Authors: J.A. Jance
“Have you called your dad?” Dave asked. “Maybe she’s called him.”
“I can check,” Ali said.
“Good. You do that,” Dave said. “In the meantime, I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Ali was waiting at the hotel entrance when Dave pulled into the driveway in his Nissan. “Well?” he asked as she settled into the passenger seat.
“Dad hasn’t heard from her,” Ali reported. “His first thought was that she’d probably gone to see a bargain matinee. That was my idea, too, but the movie would be over by now. Dad’s worried, and so am I. Should I call the cops and report her missing?”
Dave shook his head. “It won’t make any difference. They’re not going to go looking for her right now anyway. We’re better off looking ourselves. Where do you think she might have gone?”
“Mom’s from out of town,” Ali replied. “She doesn’t really know her way around L.A. The only map she has in the Alero is that big atlas. I know she used MapQuest directions to get to the hotel, but there were no MapQuest searches on my computer.”
“So wherever she went, if she drove herself, she must have known where she was going,” Dave concluded.
Ali nodded. “Right. And the only two familiar places I know about for sure are the hospital and the house on Robert Lane. If April went into labor, she could have gone to Cedars-Sinai. I’m pretty sure that’s where Mom said April plans to deliver. But it’s possible she might have gone to the house for some strange reason, too.”
Dave put the Nissan in gear. “The hospital isn’t going to tell us anything. Let’s try the house first. Have you tried calling April?”
“I did,” Ali told him. “Both her room and her cell. No answer.”
“Try again, just in case.”
Once again both of April’s phones went to voice mail. Ali tried Edie’s phone again with the same result. By then Ali was feeling the first tinge of real panic.
When they reached the house on Robert Lane, they found it deserted. Crime scene tape was still draped across the front door, warning people not to enter. There was no sign of Edie’s Oldsmobile anywhere and no sign of any other vehicles, either.
“She’s not here,” Ali concluded. “And I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this—a really bad feeling.”
“Don’t worry,” Dave said. “Not yet. I’m sure she’s fine. Let’s try the hospital next.”
At Cedars-Sinai, Dave drove through the parking garages, prowling the stalls and searching for the Alero, while Ali went inside to the patient information desk and tried to bluff her way into finding out whether or not a patient named April Gaddis had been admitted. It was like banging her head on a brick wall. No one would tell her anything. Period. When Ali caught up with Dave again, she learned that his garage search had been equally fruitless.
“Back to the hotel then?” Dave asked.
“I guess,” Ali said. “Is it time?”
“Time for what?” Dave returned.
“To call Missing Persons?”
“After less than five hours?” Dave responded. “Believe me, they’ll laugh you off the phone. At this point they probably wouldn’t even bother taking a report. Your mother’s an adult. Adults are allowed to disappear whenever they want to. They can and do. Let’s go back to the hotel and wait awhile longer. Maybe she’ll turn up. Besides, since the hotel was where you last spoke to her, that’s a reasonable place to try picking up her trail. Didn’t you say she was watching an interview at the time?”
Ali nodded. “Yes. The one with Sheila Rosenburg from Court TV.”
“Since April and your mother are both among the missing,” Dave suggested, “there’s always a possibility that they’re together. What if your mother and April are doing something perfectly harmless? Maybe once the interview was over they decided to go shopping. After all, April’s expecting a baby. Maybe your mom wanted to get her something nice.”
Ali shot that idea down without a moment’s hesitation. “Mom hates shopping,” she said.
“All right then,” Dave said. “Let’s track down this Sheila person. Maybe one or the other of them would have mentioned to her where they were going or what they planned to do next.”
“Maybe,” Ali agreed, but she didn’t think the idea sounded very promising.
Back at the hotel Ali was relieved to find that the media were still absent. Up on the seventh floor and on the way down the hallway from the elevator, Ali stopped off just long enough to tap on April’s door. There was no answer. Ali was in the process of unlocking the door to her own room when her phone rang. The number showing in the readout was her parents’ home number in Sedona.
“Hello,” Ali said.
“Did you find her?” Bob Larson demanded.
“No,” Ali said. “Not yet. We’re still looking.”
“Well, I just got off the phone with Chris, and we’ve made up our minds,” Bob said. “We’ve got a contingency plan all lined up. I’ve found a substitute short-order cook who’ll come in and cover for me, and Chris is going to leave his conference early and call for a substitute, too. Kip will stay here and look after Samantha. Once we get the details squared away, we’ll throw our stuff in my car and be under way.”
“Under way where?” Ali asked. “You mean you’re coming here?”
“Of course I’m coming there,” Bob said determinedly. “My wife is missing. Do you think I’m just going to sit around on my butt and twiddle my thumbs?”
The idea of her father and Chris driving across the desert in Bob’s doddering Bronco seemed downright ludicrous. When it came to dependability, Chris’s far newer Prius would have been a better choice.
“Dad,” Ali reasoned. “Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, she isn’t officially missing.”
“You haven’t reported it?”
“Dave said it’s too soon. No one will pay any attention.”
“I’m paying attention,” Bob Larson countered. “Your mother’s as dependable as the day is long. She wouldn’t run off somewhere without letting one of us know. She just wouldn’t.”
That, of course, was Ali’s opinion, too. Leaving without a word was totally out of character for Edie even if that assessment wouldn’t carry much weight with the LAPD.
“Do what you need to do,” Ali said at last.
“I was planning on it all along,” Bob said with a growl. “Edie and I had already discussed it. And don’t think I’m asking for permission, either.”
“Of course not,” Ali agreed. “But I’m glad you’re not coming alone.”
“Me, too,” Bob said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Once Bob was off the phone, Ali called down to the desk. She made arrangements for April to be moved out of the more expensive two-room suite to one room and then reserved two more rooms as well—one for her parents and another for Chris. At this rate, she’d soon be occupying the whole floor. It was just as well that Dave was bunking at Motel 6.
A chastened Ali let Dave into her room, where he immediately appropriated her computer and hunkered down over it. “What was she using to search?” he asked.
“Google.”
“Good. I’ll see if I can track down her search history. In the meantime, see if you can locate that Sheila person from Court TV.”
Ali had to bite her lip. She had already gone over her mother’s search history, but she kept her mouth shut and began looking for Sheila’s number. Before she found it, however, the phone rang.
“Ms. Reynolds?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Richard Dahlgood. I understand you’re a good friend of my aunt Velma’s.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough.
“Yes,” Ali said. “I do know her.”
“I’ve just had a very strange phone call from someone named Andrea Morales,” Dahlgood continued. “She said her uncle might possibly be in need of legal representation in a criminal matter and that, if I took him on, you would be responsible for any expenses that were incurred.”
“Yes,” Ali said. “That’s correct.”
“So you know who this person is then, what he might be accused of, and all that?”
“I do.”
“I have to say, Ms. Reynolds, it’s very unusual for someone to assume someone else’s legal obligations in this fashion.”
“Unusual but not out of the question.”
“No, but I would have to have a signed authorization from my client—once I meet him, that is—giving you permission to have access to the bill. Billing information is also highly confidential.”
By then Ali had had it up to here with her bevy of attorneys, all of them standing around with their hands out.
“Please tell Ms. Morales that her understanding is correct and that if she makes arrangements for the client to meet with you, you’ll come prepared with whatever paperwork is necessary for me to handle the bill.”
“If it’s a criminal charge, the costs could be considerable,” Dahlgood warned.
Not nearly as considerable as Victor Angeleri’s,
Ali thought as she ended the call.
Finally Dave set Ali’s computer aside. “There’s nothing here,” he said. “How about if I go downstairs and see if I can make friends with hotel security. Maybe their surveillance tapes will show us something. Are you all right holding down the fort here?”
Ali nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
He went out, leaving Ali alone. She sat still for a few minutes then ended up pacing. Her third pass across the room brought her face-to-face with the television armoire and the baggie with the cigarette butt. She picked it up and looked at it.
Suddenly, remembering the hint of stale cigarette smoke in April’s room, that cigarette butt made a whole lot more sense to her.
Her mother had been telling her about seeing April and Tracy McLaughlin sharing a romantic interlude in the hallway. And her next comment had been something about doing a paternity test. Maybe the cigarette butt had belonged to Tracy McLaughlin. Maybe Edie hoped enough genetic material could be located on the filter to develop a DNA profile to prove for certain whether or not Tracy McLaughlin was the father of April’s unborn child.
Grabbing her cell phone and room key, Ali dashed out of the room and hurried down to the lobby. She found Dave Holman and a uniformed security guard closeted in a windowless room behind the front desk, where they were surveying a bank of security monitors.
Dave was surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
For an answer, she waved the baggie in front of him.
“What’s that?”
“Evidence, most likely,” Ali replied. “At least it’s evidence as far as my mother is concerned. I told you Mom was playing detective. I’m guessing this cigarette butt belongs to Tracy McLaughlin, and she thought we could use it as part of a paternity test.”
Dave took the bag from her hand and held it up to the light. “It could mean a whole lot more than that.”
“What?”
“Terry’s a convicted car thief, and a vehicle theft was involved in your husband’s murder. Terry had a business connection with Paul Grayson, but he also has a possibly illicit relationship with Paul’s bride-to-be. This is sounding like a whole lot of motive to me.”
“But how does the cigarette play into this?” Ali asked.
“The duct tape. Didn’t you tell me your husband was bound with duct tape?”
Ali nodded. “That’s what I was told, but I saw it, too. Not the tape itself, but the marks it left on his face. Why?”
“Most bad guys still haven’t figured out that using duct tape in the commission of a crime is a really bad idea. Glue from the tape almost always captures the criminal’s DNA right along with the victim’s. Say somebody tears the tape with their teeth. They also leave behind traces of their saliva. And there’s DNA in the tiny pieces of skin that slough off the bad guy and onto the tape as it’s being applied. If the duct tape used on Paul hasn’t already been examined for DNA evidence, you can bet it will be. Crime labs can usually find DNA evidence. The big problem comes when it’s time to match that evidence to a known perpetrator, and that’s what Edie may have given us.”
“Since Tracy’s been in prison, won’t they have a record of his DNA profile?” Ali asked.
“Not necessarily,” Dave said. “For one thing, those databases are relatively new. McLaughlin could well have been let go without having to leave a sample.”
Ali looked at the cigarette again. “When Mom grabbed this, she wasn’t thinking about the possibility that McLaughlin might be a killer. She was thinking about the baby.”
“And from the looks of things, I’d say she gave him hell about it, too.”
Ali was dismayed. “She did? When?”
“Down in the lobby. After the interview. It’s on one of the security tapes. Come take a look.”
Dave led Ali over to the monitors. On one of them, Ali saw a frozen image of her mother, standing flat-footed, hands on her hips, glaring up into Tracy McLaughlin’s face. The security guard pressed one of the controls. Suddenly Edie Larson was in motion. Her mouth moved. Her hands gestured furiously. No words could be heard, but then, they didn’t need to be.
Ali knew her mother. Edie had never been one to hold back on delivering her opinions. Here she was giving a suspected killer a piece of her mind.
Watching the video sent a surge of fear through Ali’s body. She had done the same thing once—she had bearded a suspected killer long before anyone else had tumbled to what had happened. In the process Ali had put herself in harm’s way and had come closer to dying that day than she cared to remember. Now Edie Larson had done the same thing—put herself in harm’s way.