by J. A. Jance
She lay there for a long time, drifting between waking and sleeping and trying to put the odd fragments of memory into some kind of reasonable order. She remembered a house—a big house with wooden floors. She remembered seeing a huge fireplace with a painting over it. The woman in the picture had been wearing a bright blue evening dress—an old-fashioned evening dress, something from the fifties or maybe the sixties. Who was she? Where was she? Was she someone Ali knew? Did she have something to do with a woman in a trunk?
The more Ali tried to force order out of chaos, the more the images slipped away from her. It was like grasping at straws.
Straws. That word caught in her head and spun there like a piece of dried grass whirling in an eddy in a rocky mountain stream. What kind of straw was it? One of those that folded over, like in a hospital room? A tall thick one, like from a DQ milk shake? A tiny thin one that might show up in a cocktail from a bar? Or was it maybe the other kind of straw, like in The Three Little Pigs: I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!
Then, as suddenly as the word had landed in her brain, the whole idea of straw drifted away into nothingness. A little later, she realized dimly that the car had stopped. It occurred to her that perhaps she should try to do something about that—pound on the trunk lid or scream her head off—but she couldn’t bring herself to do either one. Lulled by a strange listlessness that was more hopelessness than anything, she fell back into a sleep that offered some blessed relief from the waking nightmare of being locked in a trunk.
29
Lucy Ramirez noticed the old woman in the far corner of the restaurant as soon as she came on duty at three o’clock for her four-hour afternoon shift at the Burger King in Gila Bend, where she worked as head cashier. The old woman, who looked to be years younger than Nana, Lucy’s grandmother, sat quietly in the booth, thumbing through a photo album. She seemed to be waiting for someone to bring her an order from the serving line. The problem was, no customers were waiting in the serving line.
“What about the woman in the corner?” Lucy asked Rosemary, who was closing out her register.
“No idea,” Rosemary replied. “She showed up about an hour ago. An Indian guy from the reservation dropped her off. She got out of his pickup and came inside alone. I guess she’s waiting for someone.”
Lucy settled in to work. As a single mother with three kids to support, she was grateful to have any job at all in a place like Gila Bend, where jobs were scarce. She had come back home after her divorce because she and her kids were able to live rent-free in her grandmother’s single-wide mobile home. Lucy was also grateful that Nana was willing to look after the kids once they got out of school in the afternoon. If she’d had to pay for a babysitter out of her paltry weekly paychecks, there wouldn’t have been any point in working.
Lucy had given up fighting to get money from Sam, her deadbeat ex, who had never paid so much as a single dime of court-ordered child support. The state had tried to go after him, but when Sam did bother to work, it was usually for cash under the table, so there was no paycheck to garnish. Since he didn’t mess around with bank accounts, either, the state couldn’t collect.
That was the bad news, but things were beginning to change for the better. Lucy had a new boyfriend. Tommy Grayson was a really nice guy who swore he loved her and seemed to love her kids as well. He made decent money working as a guard in the prison just up the road. He had a house that was way better than Nana’s single-wide. If she moved in with Tommy, not only would the kids be able to go to the same school, they’d be only a few miles from Nana.
In the two years since Lucy’s divorce, Tommy Grayson was her first serious relationship. And where had she met him? In the order line, of course. A Whopper Full Meal Deal, hold the mayo, and a Diet Coke. Tommy was another reason Lucy was grateful for her job. It even seemed possible that someday he would get around to popping the question. There was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that she would say yes.
When Lucy finished working through her first batch of arriving customers, the old lady was still there, sitting and studying the photo album with intense concentration. She was there later, after the minor afternoon rush of kids once school got out. When things slowed down and Lucy went out to bus tables and pick up trash, the woman was still sitting there, paging through the book. Approaching the table, Lucy could see it was a wedding album. One glimpse of the beautiful bride and the handsome tux-clad groom was enough to make Lucy’s mouth water. It looked like a fairy-tale wedding, the kind Lucy had always wanted.
“Your daughter’s wedding?” Lucy asked when the old woman looked up and noticed her.
“Oh, no, not my daughter’s,” she said. “My son’s.”
Lucy was about to leave the woman to her book when she spotted the colorful metal cane propped next to the woman on the bench seat. “Are you all right?” Lucy asked.
The woman seemed momentarily mystified. “Oh, yes,” she said finally. “I’m just fine. I’m waiting for my husband, James. I think he went into the restroom. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”
It didn’t seem possible that someone could have been in the men’s restroom that long, but maybe something had happened to the old guy. If he was as old as the woman, maybe he was frail and sick and had passed out in one of the stalls. Once Lucy got back to the counter, she asked one of the cooks to check the men’s restroom, just in case.
“Nobody’s in there,” he reported. “No one at all.”
Lucy went back over to the woman in the booth. “Can I get you something?”
“A cup of coffee would be very nice,” the woman said. Then she looked around the booth anxiously. “But I don’t see my purse. Do you?”
Lucy looked. There was no purse. “I don’t see it,” she said. “Did you maybe leave it in your car?”
The woman frowned. “I might have.”
“What kind of car?” Lucy asked. “What color?”
“The Jag,” the woman said. “It’s green.”
Lucy went outside and checked the parking lot. There were two white pickup trucks and a ratty old Jeep Cherokee. There were no Jaguars in sight, and no green cars, either.
Back inside, Lucy poured a cup of coffee from the machine behind the counter, then delivered it to the woman in the corner booth. “Cream and sugar?” she asked, setting it down in front of the woman.
“No, black is fine, but I can’t possibly take this. I don’t have any money. James could pay—I’m sure he will pay—but I don’t know where he went.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucy said. “Are you hungry? Can I bring you something?”
“A hamburger would be nice,” the woman said. “One of the small ones.”
Nodding, Lucy went back to the counter and ordered a Whopper Junior.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucy’s manager asked when he saw her taking money from her own pocket and putting it into the till, enough to cover the burger and the senior coffee. In Lucy’s opinion, Richard Marino was a jerk, but she didn’t dare cross him if she wanted to keep her job.
“That poor lady’s hungry,” Lucy told him. “She lost her purse, and she’s got no money.”
“Likely story,” Richard said sarcastically. “So what are you, friggin’ Mother Teresa?”
“She reminds me of my grandmother,” Lucy said. “If Nana was here, broke and hungry, I hope someone would help her.” With that and a toss of her heavy black braids, she went out to the woman’s booth to deliver the food.
“I’m Lucy,” she announced, setting the tray down on the table in front of the old woman. “Lucy Ramirez.”
“Glad to meet you, Lucy,” the woman said with a smile. She moved the book aside to make room for the tray. “I’m Doris,” she said. “Doris Ralston. James and I are on our way to see some friends in Palm Springs.”
Lucy nodded and started to walk away.
“Wait,” Doris said. “I need to pay you for that.” Once again she searched the booth, frantically loo
king for a purse Lucy already knew was nowhere to be found. Obviously, Doris had already forgotten it was missing.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucy said gently. “This is on me. You’ve been here for quite a while, and I haven’t seen anyone else sitting here. Are you sure your husband came to the restaurant with you? Someone told me a man in a pickup dropped you off.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t be riding around in a pickup. I’ve never been in one of those in my life. And of course James is here,” Doris declared. “Where else would he be?”
A new set of customers—three separate couples of gray-haired retirees, traveling in a caravan of RVs—came in, talking and laughing. With a glance at Richard’s disapproving scowl, Lucy left Doris to eat her Whopper Junior in peace and hurried back to the register. At some point in the course of the next hour, Doris got up and limped to the bathroom. When she came out, she stood at the end of the corridor and looked around the restaurant as if unsure where to go.
“You’re over there, Doris,” Lucy said, pointing. “In the corner booth.”
Doris smiled at her. “Thank you.”
Richard sidled up behind Lucy as Doris returned to her booth. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked. “Is she nuts? We should call the cops.”
“Leave her be,” Lucy said. “She’s not bothering anyone.”
When Richard went outside for a cigarette break during the next lull, Lucy went to fill the ice machine, then back over to Doris’s booth. “Where do you live?” she asked.
“Phoenix,” Doris said at once. “You’d like it. It’s a lovely place, right next to the mountains.”
“If you’re from Phoenix and you’re going to Palm Springs, what are you doing here?” Lucy asked. “Why didn’t you stay on I-10?”
Doris frowned. “You’ll have to ask James about that,” she said. “He’s the one who was driving. But where is he? It seems like he’s been gone a long time.”
“Don’t worry,” Lucy assured her. “You stay right here. I get off work in another hour, then we’ll see about getting you a ride back home.”
Doris’s expression darkened. “I’m not sure I want to go back. Not if he’s there.”
“He who? Your husband?”
“Oh, no, not James. He’s fine,” Doris said. “Barry’s the one I don’t like. I don’t trust him. I think he stole my necklace.”
“Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Lucy said. “You just sit here and wait for me. Once I get off work, we’ll sort it all out.”
“What does that mean?” Richard asked when Lucy returned to her register. He had evidently been listening. “Are you planning on taking her home with you like she’s some kind of stray dog?”
“No,” Lucy said. “I called Tommy and Nana on my break. Nana will look after the kids while Tommy and I figure out a way to take Doris home.”
“Doris,” Richard sneered. “So now you’re on a first-name basis?”
You could be, too, Lucy thought, but it’s never gonna happen.
Five minutes before Lucy’s shift ended, Tommy showed up and ordered his usual. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Over in the corner,” Lucy said, swiping his card. “Her name is Doris. Her husband’s name is James.”
“Yes,” he said, “and she lives on Upper Glen Road in Phoenix. At least she used to.”
“How do you know where she lives?” Lucy demanded.
“Where she used to live,” Tommy corrected. “I know about it because I’ve got a friend who’s a dispatcher for the Arizona Highway Patrol. About an hour ago, a light green Jaguar was reported abandoned near a rest area on I-8. It was out of gas, and Doris Ralston’s purse was found inside. They’re sending a patrol officer here to pick her up. He should be here any minute.”
“Wait,” Lucy said, outraged. “You mean they’re going to arrest her? The poor woman hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s just confused.”
“She may be confused,” Tommy said, “but she’s also really, really lucky.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s still alive. Somebody burned her house down earlier this afternoon,” Tommy said. “Until I called in the report about your lost friend being at the Burger King in Gila Bend, everybody thought she was dead.”
“Oh my God!” Lucy exclaimed. “That’s what she said!”
“What did she say?”
“She told me she was afraid of someone. That he scared her. That he had stolen something that belonged to her. She also mentioned that her husband, James, was supposedly driving the car. Where’s he?”
“Maybe he’s the guy who set the fire,” Tommy suggested.
“No,” Lucy said. “I don’t think so. It’s the other guy she’s scared of. She’s not afraid of James.”
“If somebody burned down her house,” Tommy said, “it sounds to me like she had good reason to be afraid.”
Nodding, Lucy turned back to the window, where she picked up Tommy’s order and set it on a tray. Then she caught the backup cashier’s eye. “Hey,” she said. “Take over for me for a minute, would you?”
Ignoring Richard Marino’s looming objection, Lucy took the tray and led Tommy to the corner booth, where Doris was once again paging through photographs.
“Hey, Doris,” she said, “this is my boyfriend, Tommy. If you don’t mind, he’d like to sit with you for a little while. Maybe you could tell him about your day.”
“I suppose that would be all right,” Doris said, “but if James comes back . . .”
“Tommy will move, of course,” Lucy said, “but right now he has some good news. The Arizona Highway Patrol found your car. It was on the freeway, out of gas.”
Doris looked devastated. “You mean James wasn’t there?”
“Just talk to the officer when he gets here,” Lucy said reassuringly. “Tommy will look after you until he does. Don’t worry. We’ll be able to help find your husband. I’m sure he can’t have gone far.”
30
Stuart had already launched into the hard part of the job. When B. called, Stu was well into the process of hacking into Molly’s cell phone provider. Once B. gave him the S550’s VIN, Stu set aside his triangulation effort and concentrated on the Mercedes.
Computerized records being what they were, he was easily able to track down the original bill of sale for Doris Ralston’s S550. As Stu hoped, at the time James Ralston purchased the vehicle, he also signed a yearlong contract with Prestige Auto Concierge Service, which had long since lapsed.
Stuart refrained from high-fiving himself. He had dealt with the company before. In fact, he had designed some of their anti-hacking security measures, so it was easy for him to find an untraceable back-door entry into their servers and backup servers, and he did so with no concern that they’d be able to detect his unauthorized entry.
Within minutes, he had updated the records of the S550’s service account, bringing the billing up to current status. For good measure, he changed the name of the account from James Ralston to Doris Ralston, backdating the order to two months ago, citing the receipt of James Ralston’s actual death certificate as the reason for the billing change.
Stuart was tempted to give the updated account a new password. He favored something like MMWRUS, which would have been short for “Minnesota’s Most Wanted Are Us.” Instead, he left James Ralston’s original password. As far as Stu was concerned, Jimmyjim wasn’t a particularly secure password, but that wasn’t his problem. What made him smile was his newly acquired ability to see that Doris Ralston’s S550 was moving steadily west on Arizona Highway 68 west.
With his silver bullet properly locked and loaded, Stuart exited Prestige’s system and returned to the task at hand, infiltrating Molly Handraker’s cell phone provider. Within minutes, he succeeded. Once he had the first cell triangulation ping, Stuart Ramey also had his answer. Molly Handraker’s cell phone, and most likely Ali’s iPad, were in the S550.
“Okay,” Stu said, watching the cell phone screen. “I’ve ju
st located Doris Ralston’s vehicle and Molly’s cell phone. They just turned off Arizona Highway 68 west, northbound on Davis Dam Road.”
“All right.” B. was off the line for a moment while he conferred with someone else. “Okay,” he said, speaking to Stuart. “The pilot says we’re still about twenty minutes out. What’s the program?”
“I’ll keep monitoring their movements. Call me again when you’re at Davis Dam Road. Above Cabin Site Road, there’s a tangle of unnamed dirt roads that lead to boat launches; I’ll probably need to help guide you in. When I believe you’re close enough, I’m going to use Prestige’s auto theft recovery system to shut down that Mercedes. Once they’re stopped dead, it’s up to you. Do you want me to call in law enforcement?”
“We’ll get back to you on that,” B. said.
Stuart sat back, closed his eyes, and uttered a silent but fervent prayer—that Ali would be there, that she’d be alive, that they’d be able to save her. If none of those things turned out to be true, Stuart didn’t think he’d ever be able to face himself in the mirror again. He wouldn’t be able to face B. Simpson, either.
To keep himself occupied, he put himself back to work. Within minutes he had hacked his way in to the surveillance cameras at Turnberry Towers. There were dozens of them, but he focused on the ones that opened from the elevators into the various parking garage levels. Once he had those cameras isolated, he called up the related recordings. After inserting Barry Handraker’s mug shots into a beta facial recognition program that High Noon Enterprises had been testing, he turned the program loose on the tapes.
Scanning the tapes manually would have taken days. The new program accomplished the goal within minutes. In a section of tape dated Sunday evening at 06:28:31, Stuart found Barry Handraker exiting the elevator on level three of the parking garage. He was pulling a single piece of roll-aboard luggage. Two minutes later, another camera located at the parking garage entrance showed him driving an S550 with Arizona plates.