RK02 - Guilt By Degrees (26 page)

“If he
took the photo, then whoever attacked you—,” Bailey began.

“—is involved somehow in Simon’s murder,” I finished. “Whether it was the stabber himself or a cohort, it’s clear now: somebody’s tracking us.
Has been
tracking us.”

Which explained that creepy “being watched” feeling I’d been having. Though it was a relief to know that I hadn’t been hallucinating, the knowledge that someone, likely a murderer, was following me was less than wonderful. A lot less.

“He could’ve killed you—but he didn’t.”

“Killing me makes it a bigger deal. I’d bet his first choice was to break into my room, but those doors are built like a vault’s.”

“Still, the attack on you shows he’ll go as far as he has to—regardless of what his first choice is,” Bailey said, looking worried. She pulled up in front of the courthouse. “Call me when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come pick you up,” she said. “Got it?”

I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “But I’m leaving early.” I looked at her challengingly.

“See you in a couple of hours,” she said.

I got out and swam upstream against the wave of lunch-bound hordes. When I got back to my office, I saw that I had a message to contact Eric. Melia was at her desk, but her eyes were glued to the tabloid rag in her lap. It was a pleasure to interrupt her.

“I’m here to see Eric,” I said.

Her head popped up, mouth open. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah.” She buzzed him and told him I was there. “He says you can go on in,” she said, then immediately dropped her attention back to her lap.

Eric stood up when I walked into his office.

“I just heard about what happened,” he said.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“Hotel security,” he replied. “They wanted to coordinate your protection. Naturally, I said we’d be glad to work with them.” Eric gave me a pointed look.

Uh-oh.

“But first, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, lowering myself slowly into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Yeah, you look great,” Eric said dryly, watching my descent. “Any idea who did it?”

I shook my head. “Someone connected to Simon Bayer’s murder. Could’ve been the murderer himself.”

I told him about the missing photograph.

He looked down at his desk, pensive. “This worries me a great deal—”

I cut him off. “Don’t even think about reassigning the case.” I tried to collect myself and speak in a rational tone. “It won’t be any less dangerous for any other deputy. And I’ve been in on it from the start—”

Eric held up a hand and looked at me for a long moment. He slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He sighed and frowned. “But I’m assigning you security. We’re putting DA investigators on your tail and in your hotel. Starting now.” He gave me a stern look. “And you’ll be fully cooperative with them.”

“Got it,” I said, knowing it was no use to protest even if I’d minded. Which, at the moment, I had to admit, I didn’t.

“And now, I have to give you a heads-up,” Eric said. “I hate to give you anything else to worry about, but Phil Hemet’s been in the chief deputy’s ear, claiming you’ve been out playing around when you say you’re in the field. He came to tell me personally that someone saw you and Bailey partying it up at Guido’s—”

I protested hotly. “This is complete bullshit, Eric!” I’d known Hemet was up to something, but this was just an out-and-out lie. I told him about Melia’s encounter with the reporter.

Eric nodded. “It figures. Hemet’s got someone in the newsroom who’s all fired up to do an article on how special unit—and especially Special Trials—deputies screw around on company time. Apparently he’s got quite a few buddies in the news business.” Eric’s voice was low, but the underlying anger was palpable. “And I know what he said is horseshit, Rachel. But Hemet’s out for blood, and I don’t think he cares what’s true anymore.”

I tried to control my voice despite the rage and frustration boiling in my gut. “So what’re we going to do about it? We can’t just let him spread these lies around,” I said.

“No, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment,” Eric replied. “Just give him as little fodder as possible. I understand you had to be out of the office to get this case rolling. But just be careful from here on out about what you do and when you do it when you’re in public.”

I tried to console myself with the knowledge that at least Hemet hadn’t tipped the press to the Simon Bayer case, but it didn’t help much. Now that Hemet had promised a mudslinging insider exclusive, the press would be watching. I’d known that someone was bound to figure out what I was working on sooner or later, but now, thanks to that asshat Hemet, it would be sooner. Much sooner. I’d have to move faster—if that was possible. I sifted through my in-box and got the most pressing business on my other cases out of the way. To avoid the fun and hilarity of lowering myself into my chair one inch at a time, I did it standing up. Then I pulled out my Lilah to-do list and did what could be accomplished at a desk, but by four thirty I’d hit a dead end. Again. I was ready to pack it in. But after my chat with Eric, I knew it wouldn’t look good to leave that early.

The fact that I had to worry about that infuriated me all over again. I put in so much overtime (unpaid, of course) that my hourly wage was about a dollar and a quarter. And I never had a chance to take my comp time. So now, not only was I being stalked by a murderer but I’d been targeted by a dickhead middle manager with a petty grudge. Adding insult to injury, the very same manager who was the number one supporter of that useless sack Brandon Averill—the prosecutor whose slipshod, lousy work got me into this mess to begin with. I eyed the bottom drawer of my desk where I kept the Glenlivet but didn’t want to waste good scotch on bad lawyers. I made myself work until five o’clock, then called Bailey.

“I’m pulling the plug,” I said.

“Thought you were leaving early.”

“I am,” I said testily. “Should I see if Toni’s around?”

“Sure, why should I get your great mood all to myself?”

I hung up and dialed Toni’s extension, too tired to walk down the hall. No answer. I tried her cell.

“I’m still in court, believe it or not,” Toni replied. “Hang on.” I heard her whisper to someone nearby, then she came back on the line. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”

My security detail, which was comprised of district attorney investigators, was waiting in Eric’s anteroom. DA investigators are basically cops who work exclusively for the DA’s office, and plenty of them used to work for police agencies. They handle specialized investigations and all security details. District Attorney Vanderhorn has investigators assigned to him as security on a full-time basis. That’s no easy job, because the biggest threat to his safety probably comes from those of us who work for him.

A well-built man with a crew cut and kind eyes stepped forward from the group and put out his hand. “Gary Schrader, senior investigator,” he said. “I’m the team leader.” He gestured to the three other men with him. All were wearing the navy-blue nylon DA investigator Windbreaker. Gary gave me a sympathetic look. “I was sorry to hear about the incident, Ms. Knight. But we plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

His manner was old-school, courtly and respectful yet warm. Though I’d grudgingly admitted I didn’t mind having security around, the idea of being followed 24-7 hadn’t exactly thrilled me. But now I felt not only well-protected but honored.

“Thank you,” I said, shaking his hand. “And please call me Rachel.”

He nodded. “Gary,” he said.

He turned to gesture behind him. “This is Stephen.” A stout young man with slicked-back brown hair gave a little wave. “James.” An impressively tall, fair blond with light eyebrows and eyelashes nodded. “And Mario.” A slim but muscular Latino with thick black hair and a sexy smile saluted me.

I shook hands with each of them. “I rate four investigators?”

“They’ll usually rotate in teams of two,” Gary said.

I told them my plans, and we all trooped out to the elevator. My own private retinue of navy-blue nylon Windbreakers and running shoes.

I found Toni already outside at the curb, and one of the investigators went to get his car while the other three waited with us. Toni looked from the investigators to me and nodded.

“Good,” she said.

Thirty seconds later, Bailey drove up, and Toni and I piled into her car. The investigator who’d gone to get his vehicle pulled up behind her, and one of the guys got into the passenger seat. The other two saluted and promised to see us tomorrow.

As we headed down Spring Street, Bailey said, “The Biltmore? Or somewhere else?”

“Let’s hit my room,” I said.

“Your room?” Toni echoed, looking puzzled.

My room was often the place where we eventually crashed, but it wasn’t usually our destination for evening entertainment.

“I’ll explain when we get there,” I promised. “Besides, I already told my dates”—I jerked my thumb at the investigators behind us—“that’s where I was going, and I’m trying to be cooperative.”

Toni and Bailey snorted almost simultaneously.

The DA investigators tailed us into the hotel and went to their posts in the hallway when we entered my room.

“How’d you wind up with protection?” Bailey asked.

As we took off our coats and dropped them on a chair, I explained how Eric had found out about the attack. “So you’re off the hook now,” I told her.

“I’m here for the duration. I don’t care how many of those guys are hanging around.”

I was too tired and frazzled to argue. I held up a bottle of wine and a chilled bottle of Russian Standard Platinum vodka.

Bailey picked up a barrel glass. “Vodka.”

“I think I’m in the mood for wine,” Toni said.

I opened the bottle and filled glasses for her and myself, and let Bailey do the honors with the vodka. “Want to order room service?”

“Not yet,” Bailey said. “At least, not for me.”

Toni shook her head. “I’ll take some snacks, though.”

I put out the nuts and pretzels, then sat down on the couch and held out my glass for a toast.

“To a terrific week,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s almost over,” Toni said. “I’ll drink to that.”

We all took a long sip.

“Now, what are we doing in your room?” Bailey asked.

I told them about Phil Hemet and his latest quest to trash me and all of Special Trials. When I finished, Toni was fuming. She poured herself another glass of wine and hunched over it, tapping one finger on the glass.

“You know what we need?” she asked.

“An unregistered gun?” I said helpfully.

Toni stared at me. “No,” she said. “Dirt. On Hemet.”

“That’s good too,” I said. I ran my hand through my hair and winced as I accidentally touched one of the many sore spots on my head. “But how?”

“Leave that to me,” Toni replied.

We never
did make it out of my room. In fact, Toni never even made it home. She crashed on the couch.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. I got up and felt the window. It seemed warmer today than it had been. Maybe that would help ease the aches and pains. I still felt like I was about ninety years old. I heard Bailey moving around in the other bedroom. Did I smell coffee?

I quickly showered and inventoried the damage to my face and torso. Better, though not good. But now some yellow was peeking through the purple. Progress. I threw on some jeans and a sweater. Well, not
throw
exactly. I inched my way into them. When I reached the living room, I saw there was indeed coffee. And pastries. And bagels. With Bailey for a roommate, I was going to wind up wearing bedspreads to court. I poured myself a cup of coffee and pulled off half a bagel.

Toni sat up, yawning, then sleepwalked to the bathroom. Two seconds later, the shower began to run.

“How you feeling, sunshine?” Bailey said, looking perfect in her brown pencil slacks and short boots.

“Better.” I took another sip of coffee. “Thanks for ordering.”

Bailey smirked, knowing I wasn’t entirely pleased with the selection. “Come on, it won’t kill you, and your security might put up with you longer if you give ’em a bear claw.”

“On second thought, pass me that Danish.”

She passed me the plate. “That’s the spirit,” she said.

I put most of the remaining pastries on a spare dish and stepped out into the hall. Gary was standing closest to the door, and I could see Mario at the end of the hall. I held out the plate to Gary.

“I thought we should all get fat together,” I joked.

“You have nothing to worry about, Rachel,” Gary said, taking the plate from me.

If someone else had said it, the line might’ve sounded a little bit lecherous. But Gary just made it sound reassuring.

“Your wife is probably the luckiest woman on earth,” I said.

“So I’ve been telling her for the past ten years,” he replied. “But feel free to call and back me up. A little corroboration never hurts.” He held up the plate. “And thank you for these. Mario’ll love it.”

“My pleasure.”

I went back into the room, picked up the remaining Danish, and took a big bite. It was fresh and delicious. “It’s time to hit up Lilah’s parents.” We’d been hoping to have enough information on her to keep them honest before we had the meeting, but it looked like we had all we were going to get.

Bailey nodded. “I know we’ve talked about it for a while,” she said. “But I’m not sure what we expect to get from them. They’re on her side. Even if they don’t know we’re looking at her possible involvement in Simon’s murder, they’ve got to know she’s flying under the radar and using an alias. I don’t see them helping us.”

Bailey sat back and folded her arms over her chest. Her thinking posture. I got up and paced. My thinking posture. One of us had a more annoying thinking posture than the other.

I thought out loud. “You couldn’t find any trace of her under any of her known names—”

“I’ve checked every database in every city, county, and state in this country. I’ve checked banks, jails, prisons, hospitals, even the morgue, I’ve checked—”

I held up my hand. “Enough. I get it. But she can’t just be No-Name. She must’ve gotten a new ID, right?”

“Right,” Bailey said. “Though that may not necessarily mean she’s up to no good. She’s got every reason to want to change her name and erase her past.”

True enough. “But even if she is into something shady, she can’t get by with no ID.”

And Lilah’s new name was the least of the unknowns that’d been plaguing me. Was she a cold-blooded murderer? Or was she the victim of a misguided investigation—someone whose life had been ruined by being falsely accused? If the latter, then what was she doing now? Why was she seemingly in hiding? I had a hard time believing she was cowering in a corner somewhere. I’d studied her on that surveillance footage too many times to count, and one thing was clear to me: that strong, confident stride didn’t fit with someone who’d disappeared out of fear or shame. But that single conclusion, based only on my intuition, left a world of questions unanswered. Every time I thought about Lilah, I wound up on this same circular path.

“No one gets by in this world without ID,” Bailey agreed. “And I didn’t see anything in her past that was helpful. Though I did think it was weird that she got a GED instead of finishing high school.”

“Especially since she’d just come back home after years of getting stellar grades in a boarding school.”

Bailey sat up. “When’d you come up with that?”

“A little while ago.” I shrugged. “Checked out her school records, talked to a few people. Seems she got into enough trouble to make the counselor recommend a boarding school for ‘problem children.’”

“She have a juvenile record?”

“No. And it seems the boarding school did straighten her out. By the time she left, she had a four-oh.”

Bailey looked at me intently. “You pulling all-nighters working on this woman, or what? And elementary school? How on earth’s that supposed to help us find her now?”

Until that moment, I hadn’t thought to question it. But now I wondered: What
did
I hope to gain by delving into Lilah’s personal history—especially that far back?

“I just wanted to fill in some blanks,” I said. “I needed to get some answers for a change, instead of questions that only led to more questions. It’s been frustrating, you know?”

Bailey nodded. Her puzzled look told me she wasn’t entirely convinced, but I didn’t have any better explanation.

I paused to look out the window at Pershing Square. The small park in the middle of downtown always sets up an ice rink in winter. A young girl wearing lighted reindeer antlers stumbled blindly around the oval rink. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her wet jeans told me her efforts to stay upright hadn’t been a total success. Suddenly she slip-slided her way off the ice and into a roped-off area, where she dropped heavily onto one of the folding chairs. A rink official glided over and appeared to order her out of the area. When she unsteadily followed his directions, he sat her down at one of the public tables. Was she stoned? Or just new on skates?

I brought my thoughts back to the matter at hand and gave voice to an issue that’d been dancing around in my mind.

“How did Lilah and Zack meet anyway?” I asked.

“No one knows,” Bailey replied. “Even Zack’s parents were vague. At some party or something.”

I nodded, frowning, and turned back to the window.

The girl with the antlers duckwalked her way back onto the rink and began to bounce off the low wood barriers. This time, a tall, strong-looking rink official quickly skated up behind her, grabbed her under the arms, and steered her off the ice, then motioned for a nearby patrol officer. Stoned. Definitely not the skates.

I began to pace again. “If they did meet at a party, then how come no one has any details? Like when or where it was, or who threw the party?”

Bailey shrugged.

“It bugs me that they have no logical point of intersection,” I said. “Work? School? Church?” I turned another circle, thinking.

“Your pacing is making me nuts,” Bailey warned. “And dizzy.”

She had a point. The room was pretty small, so my circles were tight and fast. “Sorry,” I said. I resumed pacing but tried to make it look like a casual stroll. “Zack didn’t go to law school—”

“—so they didn’t meet there,” Bailey said. “And they didn’t meet at work. When she interned for the DA’s office, she was down in Orange County.”

“And no one ever said they were churchgoers—”

“She’d immolate on the threshold.” Toni emerged from the bathroom looking like a magazine cover.

Makeup, flawless. Hair, perfect. Clothes, chic. And if circumstances required, she could even do it fast. I was no slouch, but I was a mere grasshopper next to Master Toni.

I resumed pacing. “She went to law school, interned at the DA’s office, and got hired at a fancy law firm. None of that explains how she and Zack crossed paths.”

Bailey refolded her arms and stared down at the table. After a moment, she looked up. “If she did kill Zack, it wouldn’t be a big strain to believe Lilah had a shady past.”

I stopped pacing and looked at Bailey. “A hotshot corporate lawyer with a shady past? Impossible,” I said with a sarcastic smile. “So maybe they met at Zack’s workplace.”

“As in, Zack busted her for something?”

I shrugged.

But Bailey was frowning. “I don’t know. Men think with the little head and all that, but hooking up with a suspect…” She shook her head. “It’s a career wrecker if anyone finds out. And from everything we’ve heard about him, Zack was an ambitious guy. Cops who want to be captain—or more—don’t take those kinds of chances.”

“I agree,” I replied. “And if he did bust her for something, he must’ve hidden it, because she’s got no rap sheet, right?”

“None,” Bailey said. “But then again…we’re pretty sure she’s got an alias now, right? Maybe she had an alias back then…”

No cover-up would’ve been required.

“Or maybe he didn’t bust her,” Toni chimed in. “Maybe she was a witness.”

I nodded. “That might’ve given her a legit reason to have an alias…”

“Such as?” Bailey asked.

“She was hiding from an abusive boyfriend,” Toni said.

“If she did have an alias back then—for whatever reason—it’d be a lot easier to go back to it now than to get a whole new set of fake IDs,” I said.

Bailey sighed. “This means we’ve got to go through Zack’s arrest reports and see if we can find a witness or suspect who fits her description. Needle in a haystack.”

I nodded glumly. This time, I had no magnet.