J. Jance - Hand of Evil

Ali nodded. “I’m sure it has.”

“But she needed to be here,” Jane added. “She wanted to be here. It’s an answer to thirty years of prayers. So, thank you, Ali. Thank you for everything. You go, girl.”

With that Jane Braeton disappeared into the crowd. Watching her walk away, Ali was amazed by the difference those few critical hours had made.

Moments later, Crystal sidled up to Ali. “Can we go sit in the car, please?” she asked. “I’m freezing.”

Ali put one arm around the girl’s shoulder. She was shaking convulsively. Her teeth were chattering.

“Of course,” Ali said. “Come on.”

After telling the watching cop where investigators could find them, Ali and Crystal made their way through the crowd to the parking structure, where they walked up the stairs to the Cayenne parked on the second level. With her shoulder aching from the added weight, Ali was happy to unload her laptop. Once in the car, she started the engine and activated the heated seats.

“You saved all of us tonight,” Crystal said thoughtfully a short while later. “If it hadn’t been for you and that old man, I’d probably be dead by now. So would Kip and Sandy.”

“Bernie,” Ali interjected. “The old man’s name is Bernie Bernstein, and you’re probably right. What he did made all the difference.”

“I heard two of the nurses talking,” Crystal mused. “Bernie’s son, Danny-the one who was in the motorcycle wreck?”

Ali nodded.

“They said Danny probably isn’t going to make it, but his father helped us anyway. He helped you. How come?”

Ali shrugged. “Because he wanted to, I guess,” she said. “He thought it was important, thought it would make a difference.”

“And why did you do it?” Crystal asked.

Ali considered for a moment before she answered. “Because I could,” she said finally. “Because I didn’t think anyone else would.”

“When I was watching, when he was pointing the gun at you, I kept thinking that if you died, it would be my fault, just like it’s my fault Coach Curt is dead.”

The events of the evening seemed to have made an impression on the girl. She was far more subdued. As a consequence, Ali hoped that Crystal might be in a place where she’d be willing to listen to reason.

“What happened isn’t your fault,” Ali told her. “Yes, you and Curt Uttley were both in the wrong place at the wrong time and for all the wrong reasons, but Jason is the one who murdered Curt, not you. And I’m sorry Curt’s dead, but since he was a pedophile who went prowling the Internet looking for young women to prey upon, he wasn’t exactly blameless.”

“But he didn’t deserve to die,” Crystal protested.

“You’re right. If he’d been arrested for child molestation or statutory rape, he probably would have gone to prison. What he did to you wasn’t a capital offense, but men like that do deserve to be in jail, Crystal. It’s against the law,” Ali added.

Crystal’s phone rang. “Hi, Daddy,” she said in a voice that was choked with emotion. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m with Ali. It was cold, so we’re sitting in her car in the parking garage. Yes, I love you, too. Do you want to talk to her? Here she is.”

Crystal handed the phone to Ali. “Thank God you’re both safe!” Dave exclaimed. “I’ve been worried sick. I’ve been trying to get through to you, but the circuits are busy. Why don’t you answer your damned phone? You need to call your parents. Your dad managed to get through to me. He heard about what happened at the hospital and he’s frantic.”

“I can’t call anyone,” Ali said. “I lost my phone.”

“Lost it. Where?”

“It was in my purse. I dropped it during the struggle out in the hallway-a hallway that’s now a crime scene. My purse and phone-and my driver’s license, most likely-are all in some crime scene investigator’s evidence bag. At least I had my car keys in my pocket and not in my purse. Where are you?”

“Seventh and Thomas,” Dave said. “I’ve been on my way for the better part of an hour-ever since you hung up on me. But with all the emergency vehicles, traffic’s a mess. I could probably get there faster if I just parked the car and got out and walked. Have they interviewed you yet?”

“Not so far. They’re too busy with the bomb squad.”

“And you shot the guy?”

“Tried to,” Ali replied. “He was wearing a vest.”

“More’s the pity,” Dave said.

“If the third victim in that house fire wasn’t Jason, who was it?” Ali asked.

“We still don’t know about that,” Dave answered. “Since Jason’s vehicle was there and so was Uttley’s we assumed…”

“Did Jason have a job?” Ali asked.

“A job? Are you kidding? Not as far as I know. He’s a playboy kind of student who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and goes through life with a Platinum AmEx in his pocket. I doubt he’s ever done an honest day’s work in his life. Why?”

“Because when I saw him, Jason was wearing a Roto-Rooter shirt-a uniform shirt.”

“You say Roto-Rooter-as in stopped drains? Let me get back to you on that,” Dave said.

Ali closed the phone and gave it to Crystal.

“Is my dad coming?” Crystal asked.

“He’s trying to,” Ali said. “He’ll be here soon, but traffic’s not helping.”

“At least he’s coming,” Crystal murmured. “I’m glad.”

“I need to call Chris and my parents,” Ali said. “Can I use your phone for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Crystal said, handing it back. “They’re probably really worried.”

Crystal Holman had done yet another about-face. When it came to dealing with teenagers, it was getting harder and harder for Ali Reynolds to keep score.

It was almost 4 A.M. before Ali finally left the grounds and headed home. By then many of the displaced patients were being readmitted to St. Francis.

She should have been sleepy, but she wasn’t. After everything that had happened, Ali wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep again. The preliminary interview had lasted until well after three, but the detectives had cautioned that there’d probably be more to come at a later date.

For Ali, the best part about leaving the scene at that late hour meant that the crisis was pretty much over and most of the media folks had disappeared hours earlier. In other words, although Ali Reynolds’s name would no doubt be mentioned in reporting on the incident, her photo would be mercifully absent.

On the drive back to Sedona, Ali mulled over everything she had learned. Yes, she had shot a man-she had tried to shoot him, that is. And yes, if he hadn’t been wearing a bullet-resistant vest, she probably would have killed Jason Gustavson. If that had happened, maybe Ali would have been sorry, but she doubted it. At this moment, instead of being dead, he was now being held in the Maricopa County jail, where he was expected to be charged with several counts of homicide and several more of attempted homicide.

It was chilling to think that this privileged young man had somehow turned into a murderous monster who had taken the lives of both friends and strangers with zero compunction. One of his presumed victims was a Roto-Rooter plumber named Tom Melman, now declared missing. The married father of two had been dispatched to Gustavson’s Tempe house earlier that afternoon to install a new toilet. His missing company van had been traced to the parking garage at St. Francis Hospital, where it had been found in a space only a few slots away from Ali’s Cayenne.

“So you’re saying he followed me here?” Ali had asked the detective.

He nodded. “Looks that way-followed you into the garage at least.”