J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 2: Trial by Fire, Fatal Error, Left for Dead (33 page)

Sliding on her belly back down to the creek bed, Ali knew that the pink jogging suit was a goner. She hurriedly went back to Sister Anselm’s side.

The nun was still breathing, but her eyes were closed again. Despite the gunfire, she had somehow drifted back into unconsciousness. Considering her injuries, that was probably a blessing. Ali made no attempt to wake her.

In the intervening minutes the line of shade had moved several inches closer to Sister Anselm’s desperately still body, but it still wasn’t close enough. Picking up the fallen blanket, Ali shook the sand out of it and held it between the injured woman and the glaring sun.

For right then, that was as much as Ali could do.

One at a time, a group of men sporting Kevlar vests with the ATF monogram printed on them came scrambling down the bank and into the gully. That meant that Agent Robson’s guys were the cavalry who had ridden to the rescue, arriving first and saving the day. One of them had also fired the shots that had sent the armed gunman tumbling to his death. One agent went to check on the gunman while two more came to kneel beside Sister Anselm.

The sounds of the gunshots were still reverberating in Ali’s head. Totally focused on Sister Anselm, she didn’t hear her phone ringing. Instead, she felt it vibrating in the zippered pocket of her torn tracksuit. Looking down at the remains of her outfit, Ali realized that her foresight in zipping that pocket shut was probably the only thing that had kept her from losing the phone altogether.

“Hello, Dave,” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. The shooter’s dead. Sister Anselm isn’t dead, but she’s in bad shape.”

“I know,” he said. “You told me. The medevac folks are scrambling two helicopter crews. The first one should be at your location within the next twenty minutes or so.”

“I already told you,” Ali said. “The shooter’s dead. We don’t need two helicopters.”

“Yes, you do,” Dave answered. “One is for Sister Anselm, and the other is for Deputy Krist.”

“Who’s he?”

“A Gila County deputy. The guy shot him. Shot him, dragged him out of his vehicle, left him on the ground to die, and then drove off in his SUV.”

Dave was most likely a hundred miles or so away from the action, but he knew far more about what had gone on than Ali, who had been directly involved. No doubt he had heard detailed reports from Agent Robson’s helicopter.

“How badly is the deputy hurt?” Ali asked.

“Life-threatening,” Dave replied. “That’s as much as I know. Robson had his pilot put down next to him so he could drop off Officer Frank from the DPS to stay with Krist. As far as I know, Frank is still there, waiting for help to show up. Robson took off again and came back looking for you, but it sounds like his guys got there first.”

“Yes, they did,” Ali agreed, “and not a moment too soon. The killer had a loaded shotgun. He also had the drop on me. He demanded my car keys and threatened to shoot me and Sister Anselm if I didn’t cooperate. I was in the process of doing just that when the ATF showed up.”

“Just a minute,” Dave said. Ali heard muttering in the background. “Sheriff Maxwell is wondering if you ended up firing your weapon.”

That figured. Sheriff Maxwell had to be relieved that the
shoot-out had taken place in someone else’s jurisdiction. He wouldn’t have to put one of his own officers on administrative duty during the ensuing investigation of an officer-involved shooting. Since this had all taken place in Gila County, it would be up to Sheriff Tuttle and the ATF to sort out whatever needed sorting. It would be someone else’s media relations problem as well. For some reason, that last thought made her giggle.

“Tell him no,” Ali managed, still laughing. “I didn’t fire my weapon, not even once.”

The sound of what was deemed to be inappropriate laughter caused some concern among the assembled ATF agents. One of the two guys kneeling next to Sister Anselm looked up at Ali. Then, after analyzing her face for a moment, he handed her a bottle of water.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m not hysterical, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ali assured him. “Someone just cracked a joke.”

He cocked his head as though he wasn’t sure whether he should believe her. “Okay,” he said finally, “if you say so. But how about if you let me hold the blanket while you go sit in the shade? You look like the heat is getting to you, too.”

Glad to oblige, Ali handed the blanket over to him, took the bottle of water, and then went to sit on a rock on the shady side of the gully.

“You really are all right?” Dave asked. “Your parents will have my ears for putting you in danger again.”

“You didn’t put me in danger. The shooter did. Do we have any idea who he is? Or, rather, was?”

Initially one of the ATF guys had checked the fallen suspect’s pulse. Finding none, they left him where he had landed.
Now, that same agent had produced a digital camera and started diligently taking photos from every angle.

The Gila County Sheriff’s Department and medical examiner would require their own sets of crime-scene photos, but the ATF would have a set as well. And although Ali was fairly certain as to the cause of death, the Gila County ME would issue the final word on that—a gunshot wound or wounds, or maybe a broken neck.

“Motor Vehicles came up with the name Thomas McGregor. That’s the name listed on the registration for the Grand Torino he was driving. Records ran a check on him here and came up empty—not even so much as a speeding ticket. He evidently lived alone in a cabin outside Payson. The ATF is in the process of obtaining a search warrant and will be going to his place the moment they have the warrant in hand.”

“What’s his connection to all this?” Ali asked.

“No idea.”

Looking up, Ali saw Agent Robson appear at the top of the bank. He hesitated for only a minute before starting down. Halfway to the bottom, he fell and slid the rest of the way on his butt, to the detriment of what had once been a carefully pressed gray suit. He walked over to Ali, dusting himself off and shedding his Kevlar vest as he came. He looked thunderous.

“Gotta go,” Ali said to Dave.

To Ali’s amazement, Robson threw himself down in the sand beside her. “That bastard got the drop on you? Thank God you’re all right,” he said.

The way he said it, Ali knew he meant every word.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Your people got here just in time. Another few minutes, and things would have been pretty grim. I’m not sure what would have happened.”

“I am,” Robson declared. “He’d have had you in that patrol car and been screaming down the road. Krist managed to put a hole in the left rear tire of his Explorer as the guy drove off in it. He made it this far driving on the rim, but he knew he needed another vehicle in a hell of a hurry. That’s where you came in. You would have given him both another vehicle and a hostage.”

“Thank you,” Ali said, and she meant it, too.

Robson nodded. “We’ve got a name,” he continued. “McGregor. So far that’s all we’ve got. We’ll know more once we can execute a search warrant. We found a cell phone on the seat of his car. I’ve called in the number so someone can start checking his incoming and outgoing calls to see where they lead. He also had a whole arsenal of weapons on the floorboard of his vehicle. He came out shooting and wasn’t going to go down without a fight. We may not have a record of him, but all that means is that, whatever he’s been up to, he’s never been caught.”

Sister Anselm moaned and stirred. Ali went over to the two officers who had taken charge of her. One was holding the blanket to shade her while the other one held her hand. At Ali’s suggestion, the one officer let go of her hand long enough to offer the wounded nun another strip of water-soaked gauze.

“Did Sister Anselm say anything to you about McGregor’s connection to all this?” Robson asked.

“Not so far,” Ali said. It didn’t seem necessary to say that Sister Anselm was in no condition to say anything to anybody.

“An air ambulance is en route,” Robson continued. “When it gets here, why don’t you go back to the hospital with them if there’s room.”

“But . . .” Ali began.

Robson waved aside her objection. “I’m going to be here at
the scene for quite some time. Once my guys get their warrant, I’ll fly up to Payson and be there when they execute it. If you stick with me, you’ll be in for twelve hours or so of crime-scene investigation before I’ll have a chance to take you back to the hospital.”

An hour earlier, Ali would have thought Robson was trying to ditch her. Maybe he still was, but it seemed like he was letting her opt in or out of the crime-scene situation at her discretion. She made her choice. If the ATF media people were still in charge, she had no reason to be there and would just be underfoot.

“Good,” she said. “If the ambulance folks will take me, I’ll stick with Sister Anselm.”

“They’ll take you all right,” Robson declared, standing up and once again attempting to dust off his now grimy suit. “Believe me, I can make that happen.”

In the absence of any local authorities, Agent Robson took charge. Both Sister Anselm and Deputy Krist were in bad shape, but Robson declared the nun’s condition to be more precarious than the wounded deputy’s. When the first air ambulance arrived a few minutes later, he called for that one to take Sister Anselm first.

As Ali had predicted, getting the injured woman onto a stretcher and lifted up out of the gully and into the helicopter was a difficult process. Fortunately, the trauma nurse from on board was able to start administering IV liquids as well as pain medication before they ever attempted to move her. Once they managed to get her onto a stretcher, they used a winch and a basket from the helicopter to lift her up out of the ravine. She rose into the air in a swirling storm cloud of sand. The stretcher was then transported back to the roadway, where the helicopter
landed long enough for Sister Anselm to be moved from the basket and into the helicopter itself.

Following the complicated process from a distance, Ali wondered what Nadine Hazelett would have thought had she seen that. It would no doubt turn into something like “Angel of Death Ascends to Heaven.”

Agent Robson gave her a ride back down to the intersection, where a stretch of state highway had been transformed into an emergency landing pad with a full contingent of cop cars and cops on hand to direct traffic around the parked aircraft.

Ali retrieved her briefcase and purse from the borrowed patrol car and remembered to hand the keys over to Agent Robson for safekeeping. Once Sister Anselm’s stretcher was secure inside the aircraft, the nurse came looking for Ali.

“I understand you’re accompanying the patient?” she asked.

Ali nodded.

The nurse gave Ali a cursory examination. “Come along, then,” she said. “We need to go. From the looks of it, you’ve got some scrapes and bruises that could use some attention.”

“I’m okay,” Ali objected. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the nurse said. “We’ll deliver you to the ER, too. Believe me, the paperwork will be a whole lot easier on our end if we deliver two patients to the ER instead of only one.”

“Better insurance payout?” Ali asked.

The nurse nodded. “Yup,” she said.

“Should I feel guilty?”

“Let the docs x-ray you and plaster you with a few bandages. You’ll get a ride there, and it’ll be a whole lot easier on you than waiting for one of these guys to get around to giving you a ride.”

The helicopter took off the moment Ali was belted into
her seat. For some reason, the ride back to Phoenix didn’t take nearly as long as the ride out, and not because they were traveling any faster, either. Coming, Ali had been desperately concerned about what was happening to Sister Anselm and petrified that they would arrive too late. Now, with Sister Anselm receiving much-needed medical attention, Ali was able to relax. She closed her eyes and was astonished to find that she dozed off and didn’t awaken until the drop in altitude indicated they were heading in for a landing on the hospital roof.

This time a crew of uniformed ER folks waited on the roof to take charge of the patients. Sister Anselm was wheeled off immediately. To Ali’s chagrin, she was ordered onto a gurney so she could be wheeled down the wide corridor, into the elevator, and down to the ER.

Naturally, that turned into a case of hurry up and wait. She lay in a curtained cubby for the better part of an hour and a half before a young ER doc finally got around to looking in on her.

“It looks like you’ve taken some hard falls,” he said. “We’d better do some X-rays for starters. And I’m going to order an IV. When you’re going to be out in the sun in this kind of heat, you need to be sure to stay hydrated.”

Yes,
Ali thought.
The next time I’m being held hostage by a crazed gunman, I’ll remind him that it’s his responsibility to provide the bottled water.

She did not expect the kids to be there. She did not want them—Serenity bawling as though her heart was broken even though it wasn’t and Win looking shocked. Devastated. He probably was. He had never been good at making his way in the world. He had always need Mimi to help sort things out for
him, and he must be realizing that now he would be alone. On his own. In a way he had never been.