J. Jance - Trial By Fire

She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Sheriff Maxwell’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“I’m here at the hospital,” she said curtly. “I sent the reporters packing. Now what? I have a dozen requests for information sitting here in my computer and since I have no information to provide, what would you like me to do? Maybe the best thing would be to tender my resignation.”

“Look,” Maxwell said, “I can tell you’re pissed, but please don’t do that. Don’t quit on me. Donnelley had my nuts in a vise on this.”

And you threw me under the bus, Ali thought.

“How can that be?” she asked. “You’re the sheriff. It’s your department, isn’t it?”

“It may be my department, but I’ve also been given my marching orders,” he said. “Have you ever heard the term ‘Homeland Security’?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ali asked.

“That’s the thing,” Maxwell told her. “The domestic terrorism aspect of this case trumps anything and everyone else. The feds are taking charge. They expect to have all available assets-theirs and mine-focused on the fire investigation. They also want their media guy to be in charge of disseminating any and all material that goes out on this.”

I called that shot, Ali thought. She said aloud, “Including the requests for information that I have on hand right now?”

“Yes,” Maxwell said. “Please. I’ll text you his address information in a moment.”

“From what you’re saying, I could just as well pack it in here and come home,” Ali said. “I haven’t checked into my hotel yet. Maybe I should call and cancel the reservation.”

“No,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t do that. I want you there at the hospital as much as possible for the next several days.”

“Why? You sent me here to scare away the reporters. I did that.”

“As I said, the domestic terrorism aspects of this case take precedence over everything else. Donnelley is running that show, and he’s conscripted most of my available manpower into working the investigation as he sees fit. What that means in a nutshell is that while they’re out shaking every tree to see if ELF falls out of it, our attempted homicide is taking a backseat-a back backseat.

“We need to know who that unidentified victim is,” Sheriff Maxwell continued. “If she comes around, we need to have someone there to ask her what she knows. Once her family members show up, we need to ask them what they know.”

“Wouldn’t you be better off having a detective ask those questions?”

“Yes, we would,” Maxwell conceded. “Of course we would, but I can’t send one of my sworn officers because, if they’re available, Donnelley is running them. You’re not on my official roster, Ali. Agent Donnelley was adamant that you be out of the picture so his folks could handle media issues. My sending you to Phoenix lets us both get what we want: Donnelley has the conn as far as what information is given to the media, and I have another asset in place, someone I can trust, who can keep an eye on how things are going down there.”

Ali thought about that for a minute. “What do you want me to do?”

“According to what Dave tells me, you’re a fairly respectable investigator in your own right. The first step in this investigation is to identify our victim.”

“I thought you told me earlier that Donnelley’s people were going to be doing that.”

“Maybe they are,” Maxwell allowed, “but who’s to say they’re not doing that in a half-baked way? Besides,” he added, “there’s no rule that says we can’t duplicate their effort, and maybe even go them one better. Do you know Holly, who works out in the front office?”

Unfortunately, I do, Ali thought. “Yes,” she said. “We’ve met.”

“I have her keeping an eye on all missing persons reports that are coming in on a statewide basis. If she comes across anything that looks promising, she’s to let you know.”

I wouldn’t hold my breath, Ali thought.

“That doesn’t seem right somehow,” she said. “You sent me down here to get rid of the reporters who were hanging around the hospital, trying to find out whatever they could about the victim. Now they’re gone, but you’re asking me to do the same thing-find out about the victim.”

“Yes,” Sheriff Maxwell agreed, “but there’s a big difference. They were nosing around in the hope of finding information that would fill up empty airtime and newspaper columns. You’re doing it-we’re doing it-in the hope of finding out who tried to kill that poor woman. Whether she lives or dies, it’s our responsibility to bring her attacker to justice.”

Ali thought about that, but not for long.

“I’ll do what I can,” she said.

“Excellent,” Sheriff Maxwell said. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I know you have a concealed weapons permit. I also know that you carry a Glock. Just don’t use it, especially not in Maricopa County. Please. That would set off another whole set of problems that I don’t have time to deal with right now.”

Before Ali could frame a suitable response, one of the doors farther down the hallway swung open and a tall, angular woman stepped into the hallway. She stood for a moment, peeling off an outer layer of protective paperlike clothing and leaving behind a pair of green scrubs. Her hair was steel gray and cut short.

Ali knew without being told that she was seeing the woman called Angel of Death. She had wanted to Google the article on Sister Anselm and read up on her before encountering the woman in person, but that wouldn’t be possible now, not with the nun walking straight toward her.

“I’ve got to go,” Ali told the sheriff abruptly. Closing her phone, she stood up and walked down the hall. “Sister Anselm?” she asked.

The woman frowned and peered at Ali through gold-rimmed glasses. “Yes,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t, but someone told me about you and about your ‘mission,’ I believe she called it.” Ali handed over one of her newly printed business cards. “My name is Alison Reynolds. I’m the media relations consultant for the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department. Yavapai is the next county north of here.”

“I’m familiar with Yavapai County,” Sister Anselm said firmly. “My home convent happens to be in Jerome. What are you doing here in the burn unit? I thought I made it quite clear to Mr. Whitman that no reporters were to be allowed access to this floor.”

“I’m not a reporter,” Ali said quickly. “Please don’t be misled by what it says on the card. In my case it’s more like a case of media nonrelations. It turns out I was dispatched by both Mr. Whitman and my department to break up the gaggle of reporters who were gathered downstairs in the lobby. Which I did. I sent them all packing.”

“Thank you for that, and good riddance,” Sister Anselm said, glancing briefly at the card and then slipping it into her pocket. “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving as well?”

“Not exactly,” Ali said. “Sheriff Maxwell wants me to stay around and make sure none of the reporters comes prowling around up here.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Sister Anselm said. “I don’t have any say about lobby issues, but here on the unit my wishes do carry some weight, especially as far as the welfare of my patients is concerned. If any of those reporters turns up here, I’m perfectly capable of giving him or her the boot myself.”

Ali was thinking about what she’d been told earlier, that the so-called Angel of Death was often involved in trying to reconnect unidentified victims with their missing loved ones.

“Sheriff Maxwell is hoping I may be able to offer you some assistance in identifying the victim.”