J. Jance - Hand of Evil

A few minutes later, Sandy emerged from her trailer carrying a small suitcase. “I decided to bring some extra clothes along in case I end up having to stay over.”

And that, Ali decided, was the difference between a child of the twenty-first century and a grown-up from the twentieth.

“Good thinking,” she said. “You’ll probably need them.”

Intent on making their next-of-kin notification, Detectives Larry Marsh and Hank Mendoza stepped up onto the flagstone porch and rang the bell.

The bell was answered by a man wearing a white jacket who was anything but friendly. “Yes,” he said. “May I help you?”

“We’re looking for Ms. Ashcroft,” Larry said. “Ms. Arabella Ashcroft.”

“And who might I say is calling?”

Larry produced his ID wallet and passed it inside. “I’m Detective Larry Marsh and this is my partner, Hank Mendoza. We’re with the Phoenix Police Department. Homicide.”

Larry heard a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere deep inside the house. “Was that the doorbell, Mr. Brooks? Is someone here?”

“One moment, please,” the man said. “Let me check and see if now would be a convenient time for Madam to see you.”

He closed the door quietly but very firmly in their faces.

“Madam,” Hank repeated. “Was that what I think it was-a real live butler?”

“So it would seem,” Larry replied. “And I don’t think we passed the approved visitor test.”

Several minutes elapsed, leaving the cops with little to do but admire the view. “How much do you think a place like this is worth?” Hank asked.

Larry was always perusing the real estate sections of newspapers in hopes of finding someplace cooler to go when he retired. He had researched the Sedona market and had learned that his pension would come up short when it came to retirement housing in that particular area.

“With a view like this and with as much property? I’m guessing the place is worth a bundle.”

The cops were about to give up and go away when the door opened once again. “Sorry for the delay,” the butler said, with a stiff half bow. “Madam will see you now. This way.”

The two officers followed the butler into a spacious living room where a hint of morning wood smoke from the fireplace still lingered in the air. A woman with a halo of silvery hair stood next to the cooling fireplace.

“Good morning,” she said, while the butler hovered attentively nearby. “I’m Arabella Ashcroft. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Larry said solicitously. “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”

“What kind of bad news?” Arabella asked. “Mr. Brooks said you’re with Homicide. Does that mean someone has been murdered?”

“Yes,” Larry said. “It does. Your nephew, William Ashcroft, was found murdered Tuesday morning in the South Mountain Preserve.”

Arabella staggered slightly and raised her hand to her chest. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, making her way to a nearby chair. “This is dreadful. Billy’s dead? How can that be? He was here just the other day, and he was fine then, perfectly fine. What day was that when he was here, Mr. Brooks? Do you remember?”

“It was Sunday,” the butler replied. “Sunday afternoon.”

“As far as we can ascertain, Ms. Ashcroft, you’re his only living relative,” Detective Marsh continued. “We understand he has an ex-wife, somewhere, but so far we’ve been unable to locate her. We found you through Mr. Ashcroft’s phone records.”

“Oh, dear,” Arabella said. “I’m forgetting my manners. Do sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. And would you care for something to drink-coffee, tea?”

“Coffee would be great,” Hank said, settling onto a couch.

Detective Marsh nodded in agreement. “I’d like coffee, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, is it, Mr. Brooks,” she said. “Do bring them some. And while you’re at it, you might bring me something a bit stronger. This has been a terrible shock.”

“I think it was those kids,” Sandy Mitchell said as they headed south on I-17. “And that means that everything that happened is all my fault.”

“Which kids?” Ali asked.

“You know. The ones I carded at the store. The one was especially obnoxious. He was making a scene and giving me all kinds of grief. And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there’s Kip, standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and looking sweet and funny and fierce all at the same time. At first the kid just ignored him. I think he thought it was some kind of joke. Then Kip grabbed his sleeve, lifted him off the ground-Kip’s very strong you know-and told him to get out or he’d…” Sandy looked uncomfortable, and gestured with her head toward the backseat where Crystal was sitting.

“Or he’d what?” Ali asked.

“You know. Shove those flowers up his…” Sandy stopped then continued, “That’s when the kids finally got it-that Kip meant what he was saying. So they left. Didn’t even finish buying the rest of their groceries. Just left them there on my check stand.”

Somehow Ali doubted that the phrase shove up your ass was something that would offend Crystal Holman’s thirteen-year-old, none-too-tender sensibilities, but it was nice that Sandy Mitchell thought it might. Besides, Crystal appeared to be lost in her music and was paying no attention to anything being said in the front seat.

“It was really wonderful,” Sandy continued wistfully. “When he chased them off like that, I felt like I’d been rescued by a knight in shining armor.”

Sandra Mitchell was sixty-something if she was a day. She’d put on some hard miles. She was a dumpy plain jane, yet Kip Hogan-the very scary Kip Hogan-had made her feel like some latter-day Guinevere. To Ali’s way of thinking, that was nothing short of astonishing.

“I know the kids left the store then, but I don’t know if they left the parking lot. I’m wondering if they didn’t follow Kip when he left the store. I’m betting they waited around until he was alone and then they beat the crap out of him. Three to one isn’t a fair fight.”

“And where exactly did the cops find Kip?” Ali asked. “You never did say.”

“Just off the freeway at Mund’s Park,” Sandy said. “Around eleven somebody called nine-one-one from the gas station on the other side of the interstate and reported a fight in progress. Cops were dispatched to the scene. That’s where they found him. He was in such bad shape that they took him out in a helicopter.”

Yes, Ali definitely remembered seeing the helicopter when she’d been with her father at the rest area. She also remembered seeing emergency vehicles still assembled around Mund’s Park when she had gone there to pick up Crystal. She had assumed she was seeing the tail-end of some traffic mishap. Now it seemed otherwise.

Using the rearview mirror, Ali glanced into the backseat. For some reason, Crystal had removed her earphones. She was sitting with her arms folded across her chest, staring out the window. She seemed to be hearing none of the conversation, but something about her bearing put Ali on edge. She was listening, all right, listening with avid attention, but without wanting anyone to know what she was doing. Ali wasn’t her mother’s daughter for nothing.

“Crystal,” Ali said. “Did you see anything out of line that night?”

Crystal jumped and feigned ignorance. “What?” she asked.

“You were at Mund’s Park that same night Kip Hogan was attacked. Did you see any of that?”

“No,” Crystal answered without hesitation. “I didn’t see a thing.”

Ali knew for a fact that the girl was lying, but if Crystal had witnessed some of the horrific attack on Kip, it was possible she was lying for good reason-because she was petrified.