Hand of Evil

“That would be Arabella Ashcroft’s Rolls,” Larry Marsh said.

“Why would Ali be driving Arabella’s Rolls?” Dave asked. “Where’s her driver-what’s his name?”

“Brooks,” Larry supplied. “Leland Brooks.”

A pair of squad cars nosed their way up the street and stopped behind the Phoenix PD Crown Victoria. As uniformed officers converged on the scene and began trying to assess the situation, Larry pulled his partner aside.

“Once we get an APB put out on that Rolls, we’ll leave the locals to work this scene,” Larry said. “And while they’re busy with that, we’ll head back over to Arabella’s house. Maybe we missed them in transit.”

CHAPTER 18

Which way?” Ali asked when they reached the freeway. Her hands were sticky with sweat. She knew now that Arabella Ashcroft was completely nuts. She was also armed and dangerous.

“South,” Arabella said. “Get off again at Camp Verde.”

Make conversation, Ali counseled herself. Try to make things seem normal. “You still haven’t said where we’re going,” she added.

“I’m going to say good-bye,” Arabella said.

“Good-bye to what?”

“We’re going to a place I loved,” Arabella explained. “Mother called it her ‘cabin in the woods.’ It’s on a piece of private land in the middle of the wilderness. It’s very peaceful there. Once they lock me up, I’ll never see it again. And when I die, they’ll knock it down and turn it back into wilderness. It’ll be gone forever.”

Back at the house Arabella had seemed defiant-giggly and almost gleeful. Now her mood shifted. She sounded morose and brooding. Ali sensed that this subtle change, booze induced or not, made Arabella more dangerous to deal with rather than less. And if her intention was to go somewhere to say good-bye, what were the chances that she intended to take Ali with her?

“Did you do what I told you?” Ali asked. “Did you contact a defense attorney?”

In the course of their long, rambling conversation, Arabella Ashcroft had admitted to committing two homicides. She had also hinted that she might be involved in two more. It occurred to Ali that if and when the woman was taken into custody, even the most effective representation might not be enough to save her. Arabella seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t see any point. Why waste the money? They’re going to send me to jail or somewhere else. Either way, I’m not coming back here. This is over.”

“What’s over?” Ali asked in an effort to keep Arabella talking.

“Everything,” Arabella said. “I’ve lived my whole life, and I’ve never done anything worthwhile.”

“What about those little girls you wanted to help? Did you mean what you said about helping them?”

“Yes, I meant it. Of course I meant it!” Arabella’s anger briefly resurfaced. “But once everything that’s happened is made public no one is going to pay any attention to anything I say.”

“I know a girl like that,” Ali said quietly.

“A girl like what?”

“One like you were, only she’s a couple of years older. She’s someone who has been abused and who has decided to use her body for whatever it’ll buy.”

“Your friend’s daughter?” Arabella asked. “The one who ran away?”

Of course, Ali thought. Arabella reads cutloose. “What would you say to her?” Ali returned, without answering Arabella’s question one way or the other.

They were approaching Camp Verde by then. “Turn here,” Arabella said. “I’m hungry. Stop at the McDonald’s-at the drive-up.”

“I don’t have any money,” Ali said. “I didn’t bring my purse.” Or my driver’s license, she thought.

“I have money,” Arabella said. “Stop with the back window at the drive-up. I’ll take care of it. And don’t try anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “I won’t.”

Back at Arabella Ashcroft’s house for the second time, Larry and Hank found an older 4 x 4 Mazda pickup truck parked in the driveway. A man, bent under the weight of a heavy box, was hurrying from the truck toward the front door.

Hank stopped the car and Larry jumped out. “Mr. Brooks? Mr. Leland Brooks?”

With his white hair glowing in the headlights, the man turned to look at them. He was dressed in full rhinestone cowboy regalia, from the sequined cowboy shirt to the tips of his snakeskin boots. The box in his arms, full to the brim, was one of the three-side produce boxes used to pack groceries at Costco.

“Yes, I’m Leland Brooks,” he said. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

“Police,” Larry said. “We need to talk to you. Put down the box and then get on the ground.”

“Get on the ground? Are you joking?”

“Not at all. Get on the ground.”

With some difficulty Brooks tried to comply. He stooped over and let go of the box. Groceries spilled out through the opening, rolling in all directions. He dropped stiffly onto one knee, groaning with pain. “My knees aren’t what they used to be,” he said. “If you want me on the ground, you’re going to have to help me.”

He’s an old man for Chrissake, Larry thought guiltily. Give the guy a break.

By then, Hank was out of the car. Instead of pushing Brooks to the ground, Larry grabbed him by his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. “Hands behind your back, then.”

“Behind my back? You’re handcuffing me? What have I done? I had two beers in Prescott, but that was hours ago. If you want a sobriety test…”

“You’re wanted for questioning in the murder of William Cowan Ashcroft the third.” As Larry fastened the cuffs, he automatically recited the Miranda warning.

“Wait a minute,” Brooks said when Larry finished. “You think I murdered Billy? Are you kidding? Why would I? Where did you get such a crazy idea?”

“Where’s Arabella?” Larry asked.

“Where would she be? Inside and asleep, I’m sure. I gave her all her medication before I left. She should be sleeping through the night. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Because she’s taken off somewhere, and she’s taken a woman named Alison Reynolds with her.”

“Ms. Reynolds is missing?” Brooks asked. “Whatever may have happened, I can’t imagine that Miss Arabella has anything to do with it, and I’m sure you’ll find the Rolls is right here in the garage where it belongs.”

“Do you mind showing us?”

“Of course not. The clicker’s in my pocket. You’ll have to get it out.”

“Which pocket?”

“The front one.”

“Do you have anything dangerous in here-anything that will hurt me?”

“You mean like a needle or something? Certainly not!” Brooks said. “I’m not some kind of druggie, if that’s what you’re implying.”

With some difficulty Hank emptied Brooks’s pockets, extracting a wallet, a set of keys, and a small plastic clicker. When he punched the button the heavy garage door rolled up and a light came on revealing an expanse of shiny concrete polished to a high gloss.

“It is gone,” Brooks said, confirming the obvious. “But someone else must have taken it. I’m sure Miss Arabella is asleep in her room exactly where I left her.”

“Do you mind if we check?” Larry asked.

“Of course not. Go into the kitchen, through the swinging doors, and then down the hall. Her room is the first one on the left, but I can tell you for sure. Miss Arabella wouldn’t be driving the car. She doesn’t even have a