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.
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-”
