Killer Ambition - [59]

Dorian stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute. You think you need to tell me how to do my job?”

“I just wanted to make sure-”

“Do I remind you to sign your search warrant? Get a witness’s phone number? Run a rap sheet? Or-”

“I apologize.” Bailey held up her hands.

“Go help them”-Dorian gestured to a couple of young officers guarding the crime scene tape around the carport- “and let me do my job.”

As Bailey backed away, Dorian shined her flashlight into the front seat of the car. She’d brought a crime scene photographer with her, and he moved around the car, taking pictures at her direction. When he’d finished, she dusted the driver’s and passenger’s doors for prints, then pulled out a slim jim and popped the driver’s door open. After photographs of the interior were taken, Dorian began to work over the seats with some kind of tape. I left her to it and walked up the street to get a sense of the neighborhood. None of the other buildings looked as bad as Averly’s, though one or two came close. But overall, it was a typical lower-middle-class hood on the east side of Hollywood: struggling actors, office workers, mechanics, a smattering of families, and sketchily employed twenty-somethings splitting the rent on a studio.

When I got back to the carport, Dorian was opening the glove box, and I saw her remove a small notepad. After she’d put it into a plastic bag, I asked to see it. “Don’t open the bag,” she ordered.

“I wasn’t going to.” I looked at the writing on the top page. It was a phone number.

Bailey peered over my shoulder and pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll call it in,” she said, and moved away.

I went back to watch Dorian, being careful to stand out of her line of sight and, therefore, fire. Seconds later, Graden pulled up. Damn. I suddenly remembered that he’d asked me to text him when I landed.

“I was just about to text you,” I said when he walked over to me.

“No you weren’t.”

“I know. Sorry.”

Graden waved off the apology. “You’ll remember next time.”

“And you know this because?”

“I will shamelessly bribe you.”

“That could work,” I said. “With?”

“Admission to the Police Academy shooting range.”

I love the outdoor shooting range at the Police Academy in Elysian Park. The entire facility was originally built for the 1930 Olympics and the buildings have old-style charm, plus the setting is lush and arboreal. In short, it was a great bribe. Damn: Graden was good.

“I’ll think about it,” I lied-I was already on board. “What brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see what you got.”

“And?” I looked at him expectantly.

“And I have news for you guys.”

“And?” I was losing patience.

“And, of course, it was a transparent excuse to see you.”

“Finally, the truth.”

“I’m a little rusty. I’ll get better.” He signaled to Bailey and she walked over to us. “I got the report back on those texts we pulled off Hayley’s phone-the ones between her and Brian. They were all sent on Boney Mountain.”

Bailey and I exchanged a look. We’d thought so. It was the most logical explanation for all the evidence we’d seen so far.

“Good to have that confirmed,” Bailey said. “Now I’ve got news.” She told Graden about the numerous calls we’d found to and from an unknown caller on Averly’s cell phone. “I just found out whose phone they came from.” Bailey paused, her expression unreadable.

“Who?” I asked impatiently.

“Ian Powers.”

“Russell’s manager? No way.”

What on earth would a high-powered manager and co-owner of one of the most successful production companies in town be doing with a little pissant like Averly?

“Yep-way. And the number on that pad in Averly’s glove box?”

“Ian’s?”

Bailey nodded.

“What the hell…?” I gave voice to the only explanation that came to mind. “So he’s Ian’s dealer?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Averly have a rap sheet for drugs?” Graden asked.

“Minor league, but yeah,” Bailey said.

“Did ‘unknown caller’ show up at other times on Averly’s phone?” I asked. If so, it would mean they had an ongoing connection-the kind you’d expect to find between a dealer and a regular customer.

“We’re still working on it.”

Graden shook his head, his expression troubled. “Did you know that Powers set up a charity that sends underprivileged kids to summer camps?”

“No. How come you do?” I asked.

“The group coordinates with LAPD to target the toughest neighborhoods. The idea being to get the kids out of harm’s way while school’s out and they have too much time to get in trouble.”

“Good idea,” I said. When I’d first met Ian Powers at Russell’s house, I’d had a vague memory of his name being connected to something in a legal context but couldn’t remember what it was. Now it came to me. “Didn’t he sponsor some legislation to protect child actors? Something about putting counselors on sets where there were child actors so they could act as monitors and prevent abuse…”

Graden squinted for a second before answering. “Sounds familiar.”

I looked at Averly’s car, pictured the dump of an apartment just beyond. “So what the hell is he doing hanging around a guy like Averly?” I asked.

We all stood in silence as the question hovered in the air.