He exhaled sharply. “What do you want, Rachel?”
“Other than the pleasure of your company at Engine Co. No. 28?”
“I can’t help you with Brian. I didn’t do his case.”
“I’m looking for Hayley’s reports. I’ll take anything you’ve got.”
“Meet me at the Jack in the Box across the street tomorrow morning, eight o’clock.”
“On Saturday?” I pleaded, “Make it nine-”
“I’ve got things to do. Eight or nothing.”
I sighed. “Fine, eight it is.” I ended the call.
Bailey was smirking. “Too early for ya, little buddy?”
“What happened to ‘Thank you, Rachel’? ‘Nice score, Rachel’?”
Bailey offered none of the above. “Ready for dinner and a potato-based beverage?” she asked.
It’s one of the great mysteries of life how someone figured out you could make vodka from a potato. Or, for that matter, bread from growing stalks of wheat. If I’d been a pioneer, we would have been sober and starving.
Since we were on the Westside and too hungry to wait till we got back downtown, we opted for Craig’s-that great steak and martini place Graden had taken me to. We got a table against the wall and the waitress asked what we were drinking.
“Just water, thanks,” I said.
Bailey was driving and I didn’t want her to have to watch me drink.
“Give her a Ketel One martini,” Bailey said. “Very dry, very cold, straight up, olives on the side.”
When the waitress left, I said, “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t mind keeping you company.”
“But now you owe me.”
“Oh, no,” I said, raising my hand to flag down the waitress.
“You’re going to send back your drink without even knowing? What if it’s just a free drink at the Varnish?”
I looked at her suspiciously, but I lowered my hand. “Okay, what’s the payoff?”
“Remember our interview with Uma?” She looked me dead in the eye. “That stays our little secret.”
The interview in which Bailey showed her woeful ignorance of the ways of Hollywood heavyweights-thinking Russell would drive his own car, or talk to anyone on the phone without an assistant listening in. I’d never forget those priceless gems and I’d make sure she never did either. But few things are better matched than a hot day and a cold dry martini. Only Bailey would force me into a choice like this. But when I looked up at the waitress, I knew what I had to do.
“I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to exchange that for a glass of iced tea.”
The next morning bright and early Scott and I picked up alarmingly bad coffee and a darn good ham and egg croissant from the drive-thru across the street from the coroner’s office. I parked in the lot and he ate while I scanned the preliminary findings on Hayley. After I’d finished, we spent a few minutes chatting about our respective offices and inept management-a universal bonding issue-and Scott promised to get back to me with a date for his payoff at Engine Co. No. 28.
I’d arranged to meet Bailey at the station, where I found her scowling at her desk, doing her least favorite thing in the world: paperwork. I didn’t feel sorry for her. Unlike me, she got paid overtime. “Come on, turn that frown upside down, it’s not that bad-”
“Say that again and I’ll shoot you.”
I waved the report in front of her. “If you shoot me I’ll bleed all over Hayley’s report.”
She pushed back from the computer and held out her hand. “Let’s see.”
She scanned the few pages quickly. “Plant debris and soil on Hayley’s clothes, in her hair…”
“It could be from Fryman Canyon. She might’ve gone with Brian when he tagged the spot and then when he picked up the money-”
“Assuming he ever got his hands on the money.”
“Good point. I’d bet he didn’t, since it’s still missing.” Hayley might’ve gone with Brian to Fryman Canyon. But I had another theory about where Hayley’d been. I tried to remember our last conversation with Dorian. “Did Dorian say she was going to have the soil on both bodies analyzed? Or just Brian?”
“You can ask her in person if you want. I think she’s going back up to the mountain today and I wouldn’t mind going up there myself and taking a look around in daylight. Want to come?”
“This time I’m driving.”
“You’re not authorized to drive a county car. Besides, I got you there in one piece last time, didn’t I?”
That didn’t mean I had to keep pressing my luck, but there was no point arguing.
“Did Scott give you copies of his photos of Hayley?” Bailey asked.
“Yeah. But I don’t have the photos of Brian.” And I hadn’t had the chance to cultivate a mutually agreeable working relationship, meaning a bribery setup, with our new coroner’s investigator, George Harrison.
“I think the officer who was first on scene took some pictures.” Bailey turned back to her computer and began to tap keys, then abruptly stopped. “I was going to ask him to e-mail the photos over, but I don’t want to risk anyone seeing them. I’ll give him a call and see if he can meet us up there.”
I’d been worrying about this. With no suspects and no new details, I’d hoped the press would lose interest. It hadn’t. Instead, there were endless articles filled with rank speculation about who’d killed Hayley, why, and what evidence would be needed to prove it by “experts” desperate for the spotlight. That meant reporters, tabloid and otherwise, were crawling all over the case, looking for a leak. With that kind of constant pressure, every passing minute meant we ran the risk that Janice would hear of Brian’s death on the news before I could get to her.
It hadn’t even been two days since we found Brian’s body. But all it took was one person to let the wrong word slip at the right time. “We’re going to have to release the info on Brian pretty soon.”
Bailey nodded grimly.
I went back to the Biltmore to change into hiking clothes. Twenty minutes later we were on the road, and I was bracing myself for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride up Boney Mountain.
27
It was just shy of eleven a.m. when we reached the top of the mountain, but the sun was already blinding. And at that altitude, we had no cloud or even smog cover to filter the burning rays. I took off my cotton jacket and put on my shades before getting out of the car. The heat wrapped around me like cellophane and the hot air singed my nostrils and throat as I sweated my way up the dusty hill. Although it had been only a couple of days since the torrential downpour ripped open Brian’s grave, the area was already baked dry. The only remnants of that drenching rain were puddles and muddy patches that were shaded under trees and rocks.
Bailey had offered Dorian some unis to help with the search, but Dorian had declined. Graciously, of course: “Bad enough having to deal with you two clowns stomping all over the place.” Now that I had the chance to look around, I could see that there was a lot of ground to cover. Thankfully, she’d brought some of her own assistants, who were already sweating in their official coveralls. Of the several main trails on the ridge, only one led to Brian’s grave. But there were plenty of narrow, off-trail pathways that gave access to the spot where Brian had been found, and every inch of them had to be examined for evidence.
Dorian, who looked cool as the proverbial cucumber, had broken the area into grids and appointed her own people to lead the way through each one of them. She grudgingly allowed us to join the search but gave us strict orders: “Follow Herrera, and I mean exactly behind him.”
Bailey and I inched along behind Herrera, who must’ve been Dorian’s favorite, because he seemed to be examining every millimeter of every single leaf, stone, and branch as he moved through his part of the grid. The air was heavy with the smells of sage and scrub oak, and salty perspiration kept trickling into my eyes, blurring my vision. It would only take a few seconds to veer off course, and in that steep, rocky terrain, one wrong step could send you hurtling to your death. I swiped my damp hair off my forehead and tried not to think about it.