J. Jance - Hand of Evil

“This is an unspeakable tragedy,” said Mrs. Anna Lee Ashcroft, a longtime Mosberg Institute supporter. “These are vulnerable people and we’re fortunate more lives weren’t lost. And the idea that someone actually set the fire is absolutely appalling.”

Ali was still reading the whole article when Chris closed his computer. “We can do more of this later,” he said. “Right now, I need to go pick up Athena. I promised Grandma we’d come by to help move furniture and set the table.”

The Larsons’ tiny home contained a kitchen and a living room but no formal dining room. To accommodate groups larger than four, it was necessary to move the kitchen table into the living room and drag in seating from elsewhere in the house.

“You go on ahead,” Ali said. “As soon as I finish reading this one article, I’ll shower and dress and be there, too.”

She was about to shut her own computer when a click announced the arrival of an incoming e-mail. Thinking the message might be from Velma T, Ali clicked over to her e-mail account. The address line on her newest message was disturbingly familiar-uttley, t. uttley.

Some relation to Coach Curt? Ali wondered and pressed OPEN.

So your friend’s runaway “daughter is safe at home,” the little slut? I’m sure you didn’t post her name in your blog because you’re protecting her privacy. How can you? She’s a wicked temptress who led a good man into sin. Why should she be protected? Who’s going to protect my two boys? What about their privacy? Their father is dead, and it’s all because of her. My husband’s name is being dragged through the mud in the paper and on the news. That means my boys’ name is there, too.

Curtis and I had our troubles, but we got counseling for them. He came back to church with me and the boys. We were doing fine until she came along, got her hooks into him, and led him astray. And if you don’t believe she’s evil, maybe you’ll want to check out this Web site. I found it on Curt’s computer and couldn’t believe I was seeing such filth. Maybe you should post it on your blog so the people who read it will know the kind of company you keep.

The Good Book says we should pray for our enemies. I am praying for her all right. I am praying that girl will rot in hell.

Sincerely,

THERESA UTTLEY

Here’s the link.

Ali could hardly argue with the idea that the sins of the father ought not to be visited on the children. Coach Curt’s sons were in no way responsible for what their father had done, but the suggestion that Crystal was somehow solely to blame for Curt’s going astray was preposterous.

Shaking her head, Ali hit the link and waited for the URL to load and open. When the image first came on the screen, it was so poorly lit that it was difficult to make any sense of what was there. Ali decided that the filming was being done by someone with very limited know-how using computerized podcast equipment. Eventually, though, the images clarified themselves, and then it was all too clear. A middle-aged man’s sagging, naked body complete with nonsagging equipment stood directly in front of the camera. And a girl-a very familiar girl-was being pulled toward him. “Come to Daddy,” he was saying. “Come to Daddy.”

Filled with revulsion, Ali slammed shut the lid of her laptop, breaking her Internet connection and shutting off the video. She sat there for a very long time feeling sick to her stomach. Gradually she was able to remember what Theresa Uttley had said. Something about Crystal being a temptress and leading Curt Uttley astray. Only someone totally blinded by her own grief and despair could fail to see that Crystal was anything but a temptress here. She was a victim, too-a manipulated, helpless victim.

Who the hell is this jerk? Ali wondered. Gary Whitman, maybe? And once I know who he is, how do I keep Dave from killing him?

The phone rang. Ali had to take a deep breath before she was able to answer. What if it was Dave? What would she say to him? How would she tell him?

“Am I still in the doghouse?” Ali’s mother wanted to know.

Ali was still so shaken by what she’d just seen that it was difficult to get a fix on what Edie was saying. “No,” Ali answered at last. “You’re out of it. Chris and I had a chance to talk. Everything is fine.”

“You’re sure?” Edie asked. “You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m sure,” Ali said more forcefully.

“All right then. I was going to ask Chris to bring along a couple of bottles of wine from that wine cellar of yours, but then I realized Kip and Sandy met in AA, so probably no wine, right?”

“Right,” Ali agreed. “And Chris is already on his way. He’s off picking up Athena right now.”

“Fair enough,” Edie said. “See you in a little. I’ve fallen a bit behind. I know I told you we’d be eating at six, but it’ll probably be closer to six-thirty.”

Wanting to wash the ugly images of Crystal’s victimization from her mind, Ali stood under the shower and let the water fall full on her face. Who is Daddy? she wondered. It was a common enough phrase. Ali knew enough about Dave’s trim physique to recognize his wasn’t the body featured in the offending video, and the man could have been anyone. Vegas was full of men looking for sex with runaways, prostitutes, whatever. Then again the problem could be much closer to home. Ali had never met Gary Whitman in person, so she had no idea what he looked like, but Ali was left with the sinking feeling that Crystal’s stepfather wasn’t in the running for Father of the Year.

And what if that turned out to be the case? Hadn’t Ali just counseled Crystal to go back home to Las Vegas and make a sincere effort to get along with her elders, Gary Whitman included? If Gary was at fault, it was likely Ali had made things worse instead of better. And what would Dave do once he learned about the offending Web site-however Ali managed to tell him about that? Was there something else she could do instead?

What if she called the cops in Las Vegas? What would they do? How would they proceed? Or would they? Ali’s last interaction with cops certainly hadn’t gone very well. What made her think officers in Vegas would be any different? And what would happen to Dave’s kids, all three of them, if their new family situation was blown apart? But then again, if what Ali suspected was going on, hadn’t that already happened?

Still awash in indecision, Ali stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

Larry Marsh was on the phone to the Marin County Sheriff’s Department. Yes, someone would get back to him on the William Cowan Ashcroft situation, but it wasn’t likely to be that day, especially since it would take time to locate the record as well as any remaining evidence of that fatal car wreck. Would tomorrow work, or maybe the next day?

In the background, Hank’s phone rang and soon he was busily taking notes.

“What do you have?” Larry asked.

“My mole in the VA came through with two possibilities,” Hank answered. “Alan Dale Reed of Birmingham, Alabama, got his Silver Star in Vietnam, 1965. The problem is, he died in 2004. Arthur Reed is from Red Bluff, California. His Silver Star came from Korea, circa 1953. As far as I can tell, he’s still alive and kicking and driving.”

“Address?” Larry asked.

“And phone number.”

“Let’s give him a call.”

They used a phone in the conference room and put it on speaker. The way investigations went, Larry expected that they’d run into a nonworking number or that Arthur Reed would also be deceased or unavailable. But he wasn’t. The woman who answered the phone said only, “Just a minute.” Then, “Dad, it’s for you.”