The Competition - [55]

“About what time did you get on the road?” Bailey asked.

“Triple-A didn’t get to me until after eleven. So, maybe eleven thirty? And I was just a couple of blocks away from school when this car comes around the corner. Heads straight for me, just like, flying. I thought I was dead. I yanked the wheel to the right just in time. He sideswiped me pretty bad. But he just kept on going, seemed like ninety miles an hour.” Jeremy rubbed his palms on his thighs as he relived the moment.

“Can you describe the car?” Bailey asked.

“A white Corolla. Looked kind of new. Or…maybe just in good shape.”

Not so much anymore.

“Where’s your car now?” Bailey asked.

“Here. I thought you’d want to see it.”

Smart boy.

“By any chance were you able to see who was driving the car?” I asked.

Jeremy pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. I think they were wearing black ski masks, the kind that go over your whole head.”

“They?” I asked. “There was someone in the passenger seat?”

“Yeah. That I’m sure about. There was definitely someone in the passenger seat.”

“Did you happen to see the license plate?” Bailey asked.

“I only remember the first part. I wrote it down. It was 4JHQ.” He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s all I could get.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “You did great.”

Jeremy had gotten only half the numbers, but it was enough. That was Logan’s car.

33

Bailey got a crime scene tech to come out and take photos and scrapings from the paint transfers on Jeremy’s car. Once we found Logan’s car, we’d be able to confirm that it matched. “There’s no way Logan can hide that kind of body damage,” she said, after Jeremy and his mom had left.

“At least it’ll give the chief something to tell the press. I just don’t get why no one’s spotted it by now.” They’d put out the alert on Logan’s car the moment we had confirmation that he was one of the shooters, but so far it hadn’t turned up. Maybe the description of the body damage would do the trick.

“Me either,” Bailey said. “Even if they’ve ditched it, I would’ve expected someone to spot it by now.”

“Or spot him.”

Bailey shook her head. Logan’s photo and all identifying information had gone national, and every source-cell phone, bank account, gas card, you name it-was being tracked. Nothing.

“But thanks to Jeremy, we know one thing for sure,” Bailey said. “We’ve got two shooters out there.”

“Right. So now there are two killers we can’t find. And one of them isn’t even ID’d yet. Terrific.” I shook my head. “How’re we doing on Shane? Do we have his military records yet?”

“Yep. And they show he’s been to the VA clinic in Westwood, so we got their records. But they’re not fully computerized, so we’ve got a ream of paper to go through, and none of it’s organized. I’ve got unis working on it.” Bailey looked at her watch. “We should head out to Camarillo.” The tree service where Shane worked was up next on our agenda. “I sent a couple of detectives to check the place out. They’re sitting on it for us, but he hasn’t shown up yet. I want to get out there and talk to the boss man, see if he can give us anything.”

“Okay, but first I’ve got to check in at the office.”

“Want me to pick you up? We really have to move.”

“No, but I’ll be back here in less than an hour. I promise.”

I pulled on my coat and scarf and headed to the courthouse at a fast trot. I passed by Toni’s office on the way to mine, but the door was closed. She was probably in court. I unlocked my door and dropped my purse on the chair in front of my desk. Home sweet home. Everything was as I’d left it on Tuesday morning-except for the thin layer of dust. A file I’d been reviewing on Monday still lay open on my side table. Even the air felt the same. I took off my coat and scarf and draped them over my chair-a majestic judge’s chair that I’d found abandoned in the hallway one night. I sat down and exhaled. It was a tiny office, but it was my sanctuary. And it boasted an awesome view of Los Angeles, something I would never take for granted.

But I didn’t have time to sit and enjoy the solitude, so I picked up my office phone to check for messages. There were eighty-seven. Eighty of them were from the media. You’d think they’d have gotten the hint that I wasn’t talking by now. The rest were routine business. “Hi, Rachel, it’s Zack-Zack Meyer on the Valenzuela case. Just a heads-up: I’m going to ask for a continuance. Hope that’s okay with you.” Beep. I made a note and deleted the message. It wouldn’t matter if it was okay with me. It was Zack’s first request for more time, and the judges loved him. The other six were all variations on the same theme. It surprised me how little I’d missed. I’d expected to be bombarded. I kept forgetting it had only been three days. It felt like three months.

My in-box only had a couple of new motions. One was a routine discovery motion, the other was a motion to let a defendant use the jail law library-where he’d learn just enough to drive his lawyer crazy. I’d be glad to go along with that one. I filed them and made a note of the dates on my calendar, then headed back to the station. Bailey was at her desk, doing paperwork, her least favorite thing in the world. She looked surprised when she saw me. “That was fast.”