by J. A. Jance
The nurse returned with a tray far sooner than either Cami or Ali had expected. While the nurse adjusted the bed, Ali realized that with Cami’s hands swathed in bandages eating was going to be a challenge. The nurse must have realized the same thing, because she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you eat.”
The woman’s tone of voice might have been grating, but her caring was very real. Wanting to spare Cami the embarrassment of being observed while having to be fed like a baby, Ali took her leave.
Once in the silence of the car, she had plenty of time to think. When Maureen, aka Marnie, McCluskey had taken that fatal dive into the Grand Canyon, it had been easy for everyone to give Harvey the benefit of the doubt. At the time it probably hadn’t occurred to anyone that there was at least one—maybe even two—unexplained deaths hiding in his background. His mother had clearly been murdered, but what were the chances that his father’s suicide had been faked? By virtue of inheriting the family home, Harvey had profited from his parents’ deaths just as he had from his dead bride’s. The money from the sale of the couple’s property hadn’t come to Harvey immediately, but it had eventually.
As Ali merged onto southbound I-17 at Cordes Junction, she summoned Siri to dial Dave Holman’s cell phone rather than his office number. She wasn’t interested in fighting her way through the obligatory screening process.
“How’s Cami?” Dave asked at once.
“Doing well, I think,” Ali replied. “She’s out of surgery and awake. She was actually sitting up and eating when I left a little while ago.”
“That’s a relief. So what’s going on?”
“I’ve been looking into Harvey McCluskey’s background. According to public records, he’s either one very unlucky guy or, as you pointed out this morning, this isn’t his first rodeo.”
“How so?”
“When he was fifteen, his mother disappeared. Her remains weren’t located until years later when autopsy findings determined she’d been murdered. Her husband, Harvey’s father, was evidently the only suspect in her disappearance, which eventually turned into a homicide. He was never officially charged, tried, and convicted because he supposedly committed suicide within weeks of his wife’s disappearance.”
“You say ‘supposedly,’ ” Dave said. “What makes you think the cops got that wrong?”
“Because years later on a honeymoon to the Grand Canyon, Harvey’s bride of one day slipped off a hiking trail and died. A few months later, he had a hundred-thousand-dollar payday from her group life-insurance policy.”
“I can see where you’re going with this,” Dave said. “So either he’s incredibly unlucky or he’s a stone-cold killer. How old was he when his mother died?”
“Fifteen, but two years later he took first place in the state wrestling championship, so even as a kid he was no ninety-pound weakling.”
“Has he ever been arrested in any jurisdiction?”
“Not that I can tell, but you’d be able to ascertain that more easily than I can.”
That, of course, was a little white lie, but Dave Holman knew nothing about Frigg, and Ali wasn’t planning to tell him.
“This is all interesting,” Dave murmured, more to himself than to Ali. “Very interesting.”
“Would you like me to send you the links I used?”
“No thanks,” Dave replied. “That’s not necessary. I’ve got people here who can look into this, but thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Having put the issue of Harvey McCluskey’s questionable history squarely in Dave Holman’s lap, Ali settled in to pay attention to her driving.
|CHAPTER 45|
PRESCOTT, ARIZONA
Once Harvey McCluskey had waived an extradition hearing late that evening, all that was needed to complete the process was for someone from Dave’s department to go pick him up. The assignment fell to the two detectives assigned to Cami Lee’s case—Dan Morris and Rick Rojo. The drive from Prescott to El Centro was four and a half hours long, give or take. With pit stops for food, fuel, and other necessities along the way, it would probably be closer to six.
Sheriff Holman had deemed that driving back and forth would be more effective than flying. For one thing, during an hours-long ride in the back seat of an unmarked patrol car, there would be plenty of time for idle chitchat. Since McCluskey was clearly the sole suspect in Cami’s kidnapping, he would have to be Mirandized if he hadn’t been already, but that was case-specific. After talking with Ali, Dave suspected there were several other cases in need of examination and maybe a bit of casual discussion.
After a moment or two of consideration, Dave picked up his phone and dialed his chief deputy. “Have Morris and Rojo taken off yet?”
“Not so far.”
“Ask one of them to stop by and talk to me before they leave,” Dave said.
Twenty minutes later Danny Morris popped his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“I did,” Dave said. “Before you take off, I’d like you to stop by the equipment room and use a pair of latex gloves to put a brand-new set of cuffs into an evidence bag. When you clap those cuffs on McCluskey’s wrists and later when you remove them, wear gloves again. Once they’re off, the cuffs need to go straight back into the evidence bag so we can send them down to the Arizona Public Safety Department Crime Lab in Phoenix.”
Danny frowned. “You’re hoping to grab his DNA?”
“I am indeed,” Dave answered. “I’ve had Records looking for a rap sheet on McCluskey, and they came up empty. Near as I can tell, he’s never been arrested for any serious offense.”
“Which means most likely his DNA isn’t in CODIS?”
“Exactly, and I want a profile on him there ASAP,” Dave said. “When McCluskey attacked Cami Lee, he showed up with a rape kit in hand. That suggests she may not be his first victim.”
“Okay,” Detective Morris replied. “We’re heading out and plan to drive straight through. We’ll switch off at the wheel. Believe me, if McCluskey happens to discard a paper cup or a straw along the way, we’ll grab that, too.”
With that he started for the door, but Dave stopped him. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like you to chat him up as you go. Not about the kidnapping, of course. Anything he says about that at this point wouldn’t be admissible. Just talk about life in general. I had Deputy Harper pull some info about the guy off the Internet. I’ll have her e-mail what she found to you. I understand McCluskey grew up in Butte, Montana. Detective Rojo grew up in Morenci. Being from dying mining towns might work as a conversation starter.”
“So just general chitchat, then?”
“Yes, but if you happen to have the recorders on your body cams running during the course of all that idle conversation,” Holman added with a grin, “it wouldn’t hurt my feelings one bit.”
“Gotcha,” Detective Morris said.
“As you’re headed home, once you’re about an hour and a half out, give me a call on my cell. When it’s time to book Harvey McCluskey into our county jail, I plan to be here in person as part of his welcoming committee.”
|CHAPTER 46|
SEDONA, ARIZONA
“So how was it?” B. asked as he and Ali were getting ready for bed. Bella was already burrowed under the covers.
“Let’s just say when Mr. Lee and I showed up in Cami’s hospital room, she wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see him.”
“Really?” B. said with a frown. “What’s he like?”
“Dour,” Ali answered after a moment’s thought. “No discernible sense of humor, and he made it quite clear that he regards everything connected to Arizona with utter disdain.”
“If that’s the case, what does he think of his daughter?”
“He’s completely mystified as to why Cami would choose to live here instead of somewhere closer to home in California. By the way, as far as he’s concerned, her name is Camille. None of this Cam
i stuff for either her father or mother. They both clearly disapprove.”
“I’ll stick with Cami, then,” B. said. “But having grown up in what sounds like a very dysfunctional family, how did Cami turn out to be as normal as she is?”
“Beats me,” Ali responded, “but I’m glad she did.”
“And how’s she doing physically?”
“Progressing,” Ali answered. “When it came time for her to eat something, the nurse had to feed her because of the bandages on her hands. They had already moved her out of the ICU and into a regular room by the time Mr. Lee and I arrived at the hospital this evening, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a long road back for her.”
“Will she be able to manage on her own at home?” B. wondered.
Ali actually smiled at that. “Who says she’ll be on her own? Don’t forget, Shirley and her mother live right down the road. Once Cami is out of the hospital and back home, unless I miss my guess, Shirley will rally neighbors to do whatever needs doing.” Then, after settling into bed, Ali added, “How are things at work?”
“I’ve canceled all of this week’s meetings, including that job interview on Friday. That way I can concentrate on bringing Mateo up to speed. He’s a quick study, but there’s a lot to learn. I’m doing most of the actual training while Lance and Stu cover both their own parts of the operation and Cami’s, too. What about you? Are you coming in tomorrow or heading to Prescott?”
“Prescott,” Ali answered at once. “With Cami’s dad there, I think she’ll need all the emotional backup she can get.”
“Fair enough,” B. said.
That was the plan, but it disintegrated when Ali’s cell phone rang at six forty-five the next morning and she saw her mother’s face on caller ID. It was odd for Edie to be calling this early.
“Hey, Mom,” Ali said, holding the phone to her ear and sitting up in bed. “What’s up?”
“It’s your father,” Edie Larson wailed into the phone.
That brought Ali to full attention. “Dad? What happened? Did he take off again? Have you notified the police?”
“The police are already here,” Edie croaked, her voice barely audible. “Bobby didn’t just run away, Ali. He’s dead!”
A chill of shocked disbelief shot through Ali’s body. “Dead?” she repeated blankly. “How can that be?”
“Please come,” Edie pleaded urgently through broken sobs without any further explanation. “I need you here with me—now!”
“Coming, Mom,” Ali said, leaping out of bed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
When B. emerged from his shower, he was surprised to see that not only was Ali out of bed, she was also half-dressed. “What’s going on?” he wanted to know.
“That was Mom on the phone,” Ali said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her emotions in check. “She says Dad’s dead. I’ve got to go.”
“Dead?” B. echoed. “Oh, Ali, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to drive you?”
Ali ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, shaking her head all the while. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m better off driving myself. Whatever’s going on, I’ll need my own transportation.”
Alonzo was in the kitchen as Ali raced through on her way to the garage. “What’s wrong?” he asked as she dashed past.
“It’s my dad,” she told him. “I’ve got to go.”
She knew that saying anything more right then would cause her to burst into tears, and she couldn’t risk that. Her mother was clearly in pieces. That meant Ali had to hold it together. On the drive from the house to her folks’ place, she might have managed to bite back tears, but that didn’t keep her limbs from shaking or calm the racing of her heart.
Blocks away from Sedona Shadows, she could see that the road ahead was blocked by a cordon of emergency vehicles parked across the street. Behind the line of flashing lights, a double-tanked gasoline truck stood jackknifed, partially on the sidewalk and partially across the road. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get any closer, Ali pulled over and parked. Getting out of the car, she dialed her mother’s number as she walked. Betsy Peterson answered.
“Edie Larson’s phone,” she said.
“Where’s my mom?” Ali demanded.
“She’s in the other room talking to two police officers. She left her phone out here with me.”
“Has she been to the scene, to wherever it happened?”
“Not yet. She tried, but officers kept her back from it.”
“Then how does she know Dad is involved?”
“Harriet, one of the dining room servers here at Sedona Shadows, was just coming on shift. She saw the whole thing firsthand. She recognized Bob and came rushing in to tell your mother. By then Edie had figured out Bob was gone. She was just getting ready to go find him.”
“But how can you say for certain he’s dead?”
There was a part of Ali that still refused to believe it was true, to accept the idea that her father was gone.
“Jack, our security guard, had to drive past the scene to go home when he got off work. He called back and said he saw someone covered with a blanket lying on the ground and that all the EMTs were just standing around doing nothing.”
Ali’s throat clenched. That was it, then—it really was true. Her father was no more.
“All right,” she managed to say aloud. “I had to park and walk. Tell Mom I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Outside the front door to Sedona Shadows, Ali had to pause for a moment and take a few deep breaths in order to prepare for the emotional onslaught that was about to engulf her. The moment the doors slid open, she found herself in a lobby full of upset and anxious people, some older than her parents and some younger. They stood and sat around in shocked dismay, speaking in low undertones. When Ali entered, utter silence fell over the room. No one said a word to her or to one another as she made her way through them.
Ali was in the corridor approaching her parents’ unit when the door opened and two people emerged, a man and a woman. She recognized the man as a detective for Sedona PD, but in that moment she couldn’t summon his name.
“Ali?” he said.
When she nodded, he must have understood her current state of bewilderment. “Detective Cox with Sedona PD,” he supplied kindly. “Wally Cox, and this is Detective Andrea Delgado. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Ali answered numbly. “How’s my mother?”
Detective Cox shook his head. “Not very well,” he said. “She should probably be under a doctor’s care. This has come as a terrible shock to her, especially considering her age.”
Ali brushed aside the age issue. What was wrong with her mother right then had nothing at all to do with age and everything to do with despair.
“What happened?” she asked. “Was it an accident?”
“We can’t say definitively at this moment. We’re in the process of securing some video surveillance footage that should tell us exactly what happened, but for right now we’re treating your father’s death as a possible suicide.”
“But…” Ali began.
“Mr. Larson left your mother a note,” Detective Cox said. “She found it on the kitchen counter when she got up.”
“He left a suicide note?” Ali asked in disbelief. “What did it say?”
Detective Cox glanced in his partner’s direction and nodded. Detective Delgado was carrying a file folder. She opened it and held it up for Ali to see. The file contained a single piece of notebook paper, no doubt torn out of the small spiral notebook her parents kept on their kitchen counter to jot down shopping lists and various reminders. The writing was sloppy. Even so, Ali recognized her father’s somewhat erratic penman-ship:
Edie, This is for the best. I’m sorry. I love you.
Bobby
“Your father’s handwriting?” Detective Delgado asked.
Before Ali could nod in confirmation, her knees began to buckle. Detective Cox took hold of her elbow and s
teadied her for a bit, then guided her to a chair.
“Maybe you should just sit for a moment,” he suggested.
“No,” Ali insisted, shaking off his hand. “I’m all right. I need to be with my mom.”
“You do understand that the note is evidence,” Detective Cox explained. “We need to take it with us for now, but we’ll return it to your mother when it’s no longer needed for our investigation.”
Ali watched in silence as Detective Delgado returned the letter to the file and closed it. Meanwhile Detective Cox reached into a pocket and withdrew a business card, which he handed to Ali.
“Here’s my contact information in case you have any questions, and again, sorry for your loss.”
Ali nodded but still said nothing. Once the two cops walked away, she rose to her feet, walked to the closed door of her parents’ apartment, and then raised her hand to knock, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so immediately. Instead she stood frozen in place for the better part of a minute because she knew that once the door opened, she would have to come face-to-face with the rest of her life—a life without her father in it.
Finally, after taking a deep breath, she knocked. When Betsy opened the door, Ali stepped inside. Her mother, still wearing her nightgown and robe, was seated at the tiny kitchen table. She seemed utterly shattered and appeared to have aged decades overnight. No longer capable of shedding tears, Edie Larson sat staring dry-eyed at the floor with a look of utter desolation on her face. She glanced up only when Ali’s feet entered her line of vision.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. “I’m the one who killed Bobby. I should have told the front desk that he wasn’t allowed to go out on his own. And what about the poor man who was driving the truck? He’s going to have to live with this for the rest of his life.”
“You’re wrong, Mom,” Ali asserted. “None of this is your fault.”
“But it is,” Edie insisted, “and a lot of it was pride on my part. I didn’t want people around us to know how bad things were. I didn’t want everyone here sticking their noses in our business. I wanted to keep what was going on with Bobby just between the two of us. I didn’t want other people involved.”