“Wait,” B. said. “Something else just occurred to me. When I went to check on the Cayenne, I’m sure I saw security cameras in the parking lot at the Renewal Center. Just because they have cameras doesn’t mean they were running at the time, but why don’t you see if you can access them. Somebody went to the trouble of dropping Ali’s car off there. I’d like to know who did it and when.”
“I’m on it,” Stuart said.
Because it was the thing most likely to give them a concrete lead, he did that first. Stuart was an old hand at getting inside other people’s secure surveillance systems, and this one was no exception. In fact, the system was so ridiculously simple to hack in to that it occurred to Stuart that someone from High Noon should probably talk to them about upgrading. Once he had access to the videos, he used the timing of the fire as a marker and looked at recordings that were time-stamped between two-thirty and three P.M. He soon found what he expected to find.
At 2:46:35 he spotted a vehicle that looked like Ali’s Cayenne nosing into the parking lot. It drove past innumerable empty spots before pulling into one that was as distant as possible from the camera’s stationary location. The Cayenne was followed by a large black Mercedes, an S550 sedan, with a solo male driver. While Stuart watched, a woman who was clearly not Ali got out of the Cayenne, walked over to the second vehicle, and climbed into the passenger seat. Moments later, the Mercedes exited the parking lot and sped westbound on Lincoln.
Stuart tried enhancing the image enough to read the vehicle license, but it didn’t work. He sat there, staring blindly at the computer screen and wondering what to do next. He couldn’t dodge the gut feeling that told him Barry Handraker was an important part of whatever was going on. If so, where was the point of contact? The wife? Yes, but did that mean Molly Handraker was an active participant, or was she a victim? Remembering that Molly had worked for battered-women’s shelters prior to leaving Minnesota, Stuart suspected he knew the answer. Once the fire department made it into the burned-out house, they would find the charred remains of three victims-Molly; her mother, Doris Ralston; and Ali Reynolds, while Barry Handraker would once again disappear into the ethers.
“Not if I can help it,” Stuart muttered under his breath.
That was when he decided to come at the problem from a different angle. He went straight back to Ali’s notes and looked up Molly’s phone numbers. What he did next was entirely illegal and completely necessary. Within a matter of moments, he was examining not only Molly Handraker’s phone records but her mother’s. Once the numbers were laid out in front of him, what struck him as odd was the sheer volume of phone calls from Doris Ralston’s landline to an unlisted number in Las Vegas. A little more sleuthing disclosed that the landline was located in a unit in Turnberry Towers and bills for that number were being sent to Doris Ralston’s Phoenix address.
Stuart was puzzling over what to do with that information when a sudden movement on the iCloud-dedicated computer caught his eye. He watched as a map gradually filled in the blanks on the Find My Device screen. As soon as it finished, he verified the location and then grabbed his phone to call B.
“Guess what,” he announced breathlessly. “Ali’s iPad just phoned home. It’s at the Love’s Travel Stop, a truck stop just east of Kingman.”
“Kingman,” B. echoed. He sounded enormously relieved but puzzled. “What would Ali be doing there?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me.”
“No idea,” B. replied, “but I’ve got Dave Holman on the other line. I’m still at the fire. He was trying to get them to let me past the perimeter, but it’s not working. Let me call you back.”
“Wait,” Stuart said. “If Dave’s on the line, where is he?”
“At the Sheriff’s Department in Prescott. Why?”
“Doris Ralston’s son, Chip, is still in the lockup there, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. Dave told me that once he’s off the phone, he’s going over to the jail to let Chip know about the fire.”
“While he’s there, have him ask Chip if he knows who would be staying in his mother’s condo in Vegas.”
“Anything else?” B. asked.
Still accessing the information from Ali’s iPad, Stu switched over to her notes file and scrolled through the most recent items, focusing on the last one-the note containing the information on Jack and Gloria Manning. The time stamp on that note, which Ali had written bare minutes before the arrival of Stu’s message about Barry Handraker, meant that the information had to be something she had gleaned from her interview with Molly Handraker.
“Ask Dave to mention the names Jack and Gloria Manning to Chip Ralston. See if he has any idea why those names might have come up this morning when Ali was questioning Molly.”
“Will do,” B. answered. “What’s happening to the iPad?”
“Nothing,” Stu answered. “It’s in the same spot. But here’s one more possible assignment for Dave. I can do it if I have to, but it’ll be easier and faster if Dave makes the call for us. Have him check with the DMV to see what vehicles are licensed to Doris Ralston’s address on Upper Glen Road. I’m betting one of them will turn out to be that same S550 that followed Ali’s Cayenne into the Renewal Center’s parking lot. Tell him I need the VIN.”
“I’ll get back to you,” B. said. He sounded more like himself, energized and determined. “Thank you, Stu. At least I have a tiny thread of hope that Ali is alive.”
“Just because the iPad’s there doesn’t mean she is,” Stu cautioned.
“It doesn’t mean that she isn’t, either. But thinking she’s still alive and in a vehicle in Kingman is better than thinking she’s up the street in the charred remains of that house. If she’s in Kingman, I’m going there, too.”
“That’s got to be close to two hundred miles from where you are right now,” Stu objected.
“Yes, it is, and that’s why, while I’m on the phone with Dave, I need you to call a charter company for me,” B. said urgently. “Heli-Pros is a helicopter charter outfit based at the FBO at Scottsdale Airport. I’ve worked with them before. Tell them I’m going to need one of their aircraft fueled and ready to go in forty-five minutes to an hour. Wherever that signal is going, that’s where I’m going.”
Once B. hung up, Stuart did as he was asked and soon discovered that as far as Heli-Pros was concerned, B. Simpson’s name was nothing short of a magic wand. With assurances that a pilot and fully fueled helicopter would be awaiting B.’s arrival at the airport, Stuart focused again on the Find My Device screen. Unfortunately, Ali’s iPad was no longer visible.
Staring at a stationary picture on the screen was useless. Instead, Stuart returned to his favorite pastime- data mining. He had already succeeded in getting Molly Handraker’s telephone billing information. What Stuart needed now was a lot more complicated. He was fully engaged in the project when B. called him back.
“Anything more from Find My Device?” he asked.
“Not so far. I’ve looked on the cell tower maps, though, and on the far side of Kingman, coverage is spotty. So don’t worry. If they’re going that way, it may just be that the iPad has moved out of range.”
“On Ali’s list of devices, there’s a phone called Extra. Where’s that one?”
“Probably at home in Sedona,” B. said. “It’s not even turned on.”
“Any chance you could stop by Sedona on your way to Kingman and pick it up?”
“I suppose,” B. agreed reluctantly. “Are you sure we need another phone? Can’t we use mine?”
“No,” Stuart insisted. “We need that phone. Tell Leland Brooks to bring it to the airport, and no matter what, don’t turn it on. By the way, are you packing?”
“You mean as in carrying a weapon? Not me. Ali’s the one with a CWP.”
“You’d best be prepared,” Stuart warned. “See if Leland Brooks can pick up a sidearm or at least some kind of weapon for you to have on hand. Barry Handraker is evil. If you end up in some kind of confrontation with the guy, it’s better to be prepared.”
“All right. When I meet up with the pilot, I’ll check with him, too. I know from flying with them in the past that some of their guys are ex-Special Forces. In the meantime, here’s the rest of the information you wanted. Chip Ralston’s mother does own an S550. Here’s the VIN.” As B. read off the number, Stuart jotted it down. “She also owns a seafrost-green 2006 Jaguar XJ8 L. According to Chip, Jack and Gloria Manning were once good friends with the Ralstons. Gloria died two years ago, and Chip thinks Jack may have remarried. He has no idea why someone would have mentioned them to Ali. He also has no idea who might be living in his mother’s condo in Turnberry Towers. As far as he knew, the unit was unoccupied. His father bought it as an estate tax dodge and didn’t live long enough to use it.”
Stuart jotted a note, giving himself yet another security surveillance system to target.
“Dave put in a call to the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office,” B. went on, “but they weren’t the least bit helpful. All we have for sure is an iPad that’s somewhere it shouldn’t be, and the department’s official position is that they
