J. Jance - Hand of Evil

Sandy was quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, she seemed not to have noticed any of the byplay between Ali and Crystal.

“I didn’t want to tell your dad about this because I didn’t want to upset him,” Sandy said. “But the person at the hospital told me that Kip is in very serious condition. Critical condition. What if they’re trying to locate his next of kin in case they need to pull the plug?”

“What do you know about his family?” Ali returned.

“Not much,” Sandy admitted. “All he said was that they were estranged-that he hadn’t spoken to his mother in years.”

“Did he tell you why?” Ali asked.

“No.”

“And he never gave you any kind of a hint as to where he was from?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he grew up somewhere here in Arizona. I picked that up from little comments he made now and then, but he never said where exactly.”

As a journalist, Ali knew that the Internet had, at the click of a mouse, made searches available to a lot of non-law-enforcement people who would never have been able to access the information before. And Ali did have her trusty computer along, but in order to begin a search, she needed to have a snippet of information.

“We could probably find out,” Ali said. “Is Kip his real name, or is it short for something?”

“I don’t know,” Sandy answered. “We never really talked about that, either.”

It occurred to Ali that there was a lot Sandy and Kip had never discussed, and maybe that was all right. Maybe at some point, it was best just to disregard the past and move on. Sometimes that was the only way to move on.

Ali reached over and engaged the Cayenne’s hands-free cell phone. A moment later, Dave Holman’s voice came through the speakerphone.

“Just hanging out in the courthouse lobby,” he replied in answer to Ali’s question about what he was doing. “We’re all waiting to find out if the case is going to go to trial today. I was about to give you a call.”

Quickly Ali explained where they were going, what they were doing, and why. “Since you’ve got a spare moment, could you maybe check with the department of licensing and see if Kip Hogan has a valid driver’s license?”

“He must,” Dave said. “He’s been driving your dad’s Bronco all over hell and gone for months now.”

“Those would be my mother’s sentiments exactly,” Ali said. “It would also be nice to know who, if anyone, is listed as next of kin, and if Kip is his given name or if it’s a nickname.”

“Wait a minute,” Dave said. “Why are you asking about next of kin? Since the assault took place in Coconino County, they’ll probably want to have their people handle that end of things.”

“We’re on our way to the hospital, and someone there asked Sandy. They need the information, too.”

“All right,” Dave agreed. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, how’s it going?”

As in how’s it going with your daughter from hell? Ali thought.

“You’re on speakerphone, Dave,” Ali told him. “Crystal’s right here. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Crystal?” Dave asked.

“I’m fine!” Crystal answered abruptly.

In the annals of woman-speak, it was a cold, two-raised-eyebrows fine -the most dangerous kind. Ali knew that things between her and Dave’s temperamental daughter were anything but fine. Unfortunately Dave Holman was totally oblivious to the reality of the situation.

“Excellent,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m delighted to know that two of my favorite people are spending some quality time together.”

The speakerphone didn’t come close to transmitting the sneer Crystal Holman leveled at the back of Ali’s head. The rearview mirror did.

“I’ll see what I can do about Kip, though,” Dave added. “Since I’m right here in the courthouse, I should be able to get someone to help me. I don’t know how long it’ll take, and if my case gets called…”

“Check if you can; don’t if you can’t,” Ali said. It was her way of letting Dave off the hook.

“Thanks so much, Detective Holman,” Sandy said. “I really appreciate anything you can do.”

As they approached the hospital, Sandy grew more and more apprehensive. Ali didn’t blame her. Hospitals affected her that same way.

“How much do you think all this is going to cost?” Sandy asked. “I mean, I know for sure that Kip doesn’t have any insurance. What if they ask me to pay his bill?”

After dealing with her first husband’s glioblastoma, Ali happened to have more than a passing knowledge of how much brain surgery had cost twenty or so years ago. It was far more expensive than that now. Combine that with ICU care and medevac costs, and there could be little doubt that the price tag on Kip’s injuries already amounted to a budget-busting sum.

By then they had pulled up next to the hospital entrance.

“Don’t sign anything at all,” Ali cautioned. “If that means you don’t get any information on his condition right away, we’ll just have to live with it. But remember; sign nothing.”

“Aren’t you coming up?” Sandy asked.

“In a little while,” Ali said. “Write down my cell phone number so you can call if you need to, but first Crystal and I have a couple of errands we need to run.”

As soon as Sandy exited the Cayenne, so did Crystal, slamming her way out of the backseat and into the front one. “What errands?” she said. “Is this when we go to Wal-Mart and buy me some different clothes?”

“No,” Ali said. “This would be where the two of us have a little heart-to-heart chat. I want you to tell me everything you know about what happened in Mund’s Park.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Crystal said. “I didn’t see anything.” But the sullen look she shot back in Ali’s direction was a dead giveaway.

“Let’s not play games,” Ali said. “I know you saw something. You can either tell me the truth, or I’ll find a cop who will ask you the same questions. In fact, I’m sure the homicide detectives from Coconino County will be delighted to talk to you.”

“Why do you keep threatening me with stuff?” Crystal asked. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Crystal,” Ali urged. “This is an attempted homicide. If Kip Hogan dies it’ll be more than attempted. Don’t you want to help?”

“Why should I?” Crystal returned. “It’s none of my business.”

Ali’s phone rang then. It was Dave. Since they were still parked, Ali answered the call without putting it on speaker.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Dave said. “Rudyard Kipling Hogan.”

“That’s his name?” Ali asked.

“Yup. No wonder no one’s ever seen his driver’s license. With a handle like that, I wouldn’t show it to anyone, either.”

“What about a home address?”

“I checked on that. He listed a homeless shelter in Phoenix as his permanent address.”

“And next of kin?”

“None listed. He’s an organ donor, though. I told the person in records what the deal was. She’s faxing the information to both Coconino County and to the hospital down in Phoenix as well.”

“Thanks,” Ali said. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“Are you there yet?” Dave asked. “It sounds pretty grim. Any word on how he is?”

“When we know something, I’ll call,” Ali said.

Behind her, a cabdriver laid on the horn and motioned for her to move out of the way.

“Gotta go,” Ali said. “I’m blocking traffic.”

She hung up the phone, drove forward far enough to turn onto Thomas, and then looked across at Crystal. “Well?” Ali demanded. “What’s it going to be?”

“I already told you,” Crystal said. “I didn’t actually see anything, not really.”