J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 1: Web of Evil, Hand of Evil, Cruel Intent

by Jance, J. A.

  Larry produced his ID wallet and passed it inside. “I’m Detective Larry Marsh and this is my partner, Hank Mendoza. We’re with the Phoenix Police Department. Homicide.”

  Larry heard a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere deep inside the house. “Was that the doorbell, Mr. Brooks? Is someone here?”

  “One moment, please,” the man said. “Let me check and see if now would be a convenient time for Madam to see you.”

  He closed the door quietly but very firmly in their faces.

  “Madam,” Hank repeated. “Was that what I think it was—a real live butler?”

  “So it would seem,” Larry replied. “And I don’t think we passed the approved visitor test.”

  Several minutes elapsed, leaving the cops with little to do but admire the view. “How much do you think a place like this is worth?” Hank asked.

  Larry was always perusing the real estate sections of newspapers in hopes of finding someplace cooler to go when he retired. He had researched the Sedona market and had learned that his pension would come up short when it came to retirement housing in that particular area.

  “With a view like this and with as much property? I’m guessing the place is worth a bundle.”

  The cops were about to give up and go away when the door opened once again. “Sorry for the delay,” the butler said, with a stiff half bow. “Madam will see you now. This way.”

  The two officers followed the butler into a spacious living room where a hint of morning wood smoke from the fireplace still lingered in the air. A woman with a halo of silvery hair stood next to the cooling fireplace.

  “Good morning,” she said, while the butler hovered attentively nearby. “I’m Arabella Ashcroft. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Larry said solicitously. “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”

  “What kind of bad news?” Arabella asked. “Mr. Brooks said you’re with Homicide. Does that mean someone has been murdered?”

  “Yes,” Larry said. “It does. Your nephew, William Ashcroft, was found murdered Tuesday morning in the South Mountain Preserve.”

  Arabella staggered slightly and raised her hand to her chest. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, making her way to a nearby chair. “This is dreadful. Billy’s dead? How can that be? He was here just the other day, and he was fine then, perfectly fine. What day was that when he was here, Mr. Brooks? Do you remember?”

  “It was Sunday,” the butler replied. “Sunday afternoon.”

  “As far as we can ascertain, Ms. Ashcroft, you’re his only living relative,” Detective Marsh continued. “We understand he has an ex-wife, somewhere, but so far we’ve been unable to locate her. We found you through Mr. Ashcroft’s phone records.”

  “Oh, dear,” Arabella said. “I’m forgetting my manners. Do sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. And would you care for something to drink—coffee, tea?”

  “Coffee would be great,” Hank said, settling onto a couch.

  Detective Marsh nodded in agreement. “I’d like coffee, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, is it, Mr. Brooks,” she said. “Do bring them some. And while you’re at it, you might bring me something a bit stronger. This has been a terrible shock.”

  “I think it was those kids,” Sandy Mitchell said as they headed south on I-17. “And that means that everything that happened is all my fault.”

  “Which kids?” Ali asked.

  “You know. The ones I carded at the store. The one was especially obnoxious. He was making a scene and giving me all kinds of grief. And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there’s Kip, standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and looking sweet and funny and fierce all at the same time. At first the kid just ignored him. I think he thought it was some kind of joke. Then Kip grabbed his sleeve, lifted him off the ground—Kip’s very strong you know—and told him to get out or he’d…” Sandy looked uncomfortable, and gestured with her head toward the backseat where Crystal was sitting.

  “Or he’d what?” Ali asked.

  “You know. Shove those flowers up his…” Sandy stopped then continued, “That’s when the kids finally got it—that Kip meant what he was saying. So they left. Didn’t even finish buying the rest of their groceries. Just left them there on my check stand.”

  Somehow Ali doubted that the phrase shove up your ass was something that would offend Crystal Holman’s thirteen-year-old, none-too-tender sensibilities, but it was nice that Sandy Mitchell thought it might. Besides, Crystal appeared to be lost in her music and was paying no attention to anything being said in the front seat.

  “It was really wonderful,” Sandy continued wistfully. “When he chased them off like that, I felt like I’d been rescued by a knight in shining armor.”

  Sandra Mitchell was sixty-something if she was a day. She’d put on some hard miles. She was a dumpy plain jane, yet Kip Hogan—the very scary Kip Hogan—had made her feel like some latter-day Guinevere. To Ali’s way of thinking, that was nothing short of astonishing.

  “I know the kids left the store then, but I don’t know if they left the parking lot. I’m wondering if they didn’t follow Kip when he left the store. I’m betting they waited around until he was alone and then they beat the crap out of him. Three to one isn’t a fair fight.”

  “And where exactly did the cops find Kip?” Ali asked. “You never did say.”

  “Just off the freeway at Mund’s Park,” Sandy said. “Around eleven somebody called nine-one-one from the gas station on the other side of the interstate and reported a fight in progress. Cops were dispatched to the scene. That’s where they found him. He was in such bad shape that they took him out in a helicopter.”

  Yes, Ali definitely remembered seeing the helicopter when she’d been with her father at the rest area. She also remembered seeing emergency vehicles still assembled around Mund’s Park when she had gone there to pick up Crystal. She had assumed she was seeing the tail-end of some traffic mishap. Now it seemed otherwise.

  Using the rearview mirror, Ali glanced into the backseat. For some reason, Crystal had removed her earphones. She was sitting with her arms folded across her chest, staring out the window. She seemed to be hearing none of the conversation, but something about her bearing put Ali on edge. She was listening, all right, listening with avid attention, but without wanting anyone to know what she was doing. Ali wasn’t her mother’s daughter for nothing.

  “Crystal,” Ali said. “Did you see anything out of line that night?”

  Crystal jumped and feigned ignorance. “What?” she asked.

  “You were at Mund’s Park that same night Kip Hogan was attacked. Did you see any of that?”

  “No,” Crystal answered without hesitation. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  Ali knew for a fact that the girl was lying, but if Crystal had witnessed some of the horrific attack on Kip, it was possible she was lying for good reason—because she was petrified.

  Sandy was quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, she seemed not to have noticed any of the byplay between Ali and Crystal.

  “I didn’t want to tell your dad about this because I didn’t want to upset him,” Sandy said. “But the person at the hospital told me that Kip is in very serious condition. Critical condition. What if they’re trying to locate his next of kin in case they need to pull the plug?”

  “What do you know about his family?” Ali returned.

  “Not much,” Sandy admitted. “All he said was that they were estranged—that he hadn’t spoken to his mother in years.”

  “Did he tell you why?” Ali asked.

  “No.”

  “And he never gave you any kind of a hint as to where he was from?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure he grew up somewhere here in Arizona. I picked that up from little comments he made now and then, but he never said where exactly.”

  As a journalist, Ali knew that the Internet had, at the click of a mouse, made searches available to a l
ot of non-law-enforcement people who would never have been able to access the information before. And Ali did have her trusty computer along, but in order to begin a search, she needed to have a snippet of information.

  “We could probably find out,” Ali said. “Is Kip his real name, or is it short for something?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandy answered. “We never really talked about that, either.”

  It occurred to Ali that there was a lot Sandy and Kip had never discussed, and maybe that was all right. Maybe at some point, it was best just to disregard the past and move on. Sometimes that was the only way to move on.

  Ali reached over and engaged the Cayenne’s hands-free cell phone. A moment later, Dave Holman’s voice came through the speakerphone.

  “Just hanging out in the courthouse lobby,” he replied in answer to Ali’s question about what he was doing. “We’re all waiting to find out if the case is going to go to trial today. I was about to give you a call.”

  Quickly Ali explained where they were going, what they were doing, and why. “Since you’ve got a spare moment, could you maybe check with the department of licensing and see if Kip Hogan has a valid driver’s license?”

  “He must,” Dave said. “He’s been driving your dad’s Bronco all over hell and gone for months now.”

  “Those would be my mother’s sentiments exactly,” Ali said. “It would also be nice to know who, if anyone, is listed as next of kin, and if Kip is his given name or if it’s a nickname.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dave said. “Why are you asking about next of kin? Since the assault took place in Coconino County, they’ll probably want to have their people handle that end of things.”

  “We’re on our way to the hospital, and someone there asked Sandy. They need the information, too.”

  “All right,” Dave agreed. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, how’s it going?”

  As in how’s it going with your daughter from hell? Ali thought.

  “You’re on speakerphone, Dave,” Ali told him. “Crystal’s right here. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  “Crystal?” Dave asked.

  “I’m fine!” Crystal answered abruptly.

  In the annals of woman-speak, it was a cold, two-raised-eyebrows fine—the most dangerous kind. Ali knew that things between her and Dave’s temperamental daughter were anything but fine. Unfortunately Dave Holman was totally oblivious to the reality of the situation.

  “Excellent,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m delighted to know that two of my favorite people are spending some quality time together.”

  The speakerphone didn’t come close to transmitting the sneer Crystal Holman leveled at the back of Ali’s head. The rearview mirror did.

  “I’ll see what I can do about Kip, though,” Dave added. “Since I’m right here in the courthouse, I should be able to get someone to help me. I don’t know how long it’ll take, and if my case gets called…”

  “Check if you can; don’t if you can’t,” Ali said. It was her way of letting Dave off the hook.

  “Thanks so much, Detective Holman,” Sandy said. “I really appreciate anything you can do.”

  As they approached the hospital, Sandy grew more and more apprehensive. Ali didn’t blame her. Hospitals affected her that same way.

  “How much do you think all this is going to cost?” Sandy asked. “I mean, I know for sure that Kip doesn’t have any insurance. What if they ask me to pay his bill?”

  After dealing with her first husband’s glioblastoma, Ali happened to have more than a passing knowledge of how much brain surgery had cost twenty or so years ago. It was far more expensive than that now. Combine that with ICU care and medevac costs, and there could be little doubt that the price tag on Kip’s injuries already amounted to a budget-busting sum.

  By then they had pulled up next to the hospital entrance.

  “Don’t sign anything at all,” Ali cautioned. “If that means you don’t get any information on his condition right away, we’ll just have to live with it. But remember; sign nothing.”

  “Aren’t you coming up?” Sandy asked.

  “In a little while,” Ali said. “Write down my cell phone number so you can call if you need to, but first Crystal and I have a couple of errands we need to run.”

  As soon as Sandy exited the Cayenne, so did Crystal, slamming her way out of the backseat and into the front one. “What errands?” she said. “Is this when we go to Wal-Mart and buy me some different clothes?”

  “No,” Ali said. “This would be where the two of us have a little heart-to-heart chat. I want you to tell me everything you know about what happened in Mund’s Park.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Crystal said. “I didn’t see anything.” But the sullen look she shot back in Ali’s direction was a dead giveaway.

  “Let’s not play games,” Ali said. “I know you saw something. You can either tell me the truth, or I’ll find a cop who will ask you the same questions. In fact, I’m sure the homicide detectives from Coconino County will be delighted to talk to you.”

  “Why do you keep threatening me with stuff?” Crystal asked. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

  “Crystal,” Ali urged. “This is an attempted homicide. If Kip Hogan dies it’ll be more than attempted. Don’t you want to help?”

  “Why should I?” Crystal returned. “It’s none of my business.”

  Ali’s phone rang then. It was Dave. Since they were still parked, Ali answered the call without putting it on speaker.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Dave said. “Rudyard Kipling Hogan.”

  “That’s his name?” Ali asked.

  “Yup. No wonder no one’s ever seen his driver’s license. With a handle like that, I wouldn’t show it to anyone, either.”

  “What about a home address?”

  “I checked on that. He listed a homeless shelter in Phoenix as his permanent address.”

  “And next of kin?”

  “None listed. He’s an organ donor, though. I told the person in records what the deal was. She’s faxing the information to both Coconino County and to the hospital down in Phoenix as well.”

  “Thanks,” Ali said. “You’ve been a huge help.”

  “Are you there yet?” Dave asked. “It sounds pretty grim. Any word on how he is?”

  “When we know something, I’ll call,” Ali said.

  Behind her, a cabdriver laid on the horn and motioned for her to move out of the way.

  “Gotta go,” Ali said. “I’m blocking traffic.”

  She hung up the phone, drove forward far enough to turn onto Thomas, and then looked across at Crystal. “Well?” Ali demanded. “What’s it going to be?”

  “I already told you,” Crystal said. “I didn’t actually see anything, not really.”

  “You must have seen something,” Ali returned.

  Driving West on Thomas, Ali turned off onto a side street and then threaded her way through a neighborhood until she reached an almost deserted parking lot at Encanto Park. Once she turned off the engine, she focused her attention on Crystal.

  “Please tell me,” Ali said.

  Crystal gave a resigned shrug. “Well, the guy who gave me a ride from Flagstaff pulled over there at Mund’s Park so we could…well, you know…do it. And we were, or at least I was, when all of a sudden he started cussing and said, ‘We have to get the hell out of here. Something’s wrong.’ By the time I sat up, he was already hauling ass. I thought there were cops coming or something, but when we drove away, all I saw were three guys standing there in the headlights. They were sort of standing in a circle, and one of them was holding something. It looked like a baseball bat, but I’m not sure. Then I realized there was someone else there, too, a fourth guy, only he was lying on the ground. I could see he was covered with something that looked like tar, but it was probably blood.”

  Ali nodded. “What happened then?” she prompted.

  “I was scared,” C
rystal said. “I just wanted to take off and get as far away from there as possible. Curt said we had to call nine-one-one.”

  “Curt?” Ali asked.

  Crystal nodded. “That’s his name, Curt. I had a cell phone and so did he, but Curt said we shouldn’t use them. Instead, we drove across the freeway to a gas station. There was a phone booth out back. While Curt made the call, I went inside and hid in the restroom. I was afraid they’d seen me when we drove past and that they’d come there looking for me—for us. When I came out, Curt was gone and so was his car. I didn’t see the guys with the bat, but they could have been there. I knew I couldn’t hang around the gas station any longer without people asking questions, so the minute I could, I made a run for it. That’s when I broke into the house. I stayed there for a while, but it was cold and I was hungry, so I finally called my dad.”

  “Could you identify the vehicle the bad guys were driving?” Ali asked.

  “No.”

  “So you don’t know how they left Mund’s Park or which way they went?”

  Crystal shook her head. “While I was still in the restroom, I heard the sirens. I knew Curt must have gotten through because the cops were already there. And a little later, while I was hiding in the house, I saw the helicopter land and take off.”

  “If you knew the cops were there, why didn’t you talk to them?” Ali asked. “Why didn’t you tell them what you’d seen?”

  “Because I knew they’d want to know who I was and what I was doing there.” Crystal’s voice cracked. “And because I knew they’d tell my dad,” she said with a sob. “You won’t tell him about me, will you? Please?”

  The tough-talking, smart-mouthed Crystal seemed to have disappeared completely, leaving behind a girl who was little more than a child—a scared, lost child. She broke Ali’s heart.

  “Somebody needs to tell him,” Ali said softly. “But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

  { CHAPTER 9 }

  Ali put the Cayenne in gear and pulled out of the parking space.

  “Where are we going now?” Crystal wanted to know.

  “Back to the hospital,” Ali said.