J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 2: Trial by Fire, Fatal Error, Left for Dead (78 page)

“I think the same thing you do,” Gil said. “Only for a lot more reasons.”

While Gil laid out to the Imperial County detective what they knew, what they thought they knew, and when they knew it, Ali did her best to ignore the telephone conversation and concentrate on driving.

The streets of the once-thriving business park wound around and around in seemingly never-ending circles. A lot of the buildings were tagged with graffiti. Many of the lights that should have illuminated the street addresses printed on the buildings were broken or had burned out. There were weeds in the grassy medians and trash blowing around in the gutters and up beside the buildings. The parking lots beside the buildings were mostly empty. That could have been because it was night, or it could have been because the business park was close to being a ghost town. There was no way to tell.

Driving past the two Rutherford units, Ali saw that one of them had a loading bay as well as a regular walk-in entrance. The other unit had only a single door. She drove to the end of the street, counting doors and units as she went, then she traveled up an alley on the far side of the building, counting in reverse. Both Rutherford units had back doors, which meant that both front and back entrances needed to be watched.

Before Gil finished talking to Moreno, however, Ali’s phone rang. “UAVs,” B. said. “I’ve had one of my friends take a look at the schematics. Stuart tells me that according to the background check, Rutherford International was hired to dismantle a bunch of UAVs.”

“Yes,” Ali said. “I remember seeing something like that. A statement, signed and sworn by some government inspector, saying that the UAVs had been properly disposed of.”

“Then it’s likely the inspector lied,” B. returned. “According to the files on the thumb drives, someone—Richard Lowensdale, most likely—was tinkering with the guidance system files and making changes in their code as recently as two weeks ago.”

“Who would want to buy UAVs?” Ali asked.

“Who wouldn’t want to buy UAVs?” B. responded. “Anyone with a beef against the United States could be in the market for UAVs.”

Ali had pulled over and stopped in a parking place that allowed her to see both Rutherford doors. Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the window near her head. Outside stood a uniformed rent-a-cop who had arrived silently on a bicycle.

“This is private property,” he said. “You need to move along.”

Gil started to respond, but Ali stopped him. “We’re waiting to meet with a leasing agent,” she said, glancing at her watch. “She’s running late, but she’s supposed to be here any minute.”

“What was that all about?” B. asked into her ear.

“A security guard just paid us a visit,” she said. “Trying to give us the bum’s rush.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside the front door of the two remaining Rutherford facilities in San Diego.”

“Who’s there with you?”

“The security guard is here, but he’s not really with me. The
other guy is Gil Morris, a homicide cop from Grass Valley,” Ali answered.

“Shouldn’t you have some local backup?”

“So far we don’t have any grounds for backup,” Ali said. “Nothing that would stand up in court.”

“You can tell your friend that we don’t have an arrest warrant at this point,” Gil said, “but Detective Moreno from El Centro is currently en route. He says that if we can locate Ermina, he’ll be able to question her as a person of interest in her husband’s death. That’s not an arrest as such, but if she’s planning on leaving the country, that should at least slow her down, maybe long enough for arrest warrants to be forthcoming.”

“All right,” B. said. “I suppose that, as usual, you’re armed?”

“And dangerous,” Ali said with a smile. “So is Gil for that matter—armed and dangerous—and we’re both wearing vests.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” B. said, “especially since you’re on one side of the country and I’m on the other.”

Ali could hear a lecture coming about her putting herself in harm’s way. Even if it was true, Ali didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m going to have to hang up now,” she said. “My Carl’s Junior burger is getting cold.”

She ended the call and rustled open the bag, but for some reason, she discovered, she was no longer hungry. Even without the lecture, B.’s question had gotten to her. She and Gil were armed, but there was no telling if their opponent, who might or might not show up, would be armed as well.

“Do you think Ermina’s carrying?” Ali asked.

Gil thought about it for a moment before he answered. “Present company excluded,” he said, “most women I know don’t carry weapons. Yes, Ermina was willing to get up close and personal with Richard, but only when he was hogtied, hand and foot. Someone who would stoop to using plastic bags or poison isn’t
going to have guts enough to use a gun.” There was a pause and then he added a somewhat plaintive, “At least I hope she doesn’t.”

They both laughed aloud at that, and the laughter noticeably reduced the tension. It seemed odd for Ali to realize that although they had known each another for less than twelve hours, they were both operating on the same page. How was that possible?

She worried that the bike-riding security guard would come around again, but he didn’t. Then, just when Ali was beginning to think she might need to go find a bush somewhere, the headlights of a vehicle came sliding slowly down the street. First the turn lights came on. Then, activated by a remote control, the rolling door in the loading bay part of the building went up. A silver Cadillac drove inside and stopped, then the door came back down behind it, closing it from sight.

“Okay,” Gil said. “Here’s the way I see it. There are two of us and, from what I can see, only one of her; two vehicles; and five doors altogether. I’ll take the back two, you take these. If she tries to come out . . .”

Without a word, Ali restarted the Mercury’s engine and put it in gear. “You need to get out,” she said.

“Why?” Gil asked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to block the driveway,” Ali said, jarring the Marquis’s wheels up over the sidewalk. She waited long enough for Gil to scramble out the passenger door, then she parked so his side of the vehicle was within inches of the rolling door.

She rolled down her window as he came around to the driver’s side.

“Looks like that’ll work,” he said.

Ali nodded. “I call it athwart parking rather than parallel parking. My Hertz profile says I take every insurance they offer. If Ermina tries to drive out of the garage, she’ll have to go through this thing or over it.”

“Good thinking,” Gil said. “By my count that leaves only four doors to cover, and we outnumber her two to one.”

“Do we wait for her to come out on her own?” Ali asked. “Or do we try to bring her out?”

“Let’s try to maintain the element of surprise,” Gil said. “I’ll call you once I’m in position in the alley. Then as far as I’m concerned, I think we should sit tight. Ermina came here for one of two reasons—to pick something up or to drop something off. I doubt she’s planning on staying here all night.”

Gil had just disappeared from sight behind the end of the building when the security guard reappeared. Knowing he would most likely demand that she leave, Ali grabbed the car keys and shoved them out of sight into the crack between the two front seats. Then she punched her cell phone so it would dial Gil’s number.

“Where’s your friend?” the rent-a-cop asked.

“A call of nature,” Ali said, nodding in the opposite direction from the one where Gil had disappeared.

“He can’t do that. This is private property. You need to move your vehicle now. It’s blocking the driveway.”

“I’m sorry,” Ali said. “He took the keys. He’ll be back in a minute.”

“You don’t have a minute,” the guard said. “Your presence here is impeding a federal investigation.” He leaned toward the window holding an ID wallet. The badge inside said, very clearly, FBI. “Either you leave right now, or I’m placing you under arrest.”

“I guess you’ll have to arrest me then,” Ali told him. “Because I’m not leaving.”

“Step out of the vehicle,” he said. “Place your hands on your head.”

A
fter endless hours of utter darkness, when the lights came on overhead, their brilliance exploded in Brenda’s head, temporarily blinding her. She heard rather than saw the key turn in the lock. When she could see again, a woman—the woman Brenda knew as Ermina Blaylock—was approaching the chair where Brenda was imprisoned. Her face was screwed up in a strange grimace, as though the stench of the place was beyond bearing.

Brenda had moved far beyond that. She had become so accustomed to the foul odors lingering around her that she could no longer smell anything at all. But then Brenda saw the bottle. Ermina was carrying a bottle of water—a large bottle of water.

“I’ll bet you’re thirsty,” she said, forcing a smile. “I brought you something to drink.”

Brenda stared at the bottle. She wanted the water inside it more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. But then she remembered Friday. Or, at least, she remembered parts of Friday, how during lunch she had suddenly begun losing track of who she was and what she was doing.

She wanted the water, yes. But what if Ermina had slipped something into it? In her terribly weakened condition, even a little bit of something extra might be too much. Something that might have induced unconsciousness on Friday might well prove fatal now.

Ermina twisted the cap off the bottle and held it up to Brenda’s lips. “Here,” she said. “Have a drink.”

Brenda leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Once again, through the trailing ethers of memory, she heard Uncle Joe’s voice. “Choose to live.”

Yes, she would die of thirst, but she would not willingly swallow whatever poison Ermina was offering her. She waited. Only when the open end of the bottle touched her lips did she bring her head forward, swinging it from side to side. Ermina had expected compliance, and she was caught unawares. Brenda smacked the bottle with the side of her cheek and sent it flying out of Ermina’s hand. It rolled across the floor, spilling precious water as it went. Finally it came to rest against the bottom of a chain-link fence.

“You stupid bitch!” Ermina exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”

She reached out and slapped Brenda’s face with an open-handed blow that left Brenda seeing stars, but the pain of it was enough to jar Brenda fully out of her stupor. And even as Ermina readied another blow, Brenda realized that Uncle Joe would have been proud of her. For once in her life Brenda Riley had measured up.

Then suddenly the chair she was imprisoned in was moving. With Brenda still in it, the chair rolled out through the open gate in the chain-link fence, across the tiled floor to yet another door. She sped through the second door and into another interconnected section of the building. There was a car inside. Ermina wheeled Brenda past a tall stack of cardboard boxes and stopped next to the trunk of the car.

Without a word, Ermina opened the trunk. Then, after donning
a pair of latex gloves, she reached inside and pulled out a plastic-wrapped package. Using a box cutter, she tore though the packaging and then shook out the contents. Brenda watched as a narrow bedroll unrolled. For some reason it reminded her of an uncoiling snake.

Ermina unzipped the bedroll and then she cut through the tape that had bound Brenda’s legs. “Stand up,” she said.

Brenda looked down at her feet. After being forced to sit for days on end, her limbs were severely swollen, distended. She understood without being told that if she ever got inside that bedroll, there would be no coming out. And she also understood that there was no point in screaming. She had already tried that once, to no avail. Besides, she didn’t have the strength.

“I can’t,” she said.

“You can and you will,” Ermina replied.

She held the opening of the bedroll over Brenda’s head and slipped it down. As the thick material shut out the light—as darkness descended again—Brenda tried to struggle against it, but it was no use. She felt herself propelled up and out of the chair, which skittered away from her and banged up against a wall somewhere behind her. She landed hard inside the trunk as her head came to rest against the upright wall at the far end of the trunk. And then, although she struggled hard against it, she heard the zipper closing inevitably, shutting her in.

Brenda tried shouting then, one last time, in the vain hope that someone would hear her, but the down filling of the bedroll muffled her cries.

She heard the car’s motor start. She heard a racket of some kind, like a garage door opening. She felt the car start to move, and then she heard a crash as it stopped moving. Her head smashed hard against something she couldn’t see, and then another kind of blackness descended around her and carried her away.

G
il heard the guy talking in the background on Ali’s phone. For a moment he was torn. Did he abandon his post and go give Ali backup, or did he stay where he was in case Ermina heard the racket out front and made a break for it? Then Gil heard another sound in the background—a garage door rolling open. He turned and sprinted back the way he had come, but he was the better part of a block away.

The grinding sound of a crash—of crunching metal and breaking glass—was immediately followed by a shout of surprise that could have been from someone being hit or hurt.

A car engine revved. More than revved, it roared. There was another horrendous grinding and scraping of metal on metal. Gil made it around the corner in time to see the back of a Cadillac DTS T-boned into the side of the Marquis. The security guard’s bicycle had been flung across the street. With its front wheel still spinning, it lay at an odd angle next to the gutter. In the middle of the street, next to the Marquis, lay the fallen security guard.

Gil took it all in as he ran. Then a woman in what looked like a
tan tracksuit erupted out of the open garage door. She sped away from Gil with so much distance between them that he knew he’d never catch her. Just then, Ali sprang out of her car. She had to dodge around to keep from stepping on the fallen security guard, but then she caught her balance and ran too. She ran with her head down and her arms pumping; she ran like she meant it.