J. Jance - Trial By Fire

“Maybe not close enough to cover all the probable-cause bases, but we’re close.”

“Thanks,” Ali said. “You have no idea.”

“You’re welcome,” B. said. “I’m going to grab a nap. I’ve got some meetings later today.”

He hung up as the parking valet handed Ali her key. She looked around, hoping to see the man who had told her about the red crossover. She wanted to show him the picture. Unfortunately today was his day off.

She climbed into the Cayenne, but instead of driving off, she sat there, thinking.

So Donna had connections to someone from ELF. She must have gotten him to set the fire, but why? What did she have against Mimi? And why burn up that valuable painting? What was the point in that?

Suddenly Ali knew. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. It all made sense. There had to be two paintings-the real one and a fake. The real one could be sold to the highest bidder, while insurance coverage would pay for the one destroyed in the fire. That meant that for someone, the Camp Verde fire was going to be a big win-win.

Ali knew that there were times when owners of valuable art made their own copies of various pieces, thus enabling them to display the copy while keeping the real work safely stored in a vault. She doubted that was what had happened here. Had Mimi taken that kind of precaution, surely she would have told her husband. That meant the switch had been done without Mimi’s knowledge or consent. So who was behind it? Was that big win for Donna alone, or was Mimi’s son or daughter also involved?

Bounding back out of the vehicle, Ali tossed the keys back to the valet, raced inside, and made straight for the nearest house phone.

“Hal Cooper, please,” she said when the operator picked up.

Ali was afraid she’d be told he had already checked out, but he hadn’t. “Hello,” Hal said. He sounded groggy, as though she had awakened him out of a sound sleep.

“It’s Ali,” she said urgently. “Ali Reynolds. We spoke last night. In the lobby.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. What time is it? Eight-thirty? I should have been up a long time ago.”

“I need to ask you something, Mr. Cooper. Tell me about your wife’s missing painting. When did Mimi have the reframing done?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Sometime last summer, I think. After we got married. Why?”

“Who did it?”

“I don’t know that, either, but I’m sure I can find out. I believe Serenity handled the job. She has lots of connections with framers and the like. I seem to remember that she sent Donna over to pick it up. Why?”

So the reframing was done last summer, Ali thought. Now Donna Carson is beating a path out of town and taking a big loss on selling her condo in the process. Interesting.

“Tell me something else,” Ali said. “How long had Mimi had trouble with cataracts?”

“For a couple of years, I suppose,” Hal said. “Since before I met her. She didn’t want to have the surgery and kept putting it off. Why are you asking about Mimi’s cataracts? What’s this all about?”

“I’m not sure myself,” Ali said, “but right now I need to run. Please give me your cell phone number so I can reach you if I need to.”

She jotted down the number. Then, instead of going back to her car, she made her way to an empty couch in the far corner of the lobby. Once there, she pulled out her phone and called Dave Holman’s number.

“Good morning,” he said. “I hope we’re on better terms this morning.”

“Maybe,” Ali said. “I wasn’t at my best last night.”

“Are you feeling all right? Your dad said you got banged up pretty bad.”

On the one hand it was nice to know Dave cared enough to be checking with her parents. On the other hand, it was a little provoking.

“I’m fine, really,” Ali said. “I was about to go over to the hospital to check on Sister Anselm. She was in the ICU last night, and I didn’t see her.”

Had Ali been doing full disclosure, she might have mentioned Sister Anselm’s other visitor, Bishop Gillespie, and what he had asked of her, but she didn’t. Instead she got straight to the point about the painting.

“I have a question. Who’s handling the Camp Verde arson investigation?”

“ATF,” Dave said. “Who did you think?”

“Do you have a name and phone number?”

“Why? What’s going on?” Dave sounded suspicious.

“I’m working a hunch here. If it pans out, I’ll let you know. If it doesn’t, I won’t have to listen to your telling me you told me so.”

He laughed. “Am I that bad?”

“No,” she said. “Most of the time you’re not.”

“Hang on. Let me look through what’s come in so far.” He paused, then said, “Okay. Here it is. The chief arson investigator is a guy named Sam Torrance. I’ve got a phone number here. Do you want it?”

“Please.”

That was the next number Ali dialed. “ Torrance here,” he said.

“Detective Holman gave me your number,” she said. “I’m Ali Reynolds with the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department.”

That was true insofar as it went. She didn’t mention exactly what she did for the sheriff’s department, and Agent Torrance didn’t ask. The fact that she had his cell phone number seemed to lend her some credibility, but he didn’t care to hang around making small talk, either.

“Look,” he said. “I’m busy as hell right now. If you could call back-”

“I have a question,” Ali interrupted. “Just one-about that piece of charred picture frame stock you found in the ashes yesterday?”

“What about it?”

Ali knew from the sudden shift in his voice that she now had Sam Torrance’s undivided attention.

“I understand there were some scraps of paper found as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Torrance said. “I was told this was supposedly some supervaluable name-brand piece of art, right? Wrong. It’s nothing but a cheap copy. Done on old paper, so it looks real-until you see the pixels under a microscope, which one of my lab techs was able to do on one of the paper fragments this morning. I forget what they call that technique. Starts with the letter G . Just a minute. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. Giclée. That’s it. They do it with inkjet printers. My first guess would be that someone’s trying to rip off an insurance company.”

“That’s my guess, too,” Ali said, “and someone else besides.”

On that score they may have already succeeded, she thought, but she didn’t say that aloud.

Ali understood in that moment that the switch most likely had been made months earlier, at a time when Mimi, the person who had loved the painting best, was being plagued with cataracts and was in no position to notice the difference. The person responsible must have known that once Mimi decided to put the picture up for sale, the jig would be up. By destroying the fake painting, the theft of the real one might never have been discovered.

“Thank you, Agent Torrance,” Ali said. “I have Agent Robson’s number right here. I believe I’ll give him a call.”

Before she could dial, though, her phone rang. The number in the readout wasn’t one she recognized.

“Kelly Green here,” he said. “Sorry to be calling so close to the wire.”

Ali looked at her watch. She had been so busy she hadn’t noticed that the nine o’clock deadline she had given Green was rapidly approaching.

“I just got off the phone with Devon. I managed to weasel the information out of him. You won’t tell him I told you, will you?”

That depends, Ali thought, but that doesn’t mean I won’t tell Sheriff Maxwell. “Who is it?” she asked.

“His girlfriend,” Green said quickly.