J. Jance - Left for Dead

“Jose’s been moved out of ICU. The girls and I are on our way to tell him that the baby is fine.”

“How about Teresa?”

“In recovery,” Ali said, “and the less said about that, the better. But here’s something you should take a look at.” She cued up Stuart’s photos and passed her iPhone to Sister Anselm.

Sister Anselm studied the photos. “It looks like he’s deliberately concealing his features.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ali agreed.

“Can we go now?” Lucy insisted. “Please! And I need to go potty.”

Taking the phone back and hoisting Carinda onto her hip, Ali set off toward reception. The hospital was laid out with wings spreading out from a central hub. After a stop at the first available restroom, they went to admitting, where they were given directions to Jose’s new room.

Jose greeted them with a wan smile. “Hey,” he croaked. “How are my girls?”

“Daddy, Daddy!” Lucy exclaimed. “We’ve got a brother. He’s real little. And he’s all red.”

Jose looked to Ali for confirmation. “Isn’t this too early?”

“Evidently not,” Ali said. “We just came from the nursery. He’s fine.”

“And Teresa?”

“She’s in recovery. She had to have a C-section.”

“What’s a C-section?” Lucy asked again. Ali hadn’t answered the question the first time, and she didn’t this time, either.

“Is she all right?” Jose asked.

“As far as we know,” Ali said. “Your mother-in-law is with her. I’ve called a friend in Tucson to come help out with the girls.” Whoever had transported Jose from the ICU had been kind enough to collect the stash of kids’ stuff from the waiting room. Ali parked both girls in a chair, handed them a sticker book, and turned her attention to Jose.

“I can’t believe it’s Sunday,” he said. “How can I have lost two whole days?”

“It’s easy,” Ali said.

“But what are you doing here?”

“I came to help when Donnatelle had to leave.”

“Donnatelle? From the academy? From Yuma? She was here, too? Did I see her?”

“No. Teresa was the only visitor allowed in the ICU.”

“How did Donnatelle find out about it?”

“A Blue Alert went out on Saturday morning. She came as soon as she got off her shift.”

“It’s like you all thought I was gonna die.”

“You came very close,” Ali said. “So who did this? Do you have any idea?”

He frowned. “It’s fuzzy. I was at work. I was making a traffic stop, and then bam. The next thing I knew, someone-a woman, I think-shot me in the gut.”

“Tummy,” Lucy corrected from the chair. “‘Gut’ isn’t a nice word. Can we see your owie?”

“Did they catch her?” Jose asked.

Ali shook her head. “Do you know who it was?”

“Not a clue,” Jose said. “That’s all I remember: an older woman with cataract glasses. And a scarf, I think. Yes. She was definitely wearing a scarf.”

Ali took out her phone and dialed Juanita Cisco’s number. “One of your clients is awake at the moment,” Ali said when the attorney answered. “For someone who’s been out of it for a day and a half, he’s making pretty good sense. You’d better come talk to him before Lattimore gets a crack at him.”

Jose was frowning when Ali got off the phone. “Who was that on the phone? And who is Lattimore?”

“Lattimore is the DPS agent investigating your shooting. The woman on the phone is Juanita Cisco, your attorney.”

“Why would I need an attorney? I’m the one who got shot. The woman who shot me is the one who needs an attorney.”

“That’s what you’d think,” Ali said. “Unfortunately, you’d be dead wrong.”

3:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11

Tucson, Arizona

It took two and a half hours for Al Gutierrez to drive from Tucson to Buckeye and locate the address he had found online. The neighborhood was nicer than he had expected: fairly new houses, most of them with desert landscaping in the front and pools in the back.

Much to his frustration, when he arrived at the right house and rang the bell, no one was home. He went back to the car and waited there for a while. Eventually, he began losing heart. What if Rose Ventana’s family had moved away for good? What if they were out of town on a trip of some kind? Finally, Al went knocking on doors and got lucky the first time out.

“Jim’s at work,” the woman next door told him helpfully. “He doesn’t usually get home until almost dinnertime. On Sundays, Connie and the girls spend most of the day at church. I can take a message for them.”

Al didn’t want to leave a message. He had driven over a hundred miles, one way, to talk to Rose Ventana’s family in person. That was the whole point.

“No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll go grab some food and come back later.”

He went to a nearby Pollo Loco, where he stayed until a quarter past five. Al had gleaned a lot of information about the family from the articles. He wanted to be sure James Fox would be home when it came time to deliver the news. Al expected it would be easier to speak to the stepfather and harder to speak to the mother and sisters. It had been three years, but he was pretty sure they were still grieving.

When he drove up to the house the second time, a BMW sedan was parked in the driveway, and a man with a Michelob Ultra in hand sat on a lawn chair on a covered front patio. Al recognized the man from the photos. This was definitely the stepfather, although he had aged considerably since the first television interview three years earlier.

The whole time Al was driving, he had contemplated how he would approach the family. He wanted to be thorough, calm, and convincing. If it had been a matter of straight good news or bad news, he suspected it would have been simpler. He could tell them that he believed their daughter was alive. At least she had been alive the last time he saw her, and he hoped she still was, though there was always a chance that she would die before they could get there.

“Mr. Fox?” Al asked, holding out his hand. “My name is Alonzo Gutierrez.”

James Fox ignored the hand and took a drink of his beer while studying Al’s face with an unapologetic stare. “My next-door neighbor said somebody stopped by earlier looking for us. Was that you?”

Al nodded.

“She said you looked like a cop. Are you?”

“Not exactly. Border Patrol.”

“Well, Mr. Border Patrol,” James Fox said sarcastically, “what do you want?”

This wasn’t starting off the way Al had anticipated. Fox seemed hostile and angry and not the least bit welcoming.

“It’s about your daughter,” Al said. “It’s about Rose.”

“Sure it is,” Fox said. “First of all, Rose is my stepdaughter, not my daughter. Second of all, she’s dead. She died three years ago. I suppose you’re here claiming you found the body?”

“It’s possible she isn’t dead-” Al began.

Fox ignored the interruption. “In that three years, my family has been through enough hell to last a lifetime. We don’t need any more worthless yahoos showing up trying to jack my wife around by lifting money out of her pocket. They always claim they know where Rose is and say they’ll help us find her and all kinds of claptrap. Some of ’em are psychics; all of ’em are jerks; but they all have one thing in common: They claim they can tell Connie exactly what happened to her daughter, and all she has to do is cough up a thousand bucks. Or two. We’re not playing that game anymore, and we’re not going through this again. It hurts too much. Now get the hell out of here before my wife gets home.”

“I’m not asking for money,” Al countered. “I just wanted to let you know that I believe I know what happened to her-to your stepdaughter. Someone beat her up pretty badly on Friday and left her for dead. She was found near Three Points, which is west of Ryan Field. She’s in the ICU in Physicians Medical Center. I believe she’s alive, although I don’t know that for sure.”