by J. A. Jance
Shutting down her computer, Cami grabbed both her iPad and laptop and then pulled her purse out of her desk drawer. She slammed the drawer shut hard enough that Stu looked up and glanced in her direction.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Out,” she told him.
After all, two could play that game.
29
Haley slept some, but not well. Mostly she tossed and turned. The next morning, still rummy from lack of sleep, she staggered into the kitchen later than usual to start coffee and make breakfast. Most mornings she’d be dressed and ready to go to work by now, but today, with no news from Agent Ferris about when they’d be allowed back into the office, going to work wasn’t an option. She had just poured oatmeal into the pot of boiling water when the doorbell rang.
It was 7:40. Having someone turn up unannounced on the front porch at this hour of the morning was very much out of the ordinary. Concerned about waking Gram, Haley hurried to the door before the visitor could ring the bell again. Opening the front door she found a man she recognized standing on the far side of the sturdy security screen.
“Detective Eric Drinkwater, Sedona PD,” he said, holding out his ID wallet. “I’d like to speak to you for a few minutes.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, stepping out onto the porch. “I don’t want to awaken my grandmother.”
Detective Drinkwater, wearing a suit and tie, left Haley feeling ill at ease and self-conscious in a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops.
“I’m assuming you’re aware of the Frazier double homicide?”
Haley nodded. “Yes,” she said faintly. “I heard about that.”
“I understand you worked for Mr. Frazier for a long time.”
“Eighteen years. For part of that time I worked for Millie as well, less so once Dan started working out of the Ocotillo Fund Management headquarters down in Phoenix.”
“In other words, you knew him well.”
Haley nodded. “Probably better than most.”
“Are you aware of anyone who might have wished to harm either one of them?”
Haley sighed. “I don’t know of anyone in particular, but after the news about OFM’s bankruptcy broke yesterday morning, I’m sure lots of people are understandably upset with him right now. Still, I can’t imagine that any of those folks, including Bob Larson, would go so far as to physically attack Dan or Millie.”
Drinkwater blinked in surprise at that. “What makes you mention Mr. Larson?”
Haley realized it was time to come clean. “I saw the whole thing,” she answered.
“You saw the murders?”
“No, not the murders, but I was nearby during most of the investigation. When cops and aid cars started showing up at Dan’s place, the woman who lives across the street, Julia King, came by the office to let me know. She brought me back to her house. I was there from late morning until late afternoon. I saw Mr. Larson’s vehicle—his Bronco—parked in Dan’s yard, and when one of the cop cars came down the driveway, I’m pretty sure I saw him in the backseat—like he was under arrest or something.”
“Bob Larson is someone you recognize on sight?”
“I work in a small business,” Haley said. “It’s my job to recognize all of our clients on sight, including you, Detective Drinkwater. I believe we carry your homeowners policy. Bob and Edie Larson have been clients for years, too. Dan handled their investment accounts personally, but the office here in Sedona still handles their insurance needs. So, yes, I know Bob personally. I know his wife, and I know both their vehicles, too. By the way, there aren’t that many ancient red Broncos driving around here in Sedona, especially ones with old-style plates.”
“So if OFM went broke and Bob and Edie lost a ton of money, is it likely that they might have held Dan responsible?”
“I suppose,” Haley said, “but the same applies to plenty of other people here in town as well.”
“When did you first learn of the Ocotillo bankruptcy issue?”
“I didn’t know the first thing about it until a crew of guys from the SEC turned up on Monday afternoon and ordered us to shut down.”
“Dan didn’t call you or give you any advance warning?”
Haley bit her lip. “No,” she said.
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If you’d worked for him for that long, shouldn’t Dan have been the one to let you know things were going south?”
Odd? Haley thought. It wasn’t just odd. It was infuriating! But she wasn’t about to speak ill of the dead or run down the man who had always been her mentor. “He was probably dealing with other pressing issues,” she said.
“Were you aware of any clients who were particularly upset when they heard the news about Ocotillo Fund Management going bankrupt?”
Haley thought about Frank Merrick, standing there with his placard and yelling insults at her. “Maybe,” she said. Then, after a pause she added, “Probably.”
Drinkwater appeared to be gearing up for another question when the screech of a smoke alarm pierced the air. “The oatmeal,” Haley moaned, turning on her heels and racing inside. The smell of burned cereal filled the whole house. In the kitchen, Haley grabbed the smoldering pan with a hot pad and flung it into the sink. After turning cold water full blast on the stinking remains, she raced toward the smoke alarm panel and keyed in the code.
By the time Haley returned to the living room, she found Gram, still wearing her nightgown and robe, standing face-to-face with Eric Drinkwater. Haley couldn’t tell which had unnerved Gram more—the screeching smoke alarm or finding a strange man in the living room.
“Sorry about that,” Haley said to the detective, then to Gram she added, “He’s here investigating the murders.”
“Well,” Gram said. “Since you’re already here at this ungodly hour of the morning, are you making any progress?”
Ignoring Gram’s question, Eric focused on Haley. “Although people here in town are already well aware of who the victims are, we’re still trying to locate their next of kin. I was hoping maybe you could help us with that.”
“Dan and Millie have no kids and hence no grandchildren. Dan’s folks are both gone, and he was an only child. I believe Millie still has people back in Missouri—an aunt or uncle or two and maybe some cousins,” Haley offered. “I still have their Christmas card list on my computer, so I could give you names and addresses, but there’s a problem with accessing that list right now.”
Bristling at being ignored, Gram went over and sank into her recliner. She didn’t suggest that Eric should have a seat—a subtle way of returning the favor and letting him know she hoped he’d be leaving sometime soon. Failing to take the hint, however, he settled onto the sofa.
“I noticed that on both of their phones, you’re listed as a person to call in case of an emergency.”
“That’s true,” Haley agreed, “and has been for years. They didn’t have anyone else.”
“She’s also their executrix and will most likely have to be responsible for arranging Dan and Millie’s funerals,” Gram interjected. “Which means she needs to know how soon the bodies will be released from the morgue.”
Drinkwater looked from Gram back to Haley. “If you’re their executrix, are you also a beneficiary under their wills?”
“Not of their wills. With both of them gone, most of their joint estate will be going to charity, although I am the named beneficiary on one of the life insurance policies. I’ll also need to have copies of the death certificates so I can initiate the death claims.”
There was a sudden shift in Drinkwater’s demeanor. Haley guessed that the possibility of her receiving some kind of financial gain had just caused the detective to move her into his suspect column.
“Why would you be a beneficiary?”
“It’s part of a business continuation plan,” she explained. “In the event of Dan’s death, it allows me to purchase my part of the book of business—the insurance portion—from the estate.”
“Is that plan still in effect?” Drinkwater asked.
“Yes,” Haley replied.
“Which gives you a certain amount of motivation as well, doesn’t it, Ms. Jackson?”
“I suppose it does,” Haley agreed.
“Which means I’ll also need a complete listing of your activities from yesterday—where you went, when you arrived, and the names of people who can account for your presence there.”
Gram rose from her chair, favoring Detective Drinkwater with a steely-eyed glare. “I am not going to sit here and listen while you grill my granddaughter about something she couldn’t possibly have done,” she snapped. “Since our oatmeal is obviously burned to a crisp, I’m going to get dressed so we can go somewhere to have a decent breakfast. If you know what’s good for you, young man, by the time I’m ready to go, you will be, too.”
30
Dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved T-shirt, and sandals, Ali set out for her first stop that morning—Sedona Shadows. She didn’t bother calling before she went, and she didn’t worry about showing up too early, either. Her mother had always been an early riser, and she still was. When Ali tapped on the door, a fully dressed Edie answered, holding a finger to her lips.
“Your father’s still sleeping,” she whispered. “I’ll get my key, and we can go to the dining hall.”
“After everything that happened yesterday, it’s not surprising that he didn’t sleep much,” Ali said when her mother stepped back out of the apartment and they headed down the long, carpeted corridor.
“It’s not just a matter of not sleeping,” Edie said. “The crazy old coot was out running the streets until all hours—and in my car, too.”
“Running the streets?” Ali asked. “What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Edie said. “When I woke up this morning there was a rose on my pillow. I can tell you for sure there was no rose there when I went to sleep. So I checked the trash. Sure enough, the receipt was right there with a time stamp—1:27 a.m. I can’t imagine what Bobby was thinking—running off to the store like that in the middle of the night. I liked the rose, though,” she added. “That was sweet of him. Now if we just didn’t have to worry about Eric Drinkwater shipping him off to jail.”
“I don’t think you need to worry so much about the jail part,” Ali counseled. “I believe B. and Stu have come up with a way to corroborate Dad’s version of events about when he arrived at the Fraziers’ place and what happened once he got there.”
“Really?” Edie wanted to know. “How can they do that?”
“Remember the phone tracking system you helped us put on Dad’s phone? It allows us to see exactly when he arrived at the scene, and it lets us follow his movements once he got there.”
“Are you serious?” Edie asked.
Ali nodded.
“Oh my goodness!” Edie exclaimed as relief flooded her face. “I just love that husband of yours to pieces. And yes, I do remember the phone tracker incident. I had to smuggle Bobby’s phone out of the bedroom while your father was in the shower. Is he going to have to know about it now? Once he finds out, he’ll have a fit.”
“Maybe so,” Ali said, “but seeing as how it’s something that should help exonerate him, I doubt he’ll be too upset.”
“One can always hope,” Edie said, but she sounded unconvinced.
Once in the dining hall, Ali got coffee for both of them and then found a table while Edie went to fill a plate from the breakfast buffet.
“You look tired,” Ali said when Edie sat down across from her.
“Of course I’m tired,” Edie said. “You should have seen the mess those people left behind after that whole search warrant circus. I was up half the night putting things away where they belonged. But about that phone tracker evidence. Does it really mean we’ll be able to put this whole homicide nonsense behind us?”
“Not necessarily. Detective Drinkwater may still decide to charge him.”
“Does Drinkwater know about the phone tracker?”
“No, at least not so far.”
“Since you haven’t told the detective, maybe Bobby doesn’t need to know about it, either.”
Unnoticed by either woman, Bob Larson appeared behind them. “I don’t need to know about what?” he asked.
Ali noticed at once that he wasn’t quite his old self yet, but he was remarkably better than he had been the day before.
“Busted,” Ali answered with a grin. “B. installed a tracking app on your phone that documented your movements at the crime scene yesterday, one that seems to corroborate your version of events.”
Bob turned to his wife. “I suppose you knew all about B. doing that?”
“As a matter of fact I did,” Edie said. “I even helped him do it.”
“Well then,” Bob said, “sounds like it’s a good thing you did. And now I’m going to go get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
As he walked through the buffet area, Ali noticed him nodding and greeting people. So did Edie.
“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “He said it was a good thing? Yesterday he said he’d never be able to face coming to the dining room again, and yet here he is. What changed?”
“No idea,” Ali said. “Just be glad it did.”
When her father returned to the table, Ali explained the tracking results to him.
“So it sounds as though we can breathe easier about the murder charge, but there’s still the money situation.” He looked at Edie before adding, “I applied for a job last night.”
“You did what?”
“When I bought you that rose at Safeway, I filled out a job application. I figure I could work in the produce department or the deli, either one.”
To Ali’s dismay, her mother burst into tears. “Oh, Bobby,” she said. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Bought you the rose or applied for a job?”
“Both,” she blubbered.
He reached across the table and covered her hands with his. “One way or the other, old girl, we’ll get through this together,” he said. “If we cancel the cruise and cut our expenses, even a part-time job might make enough of a difference.”
Ali felt her own eyes mist over. “Speaking of part-time jobs,” she began, “that’s the real reason I stopped by this morning. To offer you jobs.”
“What kind of jobs?” Edie asked suspiciously.
“B. and I have decided that High Noon is going to go after Jason McKinzie. We suspect he’s hidden money away somewhere, and we intend to find it.”
“I’m all for going after that creep,” Edie said, “but aren’t the cops the ones who are supposed to do that?”
“The feds will be tracking him down to put him under arrest. Some of our backdoor methods won’t work for that, but they’ll work just fine for going after his money.”
“How do you do that?” Bob wanted to know.
“The first step in any investigation is learning as much about the target as possible. That means we need to know everything there is to learn—from where he went to kindergarten when he was a kid to where he buys his underwear now. We’ll be looking into his friends and associates as well as his romantic attachments. That’s why Stu Ramey is doing a data-mining job on him.”
“A what?”
“Data mining,” Ali explained. “That means he’s gathering all the online background material he can locate on Mr. McKinzie. Believe me, there’s plenty of that. Mounds of it, in fact, and all of it needs to be thoroughly catalogued and analyzed. Stu, and to a lesser extent Cami, need to stay focused on our paying customers. We can’t divert them away from that long enough to do this job justice. We’re asking you to do it instead.”
“Sort through it, you mean?”
“Yes,” Ali replied. “Stu is a wizard when it comes to gathering the material, and he’ll ferret out every smidgen of that there is to be found. But he doesn’t have the necessary people skills to go through the material, read between the lines, and sort
out who Jason McKinzie really is from who he wants people to believe he is. As for Cami? She’s too young.”
“You’re hiring us because you think we’re old enough?” Edie asked.
“No,” Ali said, “because I think you’re wise enough. As you go through the material piece by piece, be on the lookout for anything that doesn’t fit.”
“We wouldn’t be doing anything illegal, would we?” Bob asked. “I’m already in enough trouble with law enforcement.”
“No,” Ali assured him. “Stu will simply amass everything that’s out there either in the public domain or on the Web. It’ll be up to you to go through it, looking for needles of information in all that hay.”
“Sounds doable to me,” Bob said, “especially if it means recovering some of the money.”
“Yes,” Edie agreed. “You don’t have to pay us to do that, but when can we start?”
“Today if you want, but only when you agree that High Noon is paying you.”
There was a momentary pause. “All right,” Bob agreed at last. “You drive a hard bargain. Where do we work?”
“You’ll need to drive over to Cottonwood. Stu will be accessing the information on our secure server, and we want to keep what he finds secure. We’ll set up workstations for you there so the sorting can be done on-site.”
Edie frowned. “I’ve heard talk about secure servers on the news, but I didn’t know regular people had them.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ali said with a smile, “although I’m not sure High Noon counts as regular people.”
31
Tanna Romberg’s Flights for Life call out had come through on her cell phone just after four a.m.
“We need you,” the dispatcher said in her ear. “Terrible car crash south of Hoover Dam—a minivan carrying a soccer team. Two critical patients have been airlifted to Vegas. Less severely injured are being transported to Kingman. How fast can you be there?”
“In Kingman?”
“Yes.”
At that hour of the morning, Tanna estimated there wouldn’t be much traffic between her home in Glendale, Arizona, and the Deer Valley Airport just north of the 101 Loop. As a volunteer for Flights for Life, Tanna was responsible for transporting human blood products to cities and towns all over Arizona. Kingman, located in the far northwestern corner of the state, was a place she’d flown into often. To drive there from Phoenix would take close to three hours. Her Piper Cherokee 235 could cut that three-hour trip down to one and a little bit.