Clawback (20 page)

“Really?” Edie wanted to know. “How can they do that?”

“Remember the phone tracking system you helped us put on Dad's phone? It allows us to see exactly when he arrived at the scene, and it lets us follow his movements once he got there.”

“Are you serious?” Edie asked.

Ali nodded.

“Oh my goodness!” Edie exclaimed as relief flooded her face. “I just love that husband of yours to pieces. And yes, I do remember the phone tracker incident. I had to smuggle Bobby's phone out of the bedroom while your father was in the shower. Is he going to have to know about it now? Once he finds out, he'll have a fit.”

“Maybe so,” Ali said, “but seeing as how it's something that should help exonerate him, I doubt he'll be too upset.”

“One can always hope,” Edie said, but she sounded unconvinced.

Once in the dining hall, Ali got coffee for both of them and then found a table while Edie went to fill a plate from the breakfast buffet.

“You look tired,” Ali said when Edie sat down across from her.

“Of course I'm tired,” Edie said. “You should have seen the mess those people left behind after that whole search warrant circus. I was up half the night putting things away where they belonged. But about that phone tracker evidence. Does it really mean we'll be able to put this whole homicide nonsense behind us?”

“Not necessarily. Detective Drinkwater may still decide to charge him.”

“Does Drinkwater know about the phone tracker?”

“No, at least not so far.”

“Since you haven't told the detective, maybe Bobby doesn't need to know about it, either.”

Unnoticed by either woman, Bob Larson appeared behind them. “I don't need to know about what?” he asked.

Ali noticed at once that he wasn't quite his old self yet, but he was remarkably better than he had been the day before.

“Busted,” Ali answered with a grin. “B. installed a tracking app on your phone that documented your movements at the crime scene yesterday, one that seems to corroborate your version of events.”

Bob turned to his wife. “I suppose you knew all about B. doing that?”

“As a matter of fact I did,” Edie said. “I even helped him do it.”

“Well then,” Bob said, “sounds like it's a good thing you did. And now I'm going to go get some breakfast. I'm starving.”

As he walked through the buffet area, Ali noticed him nodding and greeting people. So did Edie.

“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “He said it was a good thing? Yesterday he said he'd never be able to face coming to the dining room again, and yet here he is. What changed?”

“No idea,” Ali said. “Just be glad it did.”

When her father returned to the table, Ali explained the tracking results to him.

“So it sounds as though we can breathe easier about the murder charge, but there's still the money situation.” He looked at Edie before adding, “I applied for a job last night.”

“You did what?”

“When I bought you that rose at Safeway, I filled out a job application. I figure I could work in the produce department or the deli, either one.”

To Ali's dismay, her mother burst into tears. “Oh, Bobby,” she said. “You shouldn't have.”

“Bought you the rose or applied for a job?”

“Both,” she blubbered.

He reached across the table and covered her hands with his. “One way or the other, old girl, we'll get through this together,” he said. “If we cancel the cruise and cut our expenses, even a part-time job might make enough of a difference.”

Ali felt her own eyes mist over. “Speaking of part-time jobs,” she began, “that's the real reason I stopped by this morning. To offer you jobs.”

“What kind of jobs?” Edie asked suspiciously.

“B. and I have decided that High Noon is going to go after Jason McKinzie. We suspect he's hidden money away somewhere, and we intend to find it.”

“I'm all for going after that creep,” Edie said, “but aren't the cops the ones who are supposed to do that?”

“The feds will be tracking him down to put him under arrest. Some of our backdoor methods won't work for that, but they'll work just fine for going after his money.”

“How do you do that?” Bob wanted to know.

“The first step in any investigation is learning as much about the target as possible. That means we need to know everything there is to learn—from where he went to kindergarten when he was a kid to where he buys his underwear now. We'll be looking into his friends and associates as well as his romantic attachments. That's why Stu Ramey is doing a data-mining job on him.”

“A what?”

“Data mining,” Ali explained. “That means he's gathering all the online background material he can locate on Mr. McKinzie. Believe me, there's plenty of that. Mounds of it, in fact, and all of it needs to be thoroughly catalogued and analyzed. Stu, and to a lesser extent Cami, need to stay focused on our paying customers. We can't divert them away from that long enough to do this job justice. We're asking you to do it instead.”

“Sort through it, you mean?”

“Yes,” Ali replied. “Stu is a wizard when it comes to gathering the material, and he'll ferret out every smidgen of that there is to be found. But he doesn't have the necessary people skills to go through the material, read between the lines, and sort out who Jason McKinzie really is from who he wants people to believe he is. As for Cami? She's too young.”

“You're hiring us because you think we're old enough?” Edie asked.

“No,” Ali said, “because I think you're wise enough. As you go through the material piece by piece, be on the lookout for anything that doesn't fit.”

“We wouldn't be doing anything illegal, would we?” Bob asked. “I'm already in enough trouble with law enforcement.”

“No,” Ali assured him. “Stu will simply amass everything that's out there either in the public domain or on the Web. It'll be up to you to go through it, looking for needles of information in all that hay.”

“Sounds doable to me,” Bob said, “especially if it means recovering some of the money.”

“Yes,” Edie agreed. “You don't have to pay us to do that, but when can we start?”

“Today if you want, but only when you agree that High Noon is paying you.”

There was a momentary pause. “All right,” Bob agreed at last. “You drive a hard bargain. Where do we work?”

“You'll need to drive over to Cottonwood. Stu will be accessing the information on our secure server, and we want to keep what he finds secure. We'll set up workstations for you there so the sorting can be done on-site.”

Edie frowned. “I've heard talk about secure servers on the news, but I didn't know regular people had them.”

“You'd be surprised,” Ali said with a smile, “although I'm not sure High Noon counts as regular people.”

T
anna Romberg's Flights for Life call out had come through on her cell phone just after four a.m.

“We need you,” the dispatcher said in her ear. “Terrible car crash south of Hoover Dam—a minivan carrying a soccer team. Two critical patients have been airlifted to Vegas. Less severely injured are being transported to Kingman. How fast can you be there?”

“In Kingman?”

“Yes.”

At that hour of the morning, Tanna estimated there wouldn't be much traffic between her home in Glendale, Arizona, and the Deer Valley Airport just north of the 101 Loop. As a volunteer for Flights for Life, Tanna was responsible for transporting human blood products to cities and towns all over Arizona. Kingman, located in the far northwestern corner of the state, was a place she'd flown into often. To drive there from Phoenix would take close to three hours. Her Piper Cherokee 235 could cut that three-hour trip down to one and a little bit.

“Tell the courier to meet me at Cutter Aviation at the Deer Valley Airport in forty-five,” she said, scrambling out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Since I'm on call, the aircraft is already fully fueled. All I'll need to do is my preflight check.”

As predicted, there was zero traffic on I-17 as Tanna headed north. By the time the courier arrived at the FBO and handed her the distinctive cooler box labeled
HUMAN BLOOD
it was going on five a.m. The flight was smooth and uneventful—dark with glittering stars in a black sky as she flew north and with the sun fully up when she headed back south at 7:30.

Soaring over the mostly brown landscape, Tanna realized that she'd be landing in full rush hour. It would probably take her longer to drive home from the airport than it would take to fly from Kingman to Phoenix.

Her return flight path took her south over Wickenburg and then above Highway 60 before vectoring the aircraft in for an east/west landing at Deer Valley Airport. Tanna was already at a fairly low altitude in her gradual descent as she approached Loop 303. An occasional flight instructor, she'd often flown over this area with students doing touch-and-go landings. Nearby a huge but deserted gravel pit in the middle of nowhere was a recognizable landmark. When sunlight glinted off something down there, it caught her attention. Peering down she saw a vehicle there—a single vehicle.

Flights loaded with precious cargo—blood flights—were straight up and down affairs, but the trips home were usually much more leisurely, with occasional stops along the way for breakfast or lunch. This time, something about a single vehicle parked in a lonely gravel pit at that hour of the morning bothered her. Maybe it was the Silver Alert she'd seen earlier on her way to the airport—an elderly missing man driving a white Ford F-150 pickup truck.

Shrugging to herself, she turned back and sent the Cherokee into a series of turns around a point, all the while keeping the vehicle in the gravel pit in view. As the plane flew lower and lower, more details came into focus. Yes, it was a pickup truck—a white pickup truck. Then, taking the plane even lower, she saw what looked like two people lying on the ground. They didn't move as the shadow of the plane flew over them, and she knew at once that they were dead.

Pulling back on the yoke, she brought the plane climbing back into the air, calling it in as she went. “I've just spotted two people on the ground in a deserted gravel pit between the 60 and I-17, north of the 303. Can't tell for sure, but I think they're both dead.”

H
aley and Gram lingered over breakfast at the Sugarloaf Café. Gram had her usual, but Haley was happy to have bacon and eggs rather than oatmeal for a change. She was also glad to have someone else doing the cooking.

“How do you suppose she knew?” Gram asked.

The question barely registered. On her side of the table, Haley had been busy creating a mental must-do list: arrange funerals, reopen office, go to the bank, buy new saucepan.

“Who are we talking about?” she asked.

“Jessica Denton,” Gram answered. “When she came to the house last night, she already knew Dan and Millie were dead. But Eric Drinkwater just told us that they still haven't released the names.”

“She probably talked to one of the girls from the office,” Haley said. “It wasn't exactly top secret.”

Haley's phone rang just then, with the words “UNKNOWN CALLER” showing on the screen.

“Ms. Jackson?” Agent Ferris inquired.

“Yes.”

“I know you're anxious to be back up and running. We've sorted through the paper files and digitally copied and catalogued everything we need from them. We've copied the computer files as well. A truck is on its way back up I-17 right now to bring all your stuff back to you.”

“What about a key to the office?” Haley asked. “You changed the locks, remember?”

“The driver will have one for you. You'll need to make copies.”

Gee thanks
, Haley thought as she ended the call,
and have a nice day to you, too!

“What?” Gram asked.

“The SEC is returning our files. I'll need to call the girls and have them come in.”

“Well, take me home first,” Gram said. “With all you'll need to do today, you won't want me in your way.”

“I'll take you home on one condition,” Haley said.

“What's that?”

“You promise not to try cleaning that burned saucepan. It's wrecked, and I don't want you going after it with scouring pads or sandpaper.”

“That's the problem with people these days,” Gram grumbled. “They'd rather buy new than work at fixing what they've got.”

“Promise?” Haley insisted.

“Oh, all right.”

Feeling energized, Haley paid the bill and drove back to Art Barn Road. On the way, she called Carmen. “Call out the troops,” she said. “A truck is coming up from Phoenix with our files, and I'd like everyone on hand. Let them know there's no need to dress up. This is going to be more like a moving day than a working day. We'll be in the office, but we won't be open for business. I have a feeling what the SEC is sending back to us won't be nearly as well organized as it was when they hauled it away.”

When Haley and Gram entered the house, the smell of charred oatmeal assailed their nostrils despite the fact that Haley had opened all the windows before they left for breakfast. While Haley went to change into something more suitable than shorts and flip-flops, Gram set about going around the house closing the windows.

“Haley,” Gram called urgently a minute or so later. “Come look at this.”

“What?” Haley asked, zipping up a pair of jeans as she hurried out of the bedroom. She found Gram in the laundry room, standing in front of the window.

“Someone's been here,” Gram said. “Look at the screen.”

The bottom of the screen had been sliced open right along the frame. Some effort may have been made to push the screen back into place, but it had bowed back out, leaving a visible gap at the bottom.