But now it’s turning out there may be more to her story than anyone guessed.
While sheriffs are close-lipped about the crash, the focus of the investigation is shifting from accidental death to something more ominous.
Murder.
Sources within the LASD have revealed that according to skid marks found on the Pacific Coast Highway, Laney may have been forced off the road.
Husband Daniel Hayes has yet to make a statement—or even appear in public.
Meanwhile, what is it about the PCH and celebrities? Let us count the ways those two don’t mix: Mel Gibson, Nick Nolte, Robert Downey Jr., Bridget Fonda, Shannen Doherty . . .
Star, News and Gossip, November 4, 2009
LANEY THAYER MOURNED BY HOLLYWOOD, CAST
Since the tragic accident on Monday, outpourings of sympathy have come from every direction.
“Laney was a beautiful woman with a beautiful soul,” said co-star Robert Cameron. “Everyone adored her. Me? I loved her.”
“It’s a total tragedy,” co-star Janine Wilson said. “She was totally like a sister to me.”
Thayer had recently made news with her decision to leave the FX show Candy Girls in the midst of contract disputes. The show, which was a surprise success, has run for four years—
5
PerezHilton.com, November 4, 2009
WHERE IS DANIEL HAYES?
By now everyone knows about Laney Thayer’s murder accident.
Car chases, rumors of affairs with co-stars, sheriff’s investigations, oh my!
But where is hubby Daniel Hayes in all this? Why can no one seem to find him?
Maybe he’s too busy mourning the loss of his cash cow wife?
Or maybe he had something to do with it?
5
CNN.com, November 5, 2009
LANEY THAYER HUSBAND SOUGHT
LOS ANGELES (CNN)—Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department spokesperson Parto Barkhordari today acknowledged that police sought Daniel Hayes, husband of actress Laney Thayer, in connection with her death on November 2.
The case, originally believed an accident, has come under investigation as a possible homicide based on forensic evidence as well as “financial irregularities.”
The officer leading the investigation, Detective Roger Waters, stopped short of specifically naming Hayes a suspect. However, he did note that in cases of this nature, family members were “the first people we look at.”
Investigators have confirmed that blood traces found on the airbag matched Laney Thayer’s blood type. Analysis of the stretch of highway leading up to the fatal spot bears evidence of a high-speed chase involving another vehicle. Neither Waters nor Barkhordari would go into detail regarding the financial evidence, though both noted that it could constitute a motive . . .
5
People.com, Star Tracks, November 6, 2009
HAPPY COUPLE?
Laney Thayer and husband Daniel Hayes look awfully cozy in this behind-the-scenes snap from Candy Girls. But sources on the set say that their relationship was “anything but simple.”
Click for a slide show of Laney’s career, from her modeling days to strolls down the red carpet to beach frolics with hunky co-star Robert Cameron!
5
TMZ.com, November 7, 2009
DANIEL HAYES = SCOTT PETERSON
A murdered wife. A body in the ocean. A vanished husband. A supposedly happy couple with more going on.
Does anybody else notice that Daniel Hayes, husband of Candy Girl Laney Thayer, is starting to look an awful lot like Scott Peterson?
True, Laney wasn’t pregnant—that we know of—but otherwise, things look grim for the writer.
Especially since he disappeared. Sources within the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department have told TMZ that Hayes isn’t just laying low—he appears to have fled.
“We’ve got credit card information tracking him across the country,” says our man in the LASD.
Daniel, if you’re out there, remember, Scotty tried to run too . . .
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Reader Comments
1. First!
Posted at 3:50PM on November 7, 2009 by newsjunx
2. She’s rich AND hot but he kills her? Talk about a d-bag play.
Posted at 3:52PM on November 7, 2009 by hisnameisrobertpaulson
3. 1st.
Posted at 3:52PM on November 7, 2009 by K
4. Just cause she’s dead doesn’t mean I wouldn’t tap her . . .
Posted at 3:54PM on November 7, 2009 by PinkLVR
5 Enough! Jesus Christ, enough.
He closed the browser window, bile on his tongue. November 7, that last article was dated. Today.
This had been going on around him all the while he drove west, oblivious. He could have had half the answers to his questions just by reading a tabloid. All the time he wondered what was wrong, all the time he felt this massive, crushing guilt—
No. That can’t be true.
Daniel’s stomach was crawling things. He lurched to his feet. Behind him, a voice said, “Hey, dude, you’ve got like ninety minutes—” The slamming door cut off the clerk’s words.
What the fuck is happening to you?
Who are you?
He turned left at random, stalked down the street, everything spinning. A happy couple parted to make space for him. A homeless woman yelled at an ATM. Coffeehouse, clothing boutique, coffeehouse, restaurant, coffeehouse. Fucking Santa Monica and its fucking 340 days of sunshine and its fucking coffee. Last things he needed were sunshine and coffee.
How could all of this happen to one person? It was too much— the memory, the lonely terror of the last week, making it home to find he had a beautiful life, and then scant hours later learning that that life had been ripped from him. Learning that everyone believed he was to blame.
That can’t be true. You couldn’t have done what they say you did.
Please. Oh god, please. Better to have died on the beach in Maine.
Please let me not be that man.
B
elinda Nichols drove her battered white van through the desert.
She’d thought about buying what she needed in one of the towns outlying Los Angeles. The rules in the city were strict, but once you got a couple of miles out, things were simple. Show a driver’s license, pay in cash, and you were good to go.
But she didn’t really want to show her driver’s license. The odds it would lead to her getting caught were slim, but any trail, any trail at all, could be a problem. She’d never killed someone before, and while she wasn’t excited about doing it, she was even less excited about the prospect of getting caught.
So she’d gone a safer route. It had taken five hours to make the drive, two of them fighting L.A. traffic. Once she’d cleared city limits and was rolling north on 15, things had thinned out. Just her and the rocky sprawl of the desert and the wide white sky.