J. Jance: Trial By Fire

Ali spent most of the rest of the day being debriefed by a series of agencies about what had happened. The Fountain Hills marshals wanted access to the information that would allow them to sort out what had happened to Mimi Cooper. Phoenix PD wanted to know details about what had happened to Sister Anselm, an incident that had started in their jurisdiction and ended in someone else’s. But over all this, Agent in Charge Donnelley’s media embargo still held sway.

Donna Carson’s name wasn’t being released to the media because she had yet to be charged. Tom McGregor’s name still wasn’t being released pending notification of next of kin, who most likely didn’t exist. And Sister Anselm’s name and medical information were being withheld as well.

The real reason behind all the interagency silence was Agent in Charge Donnelley. Tom McGregor’s handwritten notebooks counted as a major break in the ATF’s long battle with the Earth Liberation Front, and Donnelley wanted things kept quiet long enough to gather warrants and to bring some of the people named in those notebooks in for questioning.

It was late afternoon before Ali finally headed back to the hotel. Since her phone had been turned off most of the day, her voice mailbox was brimming with messages. Several were from B. Simpson, but those all said he was in a series of meetings and would call again later.

One message was from her mother. “Dad and I bought a stove,” Edie said. “Used, not new, but your father loves it. It’ll be delivered next week, in time for Father’s Day. See you at home.”

Another message was from Bishop Gillespie. “I understand you were on hand today when Donna Carson was arrested. Good work. Sister Anselm seems to be recovering. She asked that you please stop by when you can, but you might want to use that wig again. It looks like the hospital lobby is full of reporters.”

That one made Ali smile, not because of the wig suggestion but because Bishop Gillespie seemed to have excellent sources of information. The question was, were those sources inside Phoenix PD, or were they inside the ATF, maybe even Agent Donnelley himself? Was it possible the agent in charge and Bishop Gillespie were pals?

Ali took the bishop’s suggestion seriously. After showering and putting on clean clothes, she donned the wig and drove back over to the hospital. Camera vans too tall to make it inside the garage were parked outside, and she appreciated the media alert warning.

She also noted that even though Donna Carson’s arrest and Tom McGregor’s death should have lowered the threat toward Sister Anselm, Bishop Gillespie’s security detail was still very much in evidence-in the garage, in the lobby, and in the waiting room on the orthopedic floor.

When Ali pushed open the door to Sister Anselm’s room, she discovered Bishop Gillespie himself seated next to Sister Anselm’s bed. He was reading to her from a notebook Ali recognized-Mimi Cooper’s guest log.

When Ali appeared in the doorway, he pushed his reading glasses to the top of his head. “So here’s the woman of the hour,” he announced with a smile. “Ali Reynolds herself. It turns out we were just talking about you. Sister Anselm has been asleep most of the day, and I’ve only now been bringing her up to date. I told her that an arrest has been made, but I’m unable to tell her much more than that.”

Standing at the bedside, Ali could see Sister Anselm’s face was sunburned to the point of peeling. “How are you?” Ali asked.

“Better than I would have been without you,” Sister Anselm said. “How can I ever thank you?”

“I believe you’ve been paying that one forward all your life,” Ali said with a smile.

She pulled up another chair, and for the next half hour, Ali gave Sister Anselm and Bishop Gillespie the highlights of what she knew. When she saw Sister Anselm was fading, Ali excused herself. Rather than pushing the Down elevator button she pushed Up and went to the eighth floor. A new patient or two had been admitted. The burn-unit waiting room was crowded with a whole new collection of worried family members, but in the far corner, Ali spotted a single familiar face-Mark Levy. He looked bone weary, but his face brightened when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I came back to thank you for the help you gave me earlier.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said with a shrug, “but it wasn’t that much.”

“It was,” Ali said. “How’s James?”

“Better,” Mark said. “They’re starting the skin grafts. That’s good news. His parents even let me go in to see him once today. He was sleeping, but still. Visitors are limited to family members only. I think his mother said I was his brother.”

“Good,” Ali said. “You act like a brother.”

Mark was silent for a moment before adding, “I guess you heard that the woman in eight fourteen didn’t make it.”

Ali nodded. “I heard,” she said.

“Neither did the woman in eight twelve. Her name was Alva. She was smoking in a chair and fell asleep, and now she’s dead, too. I don’t think I could work in a place like this,” Mark added. “It would be too hard.”

“You’re right,” Ali agreed. “It is that.”

Her phone rang while she was riding down in the elevator.

“I don’t believe it,” B. Simpson said. “You finally answered the phone. Where are you?”

“Leaving the hospital,” she said. “I’m on my way back to the hotel.”

“Great,” B. said. “I’m here, too.”

“Where?”

“At the hotel.”

“My hotel?” Ali asked.

He laughed. “Yes, your hotel. I had meetings in Phoenix today. I thought I’d stop by and see if I can take you to dinner. Morton’s is right out front. We don’t have a reservation, but I’m betting they can fit us in.”

“Did I tell you I was staying at the Ritz?” she asked.

B. laughed. “When I couldn’t reach you, I weaseled the information out of your parents. What about dinner?”

That was typical. Now that Ali’s romance with Dave Holman was pretty much off the table, Edie was promoting another possible candidate, but however B. had found his way to the Ritz, his invitation to go to dinner was a welcome one. Ali was hungry. It had been a long time since breakfast.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

B. was waiting in the lobby when she arrived. “Congrats,” he said, standing up to give her a hug. “I hear you and Detective Salazar saved the day.”

“How do you know that?” Ali asked. “The news hasn’t exactly been disseminated to the media.”

“I heard it from a friend of yours,” B. said. “I expect he’ll be a friend of mine as well-or at least a client. Bishop Gillespie plans to hire High Noon Enterprises to keep track of diocese-owned computers. If any of the people who work for him are messing around with online porn, Gillespie wants to know about it. That man is something,” B. added admiringly. “If he weren’t a bishop, I think he’d make a wonderful hacker.”

That made Ali laugh.

“Are you ready to go to dinner?”

“I’ll go upstairs and drop off my briefcase,” she said. Up in her suite, she combed her hair and freshened her makeup. When she rejoined him downstairs, they walked across the driveway to the restaurant.

Even though Morton’s was crowded at that hour, the maître d’ showed them to a corner booth. Once seated, they ordered drinks and exchanged stories about all that had happened in the previous several days.

“It sounds like you’ve really made a name for yourself,” he said finally. “I know this thing with the sheriff’s department was supposed to be temporary, but will you stay on?”