Killer Ambition - [67]

Eric left, and for the first time, I stopped to consider whether I was really up for the kind of nasty ride he’d described. I was still pondering the question when my cell phone played Bailey’s ringtone.

“Daniel’s done with the computer. He gave us the all clear.”

“Great-” I sat up, and my heart gave a heavy thud as I suddenly realized I’d forgotten something. “Bailey, what about prints? Did you call-”

“I got Ben, the criminalist who did Brian’s car at the airport, to dust it before Daniel got here. We’ve got some nice prints all over that thing. And Daniel wore gloves, just in case.”

I sagged with relief. “Thanks, Bailey.” I took a second to breathe. “Did Daniel tell you whether there was anything that looked good for us?”

“Unfortunately, he said he didn’t see anything to get excited about.”

Damn. All that for nothing. “Okay, then let’s give it to our computer whizbangs in my office. Maybe Ian’s got some information hidden or encrypted or…something.”

“I’ll bring it over.”

“So now we’re just waiting for Dorian and Gelfer.”

“I checked. They won’t have anything until tomorrow. And I think Dorian blocked my number.”

I was silent as I tried to figure out what else we could do besides wait. Bailey read my silence.

“There’s nothing we can do right now,” Bailey said.

I looked at my desk. I estimated it’d take me only an hour to clear it off. Then what would I do? Pace in my hotel room? Even I didn’t think that would help anything. “I’ll call Toni.” We’d been playing phone tag for a while.

But first I called the head deputy of our computer crimes section, Cliff Meisner. He agreed to take a whack at the laptop but warned, “People have gotten pretty sophisticated about hiding information, so it’ll take some time.”

Translation: I had to wait. Again. And I wasn’t getting any better at it.

41

Bailey returned with our round of martinis. We all clinked and sipped. A cold martini on a warm summer night. My besties, Bailey and Toni, and the lights of the city spread out around us like a glittering swath of sequined lace.

“I probably should’ve called Graden,” I said, taking in the nighttime view of downtown L.A. from the corner of the rooftop bar at Perch.

“Really, Rache,” Toni said. “‘Should’ makes it sound like you’d be doing it out of guilt. That ain’t right.”

“’Toine’s right,” Bailey said. She pronounced it “Twan.” “Just because you have a night off doesn’t mean you owe it to him. And besides, you’re wiped out, edgy, and pissy. You wouldn’t be able to play nice tonight. So you did him a favor.”

I couldn’t argue with one word of it.

“And you’ll notice I’m not with Drew either.”

“So I’m the only one who’s normal around here?” Toni asked.

“Relatively speaking,” I said. “Though given present company, that isn’t saying much.”

Toni waved off the remark. “How’d it go with Judge Moss?”

“How did you know?” Bailey asked.

“Black lawyer grapevine. So how’d it go?”

“She was awesome.” I filled Toni in on the latest developments.

Toni gave us a smug smile. “Told you she was good. And it doesn’t matter that she wouldn’t give you the GPS. Powers can’t afford to run anyway.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “But I never did get to see what kind of car he had. Did you?” I asked Bailey.

“You mean cars, plural. A gold two-seater custom Bentley, a black Ferrari, and a white Rolls-Royce.”

I tried to picture Ian Powers in the Rolls. “White Rolls-Royce? Somehow that doesn’t fit.”

“It’s the girlfriend’s car.”

“The Neiman Marcus brunette?” I asked.

Bailey nodded.

“No wife, no children?”

“Neither,” Bailey said.

I remembered noticing the absence of family photos. There’d just been a smattering of pictures of his girlfriend.

Toni gave us an update on her double homicide case, which seemed to be going well. All in all, it was as relaxing an evening as it could be, under the circumstances. I made myself go to bed before midnight, hoping that the morning would bring us some answers.

As it turned out, all the morning brought was an early harbinger of trouble. It came in the form of a call on my private cell phone. I’d left for work early, hoping to beat the worst of the heat. I also figured that since my mind was so wrapped around the case, I might as well obsess in my office. I was about a block from the courthouse when my cell phone played the default ringtone. Sure that it was either Dorian or Numan, I answered without looking at the number. Instead, a man with a real British accent-so I knew it wasn’t that poser-lawyer, Beldon-said, “Hello, Ms. Knight?”

Maybe I was disarmed by the accent, or just too distracted to think quickly enough to deny it, but I admitted it was.

“This is Andrew Chatham from the National Inquisitor, and I’m calling about the Hayley Antonovich case.”

The National Inquisitor? How in the hell did he get my private cell phone number?

“I don’t know how you got this number, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

“But my sources indicate that you may very well have suspects in custody shortly, one of whom is a very highly placed individual in the industry.”

How could this guy know that already? I quickly tried to imagine who the leak was, but there had been so many people in Ian’s house-and that didn’t even take into account nosy neighbors who might’ve seen all the police cars. I’d probably never know.