"To the morgue," Sims said quickly. "In Indio."
"But that's hours from here, on the far side of Palm Springs."
"Riverside is a big county," Taylor returned. "That's where they've taken the body. But don't worry about how far it is. We'll be glad to take you over and bring you back. It's the least we can do."
Ali's purse was on the desk. Her Glock 26 was locked away in her room safe. She had left it there that morning when she was on her way to court, and she was glad it was still there. Even though she had a properly issued license to carry, it was probably not a good idea to show up in a cop car with a loaded handgun in her possession. Ali collected her purse and her cell phone.
"Let's go then," she said.
People glanced warily at the trio as they walked through the Westwood's well-appointed lobby. Ali was in the middle with the two cops flanking her on either side. Detectives Sims and Taylor may not have been in uniform, but they were still clearly cops. Outside, the real giveaway was the plain white, well-used Crown Victoria parked directly in front of the hotel entrance. Sporting a rack of two-way-radio antennas and black-wall tires, the Crown Victoria stuck out like a sore thumb next to its nearest neighborsa silver Maserati Quattroporte and a gleaming black Bentley GT.
Sims opened the back door of the sedan to let Ali inside. When she saw there was no door handle, she felt a moment of concern. She realized belatedly that she probably should have called Helga before agreeing to come along with Sims and Taylor. Presumably Helga would have warned her against getting into a vehicle with them.
On the other hand, why not? Ali thought. All they need is for me to identify the body. What's wrong with that?
Ali remembered times in the past when she'd been assigned to cover ongoing police investigations. She remembered instances where some of the people involved refused to cooperate, to give statements of any kind to investigating officers without having an attorney present. And even though at the time Ali had known full well that was everyone's legal right, she had still harbored a sneaking suspicion that people who hid behind their attorneys had something else to hide as well.
Well, I don't, Ali told herself firmly. Settling into the backseat, she fastened her seat belt. While Detective Taylor drove, Sims rode shotgun and chatted her up.
"I understand from Detective Little that you and your husband are in the process of getting a divorce?"
Are getting a divorce? Ali wondered. The use of the present tense was telling. Until the detectives had a positive identification of their victim, they were going to hold firm to the fiction that Paul Grayson was still alive.
"Yes," Ali answered. "It was supposed to be finalized today. That was probably the first time anyone besides April noticed Paul was missingwhen he didn't show up for the hearing."
"Friendly?" Sims asked.
At first Ali wasn't sure what Sims meant. "I beg your pardon?"
"You know," he responded. "Your divorce. Is it amicable and all that?"
"As amicable as can be expected considering my husband's girlfriendhis fianceeis eight and a half months pregnant."
"With his baby?" Sims asked.
"So I've been told," Ali said. "They were supposed to get married tomorrow. Speaking of which, why am I doing the identification? Why not April?"
"You're still married to him," Sims said. "From our point of view, you're a surviving relative. She's not."
Ali thought about that for a few moments. It was rush hour. Traffic was painfully slow. As they inched along, Ali realized that she and the two detectives were in the same situation. They wanted information from her; she wanted the same from them.
"This man who's dead," she said, "this man who may be Paul. What was he doing on the railroad tracks? Did he go there on purpose? Was he trying to commit suicide or something? Maybe he and April had a fight and it pushed Paul over the edge."
"It wasn't suicide," Sims replied.
"An accident then?"
Sims said nothing.
Ali thought about what Jake had reportedly said about Paul bailing on his own bachelor party without bothering to tell his host or anyone else that he was leaving. Unless amp;Paul Grayson had never had a good track record where women were concerned. Ali could well imagine him picking up one of the strippers or the pole dancers or whatever brand of feminine charm the Pink Swan had available and taking her somewhere for a little private tete-a-tete.
"Was he alone or was he with someone?" Ali asked.
"We're not sure," Sims said. "We have people doing a grid search, but so far no other victims have been found."
There was a short pause before Detective Taylor piped up. "When exactly did you get to town, Ms. Reynolds? And did you drive over or fly?"
Taylor's questions activated a blinking caution light in Ali's head. She considered her words carefully before she answered. The very fact that she'd been close enough to see the flashing lights on the emergency vehicles might give the cops reason to think she was somehow involved. If she told them about driving past Palm Springs at midnight and seeing the lights, Sims and Taylor could well turn Ali's coincidental proximity into criminal opportunity. Still, she'd already given the same information to Detective Little. It seemed foolhardy to withhold it a second time, and there was even less point to not being truthful.
"I drove over yesterday," Ali said. "Last night. I left Phoenix late in the afternoon. Got to the hotel around two in the morning."
"Which means you were driving through the Palm Springs area around amp;?"
"Midnight," Ali answered without waiting for Detective Taylor to finish posing his question. "And you're right. I did see the cop cars and ambulances and other emergency vehicles showing up at the scene of the wreck. It's dark in the desert. You could see those lights for miles. Later on, I heard on the radio that a train had crashed into a car."
Ali's cell phone rang just then. The phone number wasn't one she recognized. "Hello?"
"Ali Reynolds?"
"Yes."
"My name is Victor, Victor Angeleri. My colleague Helga Myerhoff asked me to call you. Sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier. I've been tied up in a meeting. I thought maybe it would be a good idea for us to get together so I have a little better feel for what's happening. Helga gave me a brief overview, but I'd like a few more details from you. Since the office is just down the street from your hotel, I thought maybe I could drop by in a little while before I head home."
"Sorry," Ali said. "That won't be possible." She was aware that the cops in the front seat were listening avidly to everything she said and to every nuance of her side of the conversation. Their interest gave Ali a hint about how badly she had screwed up by not heeding Helga's advice.
"Why not?" Angeleri wanted to know. "What's more important than meeting with me?"
"It's just that I'm not at the hotel right now," she said. "I'm actually on my way to Indio. Two detectives from the Riverside Sheriff's Department picked me up and asked me to come with them. They need someone to identify a dead manthe man they think is my husband."
Angeleri uttered a string of very unlawyerlike words, ones Edie Larson would have deemed unprintable. "Are you nuts or what? You mean you just got in the car with them?" he demanded. "And now they're taking you all the way to Indio?"
Ali didn't know Victor Angeleri, but he sounded upsetfurious, evenas though he couldn't quite believe he'd been stuck with such a numbskull for a client. Ali couldn't believe it, either.
"That's where the body is," Ali said.
"You're going to the coroner's office there?" Victor wanted to know.
"Evidently," Ali answered meekly.
"All right," Victor shouted into her ear. "Where are you now?"