Killer Ambition

14

I must have been dreaming about flying, because when I woke to the ringing of a bell, I felt as though I’d come crashing out of the sky.

I opened my eyes and reached out to hit the “snooze” button. But the clock said it was only four a.m. Then it hit me that the sound I’d heard wasn’t my alarm, it was Bailey’s phone. I’d forgotten to give it back to her last night. I forced my eyes to focus-not easy when you’ve been flying in your sleep-and answered. “’Lo?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Detective Keller. This is Officer Bander, Airport Division. We’ve located that car-”

Car? Which…? Then my brain kicked into gear. Brian’s car. I probably should’ve told Officer Bander that I wasn’t Bailey, but I wanted to hear the news.

“Where?”

“In Parking Lot C, a remote lot. What do you want me to do?”

I couldn’t give orders…well, I could, but I shouldn’t.

“Secure the lot and tape off the area around the car. Don’t let anyone near it until I get there. I’m on my way.”

As I ended the call, I thought I’d done a pretty good job impersonating Bailey. Then I ran to wake up the real article. We dressed quickly in jeans and sweatshirts-it’d be cold out there now-and I left a note for Toni, who was still fast asleep.

When we got into the car, Bailey threw me her phone. “You’re so good at being me, put in the call to SID and get a criminalist to meet us there. Try for Dorian.”

The streets were empty at that hour, and Bailey practically took us there on two wheels. Though I’d fastened my seat belt, I had to hold on to the dash while I made the call to keep from falling all over the car.

The vast Parking Lot C, a cheap option because you had to take a shuttle to the airport from there, was brightly lit. But at this hour, the lot was still and quiet, which gave me the eerie feeling that we were the only survivors in a postapocalyptic world. Bailey drove slowly as we looked for signs of life. Finally, at the far corner of the lot, we saw the blue and red flashing lights of police cars. As we drew nearer, I could see that crime scene tape had been put up to enclose a white vehicle within a twenty-foot radius.

Bailey parked and we walked up to one of the officers guarding the perimeter and identified ourselves.

He lifted the crime scene tape for us and we ducked under. “Officer Bander’s handling the scene. He’s right over there.” He pointed to a short man who was standing near the trunk of the car.

When we got closer, I saw that he was much younger than his voice had sounded on the phone. Bailey and I introduced ourselves again and she asked whether he’d seen anything inside. He handed her his flashlight-one of those super-heavy big black ones that double as a weapon-and I watched as she played the light around the interior of the car.

“I don’t see anything,” I said. “You?”

Bailey shook her head, and I stepped back to give her room as she circled the car with the flashlight. She paused and trained her beam on the trunk area. Still focused on the trunk, she asked, “Who found the car?”

“I did,” Officer Bander said. “I started with the closest lots and worked my way out.”

That was one hell of a lot of canvassing. There were a ton of parking lots. Just covering the closest lots at the terminal would’ve taken a couple of hours.

“And did you stay here after you found it?” Bailey asked.

She was making sure the scene hadn’t been contaminated-at least since Bander had found the car.

“Yeah. I called you right away and had the area cordoned off, just like you said. I’m the only one who’s been this close to the car since I saw it.”

Bailey looked around the lot. “How long since you called for a criminalist?” she asked me.

“About thirty minutes.”

“Did you try the doors?” she asked Officer Bander.

“No.”

Bailey bent down and shined the flashlight under the car. I was about to move in closer and join her, but just then, a beat-up Cadillac pulled up close to the tape. The driver rolled his belly out first, and when he approached us, I recognized the ruddy complexion, heavy cheeks, and small blue eyes of criminalist Ben Glosky. Bailey and I had him on a previous case involving a pedophile who’d done us all the favor of shuffling off this mortal coil. Ben wasn’t Dorian, but he was pretty good.

Ben flashed his ID and struggled under the tape. “Dorian said to tell you she’ll be here in a few and not to pull the same crap you usually do. She also figured you’d need someone who could unlock the doors without damaging anything.”

“You’re a locksmith?” I asked.

“Before I joined SID.”

I guess it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. It’s not like he’d said he used to train poodles for TV commercials.

Ben gloved up, put on the regulation shower cap-though the few hairs slicked back on his head were unlikely to go anywhere-and slipped his shoes into booties. Then he took a small metal case out of his car and set it on the ground next to the driver’s side door. Bailey held the flashlight for him as he examined the interior through the driver’s side window. Ben took the flashlight from her and walked around the car, studying every inch. Bailey moved with him and pointed out various spots on the car. Then he crouched and shined the light under the car, as Bailey had done. He went back to his kit and took out a packet of sterile swatches, distilled water, an eyedropper, and long tweezers. Slowly, he moved around the car, lifting samples as he went.

When he was done, he handed the flashlight back to Bailey and motioned for her to follow him over to the driver’s side. Bailey stood behind him, blocking my view, so I couldn’t see what he did from where I was standing, but two seconds later the driver’s door was open. One second later, the trunk flew open.

And there, lying in a pool of blood, was Hayley.