anything, and she said, "I won't take up much of your time."

"Please, take up my time. Ronnie is showing houses for the next few hours and for once the house is empty. It feels a little weird."

"Don't get too excited for my company, I'm going to ask you to do some work this weekend." She gave me a guilty look.

"What do you need?"

"I want you to convince Sammy Blanchard to come in for a deposition next week."

I stared at her for a moment, then said, "I'm going to get you a glass of wine. Meet me in the dining room."

What the—how did she think I was going to convince Sammy to do that? Sammy had made it crystal clear when I'd spoken to her before that she had a lawyer, a lawyer who didn't want her talking to anyone. When I got back to the kitchen, I found a bottle of red wine, opened it, and poured Lydia a glass. I went through the swinging door into the dining room.

Setting the glass down in front of her, I said, "I have no idea how to get her to sit for a deposition."

"At one point, she told you that Pete Michaels was blackmailing her husband, so he killed him."

"That was a lie, though. You know that."

"I'd like her to say that in a deposition."

"Isn't that suborning perjury?" I asked. I'd probably picked up just enough law to be dangerous.

She took a sip of her wine. And said, "Not bad." Taking a deep breath she said, "Yes. It could be considered suborning perjury. That's what I wanted legal advice on. It's defensible. For one thing, she's not my client. For another, we think she's lying, but we don't know for certain. We don't know anything for certain. She never confessed to killing Pete. That's just what we think."

"I doubt that she'll confess."

"It doesn't matter. Whatever story she tells under oath is likely to be good for us."

"You're planning to ask questions that show her up as a liar, aren't you?"

"Well, that's always a possibility."

"I don't think she'll do it."

"Explain to her that if she swears her husband killed Pete, then Larry will get out of prison and there won't be a second trial. If the district attorney believes her, it will all be over. She'll be off the hook."

"She's already off the hook. She's been off the hook for two decades. Isn't she better off staying silent?"

"If we get Larry a new trial, we'll need an alternate suspect. That would be her."

"Which she'll want to avoid," I admitted. I took a long moment. Then said, "I don't know if I can get this to happen."

"It's worth trying. A second trial could be risky. We don't want him convicted twice."

"God, no."

I really didn't have a choice. I was going to have to try this. I tried to decide if I had everything I needed. I shouldn't approach her until I had my ducks in a row.

"The car is important," I said. "She was a teenager, so it was probably registered to her parents."

"We have witnesses who can tie her to the car, though."

"Yes. Sharon Hawley and Kelly Walpole confirm that she had a white or yellow Chevrolet Vega."

"Do you need more than that to talk to her?"

"I need as much as I can get."

"I can put Karen on it Monday, but I'd like to move this along…"

I shrugged. "I'll lie. I'll tell her we've got the registration in her parents' name."

"And then we can work on it Monday. What else?"

"John Hazeltine."

"Remind me who that is."

"He confirmed that people suspected a relationship between Pete Michaels and Coach Carrier."

"How can that help you with Sammy? We can't prove she knew."

"I'm not sure. I mean, at trial you'd certainly be making it look like she should have known."

"True. Do whatever you need to do to get her in. Okay?"

"Okay."

She only stayed a few more minutes. I did the polite thing and asked about her husband, though I really didn't care. He lived in a world I didn't care about and didn't understand. Honestly, I didn't think Lydia cared much about that world either. She told me his career was taking off without much enthusiasm. After she left, I ate a sandwich, grabbed a few things, and went out to find my Jeep.

Sammy Blanchard lived in a stepped condominium complex in Signal Hill. One side ran along Cherry Avenue, another along Hill Street. Because of the staggered nature of the building, there was a parking lot below each section. It made sense that the spaces were assigned to the units above.

Sammy's condo was in the topmost section. I found a parking place that had a decent angle on the gate to the garage. I was about two and a half car lengths above it. There was about forty-five minutes before the sun set completely.

The walls of the garage only came halfway up. There were columns that supported the building, but the walls themselves didn't reach the first floor. I imagined the benefit of that was that you didn't have to heat or cool the garage since it was open to the elements. It also meant I had a good view of anyone leaving or going to their car. The garage lights came on and I could see even better.

If you'd asked me, I couldn't have told you why I thought it a good idea to sit outside Sammy's condo. It was just a gut thing. I needed to make sure I had as much information as I could get my hands on before I tried to convince her to come in for a deposition.

Since it was a Friday night, it wouldn't be too much to expect Sammy would leave her apartment. Go to a movie, dinner, drinks with friends. Did she have friends? If she was anything like she was in high school, the answer was no. But then, the worst people had friends. It wasn't that hard to find someone desperate enough to be your friend.

People came and went. There was a light over the gate that would slide back and forth so the cars could get into the garage. It was like a spotlight highlighting the drivers for me. None of them were Sammy.

About nine o'clock, a recent model Mercedes station wagon came up the hill, then did a three-point-turn and parked across the street from me about four car lengths away. A woman got out and I thought, Holy shit! It was Kelly Wallpole. Not only were she and Sammy friendlier than she'd originally let on; they were still friends.

She stopped at the intercom and buzzed Sammy. A moment later, the buzzer went off and she entered the condo. I glanced at my cellular phone and checked the time. 9:40. Late for a friendly visit. The station wagon suggested she had kids. Did she go home and put the kids to bed before she came out? Why didn't she come earlier? Couldn't her husband have put the kids to bed? Or a babysitter?

Maybe it wasn't such a friendly visit. Maybe her husband thought she was somewhere else. This visit could have been tacked on to a visit to another friend or even her sister. Her husband wouldn't even know she was here. Lots of possibilities, very few answers.

I waited. And then waited some more. Kelly came out of the condo at 10:22. She wasn't even in there an hour. Yeah, it might not have been a friendly visit. She got into her Mercedes and then started down the hill. As soon as she was a block behind me, I turned my lights on and made a U-Turn. My Wrangler has a short wheelbase, so it turns on a dime.

It can be challenging to tail someone in Los Angeles. A couple things I had going for me though: It wasn't rush hour, and when she left, Kelly drove directly up Cherry Avenue to the 405. I followed her for about ten minutes and then we turned north onto the 605. Fifteen minutes later she was going east on the 91. We got off at Bloomfield and then zig-zagged over to La Mirada.

I lost track of where we were exactly, but I didn't lose her. We were in a suburban neighborhood where the houses all looked to have been built in the seventies. They were wide, single-story ranch houses on small plots. Anywhere else they would have been very boring pieces of property. In Southern California they were very expensive, and the wealth showed. They were nicely landscaped and well-kept.

The Mercedes pulled into a driveway and stopped. I pulled up to the curb across the street. There were no other cars on the street. I hopped out of the Jeep as quickly as I could. Kelly hadn't noticed me. She got out the Mercedes and started up the driveway. I was about ten feet behind her when I said, "Kelly. Do you have a moment?"

She jumped, and said, "Oh my God, you scared me." Then she focused and saw that it was me. Fear returned to her face. "I don't have time to talk right now."

"I think you do. You were just at Sammy Blanchard's place. I'm guessing you told her I found out about the two of you making that crank call twenty years ago."

"I thought she had a right to know. I really need?—"

"Yesterday you agreed to give us a deposition. I'm guessing Sammy talked you out of it?"

"It's not a good idea."

"Does she have something on you? Was it blackmail or just simple coercion?"

"I can't talk to you."

"This is how this works… We are going to get a new trial for Larry Wilkes. When we do, you'll be subpoenaed. If you lie on the stand that's perjury. Perjury means prison. Maybe you'll be prosecuted, maybe you won't. You can take that chance if you want to. What will definitely happen is that when we put Andrea Grubber on the stand, she'll say you're the one who gave the tip about Pete Michaels. You know what that will make you? A suspect. Do you want to be a murder suspect?"

"My husband and kids are in the house."

"I'm not doing anything to you. I'm just telling you how your life might go and what you can do to avoid making things worse."

I took out my wallet and picked out a business card. I held it out for her. "Call Monday morning. Schedule a deposition. Tell the truth. All of this will go away."

The door to the house opened and a man's voice said, "Kel? What's going on?"

"Nothing," she called out.

"Monday," I said, still holding out the card.

She took it.