J. Jance - Trial By Fire

“As far as I know,” Ali said, “no one in Phoenix has initiated any kind of investigation into the matter of Sister Anselm’s abduction.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Bishop Gillespie said with a smile. “I reported it myself. Phoenix is the kidnap capital of the world at the moment, but most of the ones that happen here are drug-related and involve people being held for ransom. A non-drug-related kidnapping with no ransom demand, a recovered victim, and a dead perpetrator isn’t high on anyone’s list of priorities.”

That was Ali’s take on the situation as well, but she didn’t comment aloud.

“It’s unfortunate,” Bishop Gillespie continued, “but that’s the way it is. Yes, the person who tried to murder Sister Anselm earlier today, the trigger man as it were, may be dead, but the person or persons who set him on that evil path is not. My main concern and my main reason for becoming involved is to protect Sister Anselm from suffering any further harm. To do that may require some coloring outside the lines, as my mother used to say. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” Ali echoed. “How?”

“I know from the online research we did on you that you’re acquainted with a certain young man up in Sedona, a very useful young man by the name of B. Simpson.”

Ali’s jaw literally dropped. She didn’t expect Bishop Gillespie to know about B., or Ali’s relationship to him, but clearly the bishop was a talented interrogator, and there was no reason to deny it.

“Yes,” she said.

“I suspect that a request for help coming directly from me might not rate high on Mr. Simpson’s to-do list. I believe you might have a better in with him.”

“Possibly,” Ali said. “What kind of help do you need?”

“I was informed that Mr. McGregor’s having a cell phone with him was something of an anomaly.”

Ali nodded. “That’s my understanding as well.”

“At the moment I happen to have two phone numbers in my possession,” he said. “One is the number of the phone Mr. McGregor was using, and the other is the number of the phone that was used to call him numerous times in the last week or so. I won’t mention how it is that I came to have access to those numbers. That would be indiscreet. I was told that since they’re from disposable phones, there is no way they can be traced, but I happen to know better. I believe that if someone as resourceful as Mr. Simpson were to apply himself to this problem, he might do a great deal to give us some answers, and we need answers, Ms. Reynolds. We need answers in the very worst way.”

With that, Bishop Gillespie reached into his vest pocket and extracted a single piece of paper. When he held it out to Ali, she hesitated, but only for a moment. It seemed clear to her that no one else was looking out for Sister Anselm right then. In that regard, Bishop Gillespie was the only game in town.

“Thank you,” he said when she took it. “I’ll only be here for another hour or so, but my people will be here twenty-four/seven. There are these two here in the waiting room, two in the lobby, one outside in the parking garage, and one roving about. That is to say that you needn’t trouble yourself about Sister Anselm’s safety so long as she’s here. I’m more concerned about her safety once she leaves the hospital.”

“Yes,” Ali said, slipping the paper into her own pocket.

“Don’t worry about getting in touch with me,” Bishop Gillespie added. “I’ve taken the liberty of writing my cell phone number on that slip of paper as well-down at the bottom of the page. Feel free to call me. Anytime.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” she managed.

“None of that,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just call me Father,” he said. “That works.”

Riding down in the elevator, Ali reflected on what she’d heard. With Bishop Gillespie’s support, Sister Anselm had devoted her life to repaying a long-ago act of Christian charity. Unfortunately, more than half a century later, that repayment effort had resulted in an unsuccessful attempt on Sister Anselm’s life.

It was after midnight when Ali stepped off the elevator in the hospital lobby. At first she thought the place was deserted, but before she could make it into the garage elevator, a man came hurrying after her, calling out, “Hey, Ali. Wait up.”

Wishing she had the red wig on her head instead of in her briefcase, Ali turned to face the man who trotted after her. He turned out to be none other than the ELF-specializing investigative reporter, Kelly Green.

“How is she?” he wanted to know.

“How is who?” she returned.

The garage elevator door opened. She stepped on. So did he.

“You know who I mean,” he said. “That nun they call the Angel of Death. I believe she had been looking after Mimi Cooper.”

Ali simply stared at him and said nothing while Kelly rushed on. “I understand that McGregor guy, the one who got killed earlier today and who allegedly started the fire in Camp Verde, is someone with long-term connections to ELF. What about this injured nun? What’s her connection? I’m working on a book on the Earth Liberation Front, you see,” he explained. “Anything you could tell me would be greatly appreciated.”

“I’m not authorized to talk about this, and neither is anybody else,” she said curtly. Stepping around him, she exited into the garage. She was grateful to see one of Bishop Gillespie’s security guards watching from the far side of the building.

“I could make it worth your while,” Kelly said with an ingratiating smile.

Ali was not impressed.

“Is that how it worked with Devon?” she asked. “You slipped him a little something now and then as a bribe in exchange for his feeding you information that allowed you to scoop everyone else?”

Green’s smile faded. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said.

It was exactly what he meant, and they both knew it.

“With Devon off on administrative leave, who’s your source inside the department these days?” Ali asked.

“I don’t have one,” Green said quickly. “The stuff about McGregor came from the media relations folks over at the ATF.”

“No,” Ali said, “it didn’t. No information on this afternoon’s incident has been released to anyone, not officially at any rate, and if it leaks out before Agent Donnelley is ready, I’m going to let him and anyone else who is interested know that you’re the most likely source.”

Green looked shocked. “If you do that, I’ll be locked out of the loop. I won’t be able to do my research-”

“Exactly,” Ali said. “So who told you about Sister Anselm and Thomas McGregor?”

“I never reveal my confidential sources,” he declared.

“Maybe so,” Ali returned, “but if you don’t tell me, I’ll see to it that you don’t have any sources left, confidential or otherwise. As for that book you’re supposedly working on? It won’t be much of a blockbuster if you no longer have access to any of the official information coming from inside the various investigative organizations.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“Try me,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I happen to have Agent Robson’s phone number right here. If I let him know you’re leaking information about what went on this afternoon, you’ll be history.”

“But I didn’t,” he whined. “I haven’t told anybody.”

“You told me,” she said. “That counts as telling.”

For several long moments she waited while Kelly Green shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Once, when Chris was four, Ali had caught her son telling fibs. She remembered his doing the same thing, shifting guiltily back and forth from one foot to the other under his mother’s unflinching gaze. Eventually Chris had told the truth, and so did Kelly.