Guilt by Association (35 page)

Bailey edged the car out into the near-standstill traffic on Hollywood Boulevard.

“So we’ve got good news and bad news,” I said. “Bad news: our list of suspects is now the size of a phone book. Good news:
we can at least eliminate Luis and Nurse Sheila.”

“Fantastic,” Bailey said sarcastically. “We’re almost there.”

We rode on in silence. With nothing good to say, we found it was best to say nothing.

After a while, Bailey broke the stony silence. “Home?”

“May as well,” I said glumly. “Feel like a drink?”

“Or ten.”

It wasn’t that either of us minded the fact that Stayner might’ve been murdered—he was no big loss to the human race. But
his death deprived us of a lot of answers. The only person left who might be able to give us those answers was his killer.
And, with each passing minute, that killer might be slipping farther away.

I watched the outline of the downtown skyscrapers draw near as office lights flecked the darkening night sky like fireflies.

Bailey and I hit
the Biltmore bar in a grouchy mood. Neither of us was herself… or anyone better. Drew poured a round of martinis.

“How’s it going, ladies?” he asked.

“Like shit,” Bailey said, abruptly taking the olive out of her martini as though it had deliberately gotten in her way. She
took a long pull from her drink.

Drew raised an eyebrow at me. “Bad day?”

I rolled my eyes, picked up my drink, and considered draining it. I restrained myself—barely—and took a healthy sip instead.

Bailey, looking distracted, tapped her fingers on the bar nervously.

“Anything I can do?” Drew asked.

“You just did it,” she said tersely, nodding toward her drink. She took another sip and resumed tapping.

“Okay,” Drew said, tilting his head toward the other end of the bar. “I’ll just be down there.”

“Wise move, Obi-Wan,” I said.

“I’m a survivor,” Drew said smoothly. He moved to the service end of the bar, where a waiter was trying to decipher the drink
order he’d written on a small notepad.

When I turned back, Bailey was scrolling through her e-mail on her cell phone.

“Any word on the print run?” I asked.

“They promise results first thing Monday morning,” she said, frowning.

“Coroner?” I asked.

She scrolled for a few more seconds. “Also sometime on Monday. Preliminary results only.” She shoved her phone into her pocket
and turned back to her drink.

“Look, it is possible that Stayner drove off that cliff by himself, Bailey,” I said. “Accidents do happen.”

“Yeah, just like coincidences,” she said acidly. “And we both know what you think of those.”

This was true. I considered offering her a platitude about things looking better after a good night’s sleep, but I had a feeling
neither of us was going to get one. We drank our martinis in silence, as if they were medicine. Which I guess they were. After
one more dose, we were both ready to call it a night.

“You’re not going to drive home, are you?” I asked.

“I was,” Bailey replied.

Drew, who’d been standing nearby, leaned toward her. “No. You wasn’t,” he said. “Either crash with her or wait for me.”

“Crash with me,” I said quickly. I knew that if Bailey waited for Drew in her current mood, nothing good would come of it.

“Fine,” Bailey said, resigned. Drew patted her hand, and she gave him a tired smile.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said.

Bailey nodded, and we headed up to my room. I helped her make up the sofa bed, then went and took a long, hot shower. I didn’t
realize how tired I was until I got into bed. But the moment my head hit the pillow, my whole body sank in, and I was gone.
That’s what too many suspects and not enough evidence will do to you. That, and a few martinis.

Sunday passed without incident; Bailey found her way home
before I even awoke. By the time I got up Monday morning, I’d recovered most of my sleep and then some. It was 7:30. I showered,
brushed and combed, and went out to look at the day. The sky was blue and the sun was shining; the air was a friendly, medium
temperature. I hoped this was a good omen. I went over to my closet to make my wardrobe choices. I didn’t know what the day
would hold—I just knew I didn’t have to be in court. So I dressed casually in slacks and a sweater.

Did I still need to wear the vest? Whoever had killed Stayner—assuming we were right and it wasn’t just an accident—was still
out there. But that person didn’t seem dumb enough to go after me. Take me out, and there would be a million more in my place.
I decided I was safe enough with just my .22-caliber Beretta and left the vest in the closet.

I felt good, if a little naked. And I could move a heck of a lot faster. Within minutes, I was climbing the stairs to the
back doors of the courthouse building. I’d just stepped inside when my cell phone rang.

“Where are you?” Bailey asked.

“Heading for the elevator.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” she said, and hung up.

Nine minutes later, she strode into my office. I held up the cup of coffee I’d bought for her at the snack bar.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down in front of my desk.

“And?”

“Print run is mostly done,” Bailey replied. “Just about everything’s got Stayner’s prints.”

“Just about?”

She nodded. “One item did not. The tech found a set of clear but unidentified prints on it.”

“Unidentified?” I repeated. “You mean it didn’t match anyone in the criminal database?”

“That’s what I mean.”

That ruled out Luis for good and probably eliminated some other scumbag crime partner of Stayner’s.

“Where were the prints found?” I asked.

“On a pack of Quench Gum,” Bailey replied.

I frowned, thinking it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. But it was better than nothing. “It’s a thread to pull,”
I said. “Since we got no hit on the criminal database, we’ll have to assume for now that whoever put those prints on the gum
isn’t a criminal.”

“For now,” she agreed. “But if we eliminate the criminal element, the motive we’re left with is—”

“Susan’s rape,” I finished. “And the only noncriminals we know who’ve got the motive to kill Stayner because of Susan’s rape
are Susan—”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we can rule out the little girl,” Bailey interjected.

“A bold move, but all right,” I said. “Which leaves Mommy and Daddy.”

“But this one’s tricky,” Bailey said. “We need more than a hunch before we take a run at them. They’ll go straight to my captain—”

“And Vanderhorn—”

“—in a heartbeat,” Bailey finished.

I thought for a moment. “Aren’t doctors’ prints on file?”

Bailey tilted her head. “Not sure,” she said. “But I can find out pretty quick.”

She made calls while I waited nervously.

“You nailed it, Knight,” she said appreciatively. “They’re accessing Densmore’s prints as we speak. We should have the answer
within the hour.”

“And Densmore will never have to know.”

It was one hell
of a tense hour. Bailey didn’t want to leave the office because she thought she might wind up in a bad cell area and miss
the call. I wanted to get out because I needed to move around, and my office doesn’t have enough room for even minor pacing.
But I felt I had to be there when Bailey got the call. So I sat, pinned to my seat, and waited.

An hour and twenty minutes later, Bailey’s cell phone rang. She listened and said “uh-huh” a few times, then “Thanks,” and
hung up. She looked at me deadpan.

“Do not torture me,” I warned.

Not one to be threatened, she waited another beat before speaking. “We’ve got Frank Densmore’s prints on the gum.”

“Boo-yeah!” I shouted.

Bailey laughed, and we high-fived.

“You know, it does fit, doesn’t it?” I said. “Quench Gum didn’t exactly seem like Stayner’s style.”

Bailey nodded. “As soon as you mentioned that Densmore’s prints might be on file, I remembered that’s what I chew when I’m
bike-riding.”

Right. Densmore was a cyclist. “You didn’t say anything,” I remarked.

Bailey shrugged. “I wanted to wait till we got the prints back,” she said. “I didn’t want us to get fired up just to crash
down.”

After our mood a couple of nights ago, I couldn’t blame her. I thought for a moment about where we stood. “It’s all good so
far, but it’s not enough to get a warrant,” I said. “It’d be easy for Densmore to claim that Stayner picked up the gum at
a clinic.”

“Or even that Stayner found it outside Densmore’s house,” Bailey said, “now that we know Stayner was floating around the hood.”

“But working on the theory that Densmore’s our killer—”

“A fair bet.”

“That means Densmore lied when he claimed he didn’t know Stayner,” I concluded.

Bailey nodded. “Or else he wouldn’t have known how to find him.”

“That means it was probably Densmore himself who gave Stayner access to his home, his family,” I added.

We both mulled over that unsavory thought, then Bailey voiced the million-dollar question. “Why?”

I shook my head. “We don’t even have enough to venture a good guess yet. But let’s not jump the gun. First we need to nail
down Stayner’s murder. Then we can see where we stand.”

“True.” Bailey folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “The fact that Stayner’s prints aren’t on the gum helps,” she
said.

“It does,” I agreed. “But not enough.” A person doesn’t always leave detectable prints every time he touches something. So
the absence of prints has some value, but it’s limited.

“Also true,” Bailey said. “So we need more on our guy.”

“You shoot at the king, you better kill the king,” I agreed.

We both sat for a moment, silent, thinking.

“What about the coroner? You hear from him yet?” I asked.

Bailey shook her head. “Couldn’t hurt to goose him a little.” She punched the numbers on her phone.

“If you can’t get the coroner, I’ll try Scott and see what he knows,” I said.

Bailey nodded.

I stood and faced the window while Bailey made the call. The sky was so piercingly blue it looked unreal, and the bright sunshine
made even the grass around city hall look inviting. At the far end of the grounds, a shirtless man furtively urinated against
an imposing maple tree. The grass looked somewhat less inviting now.

Bailey waved to get my attention, and I gladly turned away from my window. She covered the phone, her expression ominous.
“I’m on hold. The assistant thinks they found the cause of death,” she said. “It’s a heart attack.”

I frowned. “Is the coroner going to get on the phone?”

“Waiting to find out,” Bailey said. After a moment, she nodded to me, then spoke into the phone. “Yeah, hi, Dr. Loujian,”
she said, and paused. “Yes, Carl Stayner.”

While Bailey listened, I considered the possibilities now that Densmore was a potential suspect. I pointed to the phone and
whispered, “Ask him—”

She looked at me. “Could you hold on for just a sec, Doctor? The DA has a question.” She handed the phone to me.

“Dr. Loujian, thank you for taking the time,” I said. “Is this a final conclusion or a preliminary?”

“It’s just preliminary at this point,” he replied in his oddly high-pitched voice, which was even more incongruous when you
saw him: he was a solid six feet five.

“Was his physical condition completely consistent with a heart attack?” I asked.

The doctor paused. “Well, let’s say it wasn’t inconsistent,” he replied. “His heart wasn’t good. Then again, it wasn’t as
bad as his liver. Now
that
was something to behold. It looked like it was ready to crawl out of his body on its own.” He chuckled at the macabre
joke. Not all coroners have that sick sense of humor, but enough do to justify the cliché.

I tried to give him a polite laugh, but it stuck in my throat. “If someone wanted to administer a drug that would make the
cause of death look like a heart attack, what would that be?” I asked.

“A number of substances could do it,” he replied. “It’ll take me a while to screen for them all, though.”

I thought for a moment. Stayner had been killed within hours after I’d shown the photo to Densmore. If Densmore had done it,
the substance would have to be readily at hand. “I’m thinking of something a doctor could get ahold of relatively quickly.”

“That should narrow it down,” he said. “I’ll have them redo the tox and see what shows up.”

“That would be great,” I said. “How long will it take?”

“As long as it takes,” he replied.

A beat of silence passed as I tried to think of a polite way to tell him to get the lead out. Before inspiration could hit,
the doctor spoke with a sigh. “I’ll put in a rush, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I really appreciate it.” Knowing I was pushing my luck but unable to resist, I added another request.
“Would you mind faxing me your preliminary report?”

“Ms. Knight, you know that’s not kosher.”

“I won’t let anyone else see it, I promise,” I said. “You can trust me, Dr. Loujian,” I said quickly. “Ask Scott. He’ll tell
you. We go back a long way.”

I didn’t think it would help to add that Scott could also vouch for me because no one had found out about his pilfering Jake’s
autopsy report at my request.

After a pause, the doctor spoke. “I’ll do it,” he said reluctantly. “But you’ve got to keep it to yourself. And when I write
the final report, you’ll have to destroy the preliminary.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Go stand by your fax machine, and don’t let anyone see you,” the doctor said. “I’ll get back to you on the rest as soon as
I can.”

I told Bailey to come with me as I headed for the machine in Melia’s office. As we walked, I told her what the coroner had
said.

“Those tox screens can take some time,” she remarked grimly.

“I know,” I replied. When we entered the anteroom to Eric’s office, I noticed with relief that Melia wasn’t there. The last
thing I needed was her nosing around and asking questions. “But this is pretty specific stuff he’s looking for, so that should
speed things up.”