Web of Evil

by J. A. Jance

  Carrie nodded. “She told me.”

  “One of them appears to be waiting for her outside in the parking lot.”

  “Oh, no!” Carrie exclaimed. “Should I call the cops?”

  “Not just yet,” Ali said. “But what about this? Would it be possible for you to hustle Roseanne into the kitchen and pass her off as part of the help long enough for us to decoy the bad guy away from here?”

  Dave looked as though he was about to say something. Then he didn’t.

  Carrie seemed to consider. “That wouldn’t be too hard,” she answered. “I could put her in with the guy who washes dishes. He wouldn’t mind having some extra help. I’ll clear it with the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Carrie went away again, leaving Ali to make the introductions. Still huddled against the wall, Roseanne refused Dave’s proffered handshake.

  “Tracy’s still out in the parking lot?” Ali asked.

  Dave nodded. “Yup.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “As far as I could tell.”

  Ali felt a surge of irritation with Dave. He was being uncommonly uncommunicative. She had expected him to arrive with some concrete ideas for solving their problem. Since he seemed to be fresh out of game plans, Ali continued to formulate her own.

  “Do you have your cell phone with you?” Ali asked him.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I’m going to call you on it,” Ali said. “And I’m going to use my cell phone to do it. Since whoever may be listening in on my calls doesn’t know we know about them, hopefully they’ll take whatever I say as the gospel.”

  Roseanne let out a small moan. “But what about me?” she asked.

  “What about you?” Ali returned. “You go to the kitchen and wash dishes like Carrie said until Dave or I come back to get you, but you need to know one thing, Roseanne. Dave and I aren’t helping you out of the goodness of our hearts. This isn’t a free ride.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure from what you said earlier that you’d like me to believe you’re a mostly innocent bystander in all this,” Ali returned. “If that were true, though, you wouldn’t be so afraid of going to jail yourself. You claim to be a drug user and nothing more, but I’m guessing that by the time the cops finish investigating this case they’ll be able to charge you with plenty, including conspiracy to distribute drugs if nothing else.” Ali turned to Dave. “That’s a felony, right?”

  Dave nodded. “Yes, it is,” he agreed.

  “So,” Ali continued, “your best bet for dodging jail time is for you to cooperate now. If Dave and I can manage to get you out of this alive, I want you to promise that you’ll go to that attorney I told you about. Let Victor Angeleri see what kind of deal he can make for you in exchange for your testimony—your voluntary testimony—about the people at the Pink Swan and everything that goes on there, including your suspicions about who was really responsible for Paul’s death.”

  “What if I say no?” Roseanne asked.

  “That’s easy,” Ali returned. “Dave and I leave now, and you can deal with Tracy and whatever’s supposed to happen to you all on your own.”

  “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Roseanne pleaded. “You couldn’t just leave me alone like that.”

  “Oh, couldn’t I?” Ali said, reaching for her purse. “Watch me.”

  “No,” Roseanne said, capitulating. “Please don’t leave. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Fine,” Ali said. “Go to the kitchen. Stay there until you hear from us. Either Dave or I will come get you, or else we’ll let you know that it’s safe to go with whoever we send.”

  “All right,” Roseanne agreed reluctantly. She stood up and headed for the swinging doors that led back to the kitchen. Ali glanced around. By then the customers at the other nearby tables had all left. Carrie had made sure that theirs was the only occupied table in that section of the restaurant.

  A waitress—a different one this time—came over and took Dave’s order.

  “All right,” Ali said once the waitress left. “Here’s my plan. I’ll call you and say that I met Roseanne here because she wanted me to buy some of her jewelry but that she slipped away while I was in the restroom. With any kind of luck whoever’s listening in on my phone will believe she’s gotten away from them, too. Then, later on, we’ll be able to smuggle her out of here and get her to Victor.”

  Ali was talking to Dave but he didn’t appear to be paying attention. He seemed to be focused on some distant part of the restaurant.

  “Hello!” Ali said. “Are you even listening to me?”

  Turning to follow his gaze, Ali saw two men standing talking to Carrie, who was listening carefully and nodding. Eventually they began making their way across the dining room. One was a tall, rangy black man Ali had never seen before. The other she recognized at once—Detective Montgomery Taylor with the Riverside Sheriff’s Department Homicide Division, one of the two detectives who had interviewed Ali in the aftermath of Paul’s death.

  “Oh, no,” Ali whispered under her breath. “What’s he doing here? Don’t tell me they’re coming after me again.”

  The men walked directly to Ali and Dave’s table. Without waiting for an invitation, they seated themselves. The man Ali didn’t know nodded cordially in Dave’s direction. The two of them shook hands.

  “Good to see you, bro,” the man said. “Where is Roseanne Maxwell?”

  “In the kitchen,” Dave responded. “Hiding out as a dishwasher. Are the takedown teams all in place?”

  The stranger nodded. “Pretty much,” he said. “We’re just waiting for the restaurant to clear out some and for a couple more of my men to arrive on the scene.”

  “Roseanne’s in the kitchen?” Detective Taylor asked. “I’ll go make sure we don’t lose her.” With that, he got up and headed for the kitchen.

  Feeling lost, Ali watched the detective’s retreating figure. “What takedown teams?” she asked. “Who are these guys? What are they doing here? What’s going on?”

  “Sorry,” Dave said. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Ali. This is my friend Ezekiel Washington. We call him Easy. He’s with the DEA. I believe you already know Detective Taylor.” Dave waved in the direction of the swinging kitchen door where Taylor had disappeared.

  “Glad to meet you,” Easy said with an engaging grin calculated to match his name. “I remember seeing you on the news when you used to be on TV here. I guess you could say I was a fan.”

  “Thank you,” Ali said stiffly. “I’m delighted to know that, I’m sure. But you still haven’t told me what’s going on here.”

  “We’re in the process of rolling up a major drug operation,” he answered. “We’ve been working on this case for months. We weren’t quite ready to make our move, but with your husband dead and with the possibility of your stirring up the pot on your Web site, we’re having to go ahead and stage our raids now after all. If we wait any longer, there’s a good chance you may write something in your blog that will give away what we’re doing. At this point in the investigation, we can’t afford to have a loose cannon on deck.”

  “So now I’m a loose cannon?” an irate Ali demanded of Dave Holman. Then she turned back to Easy Washington.

  “Sorry,” Easy said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What happened to your husband is terribly unfortunate. It was never our intention that he would be at risk, and believe me, we’re doing everything we can to bring his killers to justice.”

  “Not your intention…?” Ali began.

  “Mr. Grayson had been working with us for some time, and that’s what it takes to bring down a whole organization like this—time. If you move too fast, you just get pieces of the puzzle—small fry mostly—rather than the people in charge. And that’s what we’re trying to do here—bring down Lucia Joaquin’s entire group, from top to bottom. Mr. Grayson came to us several months ago when he first started having concerns about what was going on
with the Sumo Sudoku group. He agreed to do what he could to help, and he understood that it wouldn’t happen overnight.”

  Ali could barely believe her ears. “Paul was working with you? Is that why he was killed?”

  “Not exactly,” Easy replied. “We’ve known for some time that our communications system had been compromised, so we were careful that our contacts with your husband were done in an untraceable fashion.”

  “You’re telling me someone’s been tapping your phones as well?” Ali asked.

  Easy nodded.

  “But you’re the DEA.”

  “Exactly,” Easy said. “And that’s a big part of the problem here. We believe that someone from the Joaquin organization penetrated LEMO and installed a Trojan horse.”

  “LEMO?” Ali asked. “What’s that? It sounds like a cartoon for kids.”

  “LEMO, not Elmo,” Easy explained. “The Law Enforcement Monitoring Organization. Think of it as the wiretapping central office for all the law enforcement agencies in the western United States, and it happens to be located right here in L.A. If, as we suspect, someone was able to install a keystroke-logger inside the system, they automatically have access to all our passwords and communications. They know exactly who we’ve been listening in on and what we plan to do. They’ve been making a shambles of our operations for months. Evidently they’ve also been doing some unauthorized listening on their own.”

  “Including my phones?” Ali asked.

  Easy nodded. “And the phones of anyone else whose activities interested them, including Roseanne Maxwell. And that’s where we got in trouble. Your husband was already working for us when Roseanne called and asked him to come to us with what was going on.”

  “You’re saying Paul was killed because it seemed like he was going to go to the authorities with what he knew, not because he was already doing so.”

  Easy Washington nodded again. “At first I was afraid someone on our side—someone who knew about his involvement with us—had betrayed him, that we had a mole in our midst. That’s why it was so helpful to us initially that everyone thought you were responsible for Mr. Grayson’s death. That took a lot of the pressure off us and gave us a chance to investigate the situation. Now, though, we’re pretty sure that Roseanne’s phone call is what set your husband’s murder plot in motion.”

  Ali was struggling to comprehend what was being said. Was it possible Paul really had been actively at work behind the scenes to help out in a DEA investigation? Over time his actions toward her had led Ali to think of the man as an entirely contemptible human being. Easy Washington seemed to consider him to be some kind of hero. For Ali, that didn’t quite compute. And what about April? Had she been with Paul in all this or against him?

  “You’re saying Paul was helping you.”

  “He was a huge help,” Easy said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that we weren’t able to move fast enough to prevent this senseless tragedy.”

  Ali stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Dave asked.

  “Back to the hotel,” Ali said. “This is a bit more than I can handle.”

  “You can’t go back to the hotel,” Dave said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re checked out,” he answered. “With everything that’s going on, Easy and I thought it would be best if you were moved to a different location. Your mom packed up your stuff. I’ve got it all in my car. Your mother and Chris have moved out, too. Chris is staying with friends. I got your mother a room at the Motel 6 just up the corridor from mine. Edie said you probably wouldn’t like it, but there’s a room there for you as well.”

  Ali was suddenly more than moderately annoyed. “You moved my stuff?” she demanded.

  “Just for the time being,” Easy said reassuringly. “Until we can stage our raids and have all the suspects in custody.”

  “You had no right to do that,” Ali announced. “And my mother is right. I have zero intention of staying at the Motel 6. The Westwood is fine with me, thank you very much.”

  “Please don’t go back there, Ms. Reynolds,” Easy said. “Desperate people do desperate things. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. You don’t know what the Joaquins are capable of.”

  “I know exactly what they’re capable of,” Ali said. “I’m the one who identified my husband’s body, remember? I want my stuff, Mr. Washington. And I want it now. Not later, now.”

  With the possibility of a shooting war about to break out in the parking lot, Ali knew she was being unreasonable, but she was tired of being booted around by people—good intentioned or not—who were busy deciding what she would and wouldn’t do.

  “Ali, please—” Dave began.

  “Give me your keys, Dave,” Easy interjected, standing up and holding out his hand. “Tracy McLaughlin knows what you look like. I’ll send someone to get her stuff. Where’s your car?”

  “Out back,” Dave replied. “Next to the Dumpsters.”

  Ali barely waited for Easy to leave the table before she rounded on Dave. “How dare you…”

  “Easy and I were worried about you.”

  “Like hell,” Ali returned. “You just didn’t want to let me in on what was going on.”

  “You can’t go back to the Westwood,” Dave insisted. “What if they send someone there after you?”

  “Why would they?” Ali demanded. “Their only interest in me had to do with whether or not I’d lead them to Roseanne, which, sorry to say, I seem to have done unerringly. I led them to her, and I led your friend Easy to her as well. By the way, what about Roseanne? Is she under arrest or what?”

  “Probably not at the moment,” Dave answered. “More likely she’ll be taken in for questioning.”

  “Will they give her a deal if she cooperates with the authorities?” Ali asked.

  “That remains to be seen,” Dave replied. “I know you mentioned to her that she might be able to work out some kind of a plea bargain, but those decisions are best left up to prosecutors.”

  “Not to loose-cannon bloggers, right?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he returned. “I didn’t say anything of the kind.”

  “Never mind,” Ali put in. “You didn’t have to.”

  Easy returned carrying Ali’s two suitcases and the computer case as well. “Where do you want these?” he asked.

  “In my car,” Ali said. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not,” he answered, putting the luggage down next to the table. “Nobody’s leaving right now. All my men are in place. We’re waiting for the last two parties of diners to leave the restaurant. Once they’re gone and are out of danger, we’ll make our move. As soon as we have Mr. McLaughlin safely in custody, you’ll be welcome to go anywhere you like. Until that time, though, I need you to stay here.”

  Time passed slowly. Gradually the restaurant cleared. Finally the door to the kitchen opened. Detective Taylor led Roseanne Maxwell into the room. She was in handcuffs and in tears. “They’re going to take me to jail,” she said accusingly to Ali. “I thought you told me that if I helped them I’d be able to make some kind of deal.”

  “I thought so, too,” Ali said. “It turns out I was wrong.”

  “What about that attorney you told me about?” Roseanne asked. “What’s his name again?”

  “Victor Angeleri,” Ali answered. “He may be more than you can afford right now.”

  “What about my jewelry?” Roseanne asked. “Do you think he might take some of that in trade?”

  Months ago, Roseanne Maxwell would have been able to afford the best legal representation money could buy. Now she was one step away from selling her worldly possessions on eBay, and most likely she’d end up with a public defender.

  “I don’t know about that,” Ali said. “You’ll need to call Victor up and ask him yourself. Maybe you can work it out.”

  Easy held up his hand for quiet. Only then did Ali notice he was wearing an earpiece of some kind.

  “Okay, people,�
�� he announced. “We’ve got a couple more vehicles to move into place, then it’s a go. I’m going out through the kitchen. Everybody else get down on the floor. Keep your heads well below the level of the windowsills. Stay under tables if it’s at all possible. Nobody steps outside the restaurant until I give the all-clear. Got it?”

  Ali paused long enough to watch Detective Taylor help Roseanne to her knees. Then, with her own heart pounding in her throat, Ali dropped to the floor and scrambled under the table where they’d been sitting. She may have been mad as hell about what was going on right then, but she wasn’t stubborn enough to risk her own life because of it.

  Lying there on the dingy floor, Ali waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. When nothing did, she turned over far enough to peer up at the table above her. There, in plain view, were several pieces of dead and dying bubble gum, chunks of the stuff that thoughtless diners had unloaded by sticking them to the underside of the table.

  For some unaccountable reason, seeing those messy wads of bubble gum while at the same time anticipating the sound of gunfire struck Ali as a kind of grim joke. Unable to help herself, she began to giggle.

  Moments later, she was jostled as someone else scrambled into the confined space under the table.

  “What’s so funny?” Dave asked. “Are you okay?”

  Not quite able to explain it herself, Ali finally managed to stifle her fit of inappropriate laughter. When she did, she found she was still upset with him.

  “What are you doing here?” she wanted to know. “I thought you’d be outside playing cops and robbers with your friend Easy.”

  “Come on, Ali,” he returned. “I’ve told you before. This isn’t my jurisdiction. I’ve got no more legal right to participate in a DEA operation than you do. And that’s why, when Easy asked me to keep quiet about what was going on, I had to do just that—keep quiet.”

  His excuse didn’t sit well with her. “Fine then,” she said. “Here’s an idea for you. How about if you keep on keeping quiet? It seems to me you’ve said enough for one day.”