Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

“I was wondering the same thing. But he bought the tickets using his real name, so if he was trying to throw us off, wouldn’t he use the one he’d made public out here?”

“Or maybe he was sharp enough to know we’d figure out he was using an alias and he used his real name to buy the tickets-make it look more genuine.”

“That’s pretty smart for a nineteen-year-old kid,” Bailey said.

“And pretty tangled,” I agreed. “But not impossible.”

Bailey sighed. “What is?”

We both fell silent, trying to manage the pain of the unwanted discovery. I’d been so optimistic. Too optimistic. That wasn’t my style. But this wasn’t the time or the place to figure it out. Bailey would ordinarily be the one to make the notification to the family, but since I was in from the jump on this one, I thought I should probably go with her.

“Brian doesn’t know we’ve found her already.” I glanced at my cell phone. It was five fifteen a.m.-eight fifteen in New York. “In about half an hour, I’m going to try reaching the aunt again. When I do, I’m going to tell her we’re looking for Brian and Hayley.”

“So she won’t try to cover for him if he’s been in touch?” Bailey set her jaw and looked back at the trunk. “It’s not a bad idea. But it’s a now-or-never move. Once we make notification to Hayley’s parents, the news’ll go global.”

Bailey looked at the ground and sighed. I knew she was dreading it. So was I. The coroner’s wagon pulled up and a guy in high-water pants and a nylon Coroner’s Office jacket jumped out.

It was Scott Ferrier, the coroner’s investigator who was my longtime “friend with benefits.” The benefits in our case being his willingness to slip me reports on the sly in return for free lunches at his favorite restaurant, Engine Co. No. 28.

No sooner had Officer Bander lifted the crime scene tape to let Scott in than Dorian pulled up in a brand-new forest green Tacoma. Still a pickup, but a lot snazzier than the faded old jalopy she used to drive. There was something comforting about seeing Scott and Dorian. It was like having family show up.

“Hey, Scott.” I waved and stepped closer as he set his bag down next to the trunk and took out a camera.

“Rachel!” He waved back before he turned and started taking photos.

Dorian moved next to the car with her kit, a large toolbox with tray insets that allowed her to store every little thing in its own compartment, perfectly organized, not a single cotton swab out of place. Dorian put the D in OCD. We both watched as Scott finished taking the pictures. Dorian wouldn’t be able to touch the trunk until he was done. The coroner, or his investigator, has sole jurisdiction over the body. Until he’s through, everyone else waits.

I greeted Dorian with a simple “Hey,” which was more than she was in the mood for. Never much of a talker, she was even less inclined to shoot the breeze after having been awakened before five a.m.

“Nice wheels,” Bailey said.

“It’ll do.”

Scott had finished photographing Hayley and had gloved up, preparing to deal with the body. He pulled out the long steel needle to take the liver temperature-one method of determining how long the victim had been dead. I turned away. A few moments later, Scott’s assistant rolled the gurney up to the car and Scott carefully examined Hayley with his flashlight, looking for evidence that might be disturbed when he moved the body.

“Dorian!” he called out. “Take a look here.”

Dorian, who’d already gloved up and put on her shower cap, moved forward with her kit and peered in. She bent down, pulled out some tweezers, and carefully plucked something too small for us to see from the body. Dorian placed it in a small coin envelope and set it into one of the little compartments in the toolbox. Scott finished his examination and told Dorian she could start on the rest of the car. He and his assistant then lifted Hayley out of the trunk and into the body bag that was on the gurney.

Her beautiful blonde hair was tangled and matted with blood and her pale pink sleeveless T-shirt was soaked in it. Her eyes were half closed, and I imagined her bleeding out, dying slowly in that trunk, alone. The lump re-formed in my throat and I quickly turned to focus on Dorian, who’d begun examining the driver’s side of the car with a flashlight and a magnifying glass.

“Hey, Dorian,” I called out. “It’s a long shot, but can you let us know if you find a laptop?”

“No. I figured I’d just put it on eBay.” She shook her head in disgust and muttered something about “inane questions.”

Bailey almost cracked a smile. I heard the zip of the body bag and the wheels roll across the asphalt to the wagon. Only after I heard them slam the rear door did I risk speaking to Scott. “Can you tell cause of death?”

“Stab wounds. But no murder weapon in the trunk that I could see.”

And I doubted very much that Dorian would find it in the cabin of the car either. One of the many reasons why I prefer gunshot wounds for a cause of death. Between the casings and the bullets, you have something to work with. Knives can never be matched the way a gun can. And criminals don’t get attached to knives the way they do to guns, so they don’t mind dumping them.

Bailey gathered all the officers together and asked them to canvass the grounds for a knife. They all nodded solemnly.

When they’d left, I heard Dorian mutter, “Yeah, good luck with that.”

We were going to need it with a lot of things now.

Exhausted and depressed,Bailey and I headed back to the car.

She drove off the lot and pulled onto Sepulveda Boulevard. When she got to a stoplight, she turned to look at me. “You okay, Rachel?”

“Yeah. I’m just…” My voice broke and I felt tears spring to my eyes again. I turned to look out my window.

Bailey was silent for a moment. The light changed and she pulled forward. When she spoke, her tone was gentle. “All the homicides you’ve been to, Rache. I’ve never seen you this broken up.”

“I guess I was really thinking she’d be okay…” I stopped before my voice could break again.

“But it’s a kidnapping. Sure, we were both hoping it’d be different, but kidnappings end this way pretty often. That’s why we run so hard and fast on them. You know that as well as I do. But for some reason, this one knocked you down hard. What’s going on?”

The question was more than fair. What was going on with me? I’d been so wedded to the theory-no, expectation -that Hayley would be okay that I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider any other possibility. That was completely unlike me. Finally, the light dawned. Romy. The hope of finding Hayley alive left me a sliver of hope that the same happy ending could come true for my sister. Finding Hayley in the trunk of Brian’s car delivered a crushing blow on both levels. I told Bailey.

“Makes perfect sense,” she said. “So what do you want to do?”

“Get back to work.”

Bailey gave me a little smile. “That’s my girl.”

I returned her smile as best I could and turned my thoughts back to the case. I’d been planning to do something. After a few moments, I remembered what it was. “Can you get me to a quiet place where I can call the aunt?”

“How about we hit a place for breakfast and you can call from the car?”

Just minutes ago I would’ve gagged at the thought of food. But suddenly the idea of breakfast felt comforting, and I heard my stomach grumble. “Is there an IHOP around?”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t my usual fare. “If not that, then at least its equivalent.”