J. Jance - Web of Evil

"Victor thinks you should leave," Ali told Dave over dinner. "You and Mom both. He's afraid that having you poking around will somehow muddy the waters.'"

"Tough," Dave Holman replied. "I don't like Victor. Victor doesn't like me. That makes us even. I have three weeks of vacation coming. I called the office this afternoon and told Sheriff Maxwell I'm taking 'em. I'm here for the duration. And if things get settled sooner than that, I'll camp out over at Lake Havasu and visit with my kids."

"How are they doing?" Ali asked.

While Dave had been off serving in Iraq with his reserve unit, Roxanne, his now former wife, had taken up with a sleazy timeshare salesman. Months earlier, when the new husband had been transferred to Lake Havasu, Roxanne had moved, taking Dave's kids with her. He had been devastated.

"Medium," Dave replied glumly. "Gary, the cretin, lost his job. Got caught in some kind of corporate hanky-panky. Roxie didn't tell me any of the gory details, and I'm probably better off not knowing. The thing is, Gary is currently unemployed, and they may end up having to move again. I'm not sure whereVegas, maybe. The kids are sick about it. So am I."

"Have you thought about taking Roxie back to court and trying to get custody?" Ali asked.

Dave shook his head. "Are you kidding? I'm a man. I've got about as much chance of winning a custody fight as I do of winning at Powerball. And since I never buy a lotto ticket, that's not likely to happen. But let's not talk about that. Let's talk about you."

"What about me?"

"This is serious, Ali. Really serious."

"Victor has already pointed that out," Ali responded. "Several different times. And it could be serious for you, too. Earlier the LAPD cops were asking a lot of questions about you. So was Victor, for that matter."

"Screw Victor," Dave said. "But it makes sense. If the cops are looking for you to have an accomplice, then I could be a likely subject. Who better than a renegade homicide detective to figure out a way to cover up a murder?"

"So what do we do?" Ali asked.

"We fight back."

"But you can't do that, can you? You're a cop."

He smiled grimly. "You'd be surprised at what I can do. What did you tell the two homicide dicks?"

"I told them exactly what happened, that you and Mom and I were all together at the hotel this afternoon, right up until we went over to the house and found Monique at the bottom of the staircase. I got the impression that they were going to go check out the hotel's security tapes to see whether or not I was telling the truth about my comings and goings."

"Did they tell you what time Monique took her header?" Dave asked.

"No. Why?"

"Because she may have been on the floor for a long time before we found her. If she fell before I got to the hotel, we could still have a problem on that score."

"Is there any way to find out?" Ali asked.

"Officially, no," Dave replied. "Unofficially, maybe. I'm assuming they asked you who all was at the house today."

Ali nodded.

"You'd better tell me, too, then," he said. "Give me the whole list. As far as I'm concerned, it's time we started running our own parallel investigation."

"But" Ali began.

"Victor Angeleri is looking out for you," Dave said, "but the man is being paid good money to look out for you. Nobody's paying my freight. I'm the one who has to look out for me. If you don't want to have anything to do with this, fine. I'll do it on my own."

"What do you need exactly?"

"I need you to tell me whatever you told them. In detail."

Knowing she had been leaving April's room for the night, Ali had dragged her computer along with her when she headed out. Now, at Ali's request, Dave went out to his Nissan and retrieved Ali's laptop. For the next hour or so, Ali told the story one more time, using her air-card network to pluck appropriate telephone numbers and addresses off the Internet. Dave's method was far more low-tech. He jotted his notes expertly on a series of paper napkins, including the part about her close encounter with the boulder.

"You're sure it was an accident?" Dave wanted to know.

"I think it was an accident," Ali told him. "It looked like an accident, but with everything else that's gone on amp;"

"We'd better check it out," Dave said.

When they finally finished the grueling process, Ali was a rag. "I've got to go back to the hotel," she said. "It's time."

By then it was late enough and the lobby deserted enough that Ali risked venturing in through the front door. Upstairs, walking toward her room on what was posted as a nonsmoking floor, she was surprised to find the corridor reeking of cigarette smoke. She was tempted to call back down to the lobby to complain, but then she thought better of it. The last thing April or Edie needed was someone from hotel security pounding on doors and waking everybody up.

Inside the room, Ali found that her mother hadn't bothered to close the blackout curtains. Even without turning on a light, there was plenty of illumination for Ali to find her way around the room. Her mother was sound asleep, clinging to the far side of the single king-sized bed. Ali undressed and climbed in on the other side. By the time her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. She awakened to the click of the door lock and the smell of coffee as Edie let herself back into the room. A glance at the clock told Ali it was past seven.

"Sorry to wake you," her mother apologized. "I've been up since four, and I finally couldn't stand it anymore. I had to go downstairs to get some coffee and the newspapers."

She unloaded two paper cups and a stack of newspapers onto the coffee table while Ali got up and staggered into the bathroom.

"You must have gotten home late," Edie observed over the top of a newspaper when Ali emerged.

"Dave took me to Denny's for dinner," Ali answered. "And you're right. It was late when I got home. Anything in the paper?"

"Lots," Edie replied. "Help yourself."

Ali settled onto the couch and picked up one of the other papers where Monique Ragsdale's death, under suspicious circumstances, was front-page news. Her relationship to network executive Paul Grayson, who had been murdered two days earlier, was laid out in tabloid-worthy detail. The cops were cagey. The public information officer mentioned that detectives had identified several people of interest in the case but that no arrests had been made at this time.

Edie was evidently reading something similar. "I'm assuming you're one of the persons of interest'?"

"Who else?" Ali responded. She said nothing more.

When the first cup of coffee was gone, she called room service and ordered breakfast for two along with more coffeea full pot this time. Then, with Edie still preoccupied with the hard-copy newspapers, Ali booted up her computer.

Dear Babe,

My name is Adele Richardson. I used to watch you when you were on the news here in L.A. and I've been a fan of cutlooseblog.com from the time you started it. And I'm sure you know the reason. Something very similar happened to me. Not the job thing but a very similar marriage disaster. Over the months I've admired the way you've picked yourself up and gone on, reaching out to help others along the way. In fact, I think it's safe to say that you're one of my heroes. And, because of you, I've started reading other blogs as well. Who knows? Maybe you've turned me into an addict. Are there twelve-step programs for people addicted to reading blogs?

Anyway, I read your last post and I'm smart enough to read between the lines. As long as you're caught up in any kind of legal proceedings, I'm sure your attorney won't let you do any posting. But I'm also selfish enough to miss having cutloose as part of my morning routine. So I'm writing to you today with a proposition. Maybe you'll think I'm being too forward. If so, all you have to do is press the delete button.