Killer Ambition - [52]

“Do you remember when Brian’s phone was used for the last time?” I asked Bailey.

“I have to check his cell phone records again…I think there was a call around the time of that last message. But I’m not sure. I know there wasn’t much activity after the ransom demand.”

“We never did find Brian’s phone, did we?” I asked.

“No,” Bailey replied.

The picture forming in my mind was chilling, but it made the most sense. “We’ll have to get the cell sites to make sure, but I’m betting these texts were all sent on that mountain.”

Bailey picked up the phone and stared at the messages again. “A twenty-one-minute lapse between Brian’s first message-”

“Telling Hayley not to leave the car,” I said. “And his last message. In between, Hayley texted him five times. But she got no response-”

“Until that last text, telling her to come out to the trail. But Brian never made it back to that trail.”

“That last message doesn’t fit.”

We fell silent for a long beat.

Bailey said, “Then that last message…”

“Was sent by our killer. He murdered Brian, then lured Hayley out.”

31

“I’ll get hold of my contact and find out what cell sites got pinged.” Bailey put the phone back into the bag. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“It is my job, you know. And now I’ve got a shocker for you: yours isn’t my only case.” She waved her hand toward the door. Bailey and I picked up on the subtle cue and left.

The sun beat down from a cloudless sky and I could feel the heat of the asphalt through my sandals as we crossed the parking lot. I told her about Toni’s reaction.

“I agree,” Bailey said. “There is something off about all this.”

“I’m sure the kidnapping was initially just Brian and Hayley-”

“That part feels right.”

“And that means we have to be right about someone else jumping into the mix after the first note was sent,” I said.

We got into the car and Bailey cranked up the AC.

“All we can do is keep working the Stuart Connor angle. He’s the only hot lead we’ve got right now,” Bailey said. “I’ve got everyone trying to run him down from our end while NYPD works theirs.”

“Problem is, I don’t remember seeing the name Stuart Connor anywhere around Russell’s entourage so far-”

“It wasn’t. Which means we hit the next group just outside Russell’s inner circle and keep moving out from there.”

Bailey pulled out of the lot. “I suggest we hit the studio first.”

“That’ll probably give us the most bang for our buck. But we’re going to have to move fast-”

Bailey nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah, it’s over three days since Rostoni found him. Brian’s death won’t keep for much longer. And once it gets out, Stuart Connor’s going to know his cover’s blown and take a powder.”

“If he hasn’t already.”

“Right.”

Bailey floored it and neither of us said another word until she pulled up to the security guard shack at Russell’s studio. The guard, whose nametag told us he was Franklin Yarberger, was a shrunken, hawk-nosed man with weathered-looking skin who studied our badges, photos, and faces as though he were playing a game of Count the Differences. Finally he nodded. “I’ll call Russell’s office, let ’em know you’re here.”

But Bailey held up a hand and signaled for him to get closer. He leaned down and squinted at her. Bailey kept her tone low and confidential. “You know we’re the ones working Hayley’s murder, don’t you?”

“Yeah. You seem to match up.”

“Well, we need to keep this low-key. Don’t want to alarm or…tip anybody. Know what I mean?”

No one, I repeat, no one, plays the “just between us cops” card better than Bailey. It worked best with the wannabe’s, but I’d seen it work with retired officers too. I made Franklin as the latter. It’s the suspicious eyes. Always a dead giveaway.

As Franklin looked at Bailey I could see his wheels turning, considering whether to go along with it. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Used to be on the force myself.”

Like I said, the eyes give them away every time. That and the framed eight-by-ten photograph on Franklin’s desk showing him in full LAPD uniform. He told Bailey how to get to the security office and pushed the button that lifted the security bar. “Park in any spot marked ‘visitor.’”

We had to drive a while before we found one that wasn’t occupied, and the lot was teeming with activity-people running, riding bicycles, driving golf carts. I really love those little carts. Bailey saw me look longingly as one passed us by and shook her head.

The security office was at the farthest edge of the lot. I made the mistake of yawning as I got out of the car, and hot air burned through my mouth and down my throat. Thankfully, the security office was cool. A secretary’s desk faced the door, but it was vacant. Bailey called down the hall to the left of the desk and identified herself. A hefty man in baggy shorts and a grungy Raiders tank appeared at the door, his outsized belly leading the way. He was dripping with sweat; even his neat little mustache looked soaked. He wiped his face and neck with a hand towel that had been draped over his shoulder as he said, “Sorry, I was just working out. Promised the wife and doctor I’d drop fifty pounds before the holidays.”