Fatal Error

by J. A. Jance

  “For the time being.”

  “You can’t do that. I’m investigating a homicide that happened on my watch in Grass Valley. Detective Moreno down in Imperial County has one too. In both of those cases, the presumed doer is Ermina Blaylock, and I can assure you that we aren’t going to shut up and go away just because you said so.”

  “And what about Brenda?” Ali demanded. “She came within inches of dying at Ermina Blaylock’s hands. And then there’s your own officer. She assaulted him with a moving vehicle, which counts as a deadly weapon in my book. You expect us to keep a lid on all that? Are you nuts?”

  “Not nuts,” Hollingshead countered, “but I am in charge. For right now, we’ve taken Ermina into custody. We intend to hold her at least until the drone delivery takes place. Longer if possible.”

  “Charged with what?” Gil asked.

  “Falsifying a federal document. She may lawyer up, but there’s also a chance she’ll talk to us.”

  “This isn’t my first day of being a cop,” Gil said. “What talking to you really means is that you’re going to try to make a deal with her, and your best bargaining chips will be reducing the charges against her—our charges, my charges.”

  “I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no,” Hollingshead said.

  “Which turn out to be standard weasel words for yes,” Ali said.

  Hollingshead said nothing in reply.

  “And what will happen to the UAVs?”

  “We’ll be following the shipment. We’ll also be following the money.”

  “With the same kind of GPS efficiency you demonstrated in following Ermina’s car?” Ali asked without trying to disguise her sarcasm.

  “Look, if we had known how dangerous she was—”

  “I’m not buying that,” Ali said. “You did know. Someone from your agency had already spoken to Detective Laughlin. You endangered any number of lives in order to protect your ‘mission,’ and now you’re going to try to cover it up. Good luck with that. You underestimated Ermina Blaylock, and I suspect you’re underestimating Gil and me too. When this is all over, I suggest you send yourself back to the academy for some remedial classes in fatal errors—you know, those ten mistakes cops make that end up getting them killed? Failure to call for backup is one of the biggies, but what if the agent in charge fails to call for backup? What then?

  “You’re all focused on your fancy electronic gizmos. Great, but what about your people? What about leaving Agent Sinclair on the street without any kind of backup? The only backup he had was Gil Morris and Ali Reynolds. If it hadn’t been for us, Ermina might have gotten away and claimed another victim in the process.”

  With that, Ali pushed back her chair and stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make. There’s a woman in Sacramento who needs to know that her supposedly dead daughter isn’t dead!”

  Ali stalked out of the conference room with Gil on her heels. “Remind me not to make you mad,” he said.

  “He deserved it,” Ali replied.

  Out in the lobby, a guy wearing a yellow Hertz shirt flagged Ali down and handed her a new rental agreement and a new set of keys.

  “It’s just like the one you had before,” he said. “Another Marquis. It’s parked in a loading zone just outside the hospital entrance. There’s an FBI agent waiting beside the door. He told me to tell you your property has already been loaded.”

  “In other words, here’s our hat, what’s our hurry,” Ali said. Taking the keys, she walked back to the ER admitting desk. “Can you tell me anything about Ms. Riley?” Ali asked. “I’m about to call her mother.”

  “You’re not a relative?”

  “No. I’m a friend.”

  “Then I’m not authorized . . .”

  Ali walked away without waiting for the usual speech about patient confidentiality. The whole thing seemed wrong somehow. It was due to Ali and Gil’s efforts that Brenda Riley was even alive, not to mention in a hospital with a possibility of surviving. Still, by federal mandate, her rescuers weren’t allowed to know anything about her condition.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Where?” Gil asked. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “I don’t care how late it is,” Ali said. “I’ve got a two-bedroom apartment waiting for me in Laguna Beach and I’m going there. I’ll make my phone calls along the way. Now, are you coming along or are you staying here?”

  “Oh, I’m coming along all right,” Gil said, dropping into step beside her. “I just used up all my available credit buying household goods at Target. You dragged me down here where I have no car, no place to stay, no money, and no way to get back home. In other words, if I don’t go with you, I’m pretty much screwed.”

  “Not so much,” Ali said. “You remember all that money Sam Hollingshead was just saying he couldn’t find? Ermina couldn’t find it either. You gave Hollingshead those two thumb drives, and he was ecstatic. He’s not going to give a damn about that missing money. There’s no one left to look for it.”

  “But—”

  Ali stopped him with an upraised hand. “We’ve both just had a lesson in the FBI’s high cost of doing business,” she observed. “If somebody happens to die here and there along the way, so what? Let’s not ‘endanger’ the precious mission. And if Hollingshead has to make a plea deal in a homicide or two in order to nail their man or woman, that’s no big deal either, right? What if Richard Lowensdale’s missing money is part of the same thing—the high cost of their doing business? It’s a lot like my wrecked car. Never happened. No questions asked. It would serve them right.”

  Gil didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell if she was joking or not, but he assumed she was.

  When they got outside, the agent they’d been told about was indeed keeping a discreet eye on Ali’s newly rented Marquis. He moved away when they approached the vehicle and Ali used a button on the key fob to unlock the door.

  They stopped on opposite sides of the car, looking at each other over the top of it. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a pushy broad?” Gil asked. “Smart but very pushy.”

  She grinned back at him. “Believe me, Detective Morris, you’re not the first to tell me that, and you won’t be the last.”

  “By the way,” he added, “just for the record. That was one sweet hip toss.”

  “It’s my specialty,” she said. “Best thing I ever learned at the Arizona Police Academy.”

  56

  Laguna Beach, California

  When they arrived at Velma’s condominium building at two o’clock in the morning, it seemed to Ali that the doorman leered at them a little as he let them into the building. She didn’t bother explaining to him that their being together didn’t mean they were together. If the doorman had a dirty mind, it was none of Ali’s business.

  Once in the unit, they took one cursory look at the nighttime ocean view from the balcony, then they disappeared into their separate bedrooms. Ali fell asleep immediately. The next morning she was up bright and early. She went for a morning stroll on the beach with Maddy Watkins and the three dogs. Two hours later, she was drinking coffee and typing an e-mail to B. when Gil finally made his tardy appearance.

  He wandered over to the kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “There are bagels on the counter and cream cheese in the fridge,” she said. “Help yourself.”

  Gil found what looked like a bread knife in a utility drawer. When he sliced a sesame bagel in half, he was amazed at how much sharper the knife was than the sole remaining one in his knife block at home. Something else to put on the list for his next household goods extravaganza.

  He put the sliced bagel in the toaster and pushed down the button. “How’s your friend this morning?” he asked.

  It had taken them close to an hour and a half to drive to Laguna Beach from the hospital in San Diego. They’d done a lot of talking on the way. In the process Ali had told Gil about her dying friend, Velma Trimble
.

  Ali shook her head. “Not well. I went for a walk on the beach this morning with Maddy and the dogs. She said Velma’s not doing well at all, and she seems anxious about my getting the check she gave me deposited. She’s evidently concerned that there might be some kind of blowback from her son about her making that donation. She wants to be certain all the t’s are crossed and i’s dotted.”

  “You’d better handle that today, then,” he said. He sat down across from her and took a sip of his coffee. “Have you heard from Camilla Gastellum?”

  Ali nodded. “Valerie, her other daughter, and her husband drove all night. The three of them got to the hospital in San Diego this morning about eight. Brenda is out of the ICU. Her condition has been upgraded from critical to serious. They’re treating her for dehydration. There’s some concern about blood clotting issues as well. She was evidently left sitting in that chair for so long that there’s concern about her developing DVTs.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Deep vein thrombosis from sitting for long periods of time. Blood clots that form in your legs can break loose and travel to the heart or lung or brain.”

  “I’m glad her family is there,” Gil said. “I’ll need to talk to Brenda once she gets back north. It sounds like the actual kidnapping took place in Sacramento, but that all needs to be sorted out. That was my chief on the phone, by the way, calling to give me hell.”

  Ali had heard Gil’s cell phone ringing earlier. That was evidently what had propelled him out of bed.

  He retrieved his toasted bagel, put it on a plate, and brought that, a butter knife, and a container of cream cheese to the table.

  “Chief Jackman told me yesterday that he wanted me to take comp time to make up for all the overtime, but it turns out he didn’t mean I should take it now. And the fact that you and I managed to track down Richard Lowensdale’s killer on our own time and that we saved Brenda Riley’s life in the process barely registers in his little bean-counting skull. I told him I’ll be in tomorrow. With that in mind, I guess I’d better rent a car someplace and head north.”

  “No,” Ali said.

  “What do you mean no?”

  “As you pointed out last night, I’m the one who got you down here and I’m prepared to get you back. I’ve called You-Go. They’ll have yesterday’s CJ at John Wayne Airport, KSNA as it’s known in aviation circles, at one p.m. You should be back in Grass Valley, KGOO, by about two thirty.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said. “I can’t let you do that. It’s too expensive.”

  “You can’t stop me because it’s already done. Here’s your tail number. They asked about catering. I told them to order you a chicken salad. Hope that’s okay.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Ali said. “I owe you, Gil. Brenda’s alive. If it hadn’t been for you, she probably wouldn’t be.”

  “All right,” he said. After a moment’s reflection he took the piece of paper with the tail number on it and slipped it into his pocket. “But I won’t be able to pay you back anytime soon. I did a lot of thinking about the money situation last night,” he said. “I’m not going to keep it.”

  Ali looked at him and smiled. “I never thought you would,” she said. “You’re not that kind of guy.”

  He raised his coffee cup. “You aren’t either.”

  By noon, the kitchen was back in order. They were packed and ready to leave. “I need to stop by and see Velma one last time,” Ali told him.

  “You do that,” Gil said. “I’ll take the bags downstairs and wait for you in the lobby.”

  As soon as Ali rang the doorbell on the penthouse floor, there was the expected response—frantic barking from the three dogs, followed by a stern “Quiet,” followed by “Get on your rug.” When Maddy Watkins opened the door, the room was perfectly quiet.

  “I’m not sure she’s awake,” Maddy said.

  “Who is it?” Velma asked from her hospital bed by the window.

  “It’s Ali,” Maddy replied. “Ali Reynolds.”

  “I’m awake,” Velma said. “Send her over.”

  Ali was surprised by the difference even a single day had made. Maddy was right. Velma was losing ground, physically if not mentally.

  “Have you been to the bank yet?” Velma wanted to know.

  “Not yet,” Ali said. “I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll probably see a bank branch somewhere along the way.”

  “Good,” Velma said. “I want you to have that money. Actually, I want your scholarship kids to have the money. If I put it as a bequest in my will, my son might figure out a way to keep it from happening. I love him, you see. I just don’t trust him.”

  Ali went over to Velma’s bed and gathered Velma’s rail-thin hand in her own. “I have to go now,” Ali said, leaning over to kiss Velma’s weathered cheek.

  “I do too,” Velma said with a slight smile. “Don’t bother coming to the funeral,” she added. “It’s going to be what my son wants, not what I want, but it won’t make a bit of difference to me. Having you here to drink Maddiccinos with Maddy and me was a lot more my speed. Goodbye, Ali. Thanks for everything.”

  Blinking back tears, Ali paused long enough to hug Maddy on her way out. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

  Maddy nodded. “So am I,” she said.

  The day after a bank holiday was a busy one at the Bank of America branch Ali found on their way to the airport. Ali was halfway through the teller line waiting to deposit Velma’s check when her cell phone rang. It was Chris.

  “Hey, Grandma,” her son said. “If you want to see your grandkids make their grand entrance, you’d better head home. We’re on our way to the hospital in Flagstaff right now. Dr. Dixon said she’ll meet us there.”

  “Did you say right now?” Ali asked.

  “I said right now.”

  “Okay,” Ali said. “I’ll do my best.”

  Her next call was to operations at You-Go. “Do you have another CJ available this afternoon?”

  “From where to where?”

  “The first one is due to go from John Wayne to Grass Valley. I’d like to take that one for myself and fly from KSNA to Flagstaff, Arizona. When the second aircraft arrives, that one can take Detective Morris from KSNA back to KGOO in Grass Valley.”

  “The soonest I could have another aircraft at John Wayne is two thirty,” the operations clerk said. “That’s an hour and a half after Mr. Morris’s scheduled departure. Are you sure that’s all right with him?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Ali said. “He doesn’t care what time he gets home as long as it’s today. My son and daughter-in-law are on their way to a hospital. They’re about to have twins, and I want to be there.”

  “Your aircraft is about twenty minutes out,” the young woman said. “I’ll advise your pilot of the change in plans and that you need a very short turnaround. What about catering?”

  “We’ll both have chicken salad.”

  Gil was waiting patiently in the car when Ali emerged from the bank.

  “It seems there’s been a slight change in plans,” Ali told him. “I’m going home to Arizona in your plane, and they’re sending another one for you.”

  Gil looked at her anxiously. “I hope it’s not some kind of emergency.”

  “It’s not an emergency of any kind. I’m about to become a grandmother,” Ali said with a smile. “And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J. A. Jance is the top-ten New York Times best-selling author of the Joanna Brady series, the J. P. Beaumont series, four interrelated thrillers featuring the Walker family, and the Ali Reynolds series: Trial by Fire, Cruel Intent, Hand of Evil, Web of Evil, and Edge of Evil. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington, and Tucson, Arizona.

  ALSO BY J.A. JANCE

  ALI REYNOLDS MYSTERIES

  Edge of Evil

  Web of Evil

  Hand of Evil
>
  Cruel Intent

  Trial by Fire

  JOANNA BRADY MYSTERIES

  Desert Heat

  Tombstone Courage

  Shoot/Don’t Shoot

  Dead to Rights

  Skeleton Canyon

  Rattlesnake Crossing

  Outlaw Mountain

  Devil’s Claw

  Paradise Lost

  Partner in Crime

  Exit Wounds

  Dead Wrong

  Damage Control

  Fire and Ice

  J. P. BEAUMONT MYSTERIES

  Until Proven Guilty

  Injustice for All

  Trial by Fury

  Taking the Fifth

  Improbable Cause

  A More Perfect Union

  Dismissed with Prejudice

  Minor in Possession

  Payment in Kind

  Without Due Process

  Failure to Appear

  Lying in Wait

  Name Withheld

  Breach of Duty

  Birds of Prey

  Partner in Crime

  Long Time Gone

  Justice Denied

  Fire and Ice

  AND

  Hour of the Hunter

  Kiss of the Bees

  Day of the Dead

  Queen of the Night

  POETRY

  After the Fire

  Touchstone

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by J.A. Jance

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.