Marcia Clark - Killer Ambition

Bailey left a message telling him to call.

“So maybe they did run off together?” I asked.

Bailey frowned. “It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? I mean, not nice, necessarily-”

“No, but shaking down your own father is a lot nicer than being kidnapped, assaulted, and maybe killed.” Everything’s relative.

Bailey picked up her cell again. “I’m calling in boyfriend Brian’s info, see what we can get on him.”

While she did that, I considered my impression of Hayley. I shared it when Bailey ended her call. “I know it’s a little soon, but I get the feeling that Hayley’s a decent sort.”

Bailey gave me a sidelong glance. “Why? Because she deigned to be nice to Scholarship Girl?”

“And Mackenzie has a job-something none of those kids seems to have…or need.”

“Makes her an unusual choice for a bestie in that crowd-”

“Especially for a major leaguer like Hayley Antonovich,” I said. Bailey nodded. “No, I got to admit, Hayley’s definitely not the spoiled rich kid I expected.”

At least not so far. My ruminations on Hayley were interrupted by the thumping bass of a car stereo that was getting louder and louder. It hit full blast as the car pulled in a few spaces away. The vehicle was a brand-new red Mercedes black-top convertible, and the driver, a boy with Justin Bieber hair who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, was rocking out and talking on his iPhone. The song ended and he cut the engine and got out, still talking. “Yo, dude, check it out, you can come with me.” He hit the remote to lock the car and continued as he walked away. “The folks got a house in Virgin Gorda, man. Infinity pool, seven bedrooms, bring the sex box.”

“Gag,” Bailey said.

“Xbox. It’s a video gaming thing.”

Bailey watched him saunter to class. “I know. And I meant gag.”

At that moment the principal came out and headed toward the faculty parking lot. I noticed that lot was filled with Hondas, Toyotas, and Fords. Not a Mercedes or BMW to be found. “Want to hit up a few other friends while we’re here?” I asked.

“Sure. Maybe get some more information on our buddy Brian.”

I got out of the car and called out to the principal. “Mr. Vogel!”

He gave us his blessing to go and talk to any of Hayley’s friends we could find and escorted us back into the school.

“You have a list of names?” he asked.

We gave him the three names we’d gotten from Mackenzie that matched up with the names Hayley’s mother had provided. It was a tight little group of girls who’d apparently been together since grade school. Mackenzie was the only newcomer. Mr. Vogel set us up in his conference room. Another first: a high school principal with his own private conference room.

We’d hoped for a break, but we would have settled for just one or two new ideas about where Hayley might’ve gone or where we might find her boyfriend, Brian. What we got was shock, tears, and a blurry string of “I’m not sures” and “Ask Mackenzies.” But two things struck me: Hayley’s friends were truly nice kids who seemed to have a lot more going on than Mr. Sex Box. One was a World Health Organization volunteer who planned to join the peace corps, another was a science buff who was aiming for a career in green technology, and a third had her sights set on a pediatric practice that would include charity work in underprivileged neighborhoods. The second thing was that everyone sincerely seemed to have undying love for Hayley.

“No one’s a better friend than Hayley…she’s always had my back, since we were in kindergarten…I’d take a bullet for her, seriously.”

Not a catty remark, bitter gibe, or hint of reservation from anyone. But no immediately helpful information either. The only thing we managed to establish was that no one had seen Brian since Wednesday, and the last they’d seen of Hayley was in school on Thursday. A smidgen of light came from bestie Jordana Bloom, the future pediatrician. Her flowing gauzy maxi dress and sparkly flip-flops were a marked contrast to the cutoffs and capris the other girls had worn, and I admired her style-not to mention the fact that she looked a lot more cool and comfortable than I felt.

“We didn’t see a whole lot of Brian,” she said. “But he seemed really nice.”

“So he didn’t hang with you guys?” I asked.

“I don’t think he could afford to.”

“Hayley wouldn’t pay his way?”

“Oh, no, she would have. Brian wouldn’t let her. Once, we were all going to go to Gold Class Cinema, and he said he couldn’t make it. Hayley told him she’d take care of it, and he, like, said, ‘NO.’ Not mean or anything, just, like, that was it. I could tell he didn’t want her paying for stuff for him.”

Gold Class Cinema is a movie theater with first-class airplane-style recliners that make into a bed, and full food and alcohol service delivered right to your seat. It could set you back an easy fifty bucks a pop. So I got why a guy of even average means might find the experience a little rich for his wallet.

“Did he have a job?” I asked.

Jordana’s brow furrowed. “I think he worked…was it in the Galleria?”

I couldn’t help her, since of course I was the one who’d asked the question.

Jordana continued, “I think…yeah.”

“So if Brian’s such a good guy, how come Hayley never introduced him to her parents?”

Jordana looked pained. “I don’t know. Maybe because she was afraid they wouldn’t think he was good enough for her? He was older, he wasn’t in college, didn’t have any money…I don’t really know. I’m just guessing.”

“But there was nothing…skeevy about him? Or dangerous?”

Jordana leaned back as though I’d thrown something at her. “No. No way.”

I knew we should wrap it up. Jordana didn’t have anything more for us, and I didn’t want to have to offer more reassurance than we could honestly give her at this point, so I decided to see if there was any meat on the bone of my elopement theory. “Did Hayley get along with her father?”

Jordana seemed surprised by the question. “I guess. I mean, we never talked about him like that.”

“So she never talked about her father. Or her mother?”

She shrugged as though the question had never occurred to her before. Probably because it hadn’t. “Stuff he was working on, but that’s all.”

I supposed it made sense. At her age, parents were wallets with legs. And these were big wallets. We thanked Jordana and headed back to Bailey’s car to “reconnoiter” again.

Bailey cranked up the AC and picked up her cell. “I want to make sure the photo of Brian made it to the station and give the update on what Jordana told us. See what they’ve come up with so far.” She tapped in the number, then swore softly. “For some reason, I’m suddenly not getting any signal. Let me try outside.” She got out of the car and walked a few steps away, then began to speak. After a couple of minutes, I leaned forward to see what was going on, but her back was to me. It was another five minutes before she returned to the car. But when she got in, she stared out through the windshield for long minutes without speaking.

“What?” I finally asked.

Bailey continued to stare out the window as she spoke. “Brian Shandling does not exist. It’s a fake name.”

The wheels inmy brain skidded to a stop. The entire landscape had changed. If Mr. Nice Guy was a fraud, then my theory-or more accurately my hope-that Hayley might be shacked up with her boyfriend on an island in the Bahamas was a pipe dream.

“They ran the name, found an apartment address, a couple of credit cards, and a driver’s license with a photo that matches our guy, but the DOB comes back to a dead two-year-old in Utah. I’ve put an alert out for him and for any activity on his credit cards,” Bailey said.