Guilt By Degrees

29

Bailey and I walked out to her car in silence. When we’d first arrived, I’d found the stark landscape soothing. Now it just felt desolate. We drove past the open fields of Joshua trees, heading for the freeway.

“A former intern. This is a proud moment for the DA’s office,” I said sarcastically. “So she actually had some experience in criminal law.”

“Enough to know when to shut her mouth,” Bailey agreed.

“I’ll see what we’ve got on her,” I said. “But interns don’t do anything heavy or sensitive, so we don’t spend a lot of time on their background checks.”

Bailey nodded, but neither of us was in a talkative mood.

I could well understand Larry’s reaction to the news of Simon’s murder. Though no victim is ever just a chalk outline to me, the colors unique to each one fill in slowly, over time, painted layer by layer with the memories and feelings of their loved ones, until ultimately a picture with depth and nuance emerges. More than his words, the emotion in Larry’s voice had shown me that Simon was a kind and gentle soul who’d been mortally wounded-long before his physical death-by his brother’s brutal demise and the injustice of the verdict. The image of the vase he’d left with Johnnie, its simple beauty and innocence of vision, made my eyes burn.

The freeway again wound through the low mountain passes, but now that the sun had sunk below the horizon, the valleys were shrouded in darkness and had taken on an ominous, forbidding look. When Bailey finally spoke, I could tell her thoughts had been running in a similar vein.

“We’re going to have to talk to the Bayers soon, you know.”

I sighed my agreement. “Do you know if they had any other kids?”

“They didn’t,” she replied tersely.

So they’d lost their only children to murder within the last two years. I had some idea of what they’d gone through.

It was twenty-seven years ago. I’d been just seven years old when my older sister, Romy, who was eleven, had vanished. It felt as though my soul had been wrenched from my body. Not only had I lost my best friend, but I believed it’d been my fault. I’ve heard some families grow closer after such a tragedy, but mine didn’t. We orbited farther and farther away from one another as we disappeared into our individual universes of agony. My father spiraled down into a bottle, and ultimately the oblivion he likely craved, when his car skidded off an icy bridge. My mother remained, but at first only in the most basic physical sense. For years after my father’s death, her mind wandered off as the world fell out of focus for her. I can still feel the panic at seeing her vague gaze and constant state of confusion. Those were dark years. I felt so isolated that I used to dream I was treading water, exhausted and alone in the middle of the ocean and about to go under.

Losing both children, and to murder, had to be an unendurable and unimaginable agony. I wished we didn’t have to ask the questions that would make the parents relive painful memories. But the story of Simon’s downward spiral could provide information critical to solving the case, and his parents were likely to be the best source.

As we rode on in silence through the darkening hills, I mentally replayed the meeting with Larry.

“Larry never said anything about motive,” I remarked.

“I noticed that too,” Bailey agreed. “Any possibility it involved money?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” I said, frowning. “She was the moneymaker. She probably wasn’t making a ton as a new associate, but if she hung in there, she stood to make a hell of a lot more than he did.”

“In which case, she would’ve had to pay alimony,” Bailey pointed out. “With Zack dead, she wouldn’t have to worry about that. Plus, if there was an insurance policy, she’d get it all.”

“I suppose,” I said, unconvinced. “But if that’s the way Larry went, you can see why it didn’t work. If the criminal doesn’t fit the crime, you’ve got to stick the landing when it comes to motive. He had a defendant who looked like a porcelain doll and a crime that looked like it was committed by Beelzebub on crack. So Larry had some serious explaining to do, and from the looks of things, he didn’t get there. I’m starting to understand why the jury acquitted.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t do it,” Bailey replied.

“No,” I said.

The mountains were behind us now, and the freeway forded a sea of ranch-style tract houses. The San Fernando Valley spread out around us, a vast expanse of low-rise suburban life. On my right, the sight of the familiar golden arches made my stomach rumble, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten in a while.

“You in the mood for dinner?” I asked.

“I’m ready to eat my own hand,” Bailey replied.

“How about the Tar Pit?”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “We haven’t been there in a while. It’ll be a nice change of pace.”