moment for him to realize what it was-the remains of a Tyvek surgical bootie like the ones that had left bloodied tracks all through his murder victim’s house.
He kept digging and found a few more bits and pieces. Finally though, when his shovel loads were yielding nothing but sand, a cell phone rang-Ali’s cell phone.
She answered it, listened, and then gave the house across the street a long, appraising look. “Right,” she said, finally. “Got it.”
Without saying anything to Gil or Flossie, she immediately dialed a number-the pilot’s, presumably. “We’re flying to San Diego. Wheels up in an hour,” she said. She paused and listened again. “I’m not sure which airport,” she said. “Whatever’s closest to the Clairemont Mesa Business Park. When you figure out what airport, call Hertz and give them my profile number. Tell them we’ll need a car wherever you’re taking us.”
She turned to Flossie. “We need to leave now,” Ali said urgently, “just as soon as we get these boxes loaded in my car. I appreciate all your help, but I’m worried about Mr. Blaylock. Do you think there’s a chance he’s inside the house? I know you said he wouldn’t be with the shutters down that way, but after we’re gone, you might want to check. You did say he gave you access to a remote, didn’t you?”
“Sure,” Flossie said. “I’ll be glad to go check on him. It won’t take but a minute, if you want to wait.”
“No,” Ali insisted. “We need to go. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
Gil figured that was a fib on Ali’s part because he was pretty sure the plane wouldn’t go anywhere without them.
As soon as the boxes were loaded, Ali headed for the driver’s side, jumped in, turned the key, and gunned the engine. Gil clambered into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and fastened his seat belt. The whole vehicle reeked of wood smoke and burned plastic.
“What’s the big hurry now?” he asked as she pulled out of the driveway and then accelerated down Heron Ridge Drive.
“My phone guy just called,” she said. “Stuart got a hit on Mina’s phone. According to cell phone towers, she’s somewhere in downtown San Diego. Since there’s been no activity on Blaylock’s phone, Stuart tried calling that one.”
“How can your guy be doing all this tracing without a court order?”
“Don’t ask,” she said.
“And?”
“Nobody answered Mark Blaylock’s phone, but it looks like it’s right here in Salton City, most likely in the Blaylocks’ shuttered house. I’m willing to bet Mark Blaylock is inside there too.”
“And in no condition to answer the phone,” Gil concluded.
Ali nodded.
“How come Flossie would have access to the shutter controls?”
“I’m not sure they were actually given to her. Let’s just say she knows where the controller is located, but if she walks in and finds what I think she’s going to find, we don’t want to be anywhere around. If we were to get caught up in another homicide investigation right now, it would really slow us down. We need to be in San Diego.”
They weren’t even on the highway yet when a set of flashing red lights appeared in front of them. Ali pulled over and stopped. Moments later a speeding Imperial County Sheriff’s Department patrol car swept past them and sped toward Heron Ridge Drive, the way they had come.
Gil looked at Ali. “Guess you called that shot,” he said.
Nodding, she pulled back into traffic, leaving Gil to reconsider his initial impression of her.
“Of course, the fact that we put out a BOLO on the wife’s car before Flossie called nine-one-one is probably going to raise a few eyebrows.”
Ali looked at him and grinned. “They’ll have to catch us first,” she said.
Gil was starting to like this girl.
“And what about your phone meister?”
“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “Stuart knows how to cover his tracks. Let’s just hope he can keep on working his telephone tracing magic with Ermina.”
“You realize I’m out of my jurisdiction and I don’t have an arrest warrant.”
“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “If we can catch her, I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something that will work.”
51
Escondido, California
Although Mina’s major shopping excursion would be tomorrow, she needed to do some shopping today. First up was a lightweight mummy sleeping bag, one that zipped up completely and came in Mina’s preferred design and color-desert camouflage. She purchased that for cash at an army surplus store in Escondido. Next on Mina’s list for today was solving the problem of what to wear for tonight’s meeting with Enrique.
Mina had left Salton City in a tracksuit that would do fine for dealing with Brenda, later in the evening, but it wouldn’t do at all for her meeting at Enrique’s penthouse unit in a newly opened high-rise condo tower in downtown San Diego.
In Escondido she spent some time looking before she located a small wedding boutique where, hidden in among all the pastel bridesmaid garb, she found a surprisingly suitable little black dress and a pair of pumps. Across the street Milady’s Day Spa encouraged walk-ins. She opted for a relatively inexpensive manicure and pedicure, followed by a facial, a deep-tissue massage, a steam bath, and a shampoo/blow-dry. In the spa dressing room, she reapplied her makeup from the ground up. When she left the spa four hours after entering it, she was transformed. She returned to her Town Car in the tight-fitting little black dress with the tracksuit safely stowed in a shopping bag.
Mina was glad Enrique had invited her to dinner at his new San Diego condo rather than their usual haunt at the casino near Palm Springs. San Diego was far too close to La Jolla for Mina to be comfortable visiting one of the city’s hip restaurants. Once she and Mark had been part of the social scene in town here, and she didn’t want to run into any of the folks from those old days. The last thing Mina needed tonight was for some former acquaintance to rush up to her, gush over Mina, lie about how much everyone missed seeing them, and ask where was her wonderful husband, Mark. They’d all know about Mark soon enough, but not now, not tonight.
She drove to McClintock Plaza and parked her Lincoln in a compact parking place that was several inches too small. It was a source of annoyance to Mina that there were far more parking places for little cars these days than there were for big ones. Leaving the car behind, she collected several shopping bags. One contained the bedroll, one held her track suit and running shoes, while a third contained her portable GPS. Then she meandered through the mall and had coffee in Starbucks before summoning a cab to take her to the airport. Once there, she made her way to the car rental desks, where Sophia Stanhope rented a Cadillac sedan, which she would return to LAX the next afternoon, prior to her scheduled Air France flight.
In her rented Cadillac, Mina drove to Kettner Boulevard in downtown San Diego and parked in a pay lot just across the street from the condominium tower. There were precious few lit windows showing in the lower floors of the building, but the penthouse blazed with light. Other people might not have money enough to close on their new condo units, but apparently drug dealers were still doing fine financially, thank you very much.
Inside the lobby, Mina gave the concierge her name-her new name.
He checked a list on his computer. “Welcome, Ms. Stanhope. Mr. Gallegos is expecting you. Right this way, please.”
The concierge led Mina to a private elevator, one with no buttons, where he used a key card to send her zooming nonstop to the penthouse floor, thirty-five stories up. When the elevator door opened in a secured lobby,
