J. Jance - Web of Evil

"Their contracts dictate that they have to be out in public doing events for a set number of hours per week, mostly up and down the West Coast. Some of the contests we set uplike the shoot at the house yesterday. Some of the others are just pickup gameson the beach, in parks, wherever. But with the advertising on the RVs, our guys are doing their job wherever they are, even when they're just driving up and down the Five. After all, name familiarity is the name of the game."

"So you're still moving forward with this Sumo Sudoku thing?" Ali asked.

"Of course," Jake replied with absolute confidence. "There's no reason not to."

There might be, Ali thought. I'm your new partner and I may not be quite as interested in it as Paul was.

Amber, her empty wineglass in hand, meandered into the living room from somewhere else in the house. "Oh," she blurted vaguely, looking at Ali and Dave. "Are you still here?"

Ali took the hint and stood up. Dave followed suit while Amber staggered toward the drinks tray. Clearly the woman had had more than enough, but that didn't keep her from refilling her glass.

"Amber," Jake said warningly.

"What?" Amber seemed defiant. She dropped onto a sofa, slopping a splotch of vivid red wine onto the white silk. "What?" she said again.

Jake shook his head wearily and said nothing. Obviously Amber was a bit of a handful.

"We'll be going then," Ali said. She walked as far as the door before pausing and turning back toward their host. "When did you say Roseanne will be back?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Jake said uneasily. "This week sometime. It was pretty open-ended. You'll let us know when the funeral is, won't you?" he asked. "She'll want to be home for that."

"I'm sure she will," Ali agreed. "Tell Roseanne I'll give her a call as soon as the services are scheduled."

Outside, the sun was down. The warm September evening had cooled under a blanket of damp marine air that had rolled in off the Pacific.

"What now?" Dave asked as they climbed into the Cayenne and buckled up.

"I'm not sure," Ali said.

She put the car in gear and drove to the bottom of the driveway. The gate opened and closed, letting them back onto the roadway. Ali drove a hundred yards or so up the road and pulled off into the approach to yet another driveway.

"What on earth are you doing?" Dave asked.

"Wait," Ali said. "Let's see what happens."

Less than a minute later, the gate to the Maxwells' place swung open and a silver Jaguar XJ convertible with the top down nosed out of the driveway and onto the road.

"Bingo," Ali said. "There he is."

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to follow him," Ali said, putting the Cayenne in gear and pulling out well behind the Jag. "I'm guessing he'll lead us straight to Tracy McLaughlin."

"God help me," Dave groaned. "Do you know anything at all about pursuit driving?"

"Not a thing," she answered. "But I know a lot more about California drivers than you do, so you watch him and I'll drive."

Both of which were easier said then done.

Ali raced through two lights that were in the process of turning red in an effort to keep Maxwell's Jaguar in sight as he turned onto the 101 and headed back toward the city. By the time Ali merged onto the freeway, he was in the far left lane and passing everything in sight. Ali headed for the left lane as well.

"We'll never catch him," Dave protested. "Or else we'll be killed."

"We'll catch him, all right," Ali said determinedly. "And with all this traffic, he'll never know it's us."

She managed to stick with the speeding Jag for the next hair-raising ten minutes or so until Maxwell finally swerved back into the far right-hand lane and onto the Fallbrook Avenue exit. Dodging through traffic, Ali followed suit, making it onto the ramp with bare inches to spare. Once there, she slowed and dropped back far enough to allow another car to merge in ahead of them at the light.

Back on surface streets it was easier to keep the Jag in sight while maintaining a safe distance. A mile and a half later, Jake Maxwell turned into a well-lit commercial parking lot.

"Geez!" Dave grumbled. "This guy has spent the last half hour driving like a bat out of hell and endangering life and limb. And for what? To go to Wal-Mart? What's he going to do, buy a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk?"

But instead of turning up the aisle of parked vehicles that would have led toward the store's main entrance, the Jag turned left and headed off across the outermost boundary of the parking lot, stopping at last in a far corner of the property where several hulking motor homes and campers had pulled up and parked for the night. The fluorescent glow of the parking lot lights revealed that one of the assembled RVs sported a more-than-life-sized portrait of a smiling Tracy McLaughlin wearing his distinctive Sumo Sudoku kilt. Hooked onto a tow bar behind it was a spanking-new Honda Element with the paper temporary plate still in its back window.

Dave stifled his series of complaints and sat bolt upright. "I'll be damned!" he exclaimed with undisguised admiration. "I don't believe it. You were right all along. Maxwell led us straight to Tracy."

"Yes, he did," Ali agreed. "Now what?"

"Pull over, park, and kill your lights and engine," Dave directed. "We're going to hide and watch."

So what's Jake Maxwell's deal?" Dave asked as they waited in the parking lot. "When you're doing a homicide investigation, you always go after the first person who lies. So how come Jake told us he had no idea how to get hold of Tracy when he obviously did?"

"And why didn't he just call him?" Ali asked.

"That's easy," Dave replied. "I'm guessing he's worried about leaving a phone record trail."

"He lied about Roseanne, too," Ali said.

"That's his wife?" Dave asked.

Ali nodded. "She may be shopping in New York, but I doubt it. Several important pieces of artworkvaluable piecesare missing from Jake's walls and shelves. That tells me something's up between him and Roseanne that has nothing to do with next year's wardrobe and a whole lot to do with his pal Amber."

Learning that Roseanne Maxwell had most likely joined the ranks of Hollywood's cast-off and obsolete wives should have elicited more sympathy from Ali, but she couldn't summon it. The condescending comments Roseanne had e-mailed to Ali months earlier still rankled too much.

"Can you reach Roseanne?" Dave asked.

"Maybe," Ali replied. "I used to have her phone numbers and her e-mail address in my database, and they may still be in my computer back at the hotel. The problem is, that was months ago. If everything else has changed, her numbers may have changed as well."

"When you have a chance, try getting in touch with her," Dave said. "She may be able to help us."

The door to Tracy's RV opened. Jake emerged and slammed the door shut behind him. He stood for a few seconds as if undecided about something, then hurried back to his Jag. He peeled out of the parking place so fast that the car wobbled dangerously and almost careened into one of the parked RVs before he got the vehicle back under control.

"How much do you think he had to drink?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Ali returned. "I doubt the scotch we saw him drink was the first he'd had this evening."

"I doubt that, too," Dave agreed. "And he's obviously of the opinion that speed limits are posted for advisory purposes only. Let's make his life a little more interesting, shall we?"

With that Dave picked up his phone. "Yes," he said when someone answered. "I'm at the Wal-Mart here on Fallbrook Avenue. A guy just took off out of the parking lot in a silver Jaguar XJ," Dave said. "He's heading back toward Highway 101 and driving like a maniac. Almost smashed into a parked RV on his way out of the lot. The way he's driving, he may be drunk."