"So they could frame Brian for Hayley's murder," Bailey said. "Now we know why that ticket to Paris was purchased under Brian's alias."

While Bailey and I were talking, I saw Dorian arrive. This time she started by taking soil samples from the area and collecting leaves from the shrubs. That reminded me of Fryman Canyon. I went over and greeted her.

"Hey, Dorian. Glad it's you out here."

"Makes one of us. What do you want?"

Dorian's gushing could be so embarrassing. "I was just thinking that we also had a scene at Fryman Canyon. I don't know if you remember, that's where the-"

"-ransom was dropped. Of course I remember. I already took samples from there. Any other brilliant thoughts you'd like to share?"

"Nope, all good."

Since Dorian didn't seem in need of any further assistance, I looked around and noticed that George and his burly assistant had already loaded the body into the wagon and George was about to get into the driver's seat. I walked over to him.

"Can you give me some idea as to cause of death?"

"There was an obvious puncture wound in the left side of the neck, and a deep slice across the carotid. Probably drew the knife from behind from left to right."

So cause of death for both Hayley and Brian was knife wounds. "Can we ask Steve to compare the wound tracks to another victim's?"

"Hayley Antonovich?"

I nodded.

"Good idea. I'll put in the request. Steven testified in a case I had up in Seattle. Great witness."

Steven Diamond is the coroner's criminalist who knows and does just about everything you can think of. One of those things is to determine what kind of blade created a wound. That's a pretty unique skill that, as far as I know, no one can do as well as Steven, because he compiled a database of wounds that were known to have been made by specific knives. As a result, he might be able to get fairly precise about what kind of knife was used to inflict our fatal wounds. In this case, with two victims killed close in time, I was hoping Steven could tell us whether the same, or at least a very similar, weapon was used on both of them. And that would help to prove both kids-I couldn't help but think of them that way-were murdered by the same person. It would never be as precise a match as bullets or casings would've given us, but it was a heck of a lot better than most criminalists could do with knife wounds.

George got in, started the van, and slowly pulled out. I didn't envy him having to maneuver that bulky vehicle on these wet, winding roads. Come to think of it, I wasn't all that wild about doing it in a car. My thoughts wound back around to Fryman Canyon and the ransom money. I found Bailey talking to one of the unis and motioned her over.

"Did anyone check Brian's bank accounts? Or find out if he had a safe-deposit box?" I asked.

"No safe-deposit box, and his bank account had twenty-seven bucks and some change. No ransom money anywhere. Until now, I just figured he had the money on him."

"So maybe our third party was in on the kidnapping plan and killed them both so he could grab the money-"

Bailey nodded. "And get rid of the witnesses." She gestured to the rest of the team, who were packing up to leave. "Let me wrap up here and we can take off."

It was nearly ten o'clock now, and the darkness that had settled over the mountain was pierced only by the sliver of light from a crescent moon. The air temperature had dropped at least thirty degrees, and the hulking black hostility of the terrain was starting to get to me. I thought about Brian drawing his last breath in this harsh, lonely wilderness. Had he still been alive when the killer shoveled the dirt over him? The thought left me short of breath and achingly sad. My cell phone rang, breaking into my morbid reverie. Startled by the sound, I reflexively took the call.

A voice cried out, "I j-just heard about Hayley!" Choking sobs intervened before the caller could continue. "It's all my fault! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

It took me a moment to identify the voice through the tears. "Mackenzie?"

"She told me she'd be okay! And I believed her!"

"Take a deep breath, Mackenzie."

A sharp, ragged intake of air, then, "Sh-she told me...she said everything would be okay-"

"You mean Hayley?"

"Y-yes." Sniffling and a few hiccups. "She said she'd be gone for a while and I wouldn't be able to reach her. I might hear something that sounded bad, but I shouldn't worry, and I couldn't tell anyone. She said don't tell, just don't tell. She said she and Brian had a plan and everything was going to be great. But she didn't tell me-" The rest of the sentence was cut off by more racking sobs.

"-what the plan was?"

"No. She just said not to tell anyone. So I didn't. She said not to..." Mackenzie trailed off.

"Mackenzie, you are not to blame. Do you hear me? You didn't know what she was planning." But Mackenzie was now crying and hiccupping uncontrollably. "Mackenzie? Is your dad there?"

"Yes."

"Does he know about all this?"

"Yes."

"Will you please put him on the phone? And stay right there, okay?"

"Okay." Then, I heard her call out, "Dad!"

Seconds later, a male voice said, "Yes?" We exchanged names and then I asked Mackenzie's father to watch her closely and not to leave her alone. I'd talk to Mackenzie myself, in person, and try to get her to understand she shouldn't blame herself for any of this. He promised to stay at her side day and night and said he'd get her to her therapist tomorrow.

If anyone understood survivor's guilt, it was me, and thankfully, I could tell that Mackenzie's father would do what had to be done. I didn't know whether Mackenzie would do something crazy. I just knew I couldn't take any chances. I wasn't about to see yet another young life be destroyed by this nightmare of a case.

21.

I pulled Bailey aside and told her what I'd just learned.

"So Hayley and Brian were definitely in on it together," she said.

"And most likely were killed by the same person-"

"Or persons-"

"-who had to have known about their plan in time to grab the money and kill them," I said. "No way any of Hayley's buddies would've done it."

"No. We've got to dig into Brian's life-find out who he was hanging with."

But whoever it was had deliberately laid a false trail for us. I decided two could play this game. "Do you think we could keep Brian's death under wraps for a while?"

"And hope our mystery man keeps dropping false clues?" Bailey asked. I nodded. "Brian's aunt will keep for a little while. And I can warn these guys"-she tilted her head toward the officers on the scene-"but I can't promise how long-"

In a case like this, no secret was going to keep for long. And we couldn't let Janice find out about her nephew from the press. "But it's worth a try, right? With a little more time, our mystery man might poke his head above the radar-at least once more." And with a little luck, he'd poke it up nice and high, where I could snap it off.

Bailey gathered all the unis together and gave them the word not to file any reports or talk about what they'd seen until she gave the okay. They all nodded their agreement, though I noticed a couple of skeptical expressions.

I was exhausted in a way that was as much emotional as physical. Bailey too seemed a lot worse for wear, which was unusual for her. Through many all-nighters, she was always the one who looked disgustingly fresh when the rest of us seemed ridden hard and put back wet. But now her eyes, her mouth, her shoulders, all sagged, as if pulled down by fifty-pound weights. She wrapped up with the remaining officers and we trudged down the muddy, rocky trail to her car.

As we wound our way back down the mountain, I tried to dredge up names for any of Brian's friends. No luck. I remembered that even his aunt hadn't known of any. "The only places I can think to check are his jobs. He didn't go to school here-"

"No," Bailey said. "And I've been trying to figure out where he might've gotten the idea to stage the kidnapping-"

"You mean other than from himself-"

"Yeah, I don't make him as the mastermind somehow. If you ask me, this was Hayley's idea."

It did have that teenagey melodramatic touch. But something about the whole kidnapping scheme bothered me. "If what Brian wanted was to avenge his father, then why only ask for a million dollars? Why not go for it and ask for half the profits on that film?"

"How would he know what that was? He was just a kid. He did what was easy. Hayley told him Russell kept a million in the house. He asked for that."

I stared at Bailey. "Since when did you get to be such a softie?" Bailey was usually the one who landed on the most sinister motives for every move-whether that move was made by a child molester or a ninety-year-old who cheated at Bingo.

Bailey shrugged. After a few moments she said, "It's just a feeling. Okay?"

"You're entitled to 'em," I said. "And I don't disagree with you."

Bailey dropped me off at the Biltmore with a warning that she'd be back to pick me up at eight o'clock tomorrow. I nodded wearily, got out and patted the roof, and Bailey sped off.

One hot shower later, I was in bed. Five minutes after that, I'd fallen asleep with all the lights on.

22.

I'd set the alarm early enough to have breakfast and read the paper, but I accidentally hit the snooze button twice. The next time my eyes opened, it was seven thirty. I jerked myself out of bed and ran to the shower, hitting the TV remote on my way so I could check the morning news. I needed to find out whether word of Brian's death had leaked. I cranked up the volume and scrubbed up quickly, listening as I braced for disaster. The hot water felt good on my shoulders and I'd just begun to relax when a familiar voice made me spin around and push open the shower door. I leaned out just in time to see Vanderhorn's face behind a microphone. I grabbed a towel and ran over to the television.

Preening in the limelight, as usual, he affected his "I perform a somber duty" face. "We are continuing to develop leads and are working closely with officers who, I assure you, are going around the clock-"

A reporter interrupted him with a shouted question asking for new information. I held my breath. Vanderputz shouldn't know about Brian, but...

"Ah..."

I could see he was aching to say something that'd get him more airtime. I squeezed the towel between my hands, wishing it was his neck. He continued.

"There is nothing more I can tell you at this time. But I believe in the public's right to know, and the moment we have any new development..."

They let him finish the sentence, barely, before cutting away to tease sports and weather. I hurried back to the shower, light-headed with relief. Crisis averted. This one, anyway. I still needed to check the Internet.

I dressed and did my hair and makeup in record time, but just as I opened my laptop, Bailey called to say she was downstairs. Damn. I grabbed a cold bottle of water, wrapped half of my toasted bagel in a napkin, and sprinted for the elevator.

"You checked the Web for leaks?" I asked as I got into the car.

Bailey nodded. "So far, so good."

We went back to Brian's past jobs and asked more questions. All of his bosses and co-workers said the same thing: he was a good worker, a nice guy, but he didn't hang out with anyone on a social basis and they didn't know of any friends. The only person he'd ever mentioned was his aunt, Janice.

As we walked back to the car after the last stop, we passed an outdoor newsstand set under an awning against the wall of a building. I glanced at the newspapers displayed on the middle shelf. Every single paper had some mention of Hayley's murder on the front page. Most featured a color reproduction of a particularly winsome pose above the fold. Not just one but three different tabloids carried a full story. Though I shuddered to think what was in those stories, I bought them all. I had to know what kind of misinformation was already being spread. We'd asked our respective offices to keep a tight lid on the details of how and where Hayley'd been found, but we knew that wouldn't stop the lower-echelon workers at either the police station or the DA's office from leaking stories-true or false-to reporters for fun, attention, and profit. I didn't know whether we'd ever have a suspect to take to trial, but if we did, I would need a jury that hadn't been tainted with lies and spin.

We got into the car and Bailey pulled out. I opened one of the papers to start reading, then realized it'd probably make me nauseated-and I don't just mean from motion sickness. I folded it back up. It could wait till I got back to my office or the station.

"You have the guts to go hit SID and see if Dorian has anything?" I asked.

"Sure, I'm in the mood for a good ass-kicking."

"Maybe if we bring her some lunch..."

"Dorian doesn't eat," Bailey said.

But I did, and I was hungry. Two tacos and a quesadilla later, we were rolling into the parking lot of SID. We found Dorian staring into a microscope at her bench. When we got within ten feet, she looked up and grimaced.

"What?" she said.

Ordinarily, I'd start with a "Hey, how ya doin'?" but not with Dorian. I'd bet Dorian's mother doesn't do that with Dorian.

"Anything on anything?" I asked.

She jerked her head in the direction of her office and started walking. We followed. Her small, spartan office was decorated in early modern anal-retentive. Her desk was spotless, the in-box placed at precisely one inch from the edge on both sides, and of course empty. Dorian unlocked her computer and tapped a few keys. "Brian's apartment: no evidence of struggle, hair consistent with Hayley's was found in the bathroom and the bedroom, and prints that matched his and Hayley's were found in all rooms. Couple of toothbrushes found in the bathroom. Preliminary tests indicate they were used by Brian and Hayley. I'll have a final answer when we get back DNA. No clothing in the closets, and other than a used tube of toothpaste-which I haven't printed yet-there were no other items in the bathroom or the medicine cabinet-"

"So Hayley stayed there with Brian."

Dorian ignored me, tapped more keys, and squinted at the screen. "Next, Brian's car. This is just the first look, so we'll have more when I get time to finish. I found Brian's hair and prints in the car, of course. Hayley's hair and prints too. Possibly some fibers from the blouse she was found in as well. It was a lightweight knit that shed a fair amount, which is helpful. Now here's the part I know you're waiting for: I found a small smear of blood on the outside of the trunk. Seems to be a mix of Hayley's and someone else's."

"Not Brian?" I asked.

"Not based on the profile I've got so far. When I get back the DNA, I'll be able to tell you for sure, but at this moment, it looks like a third party's blood."

Bailey and I exchanged a long glance.

"Do you have a plan for the soil samples?" Bailey asked.

"I don't 'plan.' I already sent 'em out to a guy who's the guru on particulates." Dorian looked up from her computer. "And I can tell you, he isn't as accommodating as I am about your 'need it now' jazz."

Less "accommodating" than Dorian? I couldn't begin to guess what that might mean.