by Jance, J. A.
“Which explains why that one had to be destroyed,” Robson said. “It’s a good thing Torrance’s people were able to retrieve a few scraps of identifiable paper ash.”
Ali had seen the utter destruction of the burned-out houses. It had seemed unlikely to her that anything identifiable could have been found inside.
“How did that happen?” she asked.
“McGregor detailed all of that in one of his last notebook entries. He had Mimi in the trunk, the gas cans in the backseat, and the picture in the front seat with him. He got so busy doing everything else that he forgot about the picture until he was almost ready to take off. He ran back and tossed it into the second house at the last minute. It landed just inside the door, but since that’s where the firefighters first attacked the fire, that part of the house didn’t burn as thoroughly as the rest.”
“He wrote this stuff down?” Ali asked. “Why?”
“Ego,” Robson said. “He had ultimate bragging rights. He was with ELF before ELF was ELF, and he documented everything that got near him. He had already made up his mind that he was never going to be taken alive or go to jail. That’s in the notebooks as well. He was determined that his life’s work would survive him—that everyone would know what he had done. Once word about the notebooks gets out, McGregor’s going to get his wish,” Robson said. “Posthumously, and in spades.”
“What about the other people involved?” Ali asked.
“They’ll be going down, too. We won’t be able to convict on just his say-so, but the notebooks give us a good jumping-off place in terms of who, where, and when. It looks like a number of them have lived respectable lives—with bland, ordinary façades that kept them from ever coming to our attention. Now that they’re actively under suspicion, however, I have no doubt we’ll find corroborating forensic evidence. It’s a lot easier to find a needle in a haystack when you’ve got a line on the right needle.”
Someone spoke to Robson in the background. “Sorry,” he said to her. “Have to go.”
Ali rang off and finished collating and stapling her two sets of documents. In looking over the hard copy, she had found some typos that she wished she’d taken the time to correct, but that was the problem—time. There wasn’t any.
After stuffing the burn-unit transcripts into her briefcase, Ali went back down to the lobby. Halfway to the door, a woman rose from a chair and cut her off. “Ms. Reynolds?”
Ali nodded as the woman quickly produced an ID wallet, complete with a Phoenix PD badge.
“Detective Maria Salazar, I presume,” Ali said.
The woman, fairly tall and clearly Hispanic, smiled and nodded. “Word gets around, doesn’t it?” she said. “I would have called ahead, but it’s a matter of some urgency.”
“What can I do for you?” Ali asked.
“I’ve just come from Bishop Gillespie’s office,” the detective said. “Naturally he’s quite concerned about what happened to Sister Anselm. Believe me, if Bishop Gillespie is concerned, our department is concerned.”
“Naturally,” Ali agreed.
“Most of the kidnapping unit has spent the last night trying to free a drug dealer from the hands of the people he ripped off. They grabbed him during a carjacking yesterday afternoon. It took until five o’clock this morning to bring that one to a close. As a consequence, we haven’t had much time to deal with the Sister Anselm situation, which appears to be quite different from our usual cases. But we’re dealing with it now. In the meantime, Bishop Gillespie has had some of his people working on the problem as well. That’s where you come in.”
“How?”
“Donna Carson is in the process of selling her condo. She listed it for fifteen thousand dollars less than she paid for it originally. She’s about to accept an offer that will mean a fifty thousand loss.”
“In other words, a fire sale,” Ali said.
“An unfortunate choice of words,” Detective Salazar returned with a half smile, “because this is a fire sale of sorts. The point is, she’s on her way out of town in a hell of a hurry. The closing is scheduled for half an hour from now, then she’s due to fly out of town later this afternoon. First stop is L.A. Second stop is Caracas, Venezuela. The U.S. has no extradition agreement with Venezuela.”
“So unless you stop her today . . .” Ali began.
“At this point, we don’t have probable cause to arrest her. We’re working on that,” Detective Salazar said, “but we have enough for a sit-down. I’m told by two separate people, Detective Holman from Yavapai County and Bishop Gillespie, that you know more about this situation than anyone else. So I’m asking you to go along on the interview. You can brief me on the way in far less time than it’ll take me to read through those transcripts.”
“If I’m in on this and the ATF isn’t, Agent Donnelley will have a fit,” Ali said.
“They might,” Detective Salazar agreed, “but as far as I know, both Agent in Charge Donnelley and Agent Robson are up in Payson right now. Donna Carson is due at the airport in a little under two hours. Do you have a vest?”
“Yes,” Ali said, hefting her briefcase.
She had stuffed the rest in the briefcase along with the wig when the admitting clerk had returned her goods to her as she was leaving the ER the night before. Fortunately, it was still there.
“Good girl,” Detective Salazar said. “Come on. I’ll drive. I’ve already programmed the escrow agent’s address into my GPS.”
The escrow office was in a newly constructed office building at the corner of Scottsdale Road and Indian School. On the way there, Ali told Maria Salazar everything she knew, or thought she knew, about Donna Carson, including the fact that it seemed that Donna was Winston Langley’s niece, and Ali’s own private suspicion that even though Donna was Winston’s blood relation, she might have been one of his sexual conquests.
“I suppose that would make sense,” Detective Salazar allowed. “Powerful men often go looking for people who, for one reason or another, can’t fight back. If you look at the Langley family history, though, growing up, Winston was the fair-haired boy to Leah’s black sheep. She’s the one who ran away from home as a teenager, got herself knocked up, and got married—in that order. That was also when her parents disowned her.”
“Being an upright local banker and having a juvenile delinquent for a daughter probably didn’t mix too well.”
Detective Salazar nodded. “Later on, after Leah’s divorce, she went right on making bad decisions. She got caught up in a gang of arsonists and went to prison. At that point, Winston stepped up and took his niece under his wing. He saw to it that she got an education; gave her a job.”
In exchange for what? Ali wondered.
“There was no mention of Donna’s being a relative in any of the discussions I heard,” Ali said. “When Serenity talked about her it was as a long-term employee, but not as a relative. There was even some mention about letting her go.”
“In other words,” Maria Salazar said, pulling into a parking garage, “Donna’s a charity case. She’s the poor relation who’s allowed to have a job, but she’s also expected to know her place in the family pecking order. Sounds like a possible motive to me.”
Ali and Maria Salazar exited the unmarked Crown Victoria.
“So here’s how we’re going to play it,” Detective Salazar said as they walked through the lobby and toward the elevator. “So far Donnelley has done an incredible job of keeping the lid on all this. McGregor’s ID has not yet been given out, pending notification of next of kin. Your involvement has yet to be made public, either. Did Donna ever see you in the waiting room?”
“She may have,” Ali said, “but I looked different.”
Detective Salazar smiled again. “Right,” she said. “I heard. The infamous red wig.”
“Most of the people in the room assumed I was part of another patient’s group of visitors,” Ali added. “Nobody there paid much attention to me. There’s a good chance Donna didn’t, either.”
“Le
t’s hope,” Detective Salazar said. “Now, as far as the interview is concerned, she’s only a person of interest, but you and I are going to pretend that McGregor gave her up. We’ll see what that gets us. With any kind of luck, we’ll be able to provoke her into doing something stupid. By the way, are you carrying?”
Ali nodded. “I doubt your supervisors know I’m doing an armed ride-along on this one.”
“Don’t worry about my supervisors,” Maria Salazar said. “Bishop Gillespie has the ability to pull any number of strings. I believe he’s already pulled several.”
Ali believed it, too.
They rode the elevator in silence. Arriving at the sixth floor, they found their way through a maze of corridors to the office marked Pan American Escrow. While they were still outside in the hallway, Maria Salazar produced a tiny tape recorder. After switching it on and re-stowing it in her pocket, the detective pushed open the door and flashed her badge in the direction of the young woman seated at the reception desk.
“We’re here to see Donna Carson,” she said brusquely.
“I’m sorry. She’s involved in a signing. Her escrow officer has asked that they not be disturbed.”
“This is police business,” Maria insisted. “Which way?”
The receptionist capitulated. She pointed. “That way,” she said. “The conference room at the end of the hall.”
The conference room telephone was ringing as Ali and Detective Salazar reached the door. Before anyone had a chance to answer, Maria flung open the door and marched inside with Ali on her heels.
The escrow officer’s name tag identified her as Louise Wilson. She and Donna Carson were seated side by side at a large conference table. Two separate stacks of documents were spread out in front of them. Louise was just reaching out to answer the ringing phone when Detective Salazar stopped her.
“Don’t bother,” the detective said. “That’s just your receptionist calling to let you know we were on our way.”
After two more rings the phone fell silent.
“Who are you?” Louise demanded. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing. I’m calling the police!”
“We are the police,” Detective Salazar responded, flashing her badge. Then she turned her attention to Donna Carson. “Is this her?” she asked Ali.
“Yes,” Ali said.
Now it was Donna’s turn to object. “Who are you?” she demanded, looking from Detective Salazar to Ali. Her face revealed no sign of recognition as far as Ali was concerned. “What do you want?
“You’re Donna Elizabeth Carson?” Detective Salazar confirmed.
“Yes, I am, but can’t you see we’re busy here?”
The escrow officer stuffed the two stacks of documents into a file folder. “Just give me a minute, Ms. Carson,” she said. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“No, you won’t,” Detective Salazar said. “We’re not going anywhere.” She pointed at a chair. “Sit,” she ordered. Without further objection, the escrow officer sat.
“What’s this all about?” Donna asked.
“It’s about two attempted homicides that occurred northeast of here yesterday afternoon. You’re a person of interest in those two cases, Ms. Carson, along with another incident that happened earlier this week in Camp Verde. We need you to tell us where you were yesterday afternoon, and what you were doing.”
Donna paled slightly. “This is ridiculous,” she said, rising. “I was at work yesterday afternoon. My employer’s mother was in the hospital, where she died early yesterday evening. I spent most of the afternoon there with them. Serenity Langley will verify I was there, so will her brother.”
“Sit,” Maria said again, this time pointing a finger at Donna Carson. With a put-upon sigh she, too, subsided into her chair.
“That would be at Saint Gregory’s Hospital?” Maria asked.
“Yes,” Donna said. “The burn unit. On the eighth floor.”
“So are you acquainted with Sister Anselm, a Sister of Providence who was working as a patient advocate there?”
Donna shook her head. “I might have seen her. I’m sure I’ve heard the name, but I don’t believe I ever met her.”
There was the tiniest tremor in the corner of her eyes when she gave that answer. Ali suspected that Donna was telling the truth, sort of. Perhaps she and Sister Anselm had never been formally introduced, but Donna Carson knew who Sister Anselm was and what she did.
“I suppose we should read her her rights,” Maria said casually to Ali. “Just in case she turns into a suspect.”
“Right,” Ali said agreeably. “Just in case.”
Maria recited the Miranda warning from memory. Ali waited until the Mirandizing was complete. Ali expected Donna to demand an attorney at that point. When she didn’t, Ali posed another question.
“What did you do with Mimi Cooper’s watercolor?” she asked. “We know what happened to the fake Paul Klee. What happened to the real one?”
“What painting?” Donna demanded in return. “I don’t have any idea what painting you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” Ali insisted. “You stole Mimi’s Klee months ago, when you took it out for reframing. You replaced it with a fake. The two house fires in Camp Verde were supposed to get rid of the evidence. So what’s your connection to Thomas McGregor?” Ali asked. “How did you persuade him to help you?”
Donna had been warned that anything she said could be held against her, but apparently she wasn’t listening.
“I didn’t have to persuade him,” she said dismissively. “He offered to help me. He wanted to help me. He hated those people as much as I do.”
A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Detective Salazar’s mouth, but she said nothing.
“What people did he hate?” Ali continued. “Sister Anselm? Mimi Cooper? What did they ever do to you, or to him? You still haven’t said what you did with the real Paul Klee. Where is it?”
“It’s on its way somewhere you’ll never find it,” Donna answered. “You’ll never get it back. Neither will Serenity or Win. It’s mine. All mine.”
Donna sounded like a petulant little girl, frustrated because she hadn’t been allowed to have her own way and had been forced to share some beloved toy. She didn’t sound the least bit like someone capable of planning and executing a cold-blooded murder.
But if she’s damaged goods, Ali thought, if her uncle took advantage of her …
Ali decided to tackle that delicate subject head-on.
“Why did you do this?” she asked. “Why are you lashing out at Winston Langley’s family? Is it because your uncle molested you? Was he your lover?”
For a moment Donna stared at Ali in openmouthed amazement. “My lover!” Donna exclaimed. “Are you kidding? That bastard was never my lover.”
Ali and Maria exchanged looks. If Donna Carson and Winston Langley hadn’t been lovers . . .
“And he wasn’t my damned uncle, either,” Donna declared, trembling as outrage overtook her. “Oh, he played the good uncle, all right, the beneficent uncle. But he was my father—my biological father! He raped his own sister and convinced their parents that she was the wild one! She ran away and found someone who married her and gave me his name. Those are the names on my birth certificate, you know—Leah Lynette Carson and John David Carson.”
Ali was appalled by the whole idea. “You’re saying Winston Langley was your father, and that he raped his own sister?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“What about your mother’s parents?”
“What about them? I never even met them until after my mother went to prison. That’s when Winston came riding to the rescue, playing the part of the generous uncle. And all this time, that’s what I thought he was.”
“Your mother never told you what happened?”
“Tom McGregor was the only person who ever told me the truth. Winston didn’t, not even when he was dying, and his goody-goody bitch of a wife didn’t tell me, either, althou
gh she knew. She claimed she didn’t, but she must have. As far as the world was concerned, Winston Langley was this really good guy—the magnanimous uncle who stepped up to the plate to help out his poor, deprived, and orphaned niece by seeing to it that I got an education and by giving me a job. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut about my mother. She was the bad seed, and the less said about her the better.
“So I went along with the program. I was the charity case. I wore Serenity’s cast-off clothing, but I had a place to live and food to eat. That was the price I was prepared to pay as long as I was an orphan. But it turns out I wasn’t an orphan at all. Once Tom told me the truth, I realized how badly I’ve been cheated—by Winston and Mimi and by Serenity and Win, too.
“What I’ve earned in paychecks over the years is a drop in the bucket compared to what Win and Serenity got when Winston died. I’m expected to bow and scrape and do whatever Serenity says, while she treats me like dirt. But then, she can afford to. She had access to her share of Winston’s estate, and mine, too.”
“That painting belonged to Mimi,” Ali put in. “How does stealing it even the score with her dead husband?”
“It didn’t,” Donna said. “Not nearly. All three of them got way more than I did.”
“Tell us about Tom McGregor,” Detective Salazar suggested. “What brought him into the picture?”
“He reached out to me after he saw Winston Langley’s obituary in one of the Phoenix papers,” Donna answered. “He didn’t think it was fair that the story said Winston had a son and a daughter when Tom knew it should have been a son and two daughters.”
“When did you first hear from him?”
“A little over a year ago. He said his conscience was bothering him and that he owed it to my mother to set the record straight. When he first told me, I didn’t believe it, either, but then I had some DNA testing done. You’re cops. DNA doesn’t lie, does it?”
“So you convinced Tom McGregor to help you,” Ali asked.
“I already told you. He offered to help me.”
“Why kidnap Sister Anselm? What did you have against her?”
“Because Tom blew it the first time around. Mimi was supposed to be dead, but she wasn’t. I was afraid she’d tell someone that I was involved before I had a chance to get away.”