by J. A. Jance
Ali nodded. Automatically, she reached for her purse and her credit card, but she didn’t have those, either.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Chris said. “I’ll put the rooms on my card.”
Leaving Chris and Athena to make the room reservation, Ali followed Dr. Langston through the swinging doors and into the interior of the building. “He’s in there,” Dr. Langston said, motioning Ali toward a room two doors down the hall.
Entering Leland’s room, she was more than a little gratified to have been given such unlimited access. He lay on his back with his hands folded peacefully across his chest. He was sleeping soundly and snoring with window-rattling volume. The thought that such a small man could make so much noise would have been humorous under any other circumstances. Today it wasn’t funny.
Ali studied his sleeping face. His lips were cut and swollen. One eye was black, and the rest of his face was mottled with bruises and abrasions. One arm was in a sling, and both hands showed signs of having been in a serious physical altercation. Neither he nor Ali had won, but they had gone down swinging.
There was a single chair near the head of the bed. Ali slipped gratefully onto that and settled in to wait. The doctor reappeared within a matter of minutes. “You’re right,” he said. “They found two empty syringes of Versed in his pockets. Where the hell did he get those?”
“I think Winter is a doctor,” Ali said. “That’s what I was told.”
“A doctor!” Dr. Langston repeated, shaking his head. “In that case, it’ll take time for the medication to wear off. Fortunately for someone Mr. Brooks’s age, he doesn’t appear to be in any kind of distress at the moment. Other than bruising and battering, he has a dislocated shoulder and possibly a torn rotator cuff. We’re capable of monitoring his progress here, but if you’d prefer to have him moved to another facility…”
It was one thing to be allowed into Leland Brooks’s room, but Ali was surprised to be given so much information about his condition, and she certainly hadn’t expected to be consulted about the kind of care provided.
“Look,” Ali said. “I need to tell you, that I’m not a blood relation and probably shouldn’t have any say.”
“Mr. Brooks has an unusual blood type—O-negative—and wears a MedicAlert tag that gives emergency personnel access to his information. You’re listed as the person to be notified in case of an emergency. You’ve also been designated the decision maker regarding his treatment options.”
“He’s given me his medical power of attorney?” Ali asked.
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t know?” Dr. Langston asked.
“I do now,” Ali said. “And we’ll wait here until he wakes up,” she added, making the decision as she spoke.
“Let’s go take a look at you in the meantime,” the doctor said.
An X-ray revealed that her aching jaw wasn’t broken, but the cut next to her eye required two stitches. In another time and place, she would have been concerned about scarring. Now she was just glad to be alive.
After leaving the examination room, Ali returned to the chair next to Leland Brooks’s hospital bed, where she remained for the next several hours. She couldn’t help being sorry about keeping that solitary vigil. He was a wonderful human being, she had worked with him for months, but she didn’t know him that well. She had known nothing about his snoring, for instance, or the breakup of his romance, but she was the only person he had trusted to make life-and-death decisions about his medical care. How could that be?
Somewhere along the way, she fell asleep. When she awakened, it was dark outside, and someone had turned on a night-light on the far side of Leland’s bed. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see he was awake, too, and staring at her intently.
“I’m sorry,” Leland murmured. “So very sorry.”
“Sorry?” Ali repeated, straightening up and rubbing her eyes. “What do you have to be sorry about?”
“I let you down,” he said. “He was there in the driveway waiting for me, and I simply didn’t see it coming. He had brute force and surprise working in his favor. I never had a chance. I’m so sorry if he hurt you.”
It was entirely predictable that Leland’s first thought would be for someone else rather than for himself.
“He didn’t hurt me,” she said reassuringly. “Not really.”
“There’s a cut on your face—with stitches,” Leland objected.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Who was he?” Leland asked. “Do you know his name?”
“Winter—Dr. Peter Winter.”
“And did he get away?”
“No,” Ali said. “We got lucky. He’s in custody.”
“He was a big man,” Leland said. “Who caught him and how?”
“My mother has a Taser,” Ali said simply. “We used that.”
“I see,” Leland said with a nod, as though the idea of Edie Larson having a Taser were the most natural thing in the world. “What about Mr. Simpson?” he added. “Winter didn’t find him, did he? I hope he’s all right.”
That stopped Ali for a moment. Winter had claimed Leland had said nothing because he’d had nothing to tell. Evidently, that wasn’t the case. “Are you saying you knew about my involvement with Mr. Simpson?”
“Of course I knew about it,” Leland answered. “I’m your butler. I didn’t know the details, but I knew it had something to do with computers. So when this man, this Winter person, kept raving about someone who had wrecked his computer files, I assumed it had to be Mr. Simpson.”
“But you didn’t give him Mr. Simpson’s name,” Ali said.
“No,” Leland replied. “Of course not. That’s not something I would do.”
“Thank you,” Ali said quietly. She meant it.
She wanted to say more, but just then a nurse stuck her head into the room. “We don’t have a kitchen here,” she said. “If you’d like something to eat, I can order in.”
They settled on Subway sandwiches. Once the nurse was gone, Ali turned to what had been bothering her while she’d been sitting awake and watching Leland sleep.
“I called your friend,” she said. “Your friend from Prescott. I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do, but I thought he’d want to know what had happened.”
“I assume he didn’t,” Leland said sadly.
“That’s correct,” Ali agreed. “He didn’t.”
“We broke up,” Leland said. “His children don’t approve of me, you see. I guess that means they don’t approve of him, either, but he’s their father. He doesn’t want to lose them. They gave him a choice of them or me. He chose them, and who can blame him?”
It struck Ali that this was almost the same thing Bryan Forester had said about not wanting to lose his girls. Although the situations were very different, they were also surprisingly similar—a father choosing to live a lie rather than risk losing his kids.
“I’m sorry,” Ali said.
“I am, too,” Leland admitted. “I thought that once Patrick’s wife was gone he’d find the courage to live his own life and be who he really is, but it turns out he can’t. I suppose I should have mentioned it to you.”
“No,” Ali said. “There was no need to tell me. Your personal affairs are none of my business.”
“Not telling you was rather cowardly on my part,” Leland Brooks said thoughtfully. “I just didn’t want to get into it.”
Ali reached over and took one of his hands in hers. “No, Mr. Brooks,” she said quietly. “That’s not it at all. I don’t think you could ever be a coward. That’s not who you are.”
A while later, once Leland had drifted back to sleep, Ali ventured out of the room long enough to use the restroom. Studying her face in the mirror, she was shocked by what she saw. The stitches were the least of it. An ugly bruise stretched from the corner of her left eye and down across her jawline. It ended halfway down her neck.
Not a pretty face, Ali thought ruefully. If Jacky Jackson
sees me now, it’ll all be over between us.
A nurse came through the doors at the end of the hallway. Before the doors swung shut again, Ali heard the sound of familiar voices and caught a glimpse of her mother’s steel-gray page-boy. Hurrying into the lobby, she found it packed with people she knew—both her parents and Athena and Chris were there, along with several concerned neighbors from Andante Drive. All of them were worried about her.
“Oh my,” Edie Larson said tearfully, rushing over to her daughter. “Look at you. If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, or should I say, a sight of sore eyes! They said you were in with Mr. Brooks and that he couldn’t have any more visitors, but I was so afraid that animal had hurt you.”
Bob Larson stepped between Edie and Ali and engulfed his daughter in a crushing bear hug. “You and your mom are quite the tag team,” he said. “But what about Mr. Brooks? Is he going to be all right?”
“He’s a little worse for wear,” Ali said. “But he’s sleeping now. The doctor says he’ll be fine.”
“Too bad he didn’t have a Taser,” Edie said. “Maybe you should give him one for Christmas.”
That broke the tension in the room, and everyone laughed. For the next few minutes, Ali told her collection of well-wishers as much of the story as she and Leland had managed to put together. Peter Winter had expected Ali to show up in response to his tile-delivery ruse rather than Leland Brooks. Once again, as she had with Chris and Athena, Ali recounted for everyone what Peter Winter had done to her and to Leland Brooks, shoving them under the water in hopes of their telling him who had taken his files.
“Those files were the tip of the iceberg,” Edie said. “Dave thinks Winter is the one who killed Morgan Forester.”
“He did,” Ali confirmed. “He told me so himself.”
“That means Bryan is off the hook, then?” Bob Larson asked.
“I hope so,” Ali said.
An hour or so later, a nurse shooed everyone out of the lobby, and Ali returned to her spot next to Leland’s bed. She had dozed off briefly when someone touched her shoulder. She awakened to find Dave Holman standing next to her chair and beckoning for her to follow him.
“I know you’re tired,” he said once they reached the lobby. “And this probably isn’t the best time to do this, but we need to take your statement as soon as possible.”
“We?” Ali asked.
“This is Detective Marjorie Hill from the city of Sedona,” Dave said, as a woman who had been seated near the windows rose to greet them. “She’s here because the attacks on you and Mr. Brooks occurred inside the city limits. I’m here because of Morgan Forester.”
“So you believe me, then?” Ali asked, glad of the confirmation.
Dave nodded grimly. “We found Morgan’s missing wedding and engagement rings on a key ring in Peter Winter’s pocket. But there’s a problem with that.”
“What kind of problem?” Ali asked.
“There are four other sets of rings there, which leads me to think there are at least four other victims. We just don’t know who they are. One them may have been his wife, Rita.”
“You’re saying Peter Winter is a serial killer?”
“Most likely,” Dave said. “It also means you and your mother had a very close call.”
CHAPTER 17
It was after midnight when Dave drove Ali to the Majestic Mountain Inn. “You’ll be all right?” he asked. “Yes,” she told him.
When she got out of Dave’s Nissan, Ali was gratified to see that someone had driven her Cayenne to the hotel and parked it there. She limped toward the door of her room, still wearing the jacket Chris had placed on her shoulders much earlier in the afternoon. On her feet were ill-fitting bedroom slippers that the nurse at the hospital had produced for Ali’s use.
Ali opened the door, expecting to find the room empty. To her surprise, both Chris and Athena were there waiting for her. Chris was asleep on the bed, while Athena dozed in an armchair with Sam curled comfortably in her lap.
“She was hiding behind the dryer in your laundry room,” Athena explained. “Chris dragged her out of there, and we brought her here, but we couldn’t leave her in this strange place all by herself.”
In actual fact, Sam didn’t seem all that upset. She opened her one good eye, gave Ali an appraising glance, and then closed it again.
“Thank you,” Ali said.
“We packed a suitcase for you,” Athena added. “It’s there in the closet. We brought your robe and nightgown and some clothes for you to wear tomorrow. No toiletries, though—the cops said your bathroom was off limits—so we stopped by the drugstore and picked up a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. For makeup, you’re on your own.”
The idea that Chris and Athena had managed to talk their way into bringing anything at all from the crime scene was impressive. “They let you into the house?” Ali asked. “That must have taken some convincing.”
“A little,” Athena agreed. “One of the CSI guys helped.”
Grabbing her nightgown and robe, Ali went to the bathroom to change. In addition to the bruises on her face and neck, there were bruises on her legs and arms. She had been in a fight for her life, and it showed.
When she came back out of the bathroom, Chris was sitting up on the side of the bed, and Sam was stretched out on one of the pillows.
Chris stood up. “Mom,” he said, giving Ali a hug. “You’ve got to stop doing stuff like this. You scare me to death.”
“It scared me, too,” she admitted.
“It’s late,” he said. “I’m going to Athena’s. If you need anything, Grandpa and Grandma are right next door. And here’s Athena’s cell phone. You can use it until we can get you a new one. According to the cops, there’s one sitting at the bottom of your bathtub at home. I think that one’s a goner.”
Ali let Chris and Athena out and then locked both the deadbolt and the security chain behind them. Crawling into bed a few minutes later, she was grateful to feel Sam’s stolid presence snuggled up next to her. She fell asleep almost immediately, but three times she was awakened by the same recurring nightmare: Someone was holding her head underwater, and Ali was drowning.
She was awakened shortly after sunrise by someone knocking sharply on her door. It took a moment to gather her wits and figure out where she was. Meanwhile, Sam skittered away and disappeared under the bed.
“Who is it?” Ali asked, pulling on her robe and slippers.
“It’s B.,” B. Simpson said. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to talk to you. I need to see with my own eyes that you’re all right.”
“Maybe not one hundred percent,” she said as she unlatched the security chain and the deadbolt to let him in. Catching sight of her stitched and battered face, he took a step back.
“Come on in,” Ali said. “How did you know I was here? Is something the matter?”
“I just dropped off copies of the files with Dave Holman. He told me where to find you,” B. answered. He looked haggard and careworn, as though he hadn’t slept in days. “As for what’s the matter?” he continued. “Hell yes, there’s something the matter! Look what happened to your face. I almost got you killed.”
“Wait a minute,” Ali said. “You just said you dropped off the files. If you gave them to Dave, does that mean you broke Winter’s encryption code?”
“If Winter turns out to be his real name, I’ll be surprised,” B. said. “But it does mean I broke his damn code. Just a little while ago, as a matter of fact. And now I know why the bastard was so desperate to get those files back. He had his whole world tucked away in them. He’s so friggin’ arrogant that it never occurred to him someone else might be smart enough to take him down. When it happened—when we hacked in to his system—it pushed him over the edge.
“But he’s not the only one with an arrogance problem, Ali. What about me? I thought he was just your run-of-the-mill identity thief. I had no idea how dangerous this creep might be or what he might do. If something had ha
ppened to you and your mother, if one or both of you had died because of my actions, I don’t know what I’d do or how I’d live with myself. I’m so sorry about all this, I just—”
“Stop,” Ali said, interrupting B.’s bout of self-recrimination. “None of this is your fault. You gave me a choice about what to do, remember? You said we could either turn the guy over to the cops and let them deal with him, or we could smack him down by taking his files. Since it seemed likely the cops wouldn’t do anything, I was the one who said turnabout is fair play, let’s rattle his chain and take his files.”
“The cops have them now,” B. said somberly. “I turned everything I had over to Dave Holman. Those files and the Foresters’ thumb drives as well. Bryan told me it was okay to turn them in.”
“You’ve done everything you can, then,” Ali said. “It’s up to the cops now. Go home and get some rest.”
Apparently, B. Simpson was too tired to object. He left, and Ali set about getting dressed. Chris and Athena had brought along underwear, jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of running shoes so she had something to put on that wasn’t the jogging suit, which had already been deposited in the trash can in the bathroom.
Ali used fresh food to coax Sam out from under the bed. Once she emerged, Ali scooped her up and stuck her in her crate. She didn’t want Sam exiting the room when an unsuspected maid came by to clean.
By seven A.M. Ali was at the counter in the Sugarloaf, drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for Bob to finish cooking a to-go order of cheese-baked eggs for Ali to take to the hospital for Leland Brooks.
“You’ll take a sweet roll for him, too, won’t you?” Edie asked. “Surely he’ll want one of those. What about the memorial service?” she added. “It’s due to start at ten. Are you going?”
Ali looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt. “I can’t very well go in this,” she said.
“Given what you did for Bryan Forester yesterday,” Edie Larson said, “you could probably turn up stark naked, and I doubt he’d voice a word of complaint. He wouldn’t let anyone else gripe about it, either.”
