Guilt by Association (36 page)

Within seconds, the fax machine lit up and started spitting out pages of the preliminary autopsy report. I took the sheets
as they came out, and we went back to my office, where I plopped down in my giant judge’s chair and prepared to read.

“Feel like a snack?” Bailey asked.

At the mention of food, my stomach came to life with an answering rumble, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast. The clock
on the Times Building said it was 10:00 a.m. already.

“I’m starving,” I replied. I started to reach for my purse, but Bailey stopped me.

“This one’s on me,” she said.

I looked at her, suspicious. “No bagels and no muffins. I can’t take the stress right now.”

She threw me a mock wounded look and moved toward the door. “You cut me, Knight,” she said.

“Seriously,” I said. “I’m hungry and I have a gun. Do not fuck with me, Keller.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow and walked out.

I grabbed a handful of mini-pretzels from my bottom drawer to stave off the hunger pangs and picked up the autopsy report.

Stayner and Densmore. The Hollywood clinic a connection between them. I turned the triangle over and over in my mind as I
scanned the description of Stayner’s external condition: “A well-nourished adult
male… weighing 189 pounds… measured at 70 inches.” I stopped.
Measured at.
Something skittered through the back of my brain. I tried to make the phantom thought take shape, but it eluded me. I let
out an exasperated sigh and slapped my desk in frustration.

At that moment, Bailey walked in and dropped a bag of celery and carrots and an apple on my desk. “What’s your damage, Knight?”
she asked.

“Something in the autopsy report… reminded me of…,” I said. I paused as the wisp of a thought floated closer. Then slipped
away… again. I shook my head. It was maddening.

Bailey picked up the report and read out loud: “ ‘Weighing one hundred eighty-nine pounds… measured at—’ ”

“Measured at,”
I repeated. I held up my hand to stop Bailey from reading any further.

I quickly grabbed my printout of Kit’s photograph from the zippered pocket in my purse. Where was my magnifying glass? I eagerly
rummaged through my desk drawers, slamming them closed one by one.

“Knight?”

I shook my head, looking around my desk, and was about to move to the file cabinet near the door when I spotted the magnifying
glass on the table near the window. I jumped up, snatched it, and slammed back into my chair. I held the magnifier over the
picture and peered closely at the vertical black line in the background. Now that I knew what it was, it seemed so obvious.

“What?” Bailey asked.

“Look at this,” I said.

I held the magnifying glass out to her. She took it and studied the picture.

“That black line in the background?” Bailey asked.

“It’s a height-measuring line,” I said. “We saw one in every exam room in the Hollywood clinic.”

“So the pictures Clive found
on the Net were all taken in that clinic,” Bailey said almost to herself as she looked down at the printout again.

“Which explains why none of the kids looked posed,” I said.

“Yeah, none of ’em looked particularly sexy,” she agreed. “Then again, kiddie pictures often don’t.” Bailey put down the magnifying
glass and sat back.

I nodded. The innocent look was usually a big part of the allure. I moved off the nauseating thought as a more stunning revelation
suddenly hit me. The force of it held me transfixed in my seat. I stared out the window as I mentally played out the implications
of what we’d just learned.

“What?” Bailey asked.

I paused. My conclusion was incredible but inescapable. “If we’re right about all this, it means that Susan’s rape and Jake’s
case are connected.”

Bailey stared at me for a moment, blinking rapidly as the realization struck her.

I spoke slowly, thinking as I put the pieces together. “Kit is photographed in Densmore’s clinic. The photo is found on Jake.
Densmore killed Stayner—and probably because Stayner raped Susan.”

“I’ll be dipped in shit,” she said softly, her tone incredulous. “You’re right.”

There’s no such thing as a case without surprises, but they’re generally little minnow-size twists that only involve side
issues. What we had here was a game-changing sperm whale.

“But how and why did Densmore hook up with a cretin like Stayner?” I asked.

“No clue,” Bailey said. “But whatever we were thinking about the cases before, all bets are off now.”

I nodded. At this point, anything was possible.

“So this means Densmore’s a pornographer?” she asked, her voice heavy with disbelief.

“I’m having a hard time with that one too,” I admitted. I shook my head. “It makes no sense that this multimillionaire power
broker would do something like this. Even if he was bent that way himself—”

“Which, frankly, I don’t get from him,” Bailey said. “Not that I’m a fan.”

“No, I agree,” I said. “On both counts. But we can’t rule him out.”

She nodded. “And even if Densmore isn’t the one doing the porn, it’s got to be someone with easy access to the rooms.”

“The only thing I can say for sure about that is I’m not liking Nurse Sheila for it,” I said.

“Yeah, I’d guess that someone who says ‘Be my guest’ when cops ask to look around isn’t someone who knows they’ve got something
to hide,” Bailey agreed.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The more answers we found, the more questions popped up. Bailey posed another one.

“I’ve been picturing the clinic in my mind,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing any place for a camera in the exam rooms.
Do you?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

“We could head out there, take a look,” Bailey suggested.

“May as well. But we should come up with a cover story for Nurse Sheila,” I said. “We don’t want her telling anyone what we’re
doing there.”

Even if Sheila wasn’t involved, we couldn’t risk the possibility that she might inadvertently tip Densmore off by telling
him what we were up to. There was also the minor detail that I’d been specifically ordered not to get within ten miles of
Jake’s case. Twice.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Bailey replied. She stood up and moved to the door. “We’ll figure it out on the way.”

“One more thing,” I said. “We’re going to have to keep the connection between the rape and the murders to ourselves for now.”

“No shit,” she agreed with a small chuckle.

If we told the powers that be about the link right now, they’d throw us off the Densmore case and hammer us for tromping on
forbidden territory. But if they found out after we delivered both cases all nicely wrapped up with a bow, it’d be tough to
justify any disciplinary action. All things considered, I decided to follow my motto: Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“Of course, even if you did tell anyone—,” I began.

“They’d never believe it anyway,” Bailey finished for me.

We shared a rueful smile.

I picked up my coat, stuffed Stayner’s autopsy report into my purse, and put the printout of Kit’s photo back into the zippered
pocket. We walked out and headed down the hallway.

“We could tell Sheila we wanted to score some Ecstasy,” I suggested.

“Nah,” Bailey replied. “It’s a sappy drug. Make it crystal meth.”

“Never figured you for the tweaker type,” I said.

“I’m a control freak,” Bailey said. “It’s a control-freak drug.”

“Interesting. I never thought of it that way.”

We’d almost reached the main door when I heard Melia call out, “Rachel!”

I spun around to see her waving at me from the door of Eric’s anteroom. Annoyed, I turned back. When I got close enough to
avoid having to yell, I stopped. “Yes?”

“You’ve got a call,” she said. “A doctor. I think his name is… uh… Luanne?”

Loujian. The coroner.
That was fast.
“Thanks, Melia,” I said. Bailey and I rushed back to my office. I called out to Melia over my shoulder. “Tell him I’m coming.”

I was breathless as I picked up the phone. “Dr. Loujian?”

“I suppose I owe you one, Ms. Knight,” he said. “I went back to the body and found an injection site in the upper-right buttocks
area. I decided to run some additional tests, and I suspect the killer may have used succinylcholine, or Anectine—a smart
move because its half-life is about two minutes, then it’s gone. But I can still test for the metabolites.”

“What’s Anectine?”

“It’s used to relax the respiratory muscles in order to insert a breathing tube for anesthesia. Basically it paralyzes the
respiratory muscles, which makes an overdose look like a heart attack,” Dr. Loujian explained.

“Is this something a doctor might have on hand?”

“Easily,” he replied. “Though I wouldn’t think he’d administer it without having an anesthesiologist present. Of course, that
wouldn’t be such a big concern if he was using it to kill people,” the doctor said, chuckling at his own joke.

Actually it was kind of funny, so I chuckled with him for a moment. I promised to destroy the preliminary report, thanked
him profusely, and hung up.

I brought Bailey up to speed, and she immediately pulled out her cell phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“I’m sending units out to Densmore’s clinics to find out whether they stocked Anectine and, if so, whether there’s any missing,”
she replied.

“Perfect.”

While Bailey made the calls, I turned to my computer and started preparing search warrants for Densmore’s house and clinics.
Most of the personnel in the health centers would probably give us consent. But since I figured the pornography was an inside
job, there had to be at least one person who’d refuse permission to search if he could.

Bailey got off the phone and turned to me. “They’ll be calling in with results as they get them. Assuming everyone at the
clinics cooperates.”

I told her I was working on the warrants. “But if we want to make sure the judge approves an arrest warrant for Densmore,
we should lay out a scenario for how he could’ve done the murder,” I said. “The judge isn’t going to want to go out on a limb
any more than we did.”

“Right,” Bailey agreed. “I’ve been thinking about that. My guess is that Densmore got Stayner to meet him somewhere—”

“I’d bet the Hollywood clinic,” I said. “He’d need a private place he could control so he could knock Stayner out and inject
him without being seen. And that clinic is the one point of intersection for them.”

“Sounds right,” Bailey said. “Then he loaded his bike and Stayner’s body into Stayner’s Escalade and drove up to the top of
Malibu Canyon.”

“And that Quench Gum fell out of his bike bag.”

Bailey nodded. “Densmore took out the bike, put Stayner into the driver’s seat, and sent the car off the cliff. Then Densmore
rode his bike down the canyon.”

“All the way to the Palisades? That’s a pretty long ride,” I remarked.

“Not for him,” Bailey explained. “Don’t forget, it’s downhill all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway, and then it’s level
ground on PCH. For a rider like him, it’s very doable. But even if he got tired, there’s a bus on PCH that’d take him almost
all the way home.”

“Better add the bike to the search warrant,” I said as I turned back to my computer. “And we’ll need to check the records
at the guard gate to see if they show him coming in late that night.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a record,” Bailey said. “The gate picks up the signal from the transponders that the residents
have on their cars. His bike wouldn’t have one.”

“That’s true,” I replied. “Maybe one of the guards will remember letting him in.” I thought about that for a moment. “On second
thought, no. If I were him, I wouldn’t chance that. I’d stash the bike nearby and climb the fence somewhere I wouldn’t be
spotted.”

Bailey nodded again. “Then he could ride it back the next day without attracting attention. We’ll have the search team check
the perimeter of the hood for a point of entry.”

Her cell phone rang.

“The troops checking in?” I asked.

“Hope so,” she replied. “Keller.” She listened for a few moments, then ended the call. “Brentwood, Palisades, and Calabasas
do have Anectine,” she said.

“And?”

“It’s all present and accounted for.”

I exhaled and sat back. “I’ll keep working on the warrants,” I said. “But I don’t want to go to the judge with them until
we’ve heard back from all the clinics.”

Bailey nodded. After another ten minutes, her cell rang again. This was nerve-racking. I stopped and watched as she took the
call.

After a few moments, she signed off and put her phone in her pocket. “Sherman Oaks and Beverly Hills—ditto,” she said. “Nothing
missing.”

Worried now, and wondering whether we’d need to find out where Densmore had hospital privileges, I tried to refocus on the
warrants. Bailey tapped her fingers nervously on the arm of the chair.

Five minutes passed. I couldn’t keep myself from looking at the clock on my computer. I wanted to tell Bailey to stop that
goddamn tapping.

Ten minutes—still nothing.

Finally, at 1:35 p.m., I finished the warrants and hit print. Just as the pages began to roll out, Bailey’s cell rang again.
I turned to her, and we exchanged a look.

“Keller.” She listened for a few moments. “Okay, stay there for now,” she said, then hung up.

“It figures,” Bailey said flatly.

“What? What?” I said, aggravated and impatient.

“Hollywood clinic. They ordered two vials. Their records show neither of them were ever used,” she said. After a brief pause,
she continued, “But one of the vials is gone.”

I sagged with relief. We had our missing Anectine.

Indignant, I remarked, “You punked me.”

“Just a little,” Bailey admitted with a grin. “It’s a great tension-breaker, don’t you think?”

“No.” I turned back to my computer and added this latest information to the warrants, then hit print again. I handed the papers
to Bailey. “You got a judge in mind for these?”