“Is . . . is she okay?”

“She’s fine. My question is, who is he?”

“How should I know?”

“He was asking about you.”

Silence.

“Come on, Daniel. Help me. Help yourself. Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know.”

Uh-huh. Waters bit back his instincts. If they were doing this the right way, in an interview room, home court advantage, marks from the cuffs still on Hayes’s wrists, this would be the moment. You saw a crack like that, you hammered hard.

So bring him in. “There’s another reason I need you, Daniel.” He sighed. “I’m sorry to ask this. But we need you to identify her body.”

A choking sound. “I thought—”

“We found Laney yesterday. The currents took her body south—” He paused, said, “Do you want to hear this?”

“I. Yes.”

“Your wife wasn’t wearing her seat belt. Between the blood on the air bag and the way the windshield was shattered, our guess is that she was killed going through the glass. At that velocity, she would have died instantly.” He opened the folder, flipped through to a map of tidal speed and direction in that area. “Given the height, her body was probably flung thirty to fifty feet farther than the car. Based on the currents, we expected it to drift south-southwest. Yesterday we got a call from a fishing crew down the coast. Her body had tangled in their net—”

“Stop.” The man sounding weak. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry, Daniel. I really am.”

“Oh god. I had. I thought, maybe.”

“I understand.” He stopped talking, just listened to Hayes’s breathing. In the background there were voices, music. The guy was in a public place, maybe using a pay phone. “I’m sorry to have to ask you this. I know how hard it must be. But don’t let her wait in the morgue. Whatever happened between you, she doesn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t do this.” His voice soft, wavering. Like he wasn’t sure, wanted to be convinced. “I couldn’t. We loved each other.”

“I know.”

“It must have been someone else. Someone forced her to buy that necklace.”

Waters rolled with it. “That makes sense.”

“It does?” Suspicious.

“Sure. A celebrity like that, she would be a target. Lots of people might come after her. They might even have threatened you. Maybe she felt she had to do it.”

“Yes. Wait,” hitting on something, “that guy! The one who threatened my lawyer.”

“I thought the same thing,” Waters said. “As soon as I heard about it.”

“So why aren’t you looking for him?”

“Who?”

“What do you mean who? The guy that—”

“I know, but who is he? We didn’t get any fingerprints, any physical evidence at all. We have Sophie’s description, but that’s not enough. I don’t even know where to start.”

“But—I mean—”

“You might, though. Help me, and help Laney. Because I’ll be honest with you. As long as you’re running, I can’t spend time chasing things that are only possible.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mr. Hayes—”

“My wife is dead, the guy who killed her is breaking into houses, holding my friends at gunpoint, and you tell me you’re not going to look into it?”

Shit. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that—”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re saying you want this simple. Nine times out of ten, right? So why even look at the tenth.”

“That’s not it at all—”

“I didn’t kill my wife. I have to believe that.”

Have to believe that? What the hell does that mean? “So come talk to me, Daniel. Give your wife peace, and justice. Let’s work together to get the guy who did it?”

The silence on the line stretched. It was shit or get off the pot, and they both knew it.

Finally, Hayes spoke. “You know what, Roger? I don’t think so.”

There was a fumbling sound, and the line went dead.

Waters hung up hard enough that the handset bounced out of the cradle. Goddamnit. For a moment he’d really thought he might be able to talk Hayes in. Hayes was a Hollywood guy, a writer, used to living in his own fantasies, to thinking the world around him was stories. It sounded like he was well on the way to believing his own version of events. The way he’d pretended to be thrown by the jewelry purchase, some of his phrasing, his hesitations. Daniel Hayes most definitely did not pass the bullshit test.

So now what?

He could always use the media. Change Hayes’s status from suspect to wanted man. Put his photo everywhere, maybe even call him armed and dangerous; man did have permits for three guns. It was a crude tool, but it would make it hard to hide.

His phone rang and he picked it up. “Major Crimes, Waters.”

“This is Detective Nancy Palmisano, LAPD. Is this Detective Waters?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re working that TV actress? The one with the husband?”

“Laney Thayer and Daniel Hayes, yeah. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“One sec.” There was another voice, someone asking about prints, and Palmisano said, yeah, check the outside of the window too, then came back on. “Sorry. I’m on a scene. Guy broke into a building in Studio City, killed a security guard.”

“Okay . . .”

“Reason I’m calling—guess whose office we found the body in?”

H

e had something to live for.

Daniel scooped up another forkful of eggs, chewed mechanically. Stared out the Denny’s window to Sepulveda. From a huge billboard, a surly black dude pointed a gun at him, an ad for an upcoming movie called Die Today. The guy’s name was Too G. Mom and Pop G must be so proud.

“More coffee?”

He nodded, pushed his mug forward.

“You’re going to vibrate out of here.”

“Huh?”

“From all the coffee.” The waitress was a Latina with a pretty

smile. Daniel gave her a nod, and she moved on.

At first, he’d been furious with the detective, the asshole gaming him. Trying to lure him in, like he was a moron, like he didn’t know that the first moment he set foot in a police station was the last moment he’d have a choice in the matter. But he’d let the guy think he was scripting the conversation, and played for information.