J. Jance - Trial By Fire

The lounge attendant came over to the table where they were sitting. “May I get you something?” she asked Ali.

“A glass of merlot, please.”

“And for you, sir,” she said to Ali’s dad. “Would you care for another beer?”

“One’s my limit,” Bob told her. “Otherwise the wife gets cranky.”

Edie gave him a withering look. “I do no such thing,” she declared. “You’re welcome to drink as many of those fool things as you want.”

Bob winked at the attendant. “I’ll stick with one,” he said. “It pays to keep her happy.”

Ali’s cell phone rang. There was a notice on the table asking that people refrain from using their cell phones in the lounge, but since she and her parents were the only people there and since the caller was Dave Holman, she answered anyway.

“Do you hear it?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“ATF agents Donnelley and Robson doing their happy dance,” Dave said. “It turns out Thomas McGregor was evidently the real ELF deal.”

“You’re kidding,” Ali breathed.

“Nope,” Dave continued. “McGregor has lived outside of Payson for a long time, staying under everyone’s radar. When he hasn’t been out on what he calls ‘missions,’ he’s been holed up in a cabin busily documenting everything his particular fire-setting cell has been doing for the last twenty years or so-sort of an unabridged ecoterrorism history, written in longhand.”

“Longhand?” Ali asked.

“Yup. McGregor’s no fan of computers or electronics of any kind. He’s done all his writing the old-fashioned way, with pen and ink in a pile of spiral notebooks. There are pages and pages of material, naming names and citing specific operatives involved and so forth. It’s incredibly amazing stuff-invaluable stuff. Your basic ATF gold mine.”

“How did he stay under the radar all this time?” Ali asked.

“By not causing trouble or calling attention to himself. He never got picked up for anything. No arrests of any kind, anywhere. He lived off the grid. He used a kerosene lamp for light and a wood stove for heat, and hand-pumped his own water from a well. The only thing that doesn’t fit is the cell phone found in his possession today. It’s a dead end, however. It’s one of those throwaway phones that only made calls to another throwaway phone.”

Ali was aware that her parents were hanging on her every word, but she had to ask. “What’s McGregor’s connection to Sister Anselm?”

“Good question,” Dave said. “We have no idea, but on a slightly different topic, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What?” Ali asked.

“Sheriff Maxwell got word tonight that Mrs. Cooper didn’t make it. She died a little after six this evening.”

While I was downstairs in the ER, Ali thought, and while Sister Anselm was similarly occupied in some other part of the hospital.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ali said, “but as bad as she was burned, she never would have recovered.”

“I know,” Dave agreed. “It’s probably a blessing for her, and for her family. I’m sure they’re relieved to know that she’s not suffering anymore. And I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to her husband and kids when we can tell them that we’ve nailed Mimi’s killer.

“As for that missing painting?” Dave continued. “The arson investigators found something that looks like a piece of charred picture-frame stock and some glass with a few scraps of paper stuck to it in the other burned house up in Camp Verde. The manufacturer’s number is still visible on back of the frame. The investigators are trying to trace that, but the initial reading is that it’s good-quality and expensive stuff. Not from your local frame-it-yourself outlet.”

“They burned up Mimi’s Klee?” Ali asked. “Why would they? It’s worth a fortune.”

“Let’s hope it’s insured,” Dave said.

Ali knew it was. She had spent a long time in the burn unit with Mimi’s less than exemplary family. She was sure Hal would be grieving the loss of his wife and wouldn’t notice the loss of the painting, valuable or not. Mimi’s children were another matter. They would be looking to lay hands on any dollars available, and they wouldn’t be pleased to know that if Hal Cooper was cleared of complicity, he would be free to inherit whatever Mimi had left him.

“Does Hal know about the painting?” Ali asked.

“Not yet,” Dave said. “That’s why I’m calling you. No one has told anyone anything. Donnelley’s trying to keep a lid on this, and he’s asking us to play along. There appears to be a treasure trove of names in the handwritten material they confiscated from McGregor’s place. Donnelley wants to have a chance to analyze as much of that as possible before word gets out that they have it.”

“In other words, Donnelley is hoping to score,” Ali said.

“Big time,” Dave agreed. “Robson doubts McGregor’s ELF associates knew he was documenting everything he did and, as a consequence, what they did, too. ATF hopes to swoop down and bring some of those folks in for questioning before they have a chance to go to ground.

“Which is to say, they’re not releasing any information about what happened earlier this afternoon, other than that there was an incident involving multiple agencies south of Payson. No names. No details. Not to anyone, including Mimi Cooper’s family, because they’re concerned that some of them may also have ties to ELF. Donnelley believes that the ultimate solution to Mimi’s murder is going to be found in those notebooks.”

“What about what happened to Sister Anselm? Who’s investigating that?”

Dave sighed. “That’s sort of up in the air right now. Donnelley’s position is that it’s not his jurisdiction or his concern, especially since he has his hands full with the ELF investigation. Sheriff Maxwell comes down in pretty much the same place. The incident started inside the Phoenix city limits and ended in Gila County. It’s not his problem.”

“But Sister Anselm was kidnapped because of what happened to Mimi,” Ali pointed out.

“Yes.”

“And they’re not releasing details about what happened to her, either?”

“Not at this time.”

Ali was beyond outraged. “So you’re saying someone can be kidnapped off city streets in broad daylight and no one is investigating the people who did it?”

“I’m sure Phoenix PD is already working the case.”

“Really,” Ali said. “They haven’t spoken to me, and I doubt they’ve spoken to Sister Anselm, either.”

“There’s no reason you can’t call them,” Dave returned. “Since you seem to know so many of the particulars, I expect they’d be interested in talking to you.”

“I’m not so sure I’m interested in talking to them,” Ali returned. “And what about Hal Cooper’s painting? No one has spoken to him about that, either? Agent Donnelley issues a gag order and we all just shut up and let him get away with it?”

Ali’s merlot had arrived and was sitting on the table. She paused to take a sip and to get her temper back under control.

“Yes,” Dave said. “For right now that’s what we need to do.”

“That’s an order?”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me. If you want to raise an objection, how about if you do it tomorrow, after you get back home?”

“I may just do that,” Ali said, “but right now, I need to go. My parents are here. I need to talk to them.”

With that she closed the phone. Blaming the hang-up on her parents was just an excuse. Ali knew she was about to throw a temper tantrum. At her age, that was something best done in private.

“My goodness,” Edie Larson said. “I can’t imagine what Dave could have said that made you so upset. You practically hung up on him.”