Killer Ambition - [45]

“Hey, Lee, are you Russell’s only driver?” Bailey asked.

“Unless I’m sick or something.”

“Were you here last Monday evening?”

“You mean the day of the kidnapping?” I nodded. He sniffed and gazed off for a moment. “Yeah. I drove him and Uma home from the studio that day.”

“And how long did you stick around?” I asked.

“Guess about an hour or so. Just long enough to make sure the cars were all cleaned up and ready to go.”

“So you didn’t drive Russell anywhere after you drove him and Uma back here?” Bailey asked.

Lee sniffed again. A sign of a coke habit? Or just an air-conditioning cold? “Nope.”

We thanked him and headed out. I opened the window to enjoy the warm air. But it took just ten minutes for the blanket of heat to make me feel like I was suffocating. When Bailey cranked up the air, I closed the window and enjoyed the cool artificial breeze.

“Damn,” Bailey said. “I was hoping to get over to the coroner’s today.”

“Kinda soon to hope for anything on Brian.”

“No, I was hoping for info on Hayley. At least some preliminary findings.”

It’d be a few weeks before an official report could be ready, and at seven o’clock, it was too late to find the pathologist for an informal chat. But it was a perfect time for a friendly phone call. I dialed and let it ring, expecting to get voice mail.

“Rachel?”

The wary note in Scott’s voice told me he had a feeling what was coming.

“Scottsky! How you doin’, my man?” He loves when I call him “Scottsky.” He’s tried to tell me otherwise, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean it.

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.”