by J. A. Jance
As for Adelina Padilla? From then on she was even more of a local celebrity than she’d been before.
|CHAPTER 43|
PRESCOTT, ARIZONA
At the hospital Ali and B. learned that Cami had been taken into surgery. Because Cami had put Ali’s name on the necessary HIPAA form, the ER doc who tended to her initially was allowed to give them information.
“Ms. Lee is one gutsy girl,” he said wonderingly. “First she wrapped herself up in a bedroll and then dove out of the back of a moving vehicle to escape her captor. That’s how she broke her leg. Then she used a hunk of dead mesquite to create a splint. She attempted to set the bone herself, which must have hurt like hell. Unfortunately, it’s not a clean break. Our X-rays indicate that several splinters of bone fragments remain near the break, and those must be surgically removed. That’s why she’s in the OR. Depending on what her surgeon finds, she may need a rod and screws to repair the damage. She also has a couple of cracked ribs and serious cuts and abrasions on both hands and legs from crawling on the ground to get away from the guy. In other words, she’s going to be off work for a time and off that leg for even longer.”
“What about her ear?” Ali asked. “That looked awful.”
“It’s badly swollen all right, but there’s no permanent damage. That’s where the guy hit her. If he’d landed that blow straight to her skull, she’d have a concussion for sure. All things considered, she’s lucky to be alive.”
When the doctor left, Ali and B. decamped to the waiting room outside the surgical pavilion. “Cami threw herself out of the back of a moving pickup?” Ali murmured. “ ‘Gutsy’ hardly covers it.”
Her phone rang with a California area code showing. After the shocking conversation with Sue Lee, Ali had called Cami’s father’s numbers and left messages on both. She was glad it had taken Cheng Lee this long to return her call, because at least now she had some solid information to pass along to him.
Naturally he was dismayed to hear the news, but he was much less confrontational about it than his wife had been. He thanked Ali for the information, assured her that he would immediately make arrangements to fly into Phoenix, and yes, he would greatly appreciate being transported from the airport to wherever his daughter was at the time of his arrival.
“That’s a relief,” B. said when the conversation ended. “At least Cami’s got one parent who gives a damn about her.”
A few minutes later, B.’s phone rang with Alonzo on the line. Since there was no one else in the waiting room, B. put the call on speaker. “I’m about to leave Phoenix,” Alonzo said. “Is there anything you need me to pick up on the way?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” B. said. “I’ll need you to drop by Prescott Community Hospital and pick up Bella.”
“The hospital,” Alonzo yelped. “What’s going on?”
As B. began recounting the long story of everything that had happened, Ali leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Eventually the morning’s emotional turmoil caught up with her. Feeling exhausted, she did the very best thing you can do in a hospital waiting room—she fell asleep. She was still sleeping when the ringing of her own phone, still resting in her hand, awakened her. When she looked at the screen, she saw Sheriff Holman’s name and photo.
“Hello?”
“We got him!”
Ali could barely believe her ears. “McCluskey? You did? Where?”
“He was trying to cross into Mexico at the Calexico port of entry. He’s been arrested and is being held in the Imperial County Jail in El Centro. We’re in the process of putting together the paperwork to extradite him from California to Arizona. With any kind of luck, we’ll be able to send someone to bring him back here tomorrow or the next day.”
Ali was relieved. “Good,” she murmured.
“And how’s our girl doing?”
“Still in surgery.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you guys,” Dave added after a moment. “Without that surveillance video, McCluskey might have gotten away. He had a high-quality fake passport that had already passed muster. Knowing who the suspect was, we were able to provide Border Patrol with his driver’s-license photo. Their facial-recognition program is what nailed him. So thank you for that, and please consider this my apology for giving you so much guff about your needing access to her iPad and cell phone.”
Fortunately, we had Frigg for a work-around, Ali thought, but what she said aloud was, “Apology accepted.”
“I just wish we knew what else McCluskey’s been up to,” Dave added. “There was duct-tape debris found in the back of the truck. When someone shows up at a crime scene with duct tape in hand, it’s like he’s driving around with a rape kit at the ready. I doubt this is McCluskey’s first rodeo, so maybe when we run his DNA through CODIS, we’ll get a hit.”
Ali was struck by that chilling thought. Was it possible that Harvey McCluskey had been a serial rapist all along and nobody knew?
“They caught him?” B. asked when Ali hung up.
“Yup, he’s in jail in El Centro. Dave’s people are putting together the necessary paperwork to have him brought back here.”
“Good,” B. said. “I think I’ll hitch a ride home with Alonzo and Bella. I’ll leave the Audi here with you and take the Cayenne over to the office. With Cami out of commission, we’re going to need Mateo up and running a whole lot faster than I anticipated. Since Stu and Lance will be handling their jobs and Cami’s, too, the least I can do is take over Mateo’s training.”
Ali nodded. “Makes sense to me,” she said.
Alonzo arrived sometime later. Once he and B. took off, Ali was left alone in the waiting room, thinking about what Dave Holman had said. Maybe this wasn’t Harvey McCluskey’s first venture into sexual assault. Frigg had created a detailed dossier on the man’s life and times, but up to now life had been too hectic for Ali to read it. She was about to call Frigg and ask to review the material when a man in surgical scrubs entered the room.
“Ms. Reynolds?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ali replied.
“I’m Dr. Harrison, Cami’s surgeon. She came through the surgery just fine. It’s a serious break, however, and she won’t be able to put any weight on the leg for some time. She’s in the recovery room right now. Did the people at the front desk give you a buzzer?”
Ali nodded.
“Good,” the doctor said. “Someone will summon you once she’s moved to her own room.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
When the doctor left, Ali dialed Frigg. “Good afternoon, Ali,” Frigg said. “I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”
“Not exactly,” Ali responded. “I’m in a waiting room at the hospital where Cami just underwent surgery, but I need your help. I know you already sent me a complete dossier on Harvey McCluskey, but it’s gone now.”
That was Frigg’s best trick. Once she sent a message, read or not, after a certain period of time it simply vanished from the recipient’s device, leaving behind no digital trace for anyone else to follow.
“Could you please resend it? Since I’m going to be stuck here for the next several hours, I could just as well make myself useful.”
“Would you like me to send an audio version?”
“As I said, I’m in a public place right now. Send a text version for the time being, and please start from the beginning. I want to know his whole history.”
“Will do,” Frigg replied. “Happy to be of service.”
|CHAPTER 44|
PRESCOTT, ARIZONA
Once Cami was transferred from recovery into the ICU, Ali moved to a different waiting room, where a family waited for news about a teenage daughter who’d been seriously injured in a car crash. While they all struggled with a storm of emotions—fear, anger, and disbelief—Ali kept her nose buried in her iPad, reading the information Frigg forwarded to her and then scrubbed away again once Ali finished reading.
When the weeping parents emerged from the dau
ghter’s ICU room, with the father gravely shaking his head, family members waiting there exploded in sobs and wails of grief. Wanting to allow the stricken family some privacy, Ali left the room, only to run into Gordon Maxwell, the former sheriff of Yavapai County, out in the hallway.
He greeted her with a broad grin. “Just the lady I was looking for. How’s your girl doing in there?”
“Cami’s made it through surgery, and now she’s in the ICU. How did you hear about it?”
“I may be out of the game, but Dave still keeps me in the loop. I understand congratulations are in order to your people for IDing the suspect.”
“Cami herself deserves most of the credit for that,” Ali said. “If she hadn’t spent her after-work hours fine-tuning that new surveillance system, we wouldn’t have had a clue. So what are you doing here?”
Maxwell beamed at her. “My granddaughter just had a baby girl, which makes me a great-grandfather. Came by the hospital to meet her for the first time. Care for a cigar?”
The cigar in question was wrapped in pink cellophane.
“Congratulations, but no thanks on the cigar,” Ali said with a smile. “I never touch the stuff. But how are you? Have you been keeping busy?”
“I’ve hooked up with an outfit called TLC—The Last Chance. It’s a volunteer cold-case squad made up of a bunch of old geezers just like me—retired cops, DAs, and forensic folks from all over the country—who might have been put out to pasture but haven’t found a way to get the job out of their systems. We work mostly very cold cases, even ones where some of that newfangled genetic stuff comes into play. We’ve also helped get a guy or two exonerated, which is only fair, I suppose.”
The grieving family burst out of the ICU waiting room behind them, bringing their tumult of sorrow down the corridor with them.
“I should go,” Maxwell said hurriedly. “Sure I can’t interest you in a cigar?”
“No thanks.”
“When Cami’s up to it, you be sure to tell her I said hello.”
“I will,” Ali promised.
Just then her phone rang. This time she recognized Cheng Lee’s number.
“How’s Camille?” he asked as soon as Ali answered.
She told him what she knew, after which he moved straight into logistics. “I’ll be coming in on a Southwest flight that arrives in Phoenix at ten past six. Can someone be there to meet me?”
“Of course,” Ali said. “I will be. Can you text me the flight information?”
“Is Prescott big enough that I’ll be able to rent a car if I decide I need one later?”
His unstated but nonetheless implied snobbery was all too clear. It seemed Cheng Lee doubted that intelligent life existed on the far side of the Colorado River. He probably considered Arizona to be a vast desert wasteland populated by cowboys and Indians and lacking in modern conveniences such as indoor plumbing and running water.
“There are several car-rental agencies here,” Ali assured him. “Prescott Community Hospital is actually located in the Prescott Valley area, with a Hilton Garden Inn within walking distance.”
“What about Uber?” he asked. “Do they have that?”
“I’m not sure,” Ali answered. “If they do, I’ve never used one, but I’m pretty sure taxis are available.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I should be fine. I’ll see you sometime after six. How will I know who you are?”
Ali looked down at her clothing. She was still wearing what she’d thrown on that morning when she and B. had raced out of the house for Cornville. Her worn jeans and tennis shoes topped by a faded Sedona High School sweatshirt probably weren’t going to go over very well with someone accustomed to living in the rarefied groves of Silicon Valley.
“I’m tall and blond,” Ali said, “with more than a hint of gray. I’ll be holding an iPad with your name on it.” And I won’t be wearing a Stetson or cowboy boots, she added to herself.
“Okay,” he said. “See you then.”
Ali glanced at her watch. It was after two. She didn’t need to leave for Phoenix right that minute, but she’d have to take rush-hour traffic into consideration as she headed for Sky Harbor.
Returning to the now-deserted ICU waiting room, Ali checked on Cami. She seemed to be sleeping, so Ali stayed where she was. Thinking of Cami’s parents, Ali could only shake her head. No wonder Cami was so intent on putting down roots far from home, and Ali for one was glad she’d done so.
ICU visitors were only allowed in patients’ rooms for ten minutes each hour, so Ali set the timer on her iPad and continued perusing Harvey McCluskey’s history as reconstructed by Frigg. Public records revealed that he’d been born in Butte, Montana, in 1966. Both of his parents, Ida Mae Collins McCluskey and Leo Ray McCluskey, were deceased. The dates on their death certificates indicated they had died weeks apart in 1981. Ida Mae’s manner of death was listed as homicidal violence and Leo’s as suicide. Property records revealed their property on German Gulch Road had passed to their son, Harvey, upon Leo’s death. It was sold to new owners in 1983, with proceeds from the sale held in trust for their son once he reached his twenty-first birthday.
Other than public records, Frigg had been unable to uncover much about Harvey’s early life. It wasn’t until the local newspaper, the Butte Mountaineer, began digitizing its content as opposed to microfiching it that the AI was able to begin putting flesh on the bones of the story. Ida Mae had disappeared without a trace in the winter of 1981. Police investigators had focused their efforts on only one suspect—her surviving spouse, Leo. When he committed suicide weeks after his wife’s disappearance, the case went cold. Once Ida Mae’s remains were located and identified years later during an EPA-mandated cleanup of mine waste, the case was marked closed.
Despite having lost both his parents at such an early age, young Harvey seemed to have thrived. He graduated from high school with good, if not stellar, grades and excelled in both football and wrestling. During his senior year, he became the state wrestling champ. After graduation he joined the military and did a number of tours of duty, serving as an MP. After leaving the army, he moved to Las Vegas, where he’d worked for a number of years on casino security teams. So far, so good, but then Frigg had hit a content bonanza—the media storm surrounding the 2004 death of Harvey’s wife, Maureen (Marnie) Richards, a nurse at Sunrise Hospital in Las Vegas.
Reading accounts of Maureen’s fatal plunge into the depths of the Grand Canyon made the hair on the back of Ali’s neck stand on end. Harvey and his bride of one day had been hiking down into the canyon when she tumbled to her death. The autopsy had shown no indication of foul play. A re-creation of the incident had suggested that her injuries were consistent with a fall rather than being pushed or propelled off the trail’s edge. Marnie’s death was quickly declared as accidental, and no further investigation was deemed necessary. Reading about the incident, Ali wasn’t so sure. With the waiting room currently empty, she felt free to summon Frigg.
“I hope you’re finding my material helpful,” the AI said.
“I am,” Ali answered, “but I’m curious. Did Harvey receive any kind of financial benefit from Maureen’s death?”
“Yes, he did,” Frigg responded. “She had group life insurance through work. Six months after she died, an insurance payment in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars was paid to her surviving spouse—fifty thousand for the death itself plus a fifty-thousand-dollar accidental-death benefit.”
“Thank you,” Ali said.
“Will there be anything else?”
“I’ll let you know. I’m still reading.”
Just then Ali’s alarm went off. Turning off her iPad, she hurried into Cami’s room and was relieved to find her awake.
“How are you doing?” Ali asked.
Cami gave her a weak smile. “I’m not sure,” she said. “How about if you tell me?”
“Let’s see,” Ali replied. “Your leg is broken. They had to install a rod to hold it in place.
You’ve got some broken ribs. Your one ear looks like a prizewinning boxer’s after a major bout, and there are enough scrapes and bruises on your body to go head-to-head with any self-respecting motorcycle rider in terms of road rash.”
“But I’m not going to die?”
“Evidently not.”
“What about McCluskey?”
“Thanks to your surveillance system, he’s been taken into custody in California. Sheriff Holman is working on having him extradited back to Arizona.”
Cami sighed in obvious relief. Just then a nurse came in to check her vitals. Ali offered to step outside, but Cami asked her to stay.
“How are we doing?” the nurse asked.
Ali felt herself bristling at the question. It sounded like something a pretentious kindergarten teacher might use to address one of her students. Fortunately, Ali managed to stifle.
“I’m feeling hungry,” Cami murmered.
“I’ll see about bringing you something—maybe some chicken noodle soup,” the nurse answered. “How does that sound?”
The kindergarten-teacher voice was back, but Cami nodded gratefully. “Yes, please,” she said. “Sounds good.”
Cami and Ali stayed silent until the nurse left the room. Once she was gone, Cami spoke first. “Did you call my parents?”
Ali nodded and glanced at her watch. “Your dad’s flying in this afternoon. In fact, I’ll need to take off in a few minutes to go pick him up from Sky Harbor.”
“And my mom?”
Not wanting to answer that question directly and say outright that Sue Lee couldn’t be bothered, Ali fudged. “She won’t be coming.”
“Big surprise there,” Cami snorted. “She disapproves of me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Because I don’t do things her way,” Cami replied, “which means, according to what my grandfather always told me, I’m just like her.”
“Having to look in the mirror can be very disturbing at times,” Ali said.