by J. A. Jance
Ali was sure she knew which investigations had kept him occupied all day, but she wasn’t at all sure how he would react to hearing the identity of the visitor sitting in her library and savoring Leland’s beef stew. “I was actually calling on behalf of someone, a woman named Beatrice Hart.”
“Lynn Martinson’s mother?” Dave demanded after a moment of stark silence. “How the hell did that happen?”
Although the name was one Dave clearly recognized, Ali thought it best to recount the whole story.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Dave said when Ali finished. “Who’s this Brenda Riley?”
“A friend of mine from back in my old news-broadcasting days. She’s originally from Sacramento. Now she and her new husband live in Ashland. She’s the one who got mixed up with the cyberstalker in California a couple of years ago. The guy’s name was Richard Lowensdale/Lattimore/Loomis/Lewis. He had any number of aliases, and Mrs. Hart’s daughter, Lynn, was one of his many victims. Given what Mrs. Hart describes as Lynn’s unfortunate track record with men, Beatrice seems to think her daughter might be in danger right along with the new boyfriend’s ex-wife. For some reason, she was reluctant to call you directly.”
“I wish she had,” Dave grumbled, “but it’s too late for that now. I’m about twenty minutes out. If you can keep her there, I’ll stop by your place before I head home.”
“She’ll wait,” Ali assured him. “B.’s plying her with Leland’s beef stew.”
“If there’s any left, I may ask for some, too,” Dave said. “Priscilla’s bent out of shape that I’m missing dinner again, but that’s what she gets for marrying a cop.”
“What should I tell Beatrice?” Ali asked.
“That I’m on my way,” Dave said.
“How bad is it?” Ali asked, more than half expecting to hear that Lynn, like Gemma, had come to grief.
“About as bad as it can get,” Dave answered. “Lynn Martinson is in jail and in a jumpsuit. So is her boyfriend, Mr. Ralston, or should I say Dr. Ralston? Cap Horning, the county attorney, is waiting to charge them, but he just made both of their attorneys the same offer. Whoever talks first gets charged with a lesser offense that takes the death penalty off the table. The plea deal expires at the end of twenty-four hours. If neither of them takes it, they both get charged with murder in the first degree, and all bets are off.”
“You said ‘both’ attorneys?” Ali asked. “Does that mean Lynn has one and Chip has another?”
“That’s correct. Dr. Ralston’s attorney arrived from Phoenix wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit and driving a silver Porsche Carrera. Ms. Martinson is evidently in a somewhat different economic league. She has a court-appointed defense attorney named Paula Urban. Paula isn’t exactly a greenhorn. She’s done a boatload of drug charges, domestic violence cases, and grand theft autos. As far as I know, this is her first homicide case.”
Ali knew those were words that Beatrice Hart wouldn’t find the least bit reassuring.
“So what are you going to tell her?” Dave asked.
“That the lead investigator from the Gemma Ralston case is on his way from Prescott and that he’d like to speak to her.”
“Fair enough,” Dave said. “See you in a couple.”
Pocketing the phone, Ali returned to the library.
Beatrice looked up at her anxiously. “Well?” she asked.
“I spoke to someone from the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department,” she said. “I didn’t mention it before, but Dave Holman is the county’s lead investigator in the Gemma Ralston case and he’s on his way here from Prescott. I asked them to have him stop by the house to talk to you. He should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so.”
“What about Lynn?” Beatrice insisted. “Does he know if she’s all right?”
Having already embarked on a little white lie, Ali didn’t have much choice but to stay the course. “I didn’t speak to Detective Holman directly,” she said. “I was being patched back and forth. You’ll need to ask him that when he gets here.”
“He didn’t tell you that something had happened to her, did he?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Ali replied. In a manner of speaking.
“She’ll probably be upset when she finds out I’ve been interfering in her private life,” Beatrice said wistfully, taking a sip of coffee from a recently refilled cup.
Ali said nothing. There was no point in giving Beatrice the bad news. It most likely won’t be private for long.
When Ali’s phone rang again a few minutes later, Dave was calling from the gate at the bottom of the drive. She buzzed him in and then went to the door to meet him. “Don’t rat me out,” she warned. “I claimed I hadn’t spoken to you directly.”
He nodded. “Thanks,” he said.
Ali led him into the library and made the introductions. “I’ve been given to understand you’re Lynn Martinson’s mother,” Dave said, settling down on a polished mesquite-wood armchair.
“You know her?” Beatrice asked hopefully.
Dave nodded. “So what’s going on?”
“I haven’t heard from her all day long,” Beatrice answered. “That’s so unlike her, and given what else has happened, I’ve been terribly worried.”
“What do you mean by ‘what else’?” Dave asked.
“Gemma Ralston’s murder,” Beatrice said quickly. “As soon as they announced the name of the victim, I was scared to death—afraid that if Lynn’s boyfriend had done something to harm his ex-wife, he might have done something to Lynn as well.”
“You’re saying that once you knew Gemma Ralston had been murdered, your immediate assumption was that her former husband might have had something to do with it?”
“That’s often the case, isn’t it?” Beatrice replied. “Husbands kill their former wives; wives kill their former husbands. It happens all the time, at least on TV.”
“Are you aware of any specific threat Dr. Ralston might have made in that regard?”
“Not really. Lynn and I don’t talk about him much. She knows I don’t necessarily approve.”
“Of her relationship with Dr. Ralston?”
Beatrice nodded.
“Why not?”
“Because he was my deceased husband’s doctor, for one thing,” Beatrice said. “I think there’s something suspect about doctors who become romantically involved with their patients or their patients’ family members. I’m under the impression that Chip’s family doesn’t approve of Lynn, either, probably for the same reason.”
“What makes you say that?” Dave asked.
“All the sneaking around, for one thing,” Beatrice said. “Lynn goes to his house late in the evening, after Chip’s mother has gone to bed, and she comes home early most mornings for the same reason—to be out of his place before Chip’s mother is up and around. That’s a sad commentary. Here they are, middle-aged people sneaking around like a pair of moony teenagers. But all you’ve been doing is asking questions. Do you know anything about my daughter, about where she is and if she’s okay?”
“Unfortunately, I do, Ms. Hart,” Dave said. “Your daughter and Dr. Ralston have both been arrested.”
Beatrice blanched and held her hand to her mouth while Dave continued. “They’re being held on suspicion of murdering his former wife. That’s why she hasn’t been answering her phone. They were taken into custody early this morning. Your daughter was picked up shortly after leaving Dr. Ralston’s place in Paradise Valley. He was taken into custody after he arrived at his office in Surprise. They have yet to be officially charged, which is why we haven’t made their names public.”
Once Dave stopped talking, Beatrice stared at him slack-jawed before she managed to speak. “Lynn—my daughter—has been arrested for murder? Is that what you’re saying?”
Dave nodded. “We obtained a warrant to search your daughter’s vehicle. We found blood evidence both inside and outside the car that we’ve been able to match to Gemma Ralston. We don’t know where the initia
l attack took place. It’s likely that the victim had already been wounded when she was placed in the trunk and then transported to the site south of Camp Verde, where she was left to die.”
“This can’t be happening,” Beatrice objected. “It simply isn’t possible. My daughter could never do something like that. She wouldn’t. You’re making a terrible mistake.”
Dave pulled out a notebook. “Tell me about yesterday,” he said. “Was there anything unusual about yesterday?”
“I played golf.”
“Was Lynn home before you left for your golf game?”
“Yes, she was there—at our house.”
“How did she seem to you?”
“Seem?” Beatrice asked, frowning.
“Did she seem upset about anything? Nervous? Out of sorts?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“What about her phone?”
“What about it?”
“Did she mention that her cell phone had gone missing?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s lost a cell phone,” Beatrice answered, “and if she did lose it, it’s completely in character for her not to mention it to me. My husband died of Alzheimer’s. When we misplace something like car keys or a purse, or if we can’t remember something, believe me, we take it seriously.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you that your daughter’s cell phone turned up at the crime scene?”
“Just because her phone was there doesn’t mean Lynn was there,” Beatrice insisted.
“We checked your daughter’s credit transactions,” Dave said. “Did she often stop off to have her car washed coming and going from Dr. Ralston’s place?”
“She loves that car. She handles it with kid gloves, and she has it washed about as often as she fills it with gas. I understand there’s a combination car wash/service station just off the 101. I’m pretty sure that’s where she takes it.”
“But she didn’t mention having her car washed yesterday morning?”
“No. She wouldn’t. How she looks after her car is none of my business.”
“Has she said anything to you in the past about Gemma Ralston?”
“She’s mentioned the woman now and then. She thought Gemma treated Chip badly, and she certainly disapproved of the idea that Gemma was chummy with Chip’s family. I mean, you don’t see me hanging out with Lynn’s ex-husband, do you?”
“What do you mean when you say Gemma treated him badly?”
“How else? Financially, of course,” Beatrice responded. “According to Lynn, when Gemma decided to get a divorce, her lawyers were utterly ruthless. They took everything that wasn’t nailed down. Lynn told me things were going to be tough financially for the next several years. Chip managed to avoid bankruptcy, but only barely.”
“Dr. Ralston resented that?” Dave asked.
“I should think so,” Beatrice replied. “Wouldn’t you?”
Ali knew Beatrice had hit Dave where he lived, because he’d gone through a similar financial knothole at the time of his divorce. He immediately changed the subject. “Does the name James Mason Sanders ring a bell?”
“No.”
“Are you aware that a second homicide victim was found in the same general location as Gemma Ralston?”
Beatrice nodded. “They said on the news that the second victim was an unidentified male.”
Dave glanced in B.’s direction before answering, as though trying to decide how much he should say about the case with an interested bystander in the room. Ali understood Dave’s concern, but she also knew that B. had enough security clearances to put Dave’s to shame.
“One of the crime scene techs went up the road to have a smoke and found what he thought was an abandoned vehicle. Inside, he found the body of a man shot at close range through the driver’s-side window. The second victim has been identified,” the detective added. “That’s the name I just gave you—James Mason Sanders. He was an ex-con who served time for counterfeiting years ago and dropped out of sight after completing his parole. Even though Mason’s death preceded Gemma Ralston’s by some period of time—twelve to fourteen hours, at least—due to his proximity to the Ralston crime scene, we’re operating on the assumption that the two cases are related.”
“He’s not the one the newscaster called a person of interest—the one who called 911?” Beatrice asked.
“No,” Dave said. “That call was made a matter of minutes before Ms. Ralston succumbed to her injuries. Mason died hours earlier than that, so he couldn’t have made the call.”
Beatrice thought before shaking her head. “I’m quite sure I’ve never heard that name. Do you think he was supposed to be a hit man or something?”
“That’s one possibility we’re pursuing.”
Beatrice shook her head. “Lynn never mentioned knowing anyone like that. Maybe this Sanders guy was a friend of Chip’s. Please, Detective Holman, I’ve answered all your questions, but you have yet to tell me where my daughter is being held or what’s going to happen to her.”
“She’s in the Yavapai County Jail in Prescott.”
“Can I see her? Will she be released on bond?”
“As I said earlier, she has yet to be officially charged,” Dave answered. “If she ends up charged with homicide, there’s not much possibility of her being released on bail. Nonetheless, I’d suggest you go see her as soon as possible. You might be able to convince her that her best bet will be to take the plea deal.”
“What plea deal?” Beatrice asked.
Dave’s eyes flicked briefly in Ali’s direction before he answered. “The county attorney has made an offer to both your daughter’s attorney and Dr. Ralston’s. Whichever one agrees to testify against the other will walk away with a manslaughter conviction rather than standing trial on first-degree murder.”
“My daughter has an attorney?”
“A court-appointed public defender,” Dave replied. “Her name is Paula Urban, and she’s fully aware of the situation. She also understands that the deal is only good for twenty-four hours. So if you have any influence with your daughter, I suggest you use it.”
Beatrice stood up abruptly and collected her purse. “I most certainly will,” she said. “I’ll go see her immediately. I’ll also use every bit of influence I have to convince my daughter to fight this tooth and nail. If Chip Ralston killed his ex-wife, I’m not going to stand still and let you lay that crime at Lynn’s door. She would never do such a thing!”
With that, Beatrice stomped out of the house. Ali followed her. “Have you ever been to Prescott?” she asked.
“No, but I’m sure I can figure out how to get there. All I have to do is go back to Cordes Junction and turn right.”
“If you take Exit 278 and turn right on Highway 169, you take several miles off the Cordes Junction route.”
“Thanks,” Beatrice said. “For the directions, the food, everything.”
Ali reached into the cover of her iPhone and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my name and number,” she said. “Call me if you think I can be of any help.”
“Thank you for that, too,” Beatrice said. “I may just do that.”
Back in the house, Ali discovered that B. and Dave had moseyed into the kitchen, where B. was ladling the last of the evening’s stew into a bowl.
“For Dave,” B. explained. “He missed dinner at home.”
“Thanks for the help,” Dave said, settling onto one of the kitchen chairs.
“It doesn’t sound as though Beatrice is convinced her daughter had anything to do with what happened,” Ali said.
Dave nodded. “Mothers are always the last ones to realize their little darlings have gone off the reservation.”
“Lynn didn’t strike me as the murderous type, either,” Ali said.
“You’ve met her?”
Ali nodded. “Once. Last summer. We were at the same television station to tape a segment for a program based on Brenda’s book. I told you about that.”
“I don’t know about types,” Dave said grimly. “What I know is that when the CSI people sprayed her trunk and back bumper with BlueStar, they lit up like Christmas trees. And we found Lynn’s supposedly missing phone at the crime scene. But all of that is strictly circumstantial. In all honesty, I think Cap Horning is jumping the gun here. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I’ve heard rumors that he may be gearing up to run for the state attorney general slot. If that’s the case, a confession from Martinson or Ralston will sew this one up in a hurry and make his life so much simpler.”
“So the plea deal is a way for Horning to keep from having to work so hard?” Ali asked.
Dave nodded, but Ali could tell he wasn’t happy about it. “That’s about the size of it. My take is that Horning is smart but lazy. He wants to get the job done with the least amount of effort.”
“What about the 911 caller?” Ali asked.
“There’s always a chance that the perp had a change of heart and came back in hopes of changing the outcome,” Dave said. “Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.”
Placing a steaming bowl of stew on the table in front of Dave, B. sat down across from the detective as he dug in. “What’s the ex-con’s connection to all this?” B. asked.
“Remains to be seen,” Dave said. “Once James Sanders finished his parole, he went off the grid. The car he was found in was licensed in Nevada. He bought it last week off Craigslist; paid cash. Not cash, actually. The guy who sold it said the victim paid for the car with two thousand-dollar gambling tokens from the MGM Grand, and once he drove off in it, he didn’t bother changing the registration. No ID or driver’s license was found on the body, and we’re unable to locate a current driver’s license for Sanders there or anywhere else. No credit cards, although he does have a checking account. We found a blank check in his wallet.”
“You’re thinking Sanders may have been involved in some kind of criminal enterprise,” B. suggested.