"And you think I'd be jealous of them?"Bradford shook his head."I don't care about people jumping out of planes or climbing rocks.That's not flying.That's just being high up."
"Mr.Bradford, can you tell us about your relationship to UCLA?"Miles asked.
Bradford looked confused.He stared at all three of them individually as if waiting for some more context."I don't have one.Never attended, never worked there.Why?"
"The victims all participated in a high-altitude performance study conducted by UCLA," Vic said."We believe the killer used that study to select targets."
"Well, it wasn't me," Bradford said."I've never heard of any study like that."
Miles studied Bradford's face, looking for any sign of deception.The man matched Lisa Anderson's physical description reasonably well.Sandy hair, average build, mid-thirties.But Anderson had described someone friendly and approachable, someone who had engaged her in conversation without seeming threatening.Bradford was brusque and defensive, his body language closed off and hostile.Not only that, but he had provided alibis that would be easy to confirm.
Nothing about Bradford was a match.
"We'll need to verify your alibis," Miles said, bringing the conversation to a close."Don't leave town until we've cleared you."
"I'm not going anywhere," Bradford said."I work overnight shifts at a warehouse.Where would I go?"
“Thank you for your time,” Vic said as she moved toward the door.
They left Bradford standing in his cluttered apartment and walked back down the quiet hallway.The sounds from the amorous couple had stopped, replaced by the deep silence of a building full of sleeping people.
Kim typed something into her phone as they reached the elevator."I’ll reach out to his AA coordinator,” she said."The warehouse, too.But if you gave such clear, precise alibis…”
“Then he’s likely not our guy,” Miles finished for her.
Miles stepped into the elevator, wondering what they were missing.And also wondering of while they were running around for answers, the killer was preparing his next deadly flight.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
With all three of them dealing with the disappointment of their first real lead dissolving so easily, they all decided to stop at a diner in Burbank.It sat on a quiet corner, its neon sign promising"Open 24 Hours"in red letters that reflected off the wet pavement.At 5:30 in the morning, the parking lot held only three cars and the interior glowed with warm yellow light that looked inviting after the long night.
Miles slid into a booth near the window, the vinyl cushion creaking under his weight.Exhaustion sat heavy in his bones and his eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.Vic took the seat across from him and Kim settled in beside her, already pulling her laptop bag onto the bench.Miles thought it might be like second nature to her, as natural as breathing.
A waitress appeared almost immediately, an older woman with gray hair cut short and practical.She poured coffee into their mugs without asking, the steam rising in lazy curls.
"You folks look like you've had a long night," she said.
"You could say that," Vic said.She wrapped both hands around her mug and took a careful sip.
They ordered without looking at the menus.Miles asked for scrambled eggs and toast.Vic wanted pancakes and bacon.Kim went for an omelet with vegetables.The waitress wrote it down and disappeared into the kitchen without further comment.
The diner had the comfortable, lived-in quality of a place that had been serving the same food to the same neighborhood for decades.Framed photographs lined the walls showing the building at various points in its history.The booths were worn but clean, and the coffee was strong enough to cut through the fog in Miles's brain.
"Bradford's not our guy," Miles said after a long drink of coffee."His alibis are going to check out.I can feel it."
"His whole demeanor was wrong," Vic agreed."Lisa Anderson described someone friendly and approachable.Bradford was hostile and defensive…sort of bitchy.”
“Well, wedidwake him up at four in the morning,” Kim pointed out.She had opened her laptop and was already pulling up databases despite the early hour."He made a clear distinction between piloting and passive balloon ascent…almost like he thought the idea of balloons being used for flight was laughable.That's not something a guilty person would think to point out."
Miles rubbed his face with both hands, trying to massage some alertness back into his features."We need to revise the profile.We've been focusing on criminal behavior, arrests, violations.But what if the trigger isn't criminality?What if it's trauma?"
"Heights-related trauma," Vic said.She set down her coffee mug."Someone who experienced something terrible involving altitude or falling.Or…somehow, with helium.”
"Exactly," Miles said."Bradford lost his license and his career, but that was self-inflicted.He blames himself.We're looking for someone who blames the act of defying gravity itself.Someone who had a traumatic experience that makes them unable to experience heights personally."
Kim was already typing, her attention split between the conversation and her laptop screen."So I'm looking for accidents involving aircraft, balloons, climbing, any height-related incident that resulted in injury or death."
The waitress returned with their food.Plates clattered onto the table and the smell of bacon and eggs filled their small booth.Miles realized he was hungrier than he'd thought.He picked up his fork and started eating while Kim continued to work.They ate in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from muted conversation and the sizzle of food from the kitchen.
