J. Jance - Deadly Stakes

“I thought maybe you could tell me.”

“No idea,” B. replied, “but I’ve got Dave Holman on the other line. I’m still at the fire. He was trying to get them to let me past the perimeter, but it’s not working. Let me call you back.”

“Wait,” Stuart said. “If Dave’s on the line, where is he?”

“At the Sheriff’s Department in Prescott. Why?”

“Doris Ralston’s son, Chip, is still in the lockup there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. Dave told me that once he’s off the phone, he’s going over to the jail to let Chip know about the fire.”

“While he’s there, have him ask Chip if he knows who would be staying in his mother’s condo in Vegas.”

“Anything else?” B. asked.

Still accessing the information from Ali’s iPad, Stu switched over to her notes file and scrolled through the most recent items, focusing on the last one-the note containing the information on Jack and Gloria Manning. The time stamp on that note, which Ali had written bare minutes before the arrival of Stu’s message about Barry Handraker, meant that the information had to be something she had gleaned from her interview with Molly Handraker.

“Ask Dave to mention the names Jack and Gloria Manning to Chip Ralston. See if he has any idea why those names might have come up this morning when Ali was questioning Molly.”

“Will do,” B. answered. “What’s happening to the iPad?”

“Nothing,” Stu answered. “It’s in the same spot. But here’s one more possible assignment for Dave. I can do it if I have to, but it’ll be easier and faster if Dave makes the call for us. Have him check with the DMV to see what vehicles are licensed to Doris Ralston’s address on Upper Glen Road. I’m betting one of them will turn out to be that same S550 that followed Ali’s Cayenne into the Renewal Center’s parking lot. Tell him I need the VIN.”

“I’ll get back to you,” B. said. He sounded more like himself, energized and determined. “Thank you, Stu. At least I have a tiny thread of hope that Ali is alive.”

“Just because the iPad’s there doesn’t mean she is,” Stu cautioned.

“It doesn’t mean that she isn’t, either. But thinking she’s still alive and in a vehicle in Kingman is better than thinking she’s up the street in the charred remains of that house. If she’s in Kingman, I’m going there, too.”

“That’s got to be close to two hundred miles from where you are right now,” Stu objected.

“Yes, it is, and that’s why, while I’m on the phone with Dave, I need you to call a charter company for me,” B. said urgently. “Heli-Pros is a helicopter charter outfit based at the FBO at Scottsdale Airport. I’ve worked with them before. Tell them I’m going to need one of their aircraft fueled and ready to go in forty-five minutes to an hour. Wherever that signal is going, that’s where I’m going.”

Once B. hung up, Stuart did as he was asked and soon discovered that as far as Heli-Pros was concerned, B. Simpson’s name was nothing short of a magic wand. With assurances that a pilot and fully fueled helicopter would be awaiting B.’s arrival at the airport, Stuart focused again on the Find My Device screen. Unfortunately, Ali’s iPad was no longer visible.

Staring at a stationary picture on the screen was useless. Instead, Stuart returned to his favorite pastime-data mining. He had already succeeded in getting Molly Handraker’s telephone billing information. What Stuart needed now was a lot more complicated. He was fully engaged in the project when B. called him back.

“Anything more from Find My Device?” he asked.

“Not so far. I’ve looked on the cell tower maps, though, and on the far side of Kingman, coverage is spotty. So don’t worry. If they’re going that way, it may just be that the iPad has moved out of range.”

“On Ali’s list of devices, there’s a phone called Extra. Where’s that one?”

“Probably at home in Sedona,” B. said. “It’s not even turned on.”

“Any chance you could stop by Sedona on your way to Kingman and pick it up?”

“I suppose,” B. agreed reluctantly. “Are you sure we need another phone? Can’t we use mine?”

“No,” Stuart insisted. “We need that phone. Tell Leland Brooks to bring it to the airport, and no matter what, don’t turn it on. By the way, are you packing?”

“You mean as in carrying a weapon? Not me. Ali’s the one with a CWP.”

“You’d best be prepared,” Stuart warned. “See if Leland Brooks can pick up a sidearm or at least some kind of weapon for you to have on hand. Barry Handraker is evil. If you end up in some kind of confrontation with the guy, it’s better to be prepared.”

“All right. When I meet up with the pilot, I’ll check with him, too. I know from flying with them in the past that some of their guys are ex-Special Forces. In the meantime, here’s the rest of the information you wanted. Chip Ralston’s mother does own an S550. Here’s the VIN.” As B. read off the number, Stuart jotted it down. “She also owns a seafrost-green 2006 Jaguar XJ8 L. According to Chip, Jack and Gloria Manning were once good friends with the Ralstons. Gloria died two years ago, and Chip thinks Jack may have remarried. He has no idea why someone would have mentioned them to Ali. He also has no idea who might be living in his mother’s condo in Turnberry Towers. As far as he knew, the unit was unoccupied. His father bought it as an estate tax dodge and didn’t live long enough to use it.”

Stuart jotted a note, giving himself yet another security surveillance system to target.

“Dave put in a call to the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office,” B. went on, “but they weren’t the least bit helpful. All we have for sure is an iPad that’s somewhere it shouldn’t be, and the department’s official position is that they don’t have the personnel to go chasing after someone’s stolen electronic equipment, especially since the iPad disappeared from one jurisdiction, Dave is from a second, and the iPad is in a third. Dave tried to get them to put out a BOLO on the S550. They nixed that, too. Until we get something solid on the fire-until somebody from Phoenix PD says for sure it’s arson or fatality arson-nobody’s lifting a finger. So Dave’s going to stay on that problem. Right now they’re talking warrants. Dave’s our best bet for getting a statewide APB out on that S550.”

“How long will that take?”

“Who knows?” B. growled. “Could as well be forever. Whoever’s running the show there right now doesn’t want to risk the possibility of one of those high-speed chases. We all know how dangerous those can be.”

Stu heard the sarcasm in B.’s voice. “Those sound a lot like weasel words to me,” he observed.

“Of course they’re weasel words,” B. agreed. “But just because Phoenix PD is standing around with their politically correct thumbs up their butts doesn’t mean you and I have to.”

Stu got the unspoken message loud and clear. B. was telling him that it was time for him to unleash his considerable hacking skills, knowing full well that most of what he found would never hold up in a court of law.

“In other words, when it comes to saving Ali’s bacon, we’re it,” Stu said.

“For the time being,” B. said. “At least until Dave jars loose that APB. My hope is that once he does, we’ll be able to point responding officers in the right direction.”

“With any kind of luck, we’ll be able to do far more than point. We’ll be able to give them an exact location. That’s where the phone comes in.”

“We’ll have the phone with us. How’s that going to help us?”

“I’ll be using someone else’s phone to find them. Once we locate Ali, that phone will need to be turned on and on her person. I don’t care where you put it. It can be in her bra or her panties, for all I care. But she’s got to have it with her so we can claim that’s how we found her.”