“I’m fine,” Bailey replied. “Was there anything specific you saw happen between Lilah and her mother?”
“It was little stuff, really,” Rick said slowly. “Her tone of voice when she talked about Lilah…kind of negative and…dismissive. Even when she’d say something complimentary, it came out backhanded.”
“The parents talked to you?” I asked.
“We hadn’t made the arrest yet, so the parents were still somewhat cooperative,” Rick replied. “I asked her how Lilah had gotten the interview with that law firm. She had good grades, made dean’s list and all that, but she went to a local law school, and I knew that firm only hired from the Ivy Leagues. She said, ‘Oh, Lilah always gets whatever she wants.’ Technically it was a compliment, but not the way she said it…”
I could hear the bitterness and envy lying just under the words. It said a lot that, even when she was talking to a cop who was trying to nail her daughter for murder, Pamela couldn’t keep the resentment at bay.
Seeing my expression, Rick nodded. “There was definitely something ‘off’ there,” he said. “And watching her in court every day…her daughter was maybe going to prison forever, and I don’t recall ever seeing her sad, worried, pissed off-nothing.”
“But if she felt that way about Lilah, why go to court?” I asked.
“I’m sure the lawyer told the parents it’d look much better if they came. Shows the jury her family’s in her corner. And if Daddy came every day and she didn’t, she’d look bad.”
“To whom?” Bailey asked.
“Didn’t matter. The jury, the press-there was some media attention,” Rick pointed out. “What people thought was real important to Pam.”
“And Lilah’s father?” I asked.
Rick pressed his lips together, then exhaled heavily. “Acted tough, and maybe he was tough-with anyone but Lilah. He had a real soft spot for his little girl.” Rick shrugged. “’Course that’s just my impression. Dad didn’t want much to do with me once he figured out I wasn’t going to back off.”
So Lilah was Daddy’s favorite. Yet another cause for Mommy to be jealous. I stared out at the ocean. Even on this gray, forbidding day, it was beautiful in a wild, austere way. A pelican plunged headlong into the water, then soared back up and flew to an outcropping packed with others. It opened its beak to the sky as though in victory. Its size and angularity made it look prehistoric. I remembered the question our interview with Larry had raised for me.
“Lilah took the stand at her trial,” I said. “How’d she do?”
Rick’s expression hardened. “Best I’ve ever seen. Usually when you have a cop for a victim, the jury’s a pretty hard sell. They don’t like cop killers. But Lilah? She had ’em eating out of her hand. Larry never laid a glove on her.” Rick paused and shook his head. “Between you and me, he kinda lost it with her during cross. Never a good thing to get mad like that-makes the DA seem desperate, out of control, you know? Especially with someone who looks like her.”
I did know. It was pretty rare to have a defendant testify. Rarer still for one to make a seasoned prosecutor lose his cool that way.
“If you had to guess, you think that’s when you lost the case?” I asked.
“Seeing the looks on those jurors’ faces when Larry got done, I’d have to say…probably so.”
“Any contacts who might know where to find Lilah now?” Bailey asked.
“I never had anyone who claimed to be her friend,” Rick said, frowning. “All I ever had were law-firm people and neighbors, and you’ve already got their statements in the murder book.”
Bailey nodded.
“Not much help, I know.” Rick shrugged apologetically. “So she dropped off the map, huh?”
“It’s like she vanished into thin air,” Bailey said, frustrated. “Didn’t even give one postverdict interview.”
“Not surprising,” Rick said, his expression sour. “She got away with killing a cop. She was smart enough to know better than to push her luck.”
We all fell silent, pondering where in the world Lilah Bayer might be. The pelican-I thought it was the same one-again took flight and began circling a patch in the water. Meanwhile, seagulls patrolled the coastline, searching for leftovers. One of them suddenly dived toward a bag that’d been left in the sand. When it soared back up, I saw that it had a french fry in its beak.
I had one last question for Rick.
“Did you know Zack?” I asked.
“No,” Rick said, shaking his head sadly. “You going to ask me how those two wound up together?”
I smiled. “Pretty common question?”
“Most definitely,” Rick confirmed. “But I never did get a good answer.”
43
It was early evening by the time we finished with Rick. I hadn’t wanted to leave his charming aerie, but we’d run out of questions. Bailey navigated through the narrow streets of the trailer park and pulled onto Pacific Coast Highway, heading toward town. The highway ran parallel to the ocean, and I stared out the window, mesmerized by the vast expanse of gently undulating water that stretched to the horizon under the gray, cloud-filled sky.
“Hungry?” I asked. I didn’t have the energy to return to work, and I wasn’t keen to get back to my room, where I’d have too much time to think about Graden.
“Funny you should mention it,” Bailey said. “How about Guido’s?”
In our last murder case, the body of the rapist/suspect had been found in his car, impaled on a tree branch, at the bottom of a ravine in nearby Malibu Canyon. One of the crime scene techs had told us about the warm, familial Italian restaurant that was just minutes away, on the land side of Pacific Coast Highway, but we hadn’t had a chance to get there at the time.
“Perfect.”
Five minutes later, Bailey pulled into the parking lot. Strings of white lights hung from windows facing the small inlet of water next to the restaurant, giving it a festive holiday feel. At six o’clock the dining room wasn’t yet busy, but the small, intimate bar near the entrance was packed with regulars, some talking, some watching the basketball game on the television that hung from the ceiling. The atmosphere was relaxed and convivial, and the manager greeted us like we were his favorite cousins.
He guided us to a booth that overlooked the small inlet. A waiter, who introduced himself as Aris and talked as though we used to get stoned together in high school, brought us water, bread, and a plate of olive oil, and left us menus. I watched a family of ducks paddle serenely across the water as twilight gave way to the silvery luminescence of moonlit clouds. Beautiful.
A busboy carrying a pitcher of water stopped by the table. “Want me to top you off? Or you afraid you’ll rust?” he asked, chuckling at his own joke.
“Thanks, we’re good,” Bailey said.
I smiled as I watched him move down the aisle to another table. “What is up with the staff here? I don’t know whether to invite them to the next family reunion or ask to borrow money.”
Aris came back, and I ordered an arugula salad and grilled tilapia. Bailey chose the grilled salmon and vegetables. We ordered a bruschetta appetizer and a glass of Pinot Noir for each of us, figuring we’d be here long enough to burn through the alcohol. The second glass would determine who was driving back.
“So,” Bailey said after the waiter had brought our wine, “how’re you doing?”
Exactly the question I wanted to neither contemplate nor answer. “Okay,” I said, taking a sip of wine. I savored the rich, peppery flavor and hoped that’d end the topic.
“I don’t know what exactly happened between you and Graden, and I’m not saying it’s any of my business.”
“Here comes the but,” I said, leaning back in the booth.
“Yeah, here it comes,” Bailey agreed. “But your welfare is my business. That means I’m supposed to at least say something when I think you’re making a big mistake. This breakup is a mistake. You are not yourself, girlfriend.” Bailey paused and looked at me meaningfully. “And, just for the record, neither is Graden.”