Killer Ambition - [54]

Bailey smiled.

I picked up Jack’s file. He was a production assistant. Those are usually aspiring writers, directors, actors, you name it, who get their asses thrashed for more hours and less money than they could make as waiters or waitresses. But I supposed it could also be someone who just wanted to work around the “industry”-or who wanted to deal to the “industry.” That’d be a fairly lucrative gig with all the highly paid, neurotic types floating around. And being a PA would be great cover for a dope dealer. “We’ve got an address for him, but-”

“If he’s our guy, I can’t see him coming back here. At least not yet.”

“But he doesn’t know we’ve got his real name, and unless he’s got a passel of fake IDs, he might have to use it now-”

“I’m calling NYPD,” Bailey said.

She gave all the information to Abe Furtoni and then called LAPD and did the same. “On the off chance he comes back here.”

Bailey made a copy of everything in his file, and just as she was finishing up, Pete came back. His formerly crisp uniform had wilted from the strain of Pete’s once again overheated body. He wiped his forehead when he came in. “Whew. Still hot as blazes out there. So what do you think? Anyone look good to you?” he asked.

“Can’t tell yet,” Bailey said. “But would you mind keeping this on the down low for now?”

“Not a bit.”

We thanked Pete for his help and he wished us luck. “And try to stay cool out there.”

There was no chance of that.

Bailey started the engine so we could get the air-conditioner running, and as I adjusted all the vents to face me, she pulled out her cell. “I’m going to see what we can find in this guy’s name. Car, cell phone, residence. See if it matches what we found in his file.”

“Great, but first…” I pulled out my personal cell phone and entered a number.

I waited while the phone rang. On the third ring, a voice answered. I put the phone on speaker.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Jack,” I said, doing my best “bimbo babe” impression. “I been missing ya.”

I could hear a loudspeaker announcement in the background but couldn’t make out what it was saying.

“Who is this?” he asked, irritated and wary.

“Don’t you remember? We hooked up at the bar, in the hotel?”

“I don’t remember hooking up with anyone at any hotel, lady. You got the wrong number.”

The loudspeaker announcement sounded in the background again. Then he hung up. But that was okay, because this time I was able to make out the words. “Welcome to LaGuardia Airport…”

33

With the benefit of Jack’s true name and photo in hand, NYPD was able to hit the ground running. They grabbed our boy at the gate, just as he was about to board a flight to Aruba on a ticket he’d purchased in cash. Abe and Bailey had cooked up a charge of possession of stolen property to hold him until we could get there. It was, technically speaking, a legally supportable charge. We did have proof that he’d been in possession of Hayley’s iPad. Of course, that proof hinged on the word of a couple of sketchy kids, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I called the office to get Eric’s approval to fly out to New York while Bailey did the same on her end. I reminded Eric that since Bailey and I would be out there, the office wouldn’t have to pay for an NYPD officer to bring back the iPad. That helped to grease the wheels. Bailey took me home and waited while I packed. It didn’t take long. The occasion didn’t exactly call for strappy sandals and a cocktail dress. We stopped at Bailey’s place so she could pack, and within fifteen minutes we were back on the road and heading for the airport.

“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty good move I made calling Averly’s cell,” I said.

“Yeah? And what if he’d been gay?”

“You saw this guy’s security photo. No way he’s gay. He had a cheapo haircut with no product in it, and he was wearing a baggy, washed-out T-shirt-”

“They’re not all perfect and gorgeous, Knight.”

“Aren’t we missing the point?”

“Which is?”

“It worked.”

Bailey pulled into the parking structure closest to the terminal. It was expensive, but we didn’t have time to shuttle in from one of the remote lots.

We both had carry-ons, but since I wasn’t allowed to keep my gun and Bailey was, I put my.38 Smith and Wesson in her suitcase. We had to fly coach, naturally, but we got lucky and had the whole row to ourselves-the virtue of taking a red-eye. I’d hoped to get some sleep on the flight, but I was too keyed up. I kept rolling through all the questions I planned to ask Jack Averly and all the possible answers he might give. I looked around, saw that the few nearby passengers were fast asleep, and whispered to Bailey, “What’s he going to say about how he got Hayley’s iPad? ‘Duh, I didn’t know it was hers’? ‘Some dude gave it to me’? ‘I found it on a picnic table’?”

Bailey’s eyes were closed. “Give it a rest, Knight. There’s no way to know what this clown’s going to say until he says it.”

“But seriously, Bailey, he can’t deny knowing whose iPad it is. He works at Russell’s studio for God’s sake. And regardless of how he got it, how come he didn’t return it? If he wasn’t trying to use her iPad to make it look like Brian was alive, then why not give it back?”