by J. A. Jance
“After Dawna left Brianna’s house, she was never seen alive again. Late on Saturday afternoon, a guy named Joseph Rawls flagged down a passing deputy and told him he’d found a dead body three miles off Highway 95. Rawls was a character, an old-time prospector who supported himself by finding and selling geodes and the occasional arrowhead. That’s what he was doing at the time he found the body—searching the desert south of Beatty for geodes. He and his dog were camped out in the desert minding their own business when Rawls spotted smoke. Worried about the possibility of a wildfire, he cranked up his RV and went to check it out. He found the body while it was still burning. Rawls was a dry camper who always carried plenty of water with him, so he used some to douse the flames.”
“But Rawls wasn’t involved?”
“No,” Susan said. “DNA ruled him out, same as it did the boyfriend.”
“I believe you used the word ‘was.’ Does that mean Rawls is no longer with us?”
“That’s correct,” Susan replied. “Mr. Rawls is now deceased. He died of natural causes a year or so after finding the body, but because he was there so fast with gallons of water, he was able to extinguish the fire before the body was entirely consumed. That’s the reason we ended up with DNA. The autopsy revealed that Dawna Marie had been strangled as well as sexually assaulted.”
“What about electronic devices?” Dave asked.
“The victim didn’t have a phone with her,” Susan said. “That was part of the fight with her mother. Mrs. Giles was paying the monthly charges for Dawna’s iPhone. Since her daughter wasn’t willing to play by her mother’s rules, Mama Giles confiscated the phone.”
“Which meant there was no way to track her movements electronically?”
“Correct. We’ve continued to work the case ever since without generating any new leads. Mike Priest handled the case for years. After he passed away, it was handed over to me. Dawna’s mom calls me every month without fail to see if we’ve made any progress.”
“I’m guessing you’re the one who’ll be doing the calling today,” Dave suggested.
“I won’t be calling her,” Susan Moore replied. “The moment I’m off the phone with you, I’ll be going to speak to her in person, but first, what do you see as our next step?”
Susan’s use of the word “our” let Dave know the Nye County Sheriff’s Office was in this fight right along with him.
“Detectives Morris and Rojo, the guys who brought McCluskey back from California, will be in touch. They know more about the other case than anyone else, and they can bring your team up to speed. But before we sign off, there’s something else you need to know.”
“What’s that?” Sheriff Longren asked.
“Dawna Marie Giles may be just the tip of the iceberg. We’ve learned that Harvey McCluskey’s mother disappeared and was presumed murdered while he was still in high school. Her husband, Harvey’s father, was the prime suspect in the mother’s disappearance. He died, allegedly of suicide, a few weeks after his wife’s disappearance. Her body wasn’t found until years later, and her manner of death was determined to be homicide. Cause of death was blunt-force trauma.”
“You said the father allegedly committed suicide,” Susan noted. “Is that in question?”
“At this point I think the matter bears looking into. In 2004 Harvey McCluskey married a nurse in Las Vegas. She died the day after their wedding ceremony on a honeymoon hike in the Grand Canyon. She just happened to fall to her death. Since there were no witnesses present, her death ended up being ruled accidental. McCluskey was the sole beneficiary of an insurance payout of a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Not bad for a one-day marriage,” Susan observed, “but it sounds like you’re saying you think Harvey’s good for all these homicides.”
“I think it’s possible,” Dave replied.
“How come?”
“Because when Harvey was taken into custody, he was wearing a gold chain with a few items strung on it. One of them was Dawna Marie’s class ring. We also found a wedding ring there engraved with two sets of initials—his mother’s and his late wife’s.”
“Anything else on the chain?” Sheriff Longren asked.
“A gold hoop of some kind. One of my detectives thinks it may be part of a pair of earrings.”
“So three victims for sure,” Susan said, “maybe four counting the father, and five counting the earring.”
“That’s how I see it,” Dave told them.
“How long can you hold him on the kidnapping charge?”
“Should the judge grant bail, which is doubtful, I doubt McCluskey will be able to post it. As far as I know, the guy’s flat broke.”
“Just in case,” Susan said, “I want to get to work on all this right away. Please send us your detectives’ contact info.”
“Will do,” Dave replied, “and you do the same.”
When that call ended, he made a second one—this time to Sheriff Tom Hickok of Coconino County. Because their counties happened to be next-door neighbors, Dave and Tom were on a better-than-first-name basis.
“How’s it going, Davey my man?” Sheriff Hickok asked.
“Things are a bit complicated around here at the moment. I’m calling about an old case, one that happened on your patch back in 2004.”
“That’s a little before this patch ended up becoming my patch,” Hickok said. “What’s the deal?”
“A woman named Maureen Annette Richards was on her honeymoon when she died falling from a hiking trail in the Grand Canyon. Her death was determined to be accidental at the time, but I’ve stumbled across information that indicates she might have been the victim of a homicide.”
Hickok sucked in his breath. “Okay,” he said. “When it comes to cold cases, Detective Jana Davis is my go-to gal. I’ll have her track down the file and give you a call so you can speak to her directly. Will that work?”
“Does for me. Thanks, Tommy. Appreciate it.”
|CHAPTER 49|
SEDONA, ARIZONA
Soon after Edie disappeared into the bedroom, Betsy excused herself to return to her own apartment, leaving Ali alone with overwhelming feelings of grief and loss. After a few moments, however, she realized that she had to switch gears from being a grieving daughter to being a concerned mother. Knowing she didn’t want her grandkids to find out about this from someone else, she called Chris at school and asked for him to be summoned to the office.
“Grandpa committed suicide?” Chris asked in disbelief when he heard the news. “How can that be?”
Ali’s mother had kept a tight lid on her husband’s looming mental-health crisis, and Ali realized now that she had, to a lesser degree, done the same thing—at least as far as bringing Chris and Athena into the loop. Now it was her responsibility to tell them.
“He was developing dementia,” Ali explained. “Mom hadn’t told anyone, not even me. I only just found out about it a few days ago, and with everything that was going on with Athena and the baby, I didn’t want to heap anything more onto your plate.”
“What do I tell the twins?” Chris asked bleakly.
Ali wrestled with that. Was disingenuousness about Bob Larson’s health situation going to be passed along to another generation by dodging the realities concerning the circumstances of his death?
“Tell them he stepped in front of a truck,” Ali advised at last. “You don’t have to go into any further details about whether it was accidental or deliberate. They’re kids. Let Colin and Colleen draw their own conclusions for the time being and plan on giving them the whole story years from now when they’re older.”
“As soon as I can get a sub, I’ll pick them up from school,” Chris said. “Are you at Grandma’s?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to bring them there?”
Ali glanced around the tiny space that passed for a living room. “Probably not,” she said. “I have a feeling that any minute now the dam is going to break and your grandmother’s unit wi
ll be flooded with people. I’ll try to bring her by your place later on today if that’s all right.”
“Okay,” Chris said, “but what about you, Mom? How are you doing?”
“Hanging in,” she replied, “but just barely.”
She called B. and was still on the phone with him, bringing him up to date, when Edie emerged from the bedroom. As she stepped through the door, Ali was struck by her mother’s transformation. Totally put together and seemingly in control, she clutched a file folder in one hand.
“It’s what your father used to call his game plan,” Edie explained, nodding toward the folder in response to Ali’s unasked question. “His final wishes. I need to go by Smithson’s. I called them and told Althea I was coming. Will you drive me there, or should I drive myself?”
Smithson’s Family Mortuary was a Sedona institution. Started by a local pioneer named Al Smithson in the early 1900s, the business had been known as Smithson’s and Sons for generations. Once the current proprietor, Al’s great-great-granddaughter Althea, took control from her father, the name had been changed to reflect that new reality.
“Of course I’ll drive you,” Ali said, but then she realized her car was still parked several blocks away.
“No matter,” Edie said, once Ali explained. “We can take the Buick.”
They avoided the crowd in the front lobby by leaving through a back entrance that led directly to the tenant parking area. “What’s this about a game plan?” Ali asked as she eased her mother’s sedan out of its reserved and numbered spot.
“Bobby and I did this right after we sold the restaurant and moved here,” Edie said. “In the process of making sure our affairs were in order, we planned our own funerals—music, Scripture, the whole shebang—and paid for them in advance, so there shouldn’t be any surprises on that score. By the way, your father wanted you to give his eulogy.”
“Me?” Ali echoed in dismay.
“He figured that after all those years in the news business you were probably better at public speaking than anyone else in the family.”
There was nothing Ali could say in response to that. Besides, if that was her father’s wish, it was exactly what would happen.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, she saw that the highway in front of Sedona Shadows was still closed and traffic was being diverted onto side streets. Police vehicles were parked at odd angles everywhere. Ali understood the grim reality that investigations of fatal traffic incidents were complex and time-consuming.
“How long will this take?” Edie wanted to know.
“To get the highway open again?” Ali asked.
Edie shook her head. “No, how long will it take before they release Bobby’s body to the mortuary?”
Ali sighed. “No telling,” she said. “They’ll need to do an autopsy first.”
“There has to be an autopsy?”
“Has to be,” Ali answered.
“All right, then.” Edie sounded resigned. “I suppose I’ll just have to live with that, won’t I?”
Ali’s phone rang as they pulled in to the mortuary parking lot. A glance at the screen told her Dave Holman was on the line. Without answering, she switched the phone’s ringer to silent. Once inside Smithson’s, Ali and her mother were greeted by a woman Ali had never met before. Edie introduced her as Althea Smithson.
“So sorry for your loss,” Althea murmured to Ali. “Won’t you please come this way?”
As they followed Althea into a tastefully decorated office, Ali noted that although the woman was wearing a wedding ring, she had obviously kept her maiden name. She motioned Edie and Ali into chairs.
“I have Mr. Larson’s file right here,” she said, opening a folder of her own and examining the documents inside. “Has anything changed?”
Edie shook her head. “I have my own copy. Nothing’s changed except for the fact that we have another great-grandson now—Logan James. You’ll need to add his name to the list of survivors.”
“As for prepaid cremation, is that still the plan?”
“Yes, please,” Edie answered. “He always wanted his ashes scattered up on the rim.”
“And you still prefer a pine box as opposed to an urn?”
Edie actually smiled at that. “That’s correct. Bobby liked to say that a pine box was good enough for him, and biodegradable, too.”
Ali looked at her mother in amazement. The shattered woman she’d seen earlier that morning when she first entered her parents’ apartment no longer existed. Edie Larson was back in control. It was as though while showering and getting dressed her mother had also outfitted herself in a suit of emotional armor.
“You’ll need to let the ME know that when they’re ready to release the body, we’ll be the ones taking charge,” Althea explained. “We won’t be able to set a time frame or schedule a service until after that happens.”
“I understand,” Edie said. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” Althea said. “I have everything I need.”
* * *
“Have you told Chris and Athena?” Edie asked once they were back in her Buick.
“I called Chris,” Ali said. “He was going to pick up the kids and take them home.”
“Then that’s where I’d like to go next,” Edie said. “I need to speak to all of them, face-to-face. In the meantime I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I know you have lots of connections inside law enforcement,” Edie said. “I’d like to have the name and address of the man who was driving that truck. I want to go see him and offer my condolences.”
Ali was shocked. “Are you sure about speaking to the driver directly, Mom?” she hedged. “Maybe you should consult an attorney first. He’d most likely advise against your making any kind of direct personal contact. What if the driver decides to sue the estate?”
“I don’t care if he sues me for every last dime,” Edie said determinedly. “Telling him I’m sorry for what happened is the right thing to do.”
Ali could see that arguing the point would get her nowhere. “Yes, ma’am,” she agreed meekly.
By then they had arrived at Chris and Athena’s place. “If you don’t mind,” Edie said, putting a restraining hand on her daughter’s arm. “I’d rather talk to them alone. I haven’t been straight with them up to now, and I owe them all an explanation.”
Ali didn’t argue with that either. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see about getting the driver’s contact information.”
Watching her silver-haired mother approach Chris and Athena’s door with her back ramrod straight, Ali couldn’t help but marvel at her appearance. She didn’t look like a distraught widow. She walked with the firm determination of someone who was six feet tall and bulletproof.
Once the door opened and Edie disappeared inside, Ali didn’t bother calling anyone at Sedona PD for information concerning the truck driver. She dialed up Frigg instead. Under the circumstances that was less complicated all the way around.
|CHAPTER 50|
SEDONA, ARIZONA
By early afternoon Ali was still cooling her heels in the car, waiting for her mom to return. Left with some time to herself, she remembered to check her silenced phone. In addition to Dave’s earlier call, there were three more—two of them with blocked numbers. Neither of those left messages. Given the circumstances, Ali assumed they were most likely media outlets looking for a comment. The third one was from her good friend and Sister of Providence, Sister Anselm Becker, calling from her convent in Jerome. She did leave a message.
“Everyone here at St. Bernadette’s is praying for you and your family. Call if you can, but I’ll understand if that’s not possible.”
Ali decided to return Dave’s call first. “I heard what happened to your dad,” Dave said when he answered. “I’m so very sorry. I also heard that the investigating officers don’t believe it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t,” Ali answered grimly. “Dad stepped into the p
ath of that truck on purpose.”
“But why?” Dave asked. “What would make someone like Bob Larson go off the rails like that?”
In that moment, having watched her mother maintain a tight grip on her emotions helped Ali control her own.
“Dad was drifting into dementia, although he still had some lucid moments. He took advantage of one of those this morning and removed himself from the equation. He knew that what was coming would be hell on my mom, and I believe he wanted to spare her.”
“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have agreed with that assessment.”
“You’re right, she didn’t, and that’s why he didn’t discuss it with her beforehand. He took off while she was still asleep.”
“How are you doing?” Dave asked pointedly.
“I’m trying to help my mom hold it together, and that’s helping me do the same thing.”
“If there’s something Priscilla and I can do…”
“No, Dave,” Ali said quickly. “Not right now, but thank you for offering. Was there anything else?”
“I wanted to update you on the McCluskey case. He waived an extradition hearing, so we’ve brought him back. He’s being held in the jail here in Prescott, but his arrest has set off a firestorm of homicide investigations in three different states—Arizona, Montana, and Nevada.”
Ali knew what a compliment this bit of conversation was. Prohibitions against law-enforcement officers discussing active cases with outsiders were universal, and the fact that Dave trusted her enough to do so meant a lot.
“Three states?” she echoed. “I thought there were only two—Arizona and Montana.”
“This morning the crime lab down in Phoenix used CODIS to connect McCluskey to an unsolved rape/homicide in Nye County, Nevada, dating from 2007. Thanks to all the background information you provided, we’re now in possession of enough physical evidence to justify reopening two officially closed cases—the death of Harvey’s mother, Ida Mae, and the supposedly accidental death of his wife, Maureen Annette Richards, who fell to her death in the Grand Canyon in 2004.
