J. Jance - Hand of Evil

Despite her father’s reassurances, Ali noticed that when she reached to turn the key in the ignition, her hand was trembling. She knew for a fact that her involuntary tremor had nothing to do with the icy temperatures. Not looking at Bob, she quickly turned up the heater and switched on the heated seats.

“Where would Kip go?” Ali asked, more to take her mind off the rapidly disappearing helicopter than because she wanted to know the answer.

“You mean if he isn’t timed out in a bar someplace?” Clearly Bob Larson was still bent out of shape by his missing handyman. Just because his precious Bronco wasn’t irretrievably broken didn’t mean he was prepared to let Kip Hogan off the hook.

“I mean where did he come from before he ended up in that homeless encampment up on the Rim?” Ali asked. “He must have family somewhere.”

“Probably,” Bob agreed. “But I have no idea where. All in all I’d have to say Kip was a pretty close-mouthed son of a bitch.”

“But everybody’s from somewhere,” Ali objected.

Her father gave her a disparaging look. “You don’t understand, Ali. If you’re going to work with certain kinds of people-with the Kip Hogans of the world-you have to get used to taking them at face value. You have to go with what they tell you-with what they want to tell you. You can assume whatever they say is a bunch of baloney, but you have to treat it like it’s the truth, otherwise you lose them. Understand?”

“I think so,” Ali said, but she wasn’t at all sure she did.

They sat in the car in an extended period of silence while the heater gradually warmed up the SUV’s interior. “I’m going to miss him,” Bob said at last. “He was a big help around the place. Your mother can call me an old fool until hell freezes over, but even she would have to agree with me on that one. Kip Hogan was an excellent worker, and right up until today he was totally dependable.”

“At least you didn’t lose the Bronco,” Ali commented, hoping to lift his spirits.

It took a little over an hour for the tow truck to show up and another hour after that to get the Bronco hauled to the secured area of a local garage. By the time Ali dropped her father off at her parents’, it was after one in the morning. Back home, Ali parked next to Chris’s Prius. Glad he was there, she was happy to creep into her own room and tumble into bed, where she fell asleep immediately. It seemed as though she’d been sleeping for only a matter of minutes when the phone rang again. As she fumbled to answer it, the clock on her bedside radio showed it was four-fifteen.

“Hello.”

“Ali,” Dave Holman said quickly. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but you said I should call you day or night.”

Ali switched on her bedside lamp and sat up. “Where are you, and did you find Crystal?” she asked. “Is she okay?”

“I’m in Vegas,” Dave said. “I just checked into the hotel, and we sort of found Crystal. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Sort of?” Ali repeated. “How can you sort of find her? Either you have or you haven’t.”

“She called me on my cell a little while ago and wanted me to come get her.”

“Great!” Ali exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!”

“Except she’s in Mund’s Park and I’m in Vegas,” Dave returned.

Mund’s Park was a way station on I-17, a few miles south of Flagstaff. It was forty miles and an hour’s drive from Sedona.

“It would take hours for me to get back to where she is,” Dave continued. “I offered to have the sheriff’s department send a patrol car to pick her up, and she totally freaked-like I was trying to have her arrested or something. And that’s why I’m calling you. Would you go pick her up, Ali? If you could take her to your place long enough for me to get back there…”

“I’ll be glad to,” Ali responded. “Where is she again?”

“That’s the thing,” Dave answered. “She called on her cell phone. She said she’s all right, but she wouldn’t tell me exactly where she was until I promised I wouldn’t send a cop car for her. We finally settled on my calling you. She said you should call on her cell and she’ll give you directions about where to come to get her. Jeez, Ali! The idea that she’s out there in the dark and the cold all by herself…”

Dave’s final sentence faded away, but Ali had heard the hard edge of anger in his voice-anger and relief and frustration all mixed together. By then she was already scrambling out of bed.

“I’m on my way,” Ali said. “Just let me find a pencil so I can write down the number.” While Ali searched frantically through the debris on her bedside desk, a concerned Chris appeared in her doorway.

“Mom,” he said. “I heard the phone. Is something the matter?”

“It’s Dave,” Ali said, waving him aside. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

Giving his mother a disapproving shake of his head, Chris disappeared back down the hallway.

“Okay,” Ali said. “I’ve got a pencil finally. Give me the number.”

She took it down. “All right,” she said. “I’ll call her as soon as you hang up.”

“I really appreciate this, Ali,” Dave said. “You have no idea how much.”

“Let’s just say it’s a little bit of payback,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m not going to cancel the Amber Alert or tell Roxie what’s happened until after I hear back from you and know for sure she’s in your car,” Dave continued. “Is that all right with you?”

“Sure,” Ali said. “That’s fine.”

“Thanks again,” Dave said. Then he hung up.

Ali immediately dialed the number he had given her. “Hello.” Ali could tell it was the voice of a young girl. “Who is this?”

“My name is Ali Reynolds. I’m a friend of Dave Holman’s. Is this Crystal?”

“Are you a cop?” the girl asked without answering.

“No, I’m not a cop,” Ali replied. “I’m a friend of Dave’s. Now tell me, is this Crystal Holman or not?”

“Yes,” a small voice answered.

“Where are you?”

“Mund’s Park.”

“I know you’re in Mund’s Park,” Ali said. “Your father already told me that much. Where in Mund’s Park?”

“The restaurant is closed right now,” Crystal said. “Just pull into the parking lot and wait there. I’ll come to you. What kind of a car will you be driving?”

“It’s an SUV,” Ali said. “A blue SUV.”

“Okay. Just pull into the restaurant parking lot and turn your lights off and on,” Crystal said. “I’ll be able to see them and come to you.”

Mund’s Park, a natural clearing in the forest of the Mogollon Rim, had once been the summer headquarters for a major cattle-grazing operation homesteaded by a guy named James Mund, but the cattle were long gone. Now Mund’s Park’s wintertime major claim to fame was as the only gas station stop on I-17 between Verde Valley and Flagstaff. There were a few hardy souls who lived there year-round, but many of the residents were of the “summer only” variety. That meant that during the winter months a lot of cabins and campers sat empty, and Ali knew that unoccupied homes were often attractive to certain segments of society.

“Did you break into someone’s house?” Ali asked.

Crystal said nothing, and that was answer enough. No wonder she didn’t want her father to send a cop car to pick her up.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Ali told her.

Ending that call, she redialed Dave’s number. “Okay,” she said. “I’ve talked to Crystal. She told me where to meet her.”

“Thank God,” Dave breathed.

The relief in his voice was heart-wrenchingly apparent. Ali could find no good reason to mention the breaking-and-entering part of the equation. As a law enforcement professional, Dave would probably figure that out on his own soon enough.