Cold Betrayal

by J. A. Jance

  “How many people are we talking about?”

  “That’s not clear. We estimate there are twenty-five to thirty families involved, but each of those families most likely includes more than one wife and probably several minor children as well.”

  “So seventy-five to a hundred women and maybe twice again that for the children?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  Andrea took a deep breath. “Well, obviously we couldn’t handle them all here, but we do have contingency plans with other shelters and agencies. What do you know of these folks’ situations?”

  “The girls aren’t allowed to leave home or vote or learn to drive. Fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds are forced into arranged marriages and turn up pregnant.”

  “That sounds like a form of domestic abuse to me,” Andrea said. “Of course we’d find a way to help them. Is this going to happen anytime soon?”

  “I’m not sure it’s going to happen at all,” Ali answered. “But just in case, if I were you, I’d make a few calls and have your ducks in a row.”

  “I will,” Andrea said. “And as soon as I hang up with you, I’m heading for the basement.”

  Reassured by Andrea’s quiet strength, Ali turned to the next piece of the puzzle—how to find out what was really keeping The Family afloat. The first and most obvious source of easy cash would be some kind of involvement in the drug trade. A steady cash crop of marijuana could be worth millions, especially if there was no need to smuggle it across the border. Using those isolated buildings as grow houses suddenly made all kinds of sense. So did the airstrip. The problem was, all this was nothing more than conjecture on Ali’s part.

  Sheriff Danny Alvarado might be her best buddy as far as reopening that long-cold Kingman Jane Doe case was concerned, but without that missing evidence box, it would take compelling evidence to provide enough probable cause for Alvarado to stick his small department’s finger into The Family’s mess. Neither would the feds, up to and including the DEA, want to get involved without real evidence of wrongdoing. But if law enforcement’s hands were tied, what about private citizens? If Ali drove up there to scope out the place, the worst she could be charged with would be trespassing. Entering from the BLM side would reduce the risk of being seen . . .

  She stopped short because, in that very moment, she came up with an answer. Picking up the phone, she dialed Stu.

  “What do you know about drones?” she asked.

  Ali’s own experience with drones had come about several years earlier when she had stumbled across someone who, under contract to dismantle military drones, had instead been rehabbing and repurposing them as vehicles to smuggle drugs into the United States. Compared to current technology, those models would all be completely out of date by now.

  “Not a whole lot,” Stu answered. “Don’t fly ’em myself, but I know people who do. Why?”

  “Did you happen to take a look at the satellite images Cami found of The Family’s compound outside Colorado City?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been pretty busy with Bemidji all day,” he said. “I’m researching Betsy’s son’s and daughter’s financials. As for Betsy? Her system is completely operational now. In fact Athena came by earlier to give me her thumbprint and 3-D image, so that’s all out of the way, too. What do you need?”

  “I’d like you to examine the images Cami sent me. Pay close attention to the structures that look like greenhouses at the northernmost section of the property. I’d like to have a better idea of what those are. The group is supposed to be fairly self-sufficient, so the greenhouses may be nothing more than a way of growing vegetables during the winter, unless, of course, they aren’t.”

  “Is that why you’re asking about drones?” Stu wondered. “You’re looking for a drone operator who can fly in and out and take a look-see without anyone being the wiser?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Let me work on it and get back to you,” Stu said. “Where are you?”

  “In Flagstaff, with Sister Anselm,” she answered. Giving Stu more detailed information than that risked having him pass it along to B. She fully intended to tell her husband what was going on, of course, but in her own good time. B. wouldn’t be any happier on the course of action she and Sister Anselm had decided on than Leland Brooks was.

  The entrance doors swished open and the aroma of pizza wafted into the lobby. Two people rose and stepped forward to intercept the delivery boy. That meant Ali wasn’t the only hospital visitor ordering pizza for dinner that night.

  “Gotta go, Stu,” she said. “Our pizza just arrived.”

  “Mine, too,” he told her. “Bon appétit.”

  “So you picked up a bit of French lingo on your trip to Paris?” she asked.

  “A little,” he admitted. “But good pizza isn’t easy to find there.”

  24

  Ali was still giggling about that as she went up to the reception desk to collect the pizza. As the delivery guy accepted the tip, he apologized. “Sorry for the delay. We kept yours hot, but when we ended up with two other deliveries coming here to the hospital, my manager decided to make it just one trip.”

  Ali was turning away with the pizza in hand when the entrance door opened again and two men walked into the lobby—a uniformed cop and a man in civilian clothing. The man in civvies—a suit and tie—was a complete stranger, but after a moment Ali recognized the second one. He hadn’t been in uniform at the time, but he had been part of Gordon Tower’s entourage during both hospital confrontations. He had said nothing but had stood in the background watching the proceedings. He had also offered to drive Edith Tower home. Ali knew his name even before he walked up to the receptionist and pulled out his badge.

  “I’m Deputy Sellers,” he announced, “and this is Richard Lowell. We’re here to see a patient named Enid Tower. What room is she in?”

  Goose bumps prickled the back of Ali’s neck. The tale Ali had spun about Enid being moved to another facility had worked. Deputy Sellers’s presence made it clear that someone inside The Family didn’t want Enid moved anywhere out of reach. Knowing which house was his, Ali had an idea about who Richard Lowell was and why he was here. Enid represented a dangerous leak. He was there to plug it.

  Ali glanced at her watch. Almost an hour had passed since she had come down to the lobby. Had that been enough time for Sister Anselm to clear the maternity floor?

  “Ms. Tower isn’t being allowed visitors at the moment,” the receptionist replied primly after typing in the name and checking her screen.

  “I’m not a visitor,” Sellers replied. “I’m a police officer investigating a traffic incident. This man is Enid’s father. Now, are you going to give me the room number or not?”

  Richard Lowell was Enid’s father? That was news.

  Hoping not to attract any attention, Ali took her pizza in hand and bailed. She slipped across the lobby and into the elevator, then held her breath in hopes that the two men wouldn’t follow her fast enough to join her in the elevator car.

  When the door opened onto the maternity floor, Ali darted off. Sister Anselm was seated on a love seat. The coffee table in front of her held two cups of vending machine coffee, paper plates, plastic silverware, and a supply of paper napkins.

  “Are we clear?” Ali demanded.

  Sister Anselm looked startled. “Yes,” she said. “Everyone’s gone. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Turns out the wait isn’t nearly what we expected. Deputy Sellers is downstairs with someone who claims to be Enid’s father. He’s asking to see her. The cop is someone we’ve seen before, by the way. He was here earlier with Gordon Tower—both times. He just wasn’t in uniform at the time. The other guy, the one claiming to be Enid’s father, is Richard Lowell. From what Cami told me, I’m guessing he’s The Family’s head honcho.”

  “How interesting,” Sister Anselm said. “Okay, have
a seat. You dish up the pizza while I send a message.” Picking up her iPad, Sister Anselm dictated into the machine. “Lockdown on the surgical floor, please. Now. And extra security to the lobby.”

  “Not here?”

  “No,” Sister Anselm said. “Let’s see what they have to say for themselves. But just for argument’s sake, turn on your iPhone’s recorder.”

  By the time the elevator door opened again, both women were comfortably seated with plates loaded with pizza in front of them. Ali hoped that they looked as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

  The two men stepped off the elevator together. Deputy Sellers stopped short when he saw them. “That’s her,” he said, pointing in Sister Anselm’s direction.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Sister Anselm said, putting down her plate. “May I help you?”

  Richard Lowell stepped forward. “I’m here to see my daughter,” he said. “Her name is Enid.”

  As if anticipating that someone might ask for documentation, he handed her a white leather-covered Bible. “This is our family Bible. You’ll find Enid listed on page four, the third line down.”

  Sister Anselm paged open the book, ran her index finger down the page, and then handed it back. “I don’t see any mention of her mother’s name.”

  “Her mother is deceased,” Richard Lowell said firmly.

  “What was her name?” Sister Anselm asked. “Someone seems to have used Wite-Out to remove it. Is that customary where you come from?”

  “It doesn’t matter what’s customary and what’s not,” Lowell growled. “The only thing that matters is that I’m Enid’s father, and I demand to see her. I’ve been told that you intend to move her somewhere else in the morning. She’s still a juvenile. As her father, I absolutely forbid it.”

  “I have no idea where you came up with the notion that Enid is about to be transported to some other facility. She’s in no condition to be moved, and neither is her baby.”

  Lowell glowered at Amos, holding him responsible for passing along the erroneous information Ali had fed him.

  “As for the rest? Your daughter happens to be a juvenile who is married and also who just gave birth to a baby,” Sister Anselm observed. “According to this, she won’t be seventeen for several months. So presumably you would have given your consent and signed off on it in order for her to obtain an underage marriage license.”

  “None of that is any of your business,” Lowell insisted, “but of course I gave my permission.”

  “Good,” Sister Anselm said, “because, unless Gordon can produce a valid marriage certificate, he may well be brought up on charges of statutory rape.”

  Richard Lowell visibly blanched at that. Like Gordon Tower, he was unaccustomed to being challenged in public, and most especially by a woman.

  “Be that as it may,” he said, “I want to see my daughter. Now. And, as soon as she’s well enough, I fully intend to take her home.”

  “No,” Sister Anselm said.

  “What do you mean no?” he asked.

  “I mean no, to both. You can’t see her, and you can’t take her home.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I’m afraid I can. I’m Enid’s patient advocate. She has given plain instructions that she has no intention of going back home or of letting her baby go back there, either.”

  “You’ve spoken to her, then?” Lowell demanded.

  Sister Anselm gave him a grim smile. “What do you think, Mr. Lowell?”

  Lowell turned to Sellers. “She’s here someplace,” he muttered. “Find her. If she’s well enough to talk, she’s well enough to travel. We’ll take her home by force if necessary.”

  Tensing, Ali prepared to spring into action, but before Deputy Sellers could do as he’d been told, the elevator door slid open and Leland Brooks came into view. Ali was astonished to see him. When she had spoken to him on the phone from the lobby earlier, she was sure he had been at home in Sedona. She hated to think how fast he must have driven to make it all the way to Flagstaff in that amount of time.

  Dapperly dressed and apparently unconcerned about his breakneck driving, he emerged from the elevator leaning heavily on the gnarled hickory cane he had purchased a few weeks earlier when he had slipped and twisted his ankle during a visit to the Petrified Forest. Limping into the maternity-floor lobby, he looked for all the world like a helpless doddering old man, but Ali knew appearances could be deceiving. Armed with that cane, he was every bit as dangerous as Sister Anselm was with her Taser and Ali with her Glock. Ali estimated that, in the scheme of things, Leland’s presence more than balanced out Deputy Sellers’s sidearm and whatever else he or Richard Lowell might be carrying.

  Leland glanced from face to face as if assessing the situation, then he grinned at Sister Anselm. “Oh good,” he said. “I see I’m not too late for pizza, and I’m not the last to arrive, either. How soon do you expect the others?”

  Sister Anselm immediately followed Leland’s lead. “They should be here any moment,” she said, peering at her watch. “I expected them half an hour ago.”

  Deputy Sellers sent a questioning glance in Richard Lowell’s direction. He was rewarded with the tiniest of head shakes. Whatever the pair had intended to do wasn’t going to work with a crowd of witnesses present.

  “Let’s go,” Lowell said.

  He turned and headed for the elevator with Deputy Sellers trotting at his heels. As the elevator door closed, Sister Anselm picked up her iPad and dictated another message. “Two coming down,” she said. “Make sure security escorts them from the premises, and they are not to be allowed back inside.”

  “Well,” Leland said, beaming at Sister Anselm after she sent the message and set her iPad aside. “It appears to me that reinforcements arrived just in the nick of time.”

  “I’m quite sure we could have handled them on our own,” she said. “Bullies are the same the world over—they always back down, but thank you all the same, Mr. Brooks. Now let me go find another plate, and you can join us for pizza.”

  25

  From the way Richard Lowell and Deputy Sellers had slunk off with their tails between their legs, it seemed unlikely that they’d show up for a return engagement. As a consequence, what followed seemed like a celebratory party.

  “So this floor is entirely deserted at the moment?” Leland asked, enjoying his pizza and sipping at his own cup of vending-machine cappuccino.

  Sister Anselm nodded.

  “How did you make that happen?”

  “After two rounds with Gordon Tower, the hospital administrator already regarded Enid’s presence here a problem. I may have slightly overstated the danger I thought her family members might pose to other patients and staff members. His initial solution was to transfer her to another facility tonight, but I nixed that idea based on her current condition. After that, I had him.”

  “You did indeed,” Leland agreed.

  A moment later, however, Sister Anselm’s face grew somber. “That Bible was evil, you know,” she said.

  “Evil?” Ali asked. “What do you mean?”

  Sister Anselm shrugged. “Maybe it was just the man who handed it to me, but the idea of whiting out the name of someone who died—the name of the mother of your child? That’s odd. And that’s not all. As I was opening to the proper page, I scanned through the first couple of pages as well. A number of names were crossed out with the letters N.C. written next to each name. I can’t imagine what that means, but I’ll bet it’s not good.”

  She stood up then, collected a new plate, and scraped the two remaining pieces of pizza onto it. “As late as it is, I doubt there’ll be any more trouble tonight, so I’ll go downstairs and relieve Mr. Upton. I’m sure he’s been here far longer than he intended.”

  “Who’s Mr. Upton?” Leland asked once she was gone.

  “He’s
the guy who was driving the car that hit Enid.”

  “So the driver who injured the girl is allowed into her hospital room while her own father isn’t?” Leland asked with a frown. “Has Sister Anselm gone barking mad on us?”

  “So it would seem,” Ali agreed.

  Her phone rang, and B.’s photo appeared on the screen. “I’m home,” he said. “There’s no sign of you and no sign of Bella. Where are you?”

  “You’re home,” Ali repeated. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”

  “I wasn’t, but another blizzard is due to hit the East Coast early tomorrow morning. It’s predicted to be bad enough that I had a choice of ducking out of town tonight or being stuck in Manhattan for the whole weekend. When I managed to snag a last-minute flight, I canceled tomorrow’s meetings and came home. I didn’t call because I was hoping to surprise you. Turns out the joke’s on me.”

  “I’m having a pizza party with Sister Anselm and Leland on the maternity floor of St. Jerome’s Hospital in Flagstaff.”

  “And Bella?”

  “Leland dropped her off with my folks. They’re not allowed to own a dog, but this was regarded as an emergency.”

  “So maybe you should bring me up to date. I talked to Stu as I was driving up from Phoenix, but I have a feeling that there’s a lot more to the story.”

  It was not a particularly happy conversation, and it took the better part of an hour. By the time it was over, Ali’s iPhone was burning her ear, the battery power was down to 5 percent, and B. was over being pissed at her for, as he called it, “going off half cocked.” By the time they said good night, though, things were better.

  “All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” B. said finally, “but there goes that Leland—saving the day again. Whatever are we going to do with the man?”

  “Keep him around, I guess,” Ali said. “Now let me go. My phone’s going to die any minute if I don’t find my charger.”

  By the time she found the charger, an outlet, and had her phone plugged in, Ali realized that Leland was curled up on a nearby sofa, sound asleep. She prowled around the floor long enough to find a linen cart stocked with clean blankets. She collected several and took them back to the waiting room. She used a couple of them to cover Leland and wrapped one around her own legs. She didn’t know if the temperature in the waiting room had really gone down or if she was simply dealing with the dissipation of adrenaline.