Killer Ambition

34

Abe sent a uniform out for subs while we waited. He got a meatball, I had a ham and Swiss, and Bailey had a pastrami. We’d just rolled up the paper wrappers into balls and taken turns trying to make baskets into the trash can in the corner when the sergeant came in to tell us that Jack Averly had decided he didn’t want to call anyone right now.

“Lucky break,” Bailey said. “Abe, can you keep him off the phone for a little while? If we’re right that he’s working with someone, it’d help if he couldn’t send up a flare.”

“I can try. But they do smuggle cell phones in here and I’d bet he’s waiting to make a friend in the tank who’ll let him use one.”

Bailey nodded. “Your jail phones are monitored?” Most were nowadays.

“Yeah.”

“Averly probably needs to call his buddy to hook him up with a lawyer,” Bailey said. “But if he uses your phone, we’ll know who he called.”

We thanked Abe for all his help and declined his offer of a ride to the airport.

“We’ve got to make a stop before we head back to L.A.,” Bailey explained.

We couldn’t put it off anymore. It was the fifth day since Brian’s body had been found-much longer than we’d intended-and we couldn’t push our luck any further. We had to notify Janice of his death. Bailey had called to tell her we’d be in Manhattan, and by coincidence, Janice had meetings in the city, so she’d be staying at the St. Regis Hotel, a swanky old-school place in midtown, near Central Park. Even if I hadn’t already known she was a bestselling author, the fact that she could afford those prices would have been a tip-off.

I hadn’t noticed the weather because we’d been inside ever since we landed. But now, as I stepped outside, I felt like I’d been smacked with a wet towel-a very hot, cloying wet towel. Unlike the arid heat in Los Angeles, summers in New York City are sticky, humid, and airless, and the odors emanating from the sewers can turn your stomach inside out. It’s why everyone runs up to the Hamptons, or Connecticut-anywhere to escape the misery. Within ten seconds, I was dripping with sweat and dying for a shower. Fortunately, we lucked out and got a cab quickly.

The doormen at the St. Regis have to wear full livery: top hat, jacket with epaulets, and gloves. In this heat, it must’ve been torturous. I took a photo so I could show Angel how easy he had it compared to these guys.

I hadn’t spoken to Janice since we’d found Brian’s body, but we did have one more contact after our first conversation. It was when she’d heard about Hayley’s death on the news. Although I hadn’t told her Hayley’s last name, she’d put two and two together-and she’d called to tell me in no uncertain terms that Brian couldn’t possibly have been responsible. At the time, I hadn’t known she was right. I told her that since Brian was the last one to be seen with Hayley, we had to consider him a possible suspect. If she heard from him, the smartest thing to do would be to get him to surrender. She promised she would. I promised I’d clear him if I could.

Now it occurred to me with bitter irony that I was about to keep my promise. Janice answered the door dressed in flowing black palazzo pants and a white tank. She looked to be in her forties at most, though I knew she was ten years older than that. Janice had the same slender build as Brian, but not his soft, rounded features. Her cheekbones were prominent and she had a slight hook to her nose. But her eyes were gentle, kindly. Janice ushered us in graciously and offered us something to drink. We thanked her but declined. The posh suite had a sitting room but, as is typical of so many hotels in the city, no view to speak of at all-unless you count the offices of the building across the street as a view. Given Manhattan rates, I figured the suite had to be setting her back at least a couple of grand a night.

Janice took a seat on the couch, and we sat across from her in the small French Provincial chairs. Given what she already knew about Hayley, it took her just one look at our faces to know what we’d come to tell her. Janice put her hands to her cheeks. “No, oh, no,” she said. “He’s not…please don’t tell me…”

“I’m so sorry, Janice,” I said. I told her what had happened to Brian as delicately as I could and concluded by saying, “We think Brian and Hayley were likely killed by the same person…or persons.”

Though I was sure she had considered the possibility that Brian had met the same fate as Hayley, reality and possibility were two different things. Janice dropped her head and put one hand to her chest as tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. After a few moments, she asked in a tremulous voice, “Do you have any idea who did this?”

“We believe there had to be more than one person involved,” Bailey said. “We’ve got one suspect in custody here in New York. We’re still working on finding the second suspect.”

Janice nodded and looked out the window behind us. “I didn’t really get to know my nephew well until his mother died. I took him in because there was no one else. I wasn’t sure it would work out. I’d always lived alone, so I worried, what on earth would I do with a teenage boy? But it was the best thing, by far, that I’ve ever done. He was charming, sweet, and so loving. With all the loss he’d suffered in his life, he was still one of the most cheerful, generous, kindhearted people I’d ever known. He changed my life. Even got me to watch television. Brian loved The Wire, and he made me a fan too. And I introduced him to classical music and museums.” She fell silent for a few moments, then continued as she stared out the window. “We had such fun. I remember taking him to see a modern art exhibit-he made me laugh so hard. ‘Aunt Janice,’ he said, ‘that’s not art. I could do that with a paint roller’…” For a moment, the happy memories made her smile. Then the harsh reality of the present took hold again and she bent her head as a fresh wave of tears poured from her eyes.

Janice, who seemed to me to be a lonely soul, had found real warmth and even joy when Brian entered her life. To lose it this way was an unspeakable tragedy. After a few more moments she sat up, and Bailey passed her some Kleenex. She dabbed at her eyes and asked, “Do you think this had something to do with the theft of Tommy’s screenplay?”

“I do,” I said. “Brian and Hayley were very close. I think Brian confided in Hayley and they faked her kidnapping. Possibly as payback.”

“But…it doesn’t fit. Money didn’t mean much to Brian. You had to know him, to really get it. He was all heart and soul. That’s why I believed him when he said he wanted to write. He had that…artistic, sensitive kind of temperament. I just don’t see him asking for money.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. But I did know there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense yet and I told her so. We talked a little longer and asked if she wanted us to call anyone for her.

“I-I’ll call. I’m having dinner with a friend. Don’t worry about me. Just-will you keep me informed of…everything?”

“Of course,” I said. “And if you think of anything-about Brian, or Tommy-please call. Any and all information would be helpful.” We gave her our cards. “Please know that if there’s a trial, we’ll help you fly out and find a place to stay so you can attend.”

A strange look skipped fleetingly across her face, but then Janice smiled tremulously. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

I again promised to stay in touch and told her we’d do everything in our power to bring the killer to justice. It was no more comforting this time than it had been for Hayley’s parents.

In the cab, on our way to the airport, Bailey and I were quiet. Tired, emotionally wrung out, and, for the moment, stymied; there was nothing good to say. “I don’t make Averly as the mastermind,” I said.

“He definitely wasn’t at Russell’s house when the kidnapping e-mail came in. So I’d agree, at least based on what we’ve seen so far.”

“And he doesn’t feel like a mastermind. Too weaselly…you know?”

Bailey nodded. We dragged our carry-ons through the terminal and took seats near the boarding gate, then Bailey went to find us some food to take on the plane. It was only after we’d boarded the flight that I remembered what I’d wanted to do.

“Bailey, do you have Averly’s cell phone on you?”

“Yeah.” She patted the pocket of her jacket.

“Is it wrapped up?”

“It’s in a plastic bag. Why?”

“Let me see it.”

Bailey pulled out the bag and gave it to me. Carefully, to avoid smudging prints, I manipulated the bag so I could press the power button through the plastic. When it booted up, I found the phone icon and looked at “Recent Calls.”

“Look at all those calls to and from ‘unknown caller,’” I said.

Bailey frowned. “And they’re on the day of the kidnapping.” She scrolled back up the page. “Last one was yesterday.”

“The day Averly got arrested. We need to figure out who this ‘unknown’ caller is. How much time do you think we have before Averly gets his hands on a contraband phone?”

“Could be any minute. Especially if he promises big money.”

Which he might very well have if he collected the ransom money. Bailey pulled out her cell and made a call. She gave Averly’s phone number and asked to have the unknown caller identified as fast as possible. “And if you get the answer before I land, give the information to Lieutenant Hales immediately. I’m calling him now so he’ll expect you.” Bailey read off Graden’s cell phone number and ended the call.

The flight attendant gave the announcement to turn off “all cell phone devices,” so Bailey powered down and put Averly’s phone back into her pocket.

“I guess that’s all we can do now,” she said.

There were no Bloody Marys for either of us this time. With any luck, we were going to have to hit the ground running.