Cold Betrayal

by J. A. Jance

  “Maybe Stu can figure something out,” Ali suggested. “Where are the floppies now?”

  “I brought them home with me. Are you still in town?”

  “I’m on my way to Kingman right now. I’ll probably come back through town on my way home to Sedona. I’ll stop by to pick them up then if that’s all right.”

  “Sure,” Andrea said. “Call me when you know your ETA. What about that other thing we talked about last night? My plan was to spend today alerting the folks in my network that our shelter may need overflow help at some time in the near future. Do you have any better idea how many women and children we’re talking about and do you know what the time frame is?”

  “No to both,” Ali answered. “If we do need help, it may be sooner than later, but please, don’t give out any details. Something big is about to happen in Colorado City, but the fewer people who know about it in advance, the better.”

  “Understood,” Andrea agreed.

  When that call ended, Ali wasted no time in dialing Stu. “Hey,” he said. “Good to hear from you. I’ve got some news that will interest you. I’ve got a line on one of the ATMs used in many of those debit-card transactions. It’s located in the lobby of the Setting Sun Casino northwest of Bemidji. I’d say that one or both of Athena’s parental units has a serious gambling problem. I suspect they may be using Betsy’s money to stay afloat or at least to hide the losses.”

  “Will you be able to prove it?”

  “I’m requesting security-camera feeds,” Stu said. “Those have to go through official channels. Without any personal connections, that may take time.”

  Ali laughed. “I didn’t know there was anywhere on earth that you didn’t have personal connections. But now I have another problem for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m on the trail of a box of nineties vintage computer disks from a long-dead Toshiba laptop that may have some bearing on the Colorado City situation. Is there any way you can retrieve data from those and turn it into currently searchable files?”

  “No problemo,” Stu answered. “You’ve never seen my storage unit, have you? It’s chock-full of ancient computers, starting with my dad’s first Commodore 600. I’ve got an Eagle or two, a few Epsons, a whole flock of Toshibas, an HP or two, and any number of Dells among others. They all work, too. At least, they were working when I put them in storage. We could use a simple USB-compatible external drive for the floppies, but I’d love a chance to play with the old beauties. You give me the floppies, and I’ll give you the info.”

  “Will do,” Ali agreed. “I’ll pick them up tonight and have them to you first thing in the morning.”

  The remainder of the two-hour trip Ali spent plotting strategy. She decided her best bet was to approach the problem obliquely. By starting with the Deputy Sellers issue and assessing Alvarado’s reaction to that, she hoped to gain some insight into how much more, if anything, she should tell him.

  The responsibility Sean Fergus had laid on her shoulders was a heavy one. Lives were at stake. She was gratified that the Interpol agent had placed so much trust in her but puzzled about it, too. Eventually she figured it out. It was only because of her involvement, along with Sister Anselm’s, that any of this had come to light. Sean needed to trust someone to make the right call, and she was it.

  Squaring her shoulders, Ali paid attention as the GPS directed her off the freeway in Kingman. Within minutes she pulled up outside a long one-story building that bristled with antennas. Once inside the lobby, she told the desk clerk who she was and why she was there.

  “Sheriff Alvarado is in a meeting just now. Was he expecting you?”

  “No,” Ali said. “I’m glad to wait.”

  Just to the left of the desk was a wall that held a glass display case that included photos of each of the men who had served as county sheriff. Only the most recent ones were in color. When she reached Sheriff Alvarado’s photo at the far end, she stopped short. From his name, she had expected him to be Hispanic. But this guy had bright blue eyes and a mop of reddish-blond hair.

  “Ms. Reynolds, I presume?” said a pleasant voice close to her shoulder. “That’s probably not what you expected. You most likely pictured some roly-poly little Hispanic guy.”

  When Ali turned to look, she found herself facing the man whose features and uniform matched those in the photo. “You’ve got me there,” she admitted.

  Alvarado laughed. “You’re not alone,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it in welcome. “My mother came from Sweden originally as a military wife who was widowed when I was tiny. The man she married after that, my stepfather, Umberto Alvarado, grew up right here in Kingman. When my mom died a few years later, Umberto came back home to be close to his family. My stepfather’s mother, my nana, raised me.

  “Kingman may have been home for my stepfather, but growing up here wasn’t easy for me. I was too Anglo to hang out with the Mexican kids and too Mexican to hang out with the Anglo kids. Alone in a crowd as it were. That’s why I spent my senior year as an exchange student in Sweden and even got to meet a few of my mother’s relatives. In a pinch, I could probably still speak some Swedish, but there’s not much call for it here.”

  “Not too many Swedish tourists in Kingman?” Ali asked.

  “Not many.” He grinned. “By the time I got back to the States, I’d had a taste of a different world that left me with zero interest in going to college. Instead, I graduated from high school and hired on with the sheriff’s office. I’ve been here ever since.”

  Listening to the brief recitation of his biography, Ali realized that most of what Alvarado had told her—including his exchange-student stint in Sweden—was information Cami had already passed along to her. As she followed the sheriff across the lobby, through a security door, and through a labyrinth of hallways to his private office, she wondered about that. Was he telling her his life’s story in an effort to put her at ease, or was he attempting to deflect her attention away from something else?

  After directing Ali into a visitor’s chair, Sheriff Alvarado took a seat behind a desk that was awash in paperwork topped by a pack of Marlboros. With a glance in Ali’s direction, he swept the cigarettes out of sight and into the top drawer of his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head.

  “So what can I do for you this morning?” he asked. “If you’re here about the Jane Doe evidence situation, you should have just called rather than driving all the way here. That evidence box still hasn’t surfaced. Believe me, we’ve been searching heaven and earth.”

  “This isn’t about that,” Ali told him. “At least it’s not only about that. What can you tell me about Deputy Sellers?”

  A flash of wariness crossed Alvarado’s face before he answered. It was there and gone, but not without her seeing it.

  “Amos? What about him?”

  “Enid Tower is awake and talking.” Ali’s comment elicited no visible reaction. “She told us Amos was chasing her at the time she was hit by the vehicle—that he’s the one who forced her into oncoming traffic.”

  “That’s not possible,” Alvarado declared at once. “The site of that MVA was inside Coconino County, not Mohave.”

  “But Deputy Sellers was there,” Ali asserted. “Even if he was off duty and just passing by, shouldn’t he at least have stopped to render assistance?”

  Alvarado had no answer for that.

  “How long has he been a member of your department?”

  Alvarado frowned. “Quite awhile. He must be close to forty now. That means he would have been in his late twenties when he signed on.”

  “What if the whole time he’s been acting as a sworn deputy for you, he’s also functioned as The Family’s enforcer?” Ali asked. “What if Enid Tower isn’t the only runaway Amos Sellers was sent out to retrieve? Maybe twelve years ago he was dispatched to collect y
our Jane Doe as well, except, instead of taking her back home, he ended up killing her. In fact, maybe that’s why he went to work for the sheriff’s office to begin with—to lay hands on any evidence that might implicate him in the crime. After all, there’s no way of knowing how long that evidence box has been missing. He might have smuggled it out of your evidence room years ago.”

  “This is nothing but idle speculation,” Alvarado declared. “It’s also utterly absurd. Amos would never do something like that. What makes you think this girl is telling the truth?”

  “What makes you think she isn’t?” Ali countered.

  They had reached an impasse. “Amos Sellers is a sworn deputy,” Sheriff Alvarado said finally. “I trust him.”

  It was as simple as that. Alvarado trusted Amos Sellers and Ali didn’t. Any operational intel shared with Alvarado would go straight to The Family via Sellers. It was time to back away from her real purpose in coming here and take shelter in the backup story.

  Ali stood up. “Do me a favor,” she said. “The next time you see Deputy Sellers, you might ask him about Jane Doe as well as that missing evidence box. If I happen to see him first, I’ll do the same.”

  “Fair enough,” Alvarado said. He started to rise.

  “Don’t bother showing me out,” Ali said. “I can find my own way.”

  She waited until she was out in the parking lot before she called Sean Fergus’s number and left a message on his voice mail. “Ali Reynolds here. Sheriff Alvarado stands behind his deputy one hundred percent. That means that, as far as I’m concerned, the sheriff isn’t a trustworthy ally in terms of any operation launched against The Family. You asked for my opinion, and here it is. If you want to maintain the element of surprise, you’d best leave Sheriff Alvarado and his department out of the equation.”

  30

  Ali filled up with gas before leaving Kingman. On the two-hour drive back to Flagstaff, she struggled to stay awake. She was on the phone to Andrea Rogers, telling her she’d be at the shelter around one, when a call came through from an unknown number. Half expecting it to be from a law enforcement official of some kind, Ali switched over immediately.

  “Ali Reynolds here.”

  “Where did they go?” a male voice demanded urgently. “I can’t reach Sister Anselm, and no one at the hospital will tell me anything.”

  It took a moment for Ali to recognize David Upton’s voice.

  “Oh, David,” she said. “Yes. The hospital was worried about security issues. They suggested that Enid and the baby be moved elsewhere. They’re on their way to a hospital near Tucson. I thought you knew all about it.”

  “Before I left the hospital last night, there was some talk about transferring her,” David said, “but I had no idea it would happen this fast. What I don’t understand is what am I supposed to do with Patricia and Agnes?”

  “Who?”

  “Patricia and Agnes,” David said, “Enid’s friends. She was afraid someone might figure out that they’d helped her, so I went and got them.”

  “The Brought Back girls from Colorado City?”

  “Where else?”

  “How did you find them?”

  “How do you think?” David replied. “Enid gave me the address. My car is impounded. I drove up there in a borrowed minivan. I used the GPS on my phone to locate the address and followed that to hike in and find them. There was a third girl Enid was worried about—someone named Mary. Patricia showed me where she’s being held—a jail kind of thing, right next to the church—but that was locked up tight. We tried to find a way to let her out but couldn’t. By then it was starting to get light. We finally had to leave Mary where she was and get the hell out. I wanted to be back in the van and out of there before anyone noticed they were gone.”

  “Where are you now?” Ali asked.

  “Back in Flag.”

  “Are Patricia and Agnes there with you now?” Ali asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “I left them in the van out in the parking lot while I came into the hospital,” David said. “The way they are now, I couldn’t bring them inside and I couldn’t take them to my dorm, either.”

  “Why not?”

  David sighed. “Because they’re dirty. They’re dressed in filthy rags and they stink. On the way down, cold as it is, I had to drive with the windows open just to breathe. You wouldn’t believe the way they were forced to exist, looking after the pigs and having to live with them, too. No wonder Enid was so afraid of being taken back home. The same thing would have happened to her. No telling what they would have done to her baby.”

  Unfortunately, Ali had an idea of the kind of fate that would have awaited Enid’s child. She took a deep breath. “Do you know where the YWCA is?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “Take them there. If you go around to the back of the building, you’ll find an entrance to the women’s shelter, Irene’s Place. The director, Andrea Rogers, is a friend of mine. I’ll call ahead and let her know you’re on your way. I’m coming there, too.”

  “What’s going to happen to them?” David insisted. “Enid is on her way to Tucson, so she’s probably safe. What if someone comes after these two?”

  “Did anyone follow you?”

  “No,” he answered. “At least I don’t think so. I tried to keep an eye out. Patricia told me they usually don’t talk to anyone until early evening when they go up to the house to get food. They gave the pigs an extra feeding before we left, but still, if the animals start acting up, someone may notice the girls are gone sooner than tonight.”

  “Okay,” Ali said. “Go to the shelter. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Andrea can help them get cleaned up and find something for them to wear in the clothing bank. After you drop them off, wait around in case I need to talk to you.”

  Ending the call, she immediately redialed Andrea and let her know what was happening.

  “Don’t worry,” Andrea said. “We’ll look after them.”

  Andrea sounded reassuring, but as far as Ali was concerned, looking after Patricia and Agnes wasn’t the most pressing issue. Off the phone with Andrea, Ali immediately located the last call to Sean Fergus and punched that number. She was relieved when he answered the phone.

  “Did you receive my earlier message?” Ali asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “I did. Going around Sheriff Alvarado makes it tough, but I’m working on an alternate strategy.”

  “Good,” she said without asking for details. “Right now we’ve got another problem.”

  “What?”

  Trying to explain David Upton’s connection to Enid was more than Ali could do right then. “A friend of Enid Tower’s took it upon himself to hike into The Family’s compound last night and bring out two of the women who were being held there. They attempted to bring out a third as well, but she’s being held in some kind of lockup. The two he rescued, Agnes and Patricia, live apart from the rest of the population. It’s possible no one knows that they’ve gone missing so far, but they will soon enough.”

  “There goes any chance of taking them by surprise,” Sean muttered.

  “Exactly.”

  “You say this person hiked in?”

  “Yes. His name’s David Upton.”

  “How did he gain access? Did he encounter any resistance going or coming—any guards or anti-intrusion devices?”

  “Not that he mentioned. According to him, he parked somewhere along the highway and walked in and out.”

  “In that case,” Sean said after a pause, “maybe losing the element of surprise isn’t as big an issue as we thought. If this chap was able to gain access to the compound without being detected, he may be able to tell us what route he followed.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’m almost to my exit. I should be meetin
g up with David in the next few minutes. I’ll have him give you a call.”

  Ali pulled into the parking lot behind the YWCA and parked next to a dusty Dodge Caravan minivan. David, waiting in the doorway, came out to meet her.

  “Is this what you drove up and back in?” Ali asked.

  He nodded.

  “Where are Patricia and Agnes?”

  “They’re showering and changing clothes,” David answered.

  “Okay,” Ali said. “Why don’t you take the van back to wherever it belongs. If someone did see you, there’s no sense in advertising that you dropped someone off here.”

  “Right,” David said. “The guy who owns it keeps it in a garage. In other words, once it’s back inside, it won’t be visible from the street. Do you want me to come back here after I drop it off?”

  “Please,” Ali told him. “These two women trusted you enough to come with you. They’ll be more likely to talk to me if you’re there than if you’re not.”

  “Convincing them to come along wasn’t easy,” he said, “especially when I came snooping around in the middle of the night. I told them Enid was afraid they’d be in trouble for helping her get away.”

  “Why would anyone think that?”

  “Because it’s true,” David answered. “Patricia had a phone number for someone on the Outside, a woman named Irene. Enid didn’t know Irene’s was a place instead of a person.” He nodded toward the door where a discreet brass plaque attached to the wall read simply, IRENE’S.

  It’s actually both, Ali thought, remembering her lost friend Reenie Bernard—a person and a place. That explained the phone call Enid had made. She had called asking for Irene with no idea that Irene Bernard had been dead for years while the shelter that was her legacy lived on.

  “Anyway,” David continued, “Patricia and Agnes must have believed it, too, because they finally agreed to come along.” He stood up. “I’ll go drop off the car.”

  “Do you need me to follow you and bring you back?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s not far. It’ll only take me a few minutes to walk it.”