Killer Ambition - [46]

“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.

After about half an hour, Herrera stopped abruptly, which caused Bailey to halt in her tracks. I’d been looking at the reddish dirt and pondering the clay content at the time, so didn’t notice that our little procession had braked. I bumped headfirst into Bailey, who nearly fell into Herrera. He gave her a stern look and then pointed.

There, speared on a thin branch, was a small piece of pale pink fabric-I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but it seemed to be the same color as Hayley’s blouse. If I was right, that would put Hayley at the site of…Bailey and I exchanged a look. Finally, we might have a real break. We took photos, then Herrera carefully deposited it into a paper bag. He took out a pair of garden clippers and snipped off the last six inches of branch and bagged that too.