forth across the country in near record time. He had to be ragged
as hell.
You know what ragged looks like. This is something else. He
couldn’t put his finger on it, but the guy seemed . . . well, off. Bennett watched the video again. There it was. In the office,
when Daniel picked up his award. He had smiled. It was a small
thing, but it was out of place. Exhaustion and sorrow made sense.
He’d lost the love of his life, and it didn’t look like he’d slept since. So would a writing award cheer him up? Even briefly? Bennett set the video to loop and watched until he was certain.
Something else was going on. He didn’t know what, but something. Regardless, he’d gotten what he really needed. Daniel Hayes was
back in town. Bennett was about to close the video when he noticed
there were earlier files. Someone else had been in the house. The
police again?
He fired up the camera in the hallway. The front door opened,
and a woman walked in, a bag on her shoulder.
Bennett froze the image. Stared at it.
You have got to be kidding me.
I
t was risky to be out in public, but Daniel couldn’t make himself care. Too many hours in the car, in shitty hotel rooms, in his own head. He needed space and a view and a place to think. So he’d parked the BMW at the north end of Fuller, put on his ridiculous shades, and started up Runyon Canyon.
The drooping sun painted the sky a smudgy orange. A lot of people were hiking the path, dogs running orbits around them, but things thinned out when he veered off to the harder route, a stern uphill that was more dirt and sand than pavement. His quads and calves and lungs were burning in minutes. It felt good, the pain, and he made himself go hard, jogging where he could. Punishing himself. As though half an hour of exercise could make up for his behavior with Robert Cameron.
You’re not cruel. You don’t have to be.
But he remembered that cinder in his belly, the way it had flared up and made him snap. Remembered the fear in the actor’s eyes as Daniel tied him. Whether or not Cameron had believed it before, in that moment, he certainly thought that Daniel had killed his wife.
But I didn’t. I know I—
Yeah yeah.
He hit a hard stretch near the top, a narrow, steep incline that had him panting. Sweat soaked the armpits of his silk shirt. But the exercise drove out thought.
The top of the canyon came on almost as a surprise, a leveling off as he rejoined the main path. The sun was below the horizon now, though the sky was still bright. A woman in a sports bra jogged by. Two guys walking the other way paused in their conversation to watch her pass, then shook their heads at each other and grinned. Daniel felt a pang of envy at the exchange, the easy camaraderie of friends.
The trail paused at an overlook point with a tall bench and a stunning view of the L.A. Basin: Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Westwood in the distance. A million tiny Christmas lights shimmering, god knew how many people out there living their lives. Daniel mopped his forehead, walked to the edge. The hills spread out on either side, mansions with unimaginable price tags, architectural wonders with blue-green pools on broad concrete decks. For a moment he stared, breathing hard but moved by the beauty of it all.
What had happened in the actor’s trailer? Daniel honestly hadn’t realized that he had a temper like that. That there was something inside of him that could explode not just into violence, but into an enjoyment of it. When he moved in on the actor, he had been excited about the thought of hurting him, of messing up his perfect movie star looks.
Yes. But you also thought that your wife had betrayed you with him. That maybe he even had something to do with her murder. Your reaction could belong to anyone.
Daniel flexed his fingers, squeezed his right wrist with his left hand. It was sore as hell. Turned out punching someone hurt quite a lot.
And the things he was saying. That you weren’t good enough for her. What does he know about that?
It was like the tabloids. They painted one picture, a squalid, hateful image. But everything else he had seen of the life they had lived painted another.
Still. The guilt. That dream about his bloody hands, the faceless judges looming like towers. Was it possible that he and Laney had some sort of fight? He could have lost that same terrible temper with her.
And then, what? Chased her out of your house, borrowed an SUV, and ran her off the road? It’s fine to question. Crucial. But don’t stop thinking.
No, though he wasn’t proud of what he’d done to Robert, it didn’t erase the facts. Too many things didn’t fit. Like the diamond necklace. If Laney was going to run out on him, she wouldn’t have needed to empty the bank account. He was just a writer; she was a star. Their money would have come from her. A weird feeling, but what the hell. It wasn’t like he’d been eating bonbons on the couch. Wasn’t his fault that the industry valued actors more than writers.
But what the hell are you? A mediocre writer in a town thick with them. Not particularly talented, not particularly smart, not particularly brave. The top of the middle of the bell curve. Robert Cameron’s words in his ears.
On second thought, decking the guy maybe wasn’t that much of a sin. Asshole. He’d claimed to be Laney’s best friend, but he’d been feeding her poison about her husband? Not the friendliest move in the playbook. Especially since he’d said, directly, that Laney had loved him. “Laney told me that your wedding was the day her life began.”
That was something. He was right to feel the certainty he did. Laney had loved him, and he had loved her, and he hadn’t had anything to do with her—
Holy shit.
Daniel froze, mouth hanging open. Then he turned and sprinted down the hill.
5
He didn’t dare drive down his block. If cops were watching, that’s where they’d be parked. Instead, Daniel left the BMW by the beach and walked back up. He made himself go slow, just a neighbor taking a stroll. When a gray security vehicle slowed, he gave them a nod and kept walking. The driver waved and moved on.
Life begins . The password clue for his laptop. And Robert Cameron had said that Laney had referred to their wedding as the day life began.
Daniel knew, he knew, that the password was their wedding date. How many answers must be on that computer, hidden behind that simple code? A date he’d seen inked on the mat of a photograph of he and Laney standing in the water in Maine, her dress hiked up, both of them laughing.