J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 1: Web of Evil, Hand of Evil, Cruel Intent (48 page)

Crystal’s phone vibrated impatiently. “Detective Farris from Flagstaff is here interviewing Sandy,” Ali told him. “And we now have a set of composite drawings of the guys Kip confronted the other day.”

“Are they the same ones who beat him up?” Bob asked.

“Could be,” Ali answered. “We don’t know that for sure.”

Bob glanced at Crystal, who was still sprawled on the love seat. “What’s going on with her?” he asked. “Is she okay?”

“She claims to be sick,” Ali said. “But I’m not sure I believe her.” With that, Ali walked over to the love seat.

“Sit up, Crystal,” she ordered. “I need to talk to you.”

Crystal uncovered her eyes, but she didn’t move. “What?” she asked.

“I have errands to run,” Ali told her. “My dad’s here. He’s your babysitter for the moment, and he’s going to watch you like a hawk. If you know what’s good for you, by the time I get back, you’ll have spilled your guts to Detective Farris. Otherwise I’ll tell him you’ve been withholding information in a homicide investigation. I believe that qualifies as a felony, by the way.”

With that Ali turned and headed toward the door with the phone still vibrating in her pocket and with her father padding along after her.

“Aren’t you being a little tough on her?” Bob Larson asked.

“Not nearly tough enough,” Ali replied. “And I’m serious. Keep an eye on her. She’s already run off once today, and she’ll do it again if you give her half a chance.”

“But where are you going?” Bob wanted to know.

“Out,” Ali said. “There’s something I need to do.”

“When will you be back?”

“When I can.” Realizing that she, too, was sounding like a rebellious teenager, Ali hurried outside and extracted Crystal’s vibrating telephone.

“RUOK?” CU wanted to know. “IWSN”

Ali’s stomach tightened into a knot. IWSN was a parental red flag for I want sex now.

You turd,
she thought. “ME2,” Ali wrote.

“WAW” That translated into where and when?

Headed for her car in the garage, Ali scrambled for an answer. She needed a place with enough vehicle traffic that her Cayenne would blend in. She also needed a spot where, conceivably, Crystal could arrive on foot.

“CFEE SHP ON THOMAS,” Ali wrote.

“CUT” That would be IM-speak for see you there.

And I will see you there, you worthless jerk,
Ali thought grimly.
I just won’t be the thirteen-year-old you’re expecting.

I
t took less than three minutes for Ali to exit the parking garage and make it to the parking lot of the dingy coffee shop across from the hospital. She pulled into a space next to a uniform store and waited. Minutes later, and even though she was expecting it—waiting for it—she was shocked when a white Ford Explorer nosed slowly through the parking lot without stopping.

Suddenly meeting up with CU was no longer a remote possibility. It was all too real. What would she say to Curt? Apprehensive about the coming confrontation, a combination of fear and rage swept through her. Ali’s heart sped up. Her hands began to cramp.

A few minutes later, the Explorer was back. Again it didn’t stop, but the second time through the lot, Ali managed to jot down the license number. The third time it pulled into a space directly in front of the restaurant and stayed there for several minutes with the engine idling. No one got in or out, and the tint-darkened windows made it impossible for Ali to see inside. With her palms wet with sweat, Ali gripped the steering wheel. She had managed to lure CU out into the open, but she had no idea what his next move would be or hers, either.

With her full attention focused on the Explorer, Ali jumped involuntarily when Crystal’s phone sprang to life and buzzed again.

“HERE,” CU wrote. “WAU?” Where are you?

“TRYING TGTHOOH,” Ali added. Trying to get the hell out of here.

“TRY HARDER,” CU wrote back. “TYPO.” Take your panties off.

The idea that he was trying to lure someone as young as Crystal out of the hospital for quickie sex made Ali furious. Stymied by the tinted windows, Ali was almost to the point of exiting the Cayenne to see if she could get a better look inside the Explorer. That’s when her own phone rang. She had to put Crystal’s phone down before she could answer.

“Ali?” a woman said. “Arabella Ashcroft here. Have you read it yet?”

“Read what?” Ali asked.

“The diary,” Arabella answered impatiently.

Guiltily Ali realized that the mostly unread diary was still where she had left it the night before—in her purse.

“No,” Ali admitted. “I’ve been caught up in a crisis. I haven’t had a chance.”

“That’s probably just as well,” Arabella replied. “Things have changed on my end, too. I don’t need you to read it after all. If you’d be so kind as to just drop it off here when you have a chance.”

Crystal’s phone was buzzed again. “CNT W8 ALL DAY. MYB.” Move your butt. Clearly CU was running out of patience.

“I’ll have to get back to you on this,” Ali said to Arabella. “I’m in Phoenix right now and busy.”

“Certainly,” Arabella said. “At your convenience. There’s no rush.”

“PLS,” Ali wrote. Please. But by then the Explorer was already backing out of the parking place. As it eased south on Third, Ali made a split-second decision. She put the Cayenne in gear and followed. Traffic was a mess. It was all she could do to keep the Explorer in view while at the same time trying to remain unobtrusive. There was sweat on her face now, slipping down her forehead and dripping into her eyes; soaking the back of her shirt.

Despite CU’s apparent impatience with Crystal—or at least with the person he thought was Crystal—the man didn’t seem to be in that big of a rush to leave the neighborhood. Ali’s frantic reality slipped into a strange slow motion. Time seemed to stand still. She followed the SUV as the driver made his way back across Thomas and cruised around the hospital grounds, probably checking to see if Crystal was actually on her way. He stopped briefly at a passenger loading zone right next to the hospital entrance. For a heart-stopping moment, Ali was afraid he was going to leave the Explorer with the valet and go inside looking for Crystal. Finally, though, he drove away and headed west on Thomas. Hoping to stay out of sight, Ali delayed as long as she could before turning onto Thomas several car lengths back and following him into what was fast turning into afternoon gridlock.

Intent on her pursuit, Ali was startled when her phone rang while she was stopped at the light at 19th and Thomas. Grabbing it up, she was relieved to see Dave’s number in the readout.

“Court just recessed for today,” he told her. “I didn’t get called, which means I’ll have to be back here tomorrow. So where are you? Should I head for Phoenix or back home to Sedona?”

Ali was in full crisis mode, and the very sound of Dave’s calm, unruffled voice helped her get a grip.

“You should probably come on down to Phoenix—to the hospital,” she said.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but you sound funny. Are you all right?”

Ali was a long way from all right. The light changed and traffic inched toward the freeway, but the Explorer didn’t make it through on that cycle, and neither did Ali.

“I’m stuck in traffic,” she said. “And I need your help.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to run a plate for me.”

“Run a plate?” Dave repeated. “Have you switched over to cop lingo now?”

Ali read off the letters and number. “Please,” she added when she finished. “Just run it.”

“You realize it’s against regulations to run a plate for private use?”

Ali took a deep breath. “It’s about Crystal,” she said.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Ali hung up. The Explorer turned onto the eastbound I-10 entrance ramp at Thomas and waited for the metered traffic light to allow it to merge onto the crowded freeway. Ali followed suit. Once on the freeway, the Explorer cut in and out of traffic, forcing Ali to do the same. Even so, it took the better part of an anxiety-ridden hour of nail-biting to travel from there to where the Explorer exited onto eastbound U.S. 60.

While she waited for Dave to call back, Ali worried about what she would tell him. She had used a possible connection to Crystal to galvanize him to action. Ali knew that sooner or later she would have to tell him what was really going on with his wayward daughter. Crystal wasn’t ever going to tell him. That would be up to Ali. Between worrying about telling Dave about Crystal’s issues and dreading the coming confrontation with the driver of the Explorer, Ali’s stress level was off the charts.

“Got it,” Dave said when he finally called back. “The 2001 Ford Explorer belongs to Curtis Wilson Uttley of 101 Blue Spruce Circle, Flagstaff, Arizona. Who is he? What’s going on?”

So CU was Curtis Uttley. That made sense, but before Ali could answer, she realized that the Explorer was headed for the exit ramp at McClintock. With traffic the way it was, Ali realized she could either drive or talk. She couldn’t do both.

“Thanks, Dave,” she said. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

At the light, the Explorer turned right on the red and headed south. Unfortunately, the vehicle two cars in front of Ali decided to go straight through the intersection. Ali was forced to wait interminably until the light finally turned green. By the time she made the corner, the Explorer had vanished.

For the next several minutes, Ali cruised the neighborhood streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of where the Explorer had gone. A Roto-Rooter truck was parked in front of one of the houses, but that was the only sign of life. Ali saw no pedestrians on the street, no joggers or kids out riding bikes, no people she could have asked for help in tracking down exactly where the missing SUV had gone.

Shaking with a combination of frayed nerves, letdown, and frustration, Ali eventually had to give it up and head back to Phoenix. On the way, she picked up her phone and called Dave back.

He answered right away. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I was driving,” she said. “Traffic was bad.”

“Tell me about Curtis Uttley’s vehicle. Where did you spot it? Was he driving it or was somebody else?”

“I was following it, but I lost it over in Tempe,” Ali said. “And I have no idea who was driving it. I couldn’t see inside. Why?”

“Because that vehicle is listed on a BOLO, a be-on-the-lookout-for, in a missing persons case out of Flagstaff,” Dave said. “Curtis Uttley reportedly left there on Tuesday night, supposedly to visit one of the casinos down in Scottsdale. He evidently has a bit of a gambling problem. His wife didn’t bother reporting him missing until today. Now tell me,” Dave added. “What’s going on?”

Ali felt her heart constrict as she found herself wondering if the CU who had been sending text messages to Crystal’s phone had been someone else and not the real Curtis Uttley at all. She had been pretending to be Crystal. Maybe someone else had been pretending to be Curtis Uttley. Clearly turnabout was fair play.

“I’m afraid this particular missing person may have far more serious problems than gambling,” Ali said.

“Why?” Dave asked. “What makes you say that?”

Ali didn’t answer directly. “Are you on your way here now?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” Dave said. “Why?”

“Because,” Ali told him. “We need to talk.”

Ali returned to the hospital to find Madeline Havens gone. Crystal was closeted with Detective Farris in a small conference room just off the lobby, and Bob Larson was still commiserating with Sandy Mitchell. If there had been any change in Kip’s situation, no one had bothered to come let Sandy know. That was where things stood when Edie Larson appeared on the scene.

Bob seemed surprised to see his wife. “What are you doing here?” he wanted to know.

“I had to come,” Edie declared. “No one’s exactly burning up the phone lines between here and Sedona letting me know what’s going on.”

“That’s because we don’t know. They’re not telling us anything,” Bob returned. “If he’s out of surgery, they may have taken him to the ICU.”

“Why don’t we find out then?” Edie asked. “Which way is the ICU? Let me go rattle a few cages.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bob offered, and off they went.

Once they were gone, Ali walked over to the conference room door and pushed it open. To Detective Farris’s obvious annoyance, Ali let herself into the room and placed Crystal’s cell phone on the table between them.

“What’s this?” Farris demanded. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

“Let me guess,” Ali said. “Crystal has told you that she was with some guy the other night but that she has no idea who he was or how to get in touch with him, right?”

Farris studied Ali somberly for a moment then nodded. Ali, in turn, directed her remarks to Crystal. “A woman from Flagstaff reported her husband missing this morning,” Ali continued. “His name is Curtis Uttley. Sound familiar, Crystal? And it happens that somebody using the name CU has been sending you text messages all afternoon. He’s been trying to be in touch; wanting to meet up with you in person. In fact, he came here to the hospital a little while ago, looking for you. He was driving a white Ford Explorer. Does that ring any bells?”

Crystal’s cheeks paled. “He, like, actually came here?” she asked.

Ali nodded. “He actually did,” she returned. “You didn’t happen to have your phone in your possession, but I did. So I’ve been texting him back for you. And because you weren’t straight with me and didn’t tell me what I was really dealing with, I followed him all the way to Tempe before I lost him. What do you think would have happened to me if I’d caught up with him?”

Refusing to meet Ali’s gaze, Crystal studied her hands and said nothing. “So what’s the deal, Crystal?” Ali prodded. “Did you tell Detective Farris exactly what you and Curtis Uttley were doing there in Mund’s Park the other night?”

“Making out,” Detective Farris supplied.

“I thought that’s what she’d say,” Ali said. “Actually they were doing quite a bit more than that, Detective Farris. So maybe it’s time you started the interview over again from scratch. And maybe this time Crystal will be kind enough to tell you what was really going on up there at Mund’s Park—and I do mean all of it. Like how she got there from Vegas and how she hooked up with Mr. Uttley. And don’t bother telling Detective Farris that you didn’t get a look at Mr. Hogan’s attackers. I know from hearing you barf your guts out in the ladies’ room that you recognized at least one of them. I’m guessing Curtis Uttley did, too, and that’s why he’s gone missing. He’s hiding out.”

Ali waited to see if Crystal would say anything. She didn’t.

“You might want to move along with that interview,” Ali continued. “With any luck, you’ll be finished before your father gets here.”

“Dad’s coming?” Crystal asked faintly.

“Yes, he is,” Ali said. “And believe me, he’s going to get an earful.”

With that, Ali left the conference room. Out in the lobby, Bob and Edie were nowhere to be seen. Sandy sat alone, deeply immersed in reading what seemed to be a Bible. Rather than interrupting her, Ali found a chair in a relatively quiet corner and turned on her computer. She planned to check for cutloose correspondence. Instead, on a whim, she logged on to the Internet and Googled Curtis Uttley. It turned out there were any number of listings, most of them talking about Curtis’s reputation as a trophy-winning coach of girls’ softball and soccer teams. The most recent mentions came as a result of coaching teams in the Flagstaff area. Previous items came from towns in Texas, Kansas, and California.

A rolling stone gathering no moss,
Ali concluded.
And with an endless supply of adolescent girls. What more could a pedophile want?