“No worries. See you in court.”
I told Alex and Michelle what Edie had said.
Michelle got up and stretched. “So, now what?”
I thought about what we had and what the cops would do with it all. We’d grabbed the video after breaking and entering, but since we weren’t the police, it’d still be admissible in court. The phone records… we didn’t have to tell the cops we had them. They’d know to check phone calls on their own once they saw the tape.
But I didn’t know how fast they’d move, and it was clear that either Brent or Aubrey-or both-were panicking. They’d tried to destroy evidence-and me-and they’d probably killed Storm. The only reason I had the surveillance-camera footage was because they didn’t know it existed. And if I’d gotten it just one day sooner, it would’ve been destroyed in the fire. And then I’d have been left with nothing. The cops would never have taken my word for what I’d seen on that tape.
It was a chilling thought. And that thought raised the next one: Even with this footage, what would the cops do, and how fast would they do it? The video recording had some damning implications, but it didn’t necessarily clear Dale. I’d already figured out a way for Aubrey and Brent to talk their way around it. I had to find a way to nail them, and I had to do it now. “Alex, you said your uncle has muscle. What kind of muscle?”
“Four guys, two of them used to be boxers. They all carry. What’re you thinking?”
Primarily I was thinking that Aubrey had the motive to kill Paige, but he’d been stuck out in Malibu-about forty-five minutes away from Laurel Canyon. That’s why he’d needed Brent. Brent was close. But that didn’t necessarily mean Brent had killed Paige and Chloe. “If we tell Brent about the video footage and the phone calls, show him how bad it looks, maybe he’d dump Aubrey out.”
Alex leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “If you’re going to brace anyone up, Brent’s definitely a better choice than Aubrey. And I can promise you we’ll have great backup. Tomas and his guys know what they’re doing.” He looked at Michelle, who was shaking her head. “Really, don’t worry, Michelle. This pasty little huero Brent won’t be a problem for Tomas. It’s not like we’re dealing with the Mafia here.”
Michelle pressed her lips together. “That ‘pasty little huero’ might’ve killed two women. And tried to burn us up. And killed Storm.”
“And broke into my place,” I said. “But-”
Michelle was angry. “But nothing. Let the cops take it from here. They can handle it.”
I put my hands on my hips and drilled her with a look. “Really? You trust that slug, Wayne Little, to see past their bullshit? Or move fast enough to put it all together before they do more damage? Or before they run?”
“But if they ran, wouldn’t that look bad?” Michelle asked. “Bad enough to get the case thrown out for Dale?”
I shook my head. “Not necessarily.”
Michelle sighed. “I don’t like it.”
I didn’t blame her, but I couldn’t trust anyone else to put the case together. “It’s not ideal. But Alex’s right: Brent’s no match for Tomas and his guys. We should be okay.”
Alex was keyed up and ready for action. “So how do you want to handle this?”
I told him.
SIXTY-TWO
It was almost nine o’clock by the time Alex and I got to Brent’s house-a small, older Spanish style that was on the border between Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. Michelle stayed behind at Alex’s place to man the computer in case we needed information.
Alex drove slowly as we passed the house. There was a new-looking black Audi in the driveway. I wrote down the license plate. Alex parked a few houses down, then called Michelle, gave her the license-plate number, and walked her through a program that would give us the owner of the car.
“It’s his,” Alex said when he ended the call. “Did you see any lights on when we drove by?”
“Yeah, at the back of the house.” The front of the house had a large picture window. The drapes were closed, but I thought that was probably the living room. By process of elimination, I figured the room that was lit was probably the bedroom. “When do you think Tomas will get here?”
“Might be a couple of hours. It’ll take a while to round everyone up. He said he’d call when they were on their way.”
In the meantime, Alex and I worked on our good-cop-bad-cop plan for questioning Brent. Periodically, we drove around the block so I could see whether the lights were still on. When we circled at ten thirty, I saw that the house had gone dark. “Ten thirty? Seriously? Damn, those aides lead boring lives.” I didn’t like the idea of waking him up. That’d guarantee a hostile reception right out of the gate. I’d hoped to at least start out with the friendly approach.
Alex sighed. “I know. But Tomas and his guys should be here soon. When this Brent guy sees his team, losing some beauty sleep will be the last thing he’ll want to bitch about.”
It was a quiet street with almost no traffic, and most of the residents parked in their own garages. I made a mental note of every car that was parked on the street: a red MINI Cooper, a black Altima, a white Explorer. Only one-the black Altima-hadn’t been there already when we showed up, and I’d seen the driver go into the house four doors down from Brent.
We were slouched down in our seats so the neighbors wouldn’t see us-a position that didn’t do a thing to help my bored, sleepy condition.
So when a silver Prius pulled to the curb a few houses past Brent’s, it took me a few seconds to focus. I sat up a little higher and peered over the dashboard to see who got out. But two minutes passed, then five. No one did. “Do you want to check-”
“Already on it.” Alex was texting. “I’m having Michelle run the plate right now.”
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He read the screen and his eyes widened. “It belongs to Aubrey Miles.”
We exchanged a look. “Shit. Can you check with Tomas for an ETA?”
“I can try.” He texted again.
Two minutes later, the driver got out. I couldn’t see a face; the figure was dressed in black sweats with the hoodie pulled up. “Too small to be Aubrey.” As the figure rounded the car and headed down the sidewalk, I caught a glimpse of the face. “Edie?”
“Sure looked like her. And she’s trying to keep it on the down low.”
“A booty call?” That would explain the late hour and the way she was hiding under a hoodie. I appreciated the symmetry of the playboy politician’s wife getting it on with his aide. I sank back down and turned to watch as she walked past the front door and turned left at the side of the house. Probably heading for the back door. I grabbed my cell phone and tapped in all but the last number for Alex’s cell. “I’ve got to see what’s going on. I’ll just stay back and look. If anything seems dicey, I’ll call you.”
Alex started to protest, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue. I slid out of the car and moved as fast as I could without running. When I got to the side of the house, I checked the street to make sure no one was watching, then followed the path Edie had taken and tiptoed toward the back of the house. I stopped at the edge and peered around the corner just in time to see Edie use a key to open the back door. My heart started to beat faster as I thought about what that meant.
This was more than a booty-call relationship. If she had a key, then she and Brent were pretty damn tight. There was a good chance they had been together when Aubrey called on the night Paige died. Still, that didn’t mean she knew what was going on, what Aubrey had done-or what he’d asked Brent to do. I crouched down below the windows and moved toward the back door.
The top half of the door was glass, and I saw that it opened onto the kitchen. I could see Edie inside. She was heading toward the area I’d pegged as the bedroom. I took hold of the doorknob and slowly twisted. It was open. My pulse was racing now. This was a bad idea. I didn’t know what I was walking into. But I’d come this far. If it turned out to be just a hookup, I’d sneak back out the way I came. And hope none of the neighbors saw me and called the cops. My throat felt tight as I called Alex. When he answered, I whispered, “I’m going in.”