Web of Evil

by J. A. Jance

  “That’s right. While you were talking to Clemencia, I called him up and asked him straight out if they had autopsy results back on Monique Ragsdale, and they did.”

  “Already?” Ali asked.

  Dave nodded. “Preliminary,” he said. “It may be Sunday, but since it’s a high-profile case, the guys over on North Mission Road really got their rears in gear on this one.”

  “And?” Ali asked.

  “Bruising on her arms and on her back. Defensive wounds and definite signs of a struggle. No sexual assault. They took scrapings from under her nails. There could be identifiable DNA found in those. The real problem for Jesus Sanchez is that the cops found something at the crime scene that links him to Monique’s death.”

  “I know,” Ali said. “Keys with his name on them. I saw them, too. According to what Jesus told Clemencia, after he was let go, he came to the house to turn in his keys. That’s when he found Monique at the bottom of the stairs. I’m sure he was upset at seeing her like that, and I don’t blame him. I know how I felt when we found her later on. He must have panicked and dropped his keys. Later on, when he realized what had happened, he knew the cops would find them and come looking for him—which they did. That’s probably why he took off.”

  “The big question is, were the keys under the victim or were they beside her?” Dave asked. “If they were under, it means the keys and Jesus were probably there either before she fell or at the same time. In that case, things are looking pretty grim for poor old Jesus. If the keys were found nearby, they could have been dropped at the same time or either before or after the fact.”

  Ali thought about that. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t remember seeing them until after the EMTs put Monique on the stretcher. It could be they were right there in plain sight the whole time, and we just didn’t notice them.”

  “One way or the other, why is it you think it’s your responsibility to hire a defense attorney for Mr. Sanchez?”

  “Shut up and drive,” Ali returned.

  The fact that Dave Holman did so made Ali like him better.

  “And that’s not all,” he said a few minutes later.

  “There’s more?”

  “Actually, yes. It turns out your Sumo Sudoku pal’s Web site bio didn’t tell the whole story.”

  “What did he leave out?”

  “That when he was eighteen he went to prison for grand theft auto. It’s not the kind of thing somebody puts on a résumé when he’s out trolling for well-heeled investors.”

  “What if Paul suspected something was going on between April and Tracy? What if he started looking into McLaughlin’s background and found out some of this stuff?” Ali asked.

  “Sounds like possible motive to me,” Dave said.

  “Except the cops aren’t looking in that direction.”

  “Not yet,” Dave said. “But there’s no reason we can’t point them that way.”

  Without missing the critical merge, it didn’t take nearly as long to get back to the hotel as it had taken to drive to Pico Gardens. “Are you coming up?” Ali asked, as they drove up to the entrance.

  “I think I’ll take a pass,” Dave said. “I want to go back to my place and call my kids. I try to talk to them on Sunday afternoons.”

  “Just drop me at the front door then,” Ali said. “At this point I don’t care if the lobby is teeming with reporters. I’m tired of sneaking around. I’ll just brazen it out.”

  “Good girl,” Dave said. “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe you can afford to keep handing over those terrific tips. I can’t.”

  The hotel lobby was completely devoid of reporters as Ali made her way upstairs, leading her to conclude that something more interesting must have turned up as fodder for that evening’s news broadcasts. Back in the room she was surprised to find her mother wasn’t there. Ali tried calling Edie’s cell phone. When the call went to voice mail, Ali hung up. Maybe Edie had decided to take advantage of being in L.A. by going to a movie. Edie preferred what her husband called “arty” films to his shoot-’em-ups, but the former seldom made it to the screens of Sedona’s single multiplex.

  Kicking off her tennies, Ali returned her Glock to the safe and raided the honor bar for a Diet Sprite. While there she noticed something odd. Her mother carried her daily allocation of vitamins in a series of ziplock sandwich bags, which she carefully saved each day, packing them away for future use. One of those plastic bags lay in the armoire next to the TV remote. It contained a single cigarette butt.

  Ali picked up the bag and examined the contents. The filtered stub was unremarkable in every way. There was no lipstick residue that might indicate that whoever had smoked it was a female. For Edie, a lifelong vociferous nonsmoker, to see fit to keep the remains of a cigarette in what was a clearly designated nonsmoking room could only mean Edie was playing detective in her own right.

  Replacing the bag, Ali took her soda to the couch, sat down, picked up her computer, logged on, and googled Richard Dahlgood, Velma T’s nephew. There were several hits, all of them concerning appearances in state and federal courts on behalf of various clients. From everything Ali was able to glean from those reports, Dahlgood seemed like the real deal.

  The first e-mail she sent was to Velma T in Laguna.

  Dear Velma,

  A friend of mine may well be in need of your nephew’s services. Please let him know that if he is contacted in regard to defending someone named Jesus Sanchez, he should be in touch with me so arrangements can be made for handling any necessary retainer. My contact phone number is listed below.

  ALI

  Next Ali wrote to Andrea Morales.

  Dear Andrea,

  I spoke to your aunt, Clemencia Sanchez, earlier today. It seems likely that your uncle, Jesus, may require the services of a defense attorney. A friend of mine has recommended someone named Richard Dahlgood. Although I don’t know the man personally, he does appear to have a considerable defense practice here in the L.A. area. His contact information is listed below.

  If your aunt and uncle are interested in engaging Mr. Dahlgood’s services, please let me know so I can make arrangements for payment of any required retainer. Also, please let your uncle know that he is back on my payroll at the moment regardless of whether or not he is able to return to work. Also tell him the house on Robert Lane is currently off-limits to all of us due to the ongoing police investigation. I will need to know where his pay envelopes should be delivered.

  Also, if he has any information concerning the whereabouts of Henrietta Jackson, the cook who was fired along with him, or of my former cook, Elvira Jimenez, I would appreciate knowing how to reach them. I’m concerned that Elvira may have been let go under circumstances similar to what happened to your uncle.

  REGARDS,

  ALI REYNOLDS

  Several readers weighed in on Ali’s legal issues. Those she responded to briefly and let go. Several others addressed her earlier post about her mother.

  Dear Babe,

  I read several blogs a day and have been a fan of yours for some time. Not all mothers are created equal. You’re lucky. Your mother sounds wonderful. Mine was poison. I’m glad she’s dead.

  ALMA

  That one Ali posted. As she kept reading, she found that the people who had written in were divided almost fifty-fifty on either side of the good mother/bad mother spectrum. By the time she had worked her way through that set of correspondence and added several more posts, Ali found herself agreeing with Alma’s assessment. Ali Reynolds really was lucky.

  As the afternoon waned, Ali realized she was hungry. Edie had not yet returned. Ali tried calling her mother’s cell again—to no avail. Once again the call went straight to voice mail. Just to be sure, Ali checked her own phone to see if she had missed receiving a message. She hadn’t. She checked the room phone for messages as well. No luck. Finally she called down to the desk. Edie hadn’t left a note there, either. And then, just to cover all the bases, she tried April’s p
hones, too, both her room and her cell. Again, no answer.

  Feeling the first inkling of concern, Ali transferred over to the bell captain. “This is Ali Reynolds,” she said.

  Her reputation for generous tipping had preceded her. For Ali Reynolds no ticket number was required. “Right, Ms. Reynolds,” the bell captain said at once. “Would you like me to have your vehicle brought around to the back?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m actually calling about my mother’s vehicle. Is it there?”

  “Do you have the valet number for that one?”

  “No,” Ali replied. “It’s a white Oldsmobile Alero with Arizona plates.”

  “Oh, that one,” he said. “It was self-parked. She left like she was headed to a fire sometime right around one. It was busy, and we were totally backed up here. She was in such a hurry that she almost ran down one of my guys.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Off the phone, Ali tried to imagine where Edie would have been going in such a hurry. As an out-of-town driver, she wasn’t familiar with the L.A. area. Wherever it was, it was likely she would have needed detailed directions. If she hadn’t asked one of the parking valets for help, maybe she had done so online.

  Ali returned to her computer and checked out the search page, looking for the most recent searches. She expected to find a listing for MapQuest or one of the other online map providers. What she found instead was a list of several Iowa-based searches, including one for the Des Moines Register. Iowa. Tracy McLaughlin had been sent up for grand theft auto in Iowa.

  Ali grabbed her phone and dialed Dave.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “We may have a problem,” Ali said. “I can’t find my mother, and I’m pretty sure she’s been playing detective. While I was gone, she was looking up something in the Des Moines Register.”

  “Smart woman,” Dave said. “She must have been tracking Tracy McLaughlin, too.”

  “She may be smart, but she’s also not here,” Ali said. “At the hotel.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I have no idea. The parking valet said she left in a hell of a hurry, but she didn’t leave a note, and she’s not answering her cell.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “She left the hotel a little after one,” Ali replied.

  “Have you called your dad?” Dave asked. “Maybe she’s called him.”

  “I can check,” Ali said.

  “Good. You do that,” Dave said. “In the meantime, I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Ali was waiting at the hotel entrance when Dave pulled into the driveway in his Nissan. “Well?” he asked as she settled into the passenger seat.

  “Dad hasn’t heard from her,” Ali reported. “His first thought was that she’d probably gone to see a bargain matinee. That was my idea, too, but the movie would be over by now. Dad’s worried, and so am I. Should I call the cops and report her missing?”

  Dave shook his head. “It won’t make any difference. They’re not going to go looking for her right now anyway. We’re better off looking ourselves. Where do you think she might have gone?”

  “Mom’s from out of town,” Ali replied. “She doesn’t really know her way around L.A. The only map she has in the Alero is that big atlas. I know she used MapQuest directions to get to the hotel, but there were no MapQuest searches on my computer.”

  “So wherever she went, if she drove herself, she must have known where she was going,” Dave concluded.

  Ali nodded. “Right. And the only two familiar places I know about for sure are the hospital and the house on Robert Lane. If April went into labor, she could have gone to Cedars-Sinai. I’m pretty sure that’s where Mom said April plans to deliver. But it’s possible she might have gone to the house for some strange reason, too.”

  Dave put the Nissan in gear. “The hospital isn’t going to tell us anything. Let’s try the house first. Have you tried calling April?”

  “I did,” Ali told him. “Both her room and her cell. No answer.”

  “Try again, just in case.”

  Once again both of April’s phones went to voice mail. Ali tried Edie’s phone again with the same result. By then Ali was feeling the first tinge of real panic.

  When they reached the house on Robert Lane, they found it deserted. Crime scene tape was still draped across the front door, warning people not to enter. There was no sign of Edie’s Oldsmobile anywhere and no sign of any other vehicles, either.

  “She’s not here,” Ali concluded. “And I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this—a really bad feeling.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dave said. “Not yet. I’m sure she’s fine. Let’s try the hospital next.”

  At Cedars-Sinai, Dave drove through the parking garages, prowling the stalls and searching for the Alero, while Ali went inside to the patient information desk and tried to bluff her way into finding out whether or not a patient named April Gaddis had been admitted. It was like banging her head on a brick wall. No one would tell her anything. Period. When Ali caught up with Dave again, she learned that his garage search had been equally fruitless.

  “Back to the hotel then?” Dave asked.

  “I guess,” Ali said. “Is it time?”

  “Time for what?” Dave returned.

  “To call Missing Persons?”

  “After less than five hours?” Dave responded. “Believe me, they’ll laugh you off the phone. At this point they probably wouldn’t even bother taking a report. Your mother’s an adult. Adults are allowed to disappear whenever they want to. They can and do. Let’s go back to the hotel and wait awhile longer. Maybe she’ll turn up. Besides, since the hotel was where you last spoke to her, that’s a reasonable place to try picking up her trail. Didn’t you say she was watching an interview at the time?”

  Ali nodded. “Yes. The one with Sheila Rosenburg from Court TV.”

  “Since April and your mother are both among the missing,” Dave suggested, “there’s always a possibility that they’re together. What if your mother and April are doing something perfectly harmless? Maybe once the interview was over they decided to go shopping. After all, April’s expecting a baby. Maybe your mom wanted to get her something nice.”

  Ali shot that idea down without a moment’s hesitation. “Mom hates shopping,” she said.

  “All right then,” Dave said. “Let’s track down this Sheila person. Maybe one or the other of them would have mentioned to her where they were going or what they planned to do next.”

  “Maybe,” Ali agreed, but she didn’t think the idea sounded very promising.

  Back at the hotel Ali was relieved to find that the media were still absent. Up on the seventh floor and on the way down the hallway from the elevator, Ali stopped off just long enough to tap on April’s door. There was no answer. Ali was in the process of unlocking the door to her own room when her phone rang. The number showing in the readout was her parents’ home number in Sedona.

  “Hello,” Ali said.

  “Did you find her?” Bob Larson demanded.

  “No,” Ali said. “Not yet. We’re still looking.”

  “Well, I just got off the phone with Chris, and we’ve made up our minds,” Bob said. “We’ve got a contingency plan all lined up. I’ve found a substitute short-order cook who’ll come in and cover for me, and Chris is going to leave his conference early and call for a substitute, too. Kip will stay here and look after Samantha. Once we get the details squared away, we’ll throw our stuff in my car and be under way.”

  “Under way where?” Ali asked. “You mean you’re coming here?”

  “Of course I’m coming there,” Bob said determinedly. “My wife is missing. Do you think I’m just going to sit around on my butt and twiddle my thumbs?”

  The idea of her father and Chris driving across the desert in Bob’s doddering Bronco seemed downright ludicrous. When it came to
dependability, Chris’s far newer Prius would have been a better choice.

  “Dad,” Ali reasoned. “Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, she isn’t officially missing.”

  “You haven’t reported it?”

  “Dave said it’s too soon. No one will pay any attention.”

  “I’m paying attention,” Bob Larson countered. “Your mother’s as dependable as the day is long. She wouldn’t run off somewhere without letting one of us know. She just wouldn’t.”

  That, of course, was Ali’s opinion, too. Leaving without a word was totally out of character for Edie even if that assessment wouldn’t carry much weight with the LAPD.

  “Do what you need to do,” Ali said at last.

  “I was planning on it all along,” Bob said with a growl. “Edie and I had already discussed it. And don’t think I’m asking for permission, either.”

  “Of course not,” Ali agreed. “But I’m glad you’re not coming alone.”

  “Me, too,” Bob said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Once Bob was off the phone, Ali called down to the desk. She made arrangements for April to be moved out of the more expensive two-room suite to one room and then reserved two more rooms as well—one for her parents and another for Chris. At this rate, she’d soon be occupying the whole floor. It was just as well that Dave was bunking at Motel 6.

  A chastened Ali let Dave into her room, where he immediately appropriated her computer and hunkered down over it. “What was she using to search?” he asked.

  “Google.”

  “Good. I’ll see if I can track down her search history. In the meantime, see if you can locate that Sheila person from Court TV.”

  Ali had to bite her lip. She had already gone over her mother’s search history, but she kept her mouth shut and began looking for Sheila’s number. Before she found it, however, the phone rang.

  “Ms. Reynolds?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name’s Richard Dahlgood. I understand you’re a good friend of my aunt Velma’s.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough.