Web of Evil: A Novel of Suspense (19 page)
Read Web of Evil: A Novel of Suspense Online
Authors: J. A. Jance
Ali was still standing just to the right of the door. The kitchen window was behind her. If Dave approached the kitchen from that direction, April would see him, and she’d have a shot at both of them. If Ali could manage to distance herself from the door, April’s attention would be split.
“You do have that kind of family,” Ali said. “You’ve had it all along. That’s what my mother was trying to do—help you. Your mother was doing the same thing. They were both trying to give you some hard-won advice to help you through this terrible time.”
As she spoke, Ali moved past the sink, but April noticed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded. “I told you to stay there.”
Ali’s heart pounded in her chest. Summoning as much nonchalance as she could muster, she reached up in the cupboard and took down a glass.
“I’m thirsty,” Ali said. “I need a drink of water. Do you want some?”
April shook her head.
Taking that as permission, Ali proceeded over to the fridge, where she used the door dispenser to fill the glass with both ice and water. She was relieved to see that April’s attention remained focused on her. Unfortunately, so did the gun. Ali’s move to the fridge meant she was closer to the weapon now, as well. The barrel seemed immense. And it must have been heavy, too. April’s hand seemed to tremble as she tried to hold it steady.
Ali took a deep breath. If she attempted to reason with April, what were the chances she’d simply provoke the disturbed woman that much more? And how much longer would it take for Dave to get here? And when all hell broke loose, where in this high-tech granite and stainless steel kitchen would she look for cover? Ali was far more accustomed to dealing with the world through words than she was with weapons.
“Please, April,” she said. “This is pointless. Put the gun down.”
As Ali had feared, April did the exact opposite. Rather than putting the pistol down, she raised it and pointed it toward herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali caught a hint of movement at the kitchen door. Dave was there. He had approached from the opposite side without passing the window and without being seen while April’s life hung in the balance.
Dropping the glass, Ali sprang forward. She reached across the table and slammed one closed fist into April’s wrist. At the same time she straight-armed April in the chest with her other arm. Caught off guard and off balance, April spilled backward. The gun exploded with a roar. So did one of the glass pendant light fixtures over the counter. April landed on her back with a grunt. The force of the fall was enough that the gun bounced out of her hand and went spinning across the floor, where it came to rest against the base of the dishwasher. While April struggled to right herself, Ali scrambled after the gun.
“Ali,” Dave was shouting. “Are you okay? Did she get you?”
Holding the pistol in one hand and shaking her head, Ali struggled to her feet as Dave helped April to hers. April was crying. There was blood on her face from what looked like a series of jagged cuts, but not from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. That meant Ali’s desperate measure had succeeded.
“Why didn’t you just let me do it?” April demanded tearfully. “Why can’t you people just leave me alone? Why don’t you mind your own business?”
It was a moment or two before Ali could find her own voice. Trembling, she examined her body and was more than half surprised to find no gaping wounds.
“I’m okay,” she managed at last. “At least I think I am.”
In the background now, she could hear the sound of approaching sirens. So Dave had called for backup. He just hadn’t waited for reinforcements to arrive before coming to the door. For that Ali was incredibly grateful.
Without another word, Ali left April’s gun on the counter and raced for the stairs that led to the basement. She dashed past Paul’s loaded wine racks and through the media room. Just as she expected, she found Edie in the decommissioned sauna—duct-taped to the slats of the wooden bench. Another piece of duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide open.
Cringing, Ali peeled the tape off her mother’s mouth, removing a good deal of skin along with it.
“Are you all right?” Ali asked.
“Just let me at that little nutcase,” Edie replied. “I’ll tear her limb from limb. Did I hear gunshots?”
Ali nodded while she struggled to loosen Edie’s other restraints, starting with her arms. “You did hear gunshots,” Ali said. “One, at least. Fortunately she missed. Dave is upstairs with her, waiting for the cops to get here. If they’re not here already, they will be any minute. Are you all right?”
“I’m more mad than hurt,” Edie replied. “She gave me a good crack on the back of the head. I was out for a while, and my head hurts like crazy. What in the world is the matter with that girl?”
There was no way to answer that question.
As Ali worked to free her mother from her restraints, footsteps pounded across the kitchen and down the stairs. “Where are you?” Dave demanded.
“Down the hall,” Ali called back. “In the sauna.”
Dave’s anxious face appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Is Edie here? Is she okay?”
With the last of the tape removed, Edie tried to get to her feet. She stood briefly, but even with Ali helping her, she swayed a little and sat back down abruptly. “I guess I’m still a little woozy,” she said.
“An ambulance is already on the way,” Dave said.
“What’s going on upstairs?” Ali asked.
“When April saw the uniforms, she fought the cops tooth and nail, but they have her in custody now. They’re putting her in a patrol car or an ambulance.”
A uniformed cop showed up in the sauna just then, followed immediately by two more. “Is the other lady all right?” one of them asked.
“I’ll be a whole lot better once you get me out of here,” Edie Larson said, rising again. “I never have liked saunas. They make me feel claustrophobic.”
For good reason,
Ali thought.
“Ma’am,” one of the cops said. He didn’t look to be much older than Chris. “Are you sure you should be moving around like this? Wouldn’t you be better off sitting back down and waiting here for the EMTs to come take a look at you?”
“Young man,” Edie said firmly, “I’m not staying in this room for another minute. Now either help me out of here or else get out of the way so I can do it on my own.” With that, Edie turned to Ali. “Call your father,” she ordered. “Let him know I’m all right. If you’ve told him about any of this, he’s probably worried sick.”
That was when Ali knew for sure Edie was all right, too.
As the clutch of uniformed officers helped Edie out of the sauna and down the hall, Dave handed Ali his phone. “Call your dad,” he said.
Bob and Chris had arrived at the hotel by then, and they were jubilant when they heard the news. “I can’t believe you and Dave pulled it off!” Bob Larson exclaimed.
Ali gave Dave a sideways look. “I can’t, either,” she said. “But we did.”
“And everybody’s all right?”
“They’re taking Mom to an ER to be checked out. She has a nasty lump on her head and was a little shaky on her feet. She may have a slight concussion.”
“Which hospital?”
“Cedars-Sinai,” Ali answered. “Ask Chris. He’ll know how to get there.”
“What about you?” Bob asked.
“I’m fine,” Ali said. And she had been fine while she was helping her mother. But now she could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke to her father. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She handed the phone over to Dave, trying to dodge his questioning glance as she did so, trying not to let him see that her hands were shaking and her knees knocking. Ali sank down on the redwood bench, and Dave sat down beside her.
“You’re not fine,” he said, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder. “You’re not fine at all.”
T
hey sat together for some time, with Ali simply leaning into Dave’s shoulder and gathering her strength. “Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you for being here and thank you for listening to what I meant as opposed to what I said.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Better now?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he said, “because it’s about time to go back upstairs and give another statement.”
“And call Victor again?”
“I think we can pass on calling Victor this time.”
The officer who took Ali’s statement was one of the Eagle Scout–looking uniforms who had helped Edie make her way back upstairs.
“So this whole thing came about because your mother and this April Gaddis had some kind of disagreement?”
“Evidently,” Ali said.
“And what exactly is your relationship to the perpetrator—or your mother’s, for that matter?”
Ali sighed. “April Gaddis is my dead husband’s mistress. My dead husband’s pregnant mistress. They were supposed to get married yesterday, but he was murdered early Friday morning and died before our divorce became final.”
The young man frowned. Concentrating as he wrote, he made no comment about Ali’s very complicated life, and Ali greatly appreciated his lack of editorial input.
“And the cause of the difficulty between April and your mother?” he continued.
“Mom tried to tell April she shouldn’t be smoking when she’s pregnant.”
“Makes sense to me,” the young cop said. His name was Rich Green, and maybe he really was an Eagle Scout.
Officer Green took the information from both Ali and Dave in a methodical manner. He was thorough. He was patient. He was also slow as Christmas. By the time he finally finished, Ali was ready to strangle him.
“So where did they take April?” Ali asked when the ordeal was finally over. “And what about my mother?”
“They were both supposed to be transported to Cedars-Sinai,” Officer Green told them. “But I believe your mother decided against going at the last moment. Said she had a perfectly good hotel room and that would be fine. All she wanted was to see her husband and get a good night’s sleep.”
That sounded like Edie.
“And April?” Ali asked.
“She went to the hospital.”
“Cedars-Sinai? They have a psych ward there?” Ali asked.
“I’m not sure about a psych ward,” Officer Green returned. “I believe one of the EMTs said something about her going into labor.”
Ali’s heart constricted in her chest. “But I just told you. April Gaddis was holding both my mother and me at gunpoint. She’s been waving a pistol around and threatening suicide. She should be on a suicide watch.”
“I’m sure the EMTs who transported her conferred with the supervisor on the scene before they took her anywhere. Do you want me to call and check?”
Ali could imagine how long it would take Officer Green to navigate through any kind of bureaucratic roadblock.
“No, thanks,” Ali said. “Don’t bother. I’ll find out for myself.”
“The hospital?” Dave asked, following Ali out to where his car was parked directly behind hers.
“You don’t have to come,” Ali said.
“I’m coming,” Dave declared.
“All right then,” Ali agreed. “The hospital.”
It was after two
A.M.
when both vehicles pulled into the hospital parking lot. The hospital was locked down tight. A security guard met them at the main door and led them to a lobby counter.
“We’re here to see a patient,” Ali said to the clerk seated in front of a computer screen. “She’s on the maternity ward. Her name is April Gaddis.”
The clerk typed something into her keyboard then looked back at Ali with a frown. “Are you a relative?” she asked.
Clearly the clerk was less than prepared to hand out any information. And with the new federal privacy rules, Ali knew she was fighting an uphill battle. She tried to lighten the mood.
“Not a relative,” Ali said breezily. “Just a good friend. I’m going to be the baby’s godmother.”
“Excuse me,” the clerk said, rising. “If you’ll just wait here. I need to check with a supervisor.”
“Not good,” Dave said under his breath. “When they have to go check with a supervisor, it’s never a good sign.”
A few minutes later a formidable black woman emerged from a closed door behind the desk. “I’m a supervisor, Audrey Barker. May I help you?” she asked.
“I came to see April Gaddis,” Ali said. “She’s a patient here—a maternity patient. She was brought here by ambulance a couple of hours ago.”
“And what is your relationship to Ms. Gaddis?” Audrey Barker asked. “Are you a relative?”
“As I already told the other woman, I’m not a relative—just a good friend.”
“Would you happen to know the names of any of Ms. Gaddis’s relatives? She told us her mother is deceased.”
“Monique Ragsdale
is
deceased,” Ali answered. She was starting to get a bad feeling from all the questions. Surely coming to visit a patient didn’t usually result in the visitors being given this kind of third degree.
“Do you know of any others or how we could contact them?”
“I never met her father,” Ali said. “And as far as I know, April is an only child. She used to have a stepbrother, but not anymore. Why?”
“But you and she are good friends?”
“Yes,” Ali said at once, carefully avoiding meeting Dave’s eye as she said so. “Why?”
“Because,” Audrey Barker said kindly, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”
CUTLOOSEBLOG.COM
Monday, September 19, 2005
First of all, my mother is safe. She was found a few hours after I posted that last message. She was slightly hurt in the process but not enough that she required either treatment or hospitalization. Thanks so much to those of you who wrote to express your concern.
This has been a dreadful week. My husband is dead. So is his girlfriend and so is their unborn baby. My husband was found murdered late last week and I remain a “person of interest” in that homicide. April Gaddis, his girlfriend and the mother of his unborn child, committed suicide after being admitted to the maternity ward of Cedars-Sinai Hospital. I’m able to report her name here because April’s next of kin, her long-estranged father, has now been located and notified.
Overwhelmed by events, April suffered some kind of breakdown. In the process she not only murdered her own mother, she ended up holding two other people at gunpoint. My mother was one of the two. I was the other. When officers finally arrived at the second scene, April was taken into custody and transported by ambulance to the hospital after convincing EMTs she was about to give birth. Once there, she went into the bathroom of her hospital room, supposedly to change clothes. Instead, she somehow managed to hang herself.
During my years in the news business, I remember using the words “senseless violence” on occasion. And the words apply here as well. A whole family has been wiped out—one that would have been my husband’s second family. Four people are dead, including a baby who never had a chance to draw her first breath and a grandmother who never saw her granddaughter’s face.
In the process, my own life has been threatened. So has my mother’s. I’ve also been accused of murder. In the course of all the turmoil, things became so complicated that I was told to avoid blogging entirely for fear I might end up saying something in my commentary that would be considered self-incriminating. (As you can see by this post, I’m not always good about taking advice from attorneys—even when I’m paying them big bucks to give me that selfsame advice.)
Putting all that together, you can probably understand that when I came dragging back to my hotel this morning at a little past four, I was feeling more than a little shattered, to say nothing of exhausted. To top it all off, my faith in the human race was pretty much obliterated. My mother, who had been missing, had been found safe, but I was too tired to count that as a blessing right then. She had been endangered for no other reason than she is my mother, who had come to L.A. to help me with my mounting difficulties. I believe this can be filed under the heading of “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.”
In other words, everything that had happened had been more than I could handle—and then some. So once I finally made it back to my hotel and dropped my car off with the valet, I staggered into the lobby intent on going straight up to my room to go to sleep. Halfway across the lobby I was waylaid and greeted by name by someone I knew but had never met in person.
She was an older lady with bright blue eyes and a halo of thinning snow-white hair. She was sitting on a couch just inside the entrance. Parked next to her was a walker that sported red, white, and blue tennis balls and a tiny American flag. She stood up the moment she saw me. “There you are, Babe,” she said. “How’s your mom?”
Those of you who have been following cutloose for some time will recognize the name Velma T of Laguna. She had read my previous post, the one that said my mother was missing. She was so concerned about what was going on that she ended up doing some detective work of her own. She figured out where I must be staying, and came here—in a cab!!!! When I told her my mother was safe, she simply smiled and nodded. “I know,” she said. “I’ve been praying for her all night.”
I offered to give Velma T a ride back home, but she turned me down. “You look tired, honey,” she said. “You’d better get some sleep. I got here under my own steam, and I’ll get home the same way.”
And so, with my faith in humanity restored by an eighty-eight-year-old bundle of goodwill, I came up here to my room, stripped off my clothes, and slept like a baby. Without moving a muscle. When I woke up late this morning and logged on to my computer, there were 87 messages in my in-box, almost all of them expressing concern for my mother. (Please pardon me if I don’t respond to all of them.) A few of the ones from this morning were from people who had already learned from some other source that my mother had been found. I guess by now I should be accustomed to the amazing immediacy of the Internet community, but I’m still learning. And I’m still grateful.
I have no idea when bodies will be released for burial or to whom, so I have no idea how long it will take for funeral arrangements to be made. As a consequence, I have no idea how much longer I’ll be in the area. But believe me, I’m more than ready to go back home to Arizona. Sedona is sounding pretty inviting to me about now.
Posted 11:43
A
.
M
., September 19, 2005 by Babe
Ali had made arrangements to have brunch in the hotel dining room with her parents and Chris. To get there, she had to make her way through the lobby. Once again there was a gaggle of camera-and microphone-wielding reporters waiting for her.
“Ms. Reynolds, Ms. Reynolds,” one of them shouted as Ali exited the elevator. “Are you all right? Is your mother okay?”
Ali started to walk past without answering, but then, remembering they were only doing their jobs, she relented and decided to get it over with. She stopped and spoke directly into one of the cameras. “My mother is fine,” she said. “So am I.”
“At the time April Gaddis was holding you and your mother at gunpoint, did either of you suspect that she intended to commit suicide?” another reporter wanted to know.
“I did everything in my power to keep it from happening,” Ali answered. “A troubled young woman died unnecessarily. So did her baby. This is a very unfortunate situation for all concerned, including April Gaddis’s grieving family. I’d appreciate it if you’d all respect our privacy. I have no further comment. Neither does my mother.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Ali replied firmly and walked away, leaving a flurry of unanswered questions echoing behind her. She was relieved when she finally made it into the dining room, where the others were already gathered and where her father was perusing the menu.
Edie took one look at her daughter’s face and was immediately on the alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ali said. “Just that bunch of reporters outside.”
Edie nodded. “Such pushy people,” she said. “You didn’t used to be like them, did you?”
“I hope not,” Ali said, “but I probably was.”
She sat down next to her father, who was still engrossed in the menu. “The prices here are higher than a cat’s back,” he announced. “This is highway robbery.”
Bob’s customary grousing was exactly what Ali needed right then. It took her mind off the reporters milling in the lobby.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Ali said. “You’re not paying.”
“I don’t care,” her father returned. “It’s the principle of the thing. The food better be top drawer, or I’m going to have a long chat with the manager.”
As it turned out, the food was fine.
“So when can we go home?” Bob asked, settling in to mow his way through a plate of eggs Benedict that he pronounced almost as good as his.
“Mom won’t be able to leave for a while,” Ali told him. “The three of us—Mom, Dave, and I—are going to need to be available for the next several days while the investigation continues. And I still have to give my deposition for the wrongful dismissal suit.”
“You don’t need to hang around for any of that, Robert,” Edie said. “Someone should be home minding the store. I don’t like having the Sugar Loaf running on automatic with both of us out of town.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I went home?” Bob asked his wife. Then he turned to Ali. “And what about Paul’s funeral? Won’t you need me here for that?”
Ali was having a difficult time imagining how she was going to manage her estranged husband’s funeral, but having to do it under the watchful eyes of both her parents would make it that much harder.
“You and Chris can go home, Dad,” Ali told him. “Mom and I will be fine.”
“I’m not going,” Chris said. “Gramps and I already talked it over. I’ll stay here for a couple more days and drive home with Grandma.”
“Good,” Edie said. “I’m glad that’s settled, as long as you promise you won’t drive the whole way without stopping to rest. You’re not a spring chicken, you know, Bob.”
During breakfast, Dave seemed far quieter than usual. At the café in Sedona, he and Bob teased each other constantly, but this morning Dave didn’t participate in any of the hijinks. When Chris bugged out to go visit some friends and Bob and Edie went in search of the dessert buffet, Ali turned to Dave. “What’s wrong?”