Killer Ambition

30

Bailey went home that night and I put myself to bed early. I’d already left a message for Eric saying I needed approval to pay for an NYPD officer to bring out the iPad. There was nothing more we could do at this point. Nothing but wait, anyway. Sunday I caught up on sleep, then I went to the office and attacked the mile-high stack of motions and messages that had piled up on my desk.

A step onto the balcony Monday morning told me it was going to be another scorcher of a day. I didn’t have any court appearances, so I could do casual. I opted for a light cotton shift and sandals, and when I stepped outside, I was plenty glad I did. In just two blocks, it felt as though the temperature had already climbed by at least ten degrees. Cup Man, the street resident who loudly proclaimed non sequiturs about world affairs on the corner of First and Main with a Styrofoam cup perched on his head, was shirtless today. Stray cats slept languorously in the shade and even the homeless-usually bundled up in everything they owned-were carrying their coats in shopping carts.

I hurried up Broadway, eager to get into the air-conditioned courthouse. The elevator did its usual swoop and bump as it bounced to a stop on almost every floor on the way up to my office on the eighteenth.

I wanted to talk to Eric, but first I’d have to get past his secretary, Melia Espinoza, aka Gossip Central. Legal secretaries are generally very well paid-at least in the private sector-because they know almost as much as, and often more than, the lawyers. But the DA’s office doesn’t pay anywhere near what the private sector does, so the really good ones never bother to apply. Thus, the gift of Melia. I deal with her by asking her to do as little as possible. This arrangement suits her just fine.

When I stopped in the doorway, she jerked her head up. Once again, I’d interrupted her reading a tabloid rag that lay open in her lap under the desk. Since no one ever mentioned it, and Eric had never busted her, Melia thought no one knew. Every prosecutor in the unit knew. And inconsiderate bunch that they were, they imposed on her tabloid time by expecting her to do secretarial things. Like find a file, or the boss.

“Oh, Rachel. Hi! How’re you doing?”

The effusive greeting left me momentarily speechless. She usually barely remembered my name, though we’d been working together for years.

“I’m fine. Is Eric around? I left him a message.”

“He’s in a meeting right now, but I’m sure he’ll take your call. Want me to get him?”

Interrupt him when Vanderhorn might be listening? Hell no. “No, thanks, it can wait.” But what was up with girlfriend? Cheery, helpful. Who was this pod person, and what had she done with Melia?

“Rachel, you know they’re saying a stalker killed Hayley Antonovich. Is it true?”

The light dawned. I had the big celebrity case. Thanks to me, Melia had the hottest seat in town-right in the middle of the investigation. This made me her favorite DDA. I knew I should find a way to capitalize on this. But I couldn’t think of anything I needed at the moment. I’d have to give it some thought very soon. Melia’s devotion wouldn’t last one second longer than the case did. “We really don’t know, Melia. Could you just tell Eric to call me on my cell?”

“I will. Good luck!”

Jeez. I’d have to take the long way around the hallways from now on to avoid my new best friend, Melia. This helpful, enthusiastic version was unsettling. I’d hoped to find Toni in her office when I got in, but her door was closed and she didn’t answer when I knocked. Having exhausted my opportunities for distraction, I retreated to my office and dug into the half of my desk I call an in-box.

By noon, I’d almost reached the bottom of the stack. Most of the motions didn’t require a written response; they were just CYA (cover your ass) motions the defense attorneys had to make so they wouldn’t be accused of rendering ineffective assistance when the case went up on appeal. I was reading through my second-to-last of these scintillating creations when my cell phone played “The Crystal Ship” by the Doors. The ringtone I’d assigned to Toni.

“Antoinette! Where the hell are you?”

“What do you mean, where am I? You’re the one that’s been out God knows where. So where the hell are you?”

“In my office, pushing the wheels of justice forward.”

“Don’t talk to me about slaving, white girl. I just got out of court. You ready to do lunch?”

“I’m starving to death. Meet me in the lobby.”

Toni had to be back in court by one thirty, so we shared a quick salad in the lobby restaurant at the New Otani Hotel.

“What’re you doing in court?” I asked.

Toni made a deprecatory wave. “Nothing fun. Just pretrial motions on my double.”

Toni’s defendant was a twenty-five-year-old meth freak who’d beaten his twin sisters to death with a rubber mallet.

“Is the mom still showing up?” The mother had tried to help him kick his addiction for years before finally giving up and throwing him out. She blamed herself for the killings and felt it was her duty to attend every hearing.

“Like clockwork, and it’s killing me to watch her suffer the way she does.” Toni blinked and looked away for a moment. “Enough about my sad stories, what about yours? Fill me in.”

I caught her up on the case.

“I think you’re right. There had to be more than one person involved,” she said. “But do you think this Stuart Connor did the killings alone?”

“I don’t know how one person manages to pick up the ransom money in Fryman Canyon, then get out to Boney Mountain, kill two kids, bury one, drive the other one down to LAX in the trunk of a car, then hop a plane to New York. Do you?”

“Of course I could manage it, but that’s me.”

I grinned. Toni probably could. “We’re in a holding pattern until we find this Stuart character. But I still feel like he had a partner in all this. We eliminated everyone who was around at the time, but obviously we’ve missed something-”

“And Russell and Dani didn’t tell anyone about it?”

“So they say. But everyone and his brother was running in and out of their house the whole time. And Russell and Dani were a mess. Who knows what they might’ve inadvertently leaked? And who knows where Russell might’ve put down his cell phone?”

Toni had a skeptical look. “Something about all this doesn’t sit right with me.”

This is why Toni and I always talk our cases over with each other. It’s not just a friend thing, it’s a practical necessity. Because when we’re running hard on a case, we can get mired in the details and miss the big picture. We’ve helped/saved each other this way too many times to count. Now, Toni’s remark made me stop and take stock. I thought about what we’d seen and heard since we first met with Russell and company. I’d assumed someone in the house had to have gotten wind of what was going on in order to know in advance where the money drop was supposed to be. That wasn’t a bad assumption-in fact, it was pretty logical. But Toni was right. There was something off about the whole scenario, because Brian and Hayley wound up on Boney Mountain-not in Fryman Canyon.

I sighed and shook my head. “I agree with you, Tone. This machine is missing some parts for sure. I just don’t know what they are.”

“Bet your buddy Stuart does.”

“If we ever find him.”

My cell phone played the opening bars of “Killer Joe,” an old jazz standard that was Bailey’s ringtone.

“Dorian’s finished with Hayley’s cell phone,” Bailey said without preamble.

“Pick me up.” I told her where we were.

We dropped Toni at the courthouse and promised to give her updates. Dorian was in her office typing a report. We stood in the doorway and waited for her to look up.

She peered at us over her reading glasses. “Sit.”

We obediently sat, and I waited to see if she’d add, “Stay.” She didn’t. When she finished typing, she passed the phone, now encased in a paper bag, to us.

“I’ve got prints, some of which I’m sure will come back to Hayley, since the settings indicate it was her phone.”

At last, something had broken our way. Bailey pulled on gloves, opened the bag carefully, then removed the phone and turned it on. After a few seconds she said, “I don’t see any voice mails at the time of the kidnapping or later.” She touched a few other places on the phone. “But I do see text messages. A lot of them.”

I leaned in anxiously and tried to read the screen.

“Here,” Bailey said. She placed the phone on Dorian’s desk where we could all see it.

The first text was from BRIAM-we’d verify, but it was most likely our Brian, the M at the end for his last name, Maher: still waiting for drop. stay in car.

The next message was from Hayley to Brian, and it was sent three minutes later: what’s going on?

It was eerie, reading Hayley’s last texts. Like hearing a voice from the grave. And it was painful, seeing that little pink phone-small and vulnerable, like Hayley.

Brian didn’t answer. Two minutes later, Hayley texted him again: u should be done by now! Where r u?

Still no answer from Brian. Hayley texted again, this time three minutes later: what’s going on???

With each text, I could feel her rising panic.

Again, no answer from Brian. Four minutes later, Hayley texted him: r u ok?

No response. Five minutes later, Hayley tried again: where r u??? what’s happening??

Then, finally, four minutes later, Brian texted Hayley: I’m ok. All clear. Meet me on trail.

“That was the last message,” Bailey said.

“Do you remember when Brian’s phone was used for the last time?” I asked Bailey.

“I have to check his cell phone records again…I think there was a call around the time of that last message. But I’m not sure. I know there wasn’t much activity after the ransom demand.”

“We never did find Brian’s phone, did we?” I asked.

“No,” Bailey replied.

The picture forming in my mind was chilling, but it made the most sense. “We’ll have to get the cell sites to make sure, but I’m betting these texts were all sent on that mountain.”

Bailey picked up the phone and stared at the messages again. “A twenty-one-minute lapse between Brian’s first message-”

“Telling Hayley not to leave the car,” I said. “And his last message. In between, Hayley texted him five times. But she got no response-”

“Until that last text, telling her to come out to the trail. But Brian never made it back to that trail.”

“That last message doesn’t fit.”

We fell silent for a long beat.

Bailey said, “Then that last message…”

“Was sent by our killer. He murdered Brian, then lured Hayley out.”