Web of Evil: A Novel of Suspense (23 page)

Lost in those complicated thoughts and driving on automatic pilot, Ali steered the Cayenne up the familiar steep curves of Robert Lane. When she arrived at the entrance, she was surprised to see that the broken gate had been repaired. It was standing open, but the broken post had been mended and the wrought-iron gate itself had been reattached to the hinges. Once inside the gate she rolled down her window and attempted to use the free-standing keypad to punch in what she remembered as the old gate-closing code. To her surprise, the gate swung shut.

She had decided on her way into town that it would probably be best if, for the time being, she and her mother stayed in the pool house. There were two bedrooms there and it would be better for her to stay in what had been Chris’s apartment for the past several years rather than venturing into the house where April and Paul had been living together in her absence. Eventually Ali would have to deal with April’s things and with Paul’s, too, but not right now. Not tonight. Not with so much of what had happened to those people still far too fresh.

So, after rolling the window back up, Ali headed for the pool house with its attached carport. Even if it was locked, she knew Chris had always left an extra key in the utility cabinet at the front of the carport. As she drove through the yard, the motion-activated security lights came on. Passing the garage, she was surprised to see the garage doors standing open. Before she could react, though, a figure emerged from the garage doorway—a figure carrying a gun. Her first thought was simply,
No! Not again!

She knew it was Jake Maxwell before she even saw his face. And when he used the barrel of the gun to rap sharply on the window next to her head, she knew exactly what he wanted and did it at once. She put on the brakes and stopped.

Even though she couldn’t hear him very well through the closed window and over the sound of the engine, it was easy enough to read his lips. “Roll down the window!” he ordered.

With a weapon trained at her head and with her own Glock packed away in some crime scene investigator’s evidence storage locker, Ali had no choice but to comply. She rolled down her window.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Jake ignored the question. “I need your car,” he said, “and I need it now. Get out.”

There was a splotch of grease on the front of Jake’s otherwise white shirt and grease on his shirtsleeves as well. He had been doing something in the garage, something mechanical. Or at least he’d been trying to. His face was drenched in sweat. He looked desperate. And scared.

In that moment Ali recognized something about the man that she had never known before. Jake Maxwell was a coward. Whatever crimes he may have participated in, it was unlikely he had ever done his own dirty work.

“No,” she said simply. “I won’t.”

Jake was almost beside himself. “I’ve got a gun. What do you mean you won’t?”

Just like in the restaurant, Ali was making calculations in her head. She had probably left the Claim Jumper several minutes before Dave had, although she wasn’t sure by how much. And she had most likely driven faster than he had. When it came to power, his little Nissan didn’t compare with the Cayenne’s V-8. Maybe he had fudged the speed limit coming into town—Ali certainly had—but she doubted it. And once he got to the city, he would be going first to the Motel 6 to collect Edie. How much longer would that take him? Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? Could she stall Jake that long? Ali realized that her best bet was to engage him in conversation.

“What’s going on, Jake?” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Why the gun? We’ve known each other for a long time. You don’t mean this. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’ll hurt you if I have to,” he insisted. “I need your car! Get out.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jake said. “The cops are after me. So are some other people. Either way, I’m a dead man. Give me your car.”

Ali knew now that Jake was as frightened of the Joaquins as Roseanne had been.

“Surely it can’t be as bad as all this,” Ali said. “Get in. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Much to Ali’s amazement and without an additional word, he walked around the front of the car. There were a few short seconds when she might have jammed her foot on the gas pedal and run him down. That would have ended the confrontation there and then, but something—basic humanity, maybe?—held her back. She was betting the farm that he wouldn’t gun her down in cold blood because she was someone he knew. The problem was, that was her situation as well. Ali couldn’t kill Jake for the exact same reason—she knew him. They had once been friends—at least she had always thought they were.

Ali punched the “unlock” button on the car and let him inside.

“Where to?” she asked.

“Mexico,” he said. “And not down the I-5, either. They’ll be checking the border there. Head for Julian. Know where that is?”

Ali nodded. Julian was in the mountains east of Escondido. If you passed Julian and continued on over that particular range, you came out north of Brawley—and near what was considered to be more of a back-door entrance into Mexico through Calexico. But going that way was anything but direct. Ali suspected Jake was probably right in terms of people not thinking he’d attempt to go that way. There would be far more focus on the main I-5 corridor and far less on secondary routes.

She wondered how closely Jake had been following the situation on the ground as the takedowns happened and whether or not he had any idea that most of the Joaquin organization along with Tracy McLaughlin and Roseanne had all been taken into custody.

“Sounds like you’re headed the same place Roseanne is,” Ali ventured casually. “And considering she knows all about you and Amber, I doubt she’ll be thrilled to see you when you show up.”

“You know about Oaxaca?” Jake demanded. “How?”

Ali hadn’t known where they were headed in Mexico exactly—but now she did. And she also knew from Jake’s reaction that he had no idea Roseanne had been placed under arrest.

“Roseanne told me,” Ali said, goading just to see how he’d react to the news. “She called me because she needed cash in a hurry and wanted to unload some of her jewelry. I took a few pieces off her hands.”

“But she’s still all right?”

“You mean have your friends the Joaquins caught up with her? Not yet.”

From the dismayed look on Jake’s face, Ali knew he was taken aback. “How do you know so much about all this?” he wanted to know.

Ali decided to choose a Joaquin—any Joaquin—to turn into a fall guy. “Reynaldo,” Ali said. “He’s made a deal with the Feds. From what I hear, he’s giving them an earful and spilling his guts about everything that’s been going on around here. By morning the whole organization will be in custody. You sure you want to be the last man standing?”

Once again Jake waved the gun in her direction. “Why are we still sitting here?” he demanded. “I told you to drive.”

Ali’s phone rang just then, startling them both. “Don’t answer,” Jake began, but Ali already had, hoping beyond hope the caller would be Dave and that she would somehow be able to let him know what was going on.

“Ms. Reynolds?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you at such a late hour. My name is Fred Macon. You know, with Three Palms, the mortuary?”

Ali struggled to conceal her disappointment. “What can I do for you, Mr. Macon?”

“Your husband’s remains have just been transported to our facility here. There seems to be some confusion with the paperwork. I had been told that April Gaddis was the person to be consulted about services and so forth, but it’s been brought to my attention that Ms. Gaddis is also deceased at this time, and since yours is the only other contact number available to us…”

“It’s well after midnight, Mr. Macon,” Ali pointed out. “Do we really need to have this discussion right now? Can’t we plan my husband’s funeral during daylight hours?”

“Well, yes, certainly,” Fred Macon said quickly. “There’s one check mark on the form that wasn’t properly handled over in Riverside, however, and it would be a big help to all of us here if we could get that one straightened out as soon as possible.”

“What check mark?” Ali asked.

“Embalming,” Fred Macon said. “It would be helpful to us to know whether or not you intend to have Mr. Grayson’s remains embalmed.”

Paul had died on Thursday night. It was now edging toward dawn on Tuesday morning. That went a long way to explaining Mr. Macon’s middle-of-the-night urgency. Embalming was probably long overdue.

“By all means,” Ali said.

“Thank you,” Fred said. “Thank you so much. So I can note on the file that you gave me a verbal authorization to do so over the phone?”

“Yes.”

“And I can let the office know that you’ll be in touch to finalize arrangements for the services tomorrow…later on today, actually?”

“That, too,” Ali told him.

“And, if you’ll pardon my asking. Our information about Ms. Gaddis didn’t come through what you would call official channels. I just happened to see it on the news and made the connection. Will you be handling arrangements for her as well? If a joint service is required—”

“No,” Ali said. “I believe someone else will be in charge of that.”

“Oh,” Fred said. He sounded disappointed, as though he had somehow missed the opportunity to drum up some extra nightshift business. Ali wondered if perhaps he actually made a commission. “All right then,” he added. “Thanks so much, and again, I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night.”

“That’s quite all right,” Ali said.

She ended the call. “The mortuary,” she explained to Jake. “Calling about Paul’s services. You already knew he was dead when you came to court on Friday, didn’t you?” she added.

“I said drive,” Jake said, but she noted a lack of conviction in his voice, and that uncertainty gave her courage.

“No,” she said suddenly. “We’re not going anywhere. I think you know who the guilty party is. I want to know who killed Paul and why.”

“Ali, I’m telling you,” Jake said menacingly. “If I have to shoot you, I will. Don’t make me do it.”

The window on Ali’s side of the car was still open. With a speed that surprised her and caught Jake totally flat-footed, Ali shut off the ignition, extracted the car key, and flung it out through the open window. She welcomed the tiny whisper of a splash as the leather-topped key landed in the nearby swimming pool and sank to what she knew was the bottom of the diving end.

Jake heard it, too, and was outraged. “You bitch!” he screamed at her. “Are you nuts? What the hell are you thinking? Now we’ll never get out of here.”

That’s the whole idea,
Ali thought.

“Maybe it’s time you thought about calling the cops and turning yourself in,” she suggested.

“Goddamn it!” he roared furiously. “Get out! Get the hell out of this car! I was working trying to hot-wire Paul’s Land Rover when you showed up. It’s a lot harder than it looks, but I almost had it. Once I get it running, we’ll take that instead. Go on! Move it. You’re driving.”

Ali did as she was told. She moved. She was headed for the Land Rover when a new set of headlights rounded the last curve on Robert Lane and stopped just outside the gate.

Ali’s heart quickened within her. She was sure the new arrival had to be Dave, that once again he had somehow ridden to her rescue. Then she heard Chris’s voice.

“Mom?” he called. “Is that you? The gate is closed, and I don’t have a clicker. Come let me in.”

Ali’s insides lurched. It wasn’t Dave at all. It was her son. Her baby.

Jake grabbed Ali’s arm from behind. She felt the barrel of the gun press into her back. “We’re coming to you,” Jake called. “Stay right where you are. I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it. If you move or make so much as a sound, your mother dies. Understand?”

They came around the corner of the pool house to the spot where Ali could see Chris standing beside Edie’s idling Olds.

She wanted to urge him to run. Or to tumble down the bank of lush pampas grass her neighbors had allowed to flourish on the steep hillside. But with the gun pressed against her spine, and with her arm twisted almost up to her shoulder, she said nothing. It would be bad enough if Jake shot her. The idea that he might hurt Chris was unthinkable.

At last they reached the gatepost. “Open it,” Jake ordered, propelling her forward.

Ali punched the keypad, and the gate swung open.

“In,” Jake said, waving his weapon in the direction of Chris’s car. “You drive. Your mother and I will sit in back.”

“Mom,” Chris asked. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

“Shut up,” Jake said.

Chris did as he was told, too. He shut up and got back into the driver’s seat while Jake heaved Ali into the car and across the backseat. He shoved her hard enough that her shoulder smashed painfully into the door on the far side.

Jake settled in behind her and slammed the door. “Thanks,” he said to the back of Chris’s head. “You couldn’t have come at a better time. Now take us to the Ten and go east, and do it in a hell of a hurry.”

M
om, who is this jerk?” Chris demanded. “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”

“I said shut up and drive,” Jake repeated. “And I meant it.”

Ali rubbed her bruised shoulder. It hurt, but not nearly as much as her bruised ego. How had she allowed this calamity to happen? It seemed to her that somehow, in a week full of disasters, she should have seen this one coming and been able to prevent it.

“I’m all right, Chris,” she said. “Do what he says so no one gets hurt.”

Chris was outraged. “For God’s sake, Mom. How can you say that? The man was holding a gun to your head!”

“And now I’m holding one to yours,” Jake reminded him. “So you’d best pay attention. Turn the car around and get going.”

Chris complied by slamming his foot on the accelerator. He backed away from the gate so fast that he came perilously close to the edge of the road. Then, after pulling a swift U-turn, the Alero sped back down Robert Lane.

“Have a ball,” Chris declared. “Shoot away. Then we’ll all see exactly how well Grandma’s Olds drives with no one behind the wheel! I don’t think this model comes equipped with a self-guidance system.”

Ali knew that “Go ahead and shoot me” often qualify as famous last words. In fact, she suspected they had been included in the Darwin Awards as an often-quoted exit line.

For God’s sake, don’t antagonize him,
Ali thought. “Chris,” she cautioned. “Please.”

“Slow down,” Jake said as Chris raced through the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. “The last thing we need is for the cops to come after us because you ran a damned stop sign.”

Chris slowed slightly. They traveled for the better part of a mile in silence.

“So what are you?” Chris asked finally, studying Jake’s face in the rearview mirror. “Somebody who’s just been profiled on
America’s Most Wanted
? An escaped convict? What?”

“He’s a friend of Paul’s,” Ali supplied. “Used to be a friend of Paul’s.”

“Some friend,” Chris muttered.

Once on the 10 there was far more traffic than there had been on the surface streets, and more semis than cars, all headed east, trying to make as much distance as possible before the blinding sun came up. Ali wondered about the drivers of those various big rigs. How was it that they could tool along, blissfully unaware of the life-and-death drama playing out in Edie Lawson’s innocuous-looking white Alero? Why was it none of them gave the speeding Oldsmobile a second glance?

Watching the lights of the not-quite-sleeping city speed past outside the window, Ali knew it was late but she didn’t know how late. Somehow, in the course of the struggle on Robert Lane, her wristwatch had disappeared. Huddled too far in the corner of the backseat to be able to see the clock on the dash, Ali was damned if she’d ask Jake Maxwell for the time of day. Finally, as they sped through Ontario, she caught sight of a huge neon clock at a Ford dealership. It was 2:12 exactly. No wonder she was tired.

As they drove, Ali couldn’t help being struck by the latest irony in her situation. Earlier that evening and without either her knowledge or permission, someone working for the Joaquin organization had followed her every move by using the very tracking device that, even now, was still in her pocket. Through the soft denim material, she could feel the presence of that smooth round disk. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your point of view—the people who had been so vitally interested in her whereabouts earlier were now all under arrest. So even though it was technically possible for someone to track her, it seemed unlikely that anyone would do so.

With a sinking heart, Ali realized that all the high-tech GPS technology in the world wasn’t going to save her and her son. When it came to being rescued, she and Chris were on their own.

Still maintaining an uneasy silence, they traveled eastbound for some time. As they approached the merge with the 60, Ali’s hopes rose. Off to the right, she saw the lights of a phalanx of emergency vehicles sweeping onto I-10 ahead of them. When Ali first caught sight of them, she hardly dared breathe. She watched them for a few hopeful moments, praying that the lights were somehow related to what was happening to them, praying that Jake wouldn’t notice. And he didn’t. But by the time Chris negotiated the I-10/60 merge with its tangle of complicated traffic and disappearing lanes, the parade of cop cars or ambulances or whatever that Ali had put such hope in had shot on far ahead and completely out of sight.

Despairing, Ali closed her eyes and concentrated on some straightforward praying.

At last Chris spoke again. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry,” Jake replied. “Just stay on the Ten. I’ll tell you where to turn. It won’t be for a while yet.”

“If we’re going very far, we’ll need to stop for gas.”

Ali caught her breath as Jake leaned forward and peered over the front seat.

“All right,” he said finally, having read the gauge for himself. “I guess you’re right. We do need gas. Pull off at the next exit, but find a full-service pump. No one gets in or out of the vehicle while we’re stopped, understand? No one!”

Somewhere in Beaumont they pulled off the freeway and stopped at a convenience mart. While the three of them sat in the car and waited for the slow-moving attendant to fill the tank, Ali was startled by the ringing of her phone. She looked at the readout.

“It’s my mother,” she said. “She was supposed to come by the house tonight. If she did, she’s probably upset that I’m not there. She’ll be worried. She might even call the cops.”

“Answer it then,” Jake said. “But put the phone on speaker first, and don’t try anything funny. Understand?”

Ali understood all too well.

“Alison?” Edie said when she heard her daughter’s voice. “Are you all right? Where are you?”

Sometime earlier—was it hours or days?—with an armed and unstable April Gaddis standing in the kitchen at Robert Lane, Ali had somehow managed to convey the gravity of the situation to Dave by speaking to him in a kind of code. Now, though, with Jake Maxwell’s gun digging into her ribs and with him privy to both sides of the conversation, speaking to Edie in code simply wasn’t possible.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Ali said as reassuringly as possible. “I got called away from the house by an emergency with an old friend. There wasn’t time to let you know. I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have called?”

“No. Calling just wasn’t possible.”

“Well,” Edie said, sounding both perplexed and disgruntled, “the gate is shut. A cab brought me over, but I can’t get inside. What am I supposed to do, stand around here all night?”

Ali could have given her the gate code, but she didn’t. If something happened and Ali and Chris didn’t survive, the parked Cayenne would be the only real evidence as to what had happened to them. Ali didn’t want that evidence disturbed.

“Use the cab and find a hotel then,” she said. “I won’t be able to get back there before sometime tomorrow.”

“What about Chris?” Edie asked. “Where is he?”

“Staying with friends,” Ali said.

“It’s just that it’s not like you to be so irresponsible, Ali,” Edie said. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ali said quickly. “I’ve got to go now, Mom. Take care. I love you.”

It hurt to think those might be the last words Edie Lawson ever heard from her daughter, but they were the best Ali could do.

Seconds later they were back under way. “You still haven’t said where we’re going,” Chris reminded Jake.

“That’s because you still don’t need to know.”

“Mexico,” Ali supplied. “Oaxaca. At least that’s what he told me earlier.”

“Shut up!” Jake said.

The barrel of his gun dug deeper into Ali’s ribs, but she was grateful that it was pointed in her direction rather than in Chris’s. He had his whole life ahead of him. As for hers? If she had to gamble her life to save her son’s, that’s exactly what she’d do.

Ali looked out across the darkened desert where mountains loomed black against a star-studded sky. They were only a few miles west of the Highway 111 turnoff and the place where the speeding train had plowed into a parked Camry—the place where Paul had died. Ali couldn’t help wondering if maybe she and Chris were destined to die there as well—in much the same manner.

“I need to take a leak,” Chris said from the front seat.

“Me, too,” Ali added quickly. “I had way too much coffee earlier.”

Jake immediately seemed to assume that their request for a pit stop was nothing but a ploy. And up to a point it was. Although Ali genuinely needed to use the facilities, it was also her sincere hope that in the process of getting in and out of the car, there would be an opportunity for Chris, at least, to get away.

“You’ll just have to wait,” Jake said. “You can hold it for a while.”

Soon, though, and now that she was thinking about it, Ali really couldn’t hold it any longer. She had drunk way too much coffee.

“I really do need to go,” she said.

“I told you, we’re not stopping.”

“Fine,” Ali said. “If you don’t mind sitting in a puddle of urine, neither do I.”

“There’s a rest area coming up in a few minutes,” Chris said. “Maybe we could stop there.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jake exclaimed. “Stop then. By all means, but the two of you go in and out of the restroom one at a time, and your cell phone stays with me. Give it to me. Yours, too, if you’ve got one,” Jake told Chris. “Hand it over.”

As Chris signaled to merge onto the rest area exit ramp, Jake held out his hand to collect first Chris’s phone and then Ali’s. Chris passed his back. Involved in reluctantly handing over her own, Ali never saw exactly what happened. One moment they were slowing to exit the highway. The next the desert came alive with the flashing lights of a dozen police and emergency vehicles as the Alero gave a sudden violent lurch and veered to one side. Then it staggered forward on the rims of four instantly flattened tires.

“Nail strips!” Jake shouted in a panic. “Keep driving. Keep driving.”

But Chris had already reached another conclusion and slammed on the brakes. As the vehicle slowed and came to a stop, Ali heard a voice she barely recognized as her own, screaming at her son.

“Get out,” she screeched at him. “Go! Go! Go! I’m right behind you.”

But that wasn’t true. Before Ali could touch the door handle, Jake’s fingers clamped down on her wrist. Ali may still have been trapped inside the car, but Chris was in motion before all the words had tumbled out of her mouth. She saw her son land and land hard, thrown forward by a combination of his own momentum and that of the vehicle. Then to her immense relief, he scrambled to his feet. Limping slightly, he raced to cover behind one of several waiting California Highway Patrol vehicles.

After that, in the middle of the chaos—accompanied by a cloud of swirling dust and the blinding flash of lights—there was a moment of utter silence followed by someone shouting, “All right, Maxwell. You’re surrounded. Put down your weapon. Come out with your hands up.”

Jake looked at Ali. “How do they know it’s me? Who told them?”

Ali had no answer for that, but with Chris out of the car and out of danger, she found herself immersed in a well of complete calm—a place where Jake Maxwell’s threats no longer held any sway with her. She was immune.

“It doesn’t matter who told them, Jake,” she told him. “What matters is that they
do
know. It’s over. You can’t get away. Give it up.”

“You have to believe me, Ali,” he said, after a pause. “I had no idea she was going to kill him.”

“Kill who?” Ali asked.

“Paul. I thought Lucia was just going to teach him a lesson. That’s the way the Joaquins work, you see. They give people lessons, hard enough lessons so you know what they’re capable of, and you don’t need another one.”

The comment came from so far out in left field that it took a moment for Ali to process it. “You mean you knew?” Ali demanded. “You son of a bitch, are you saying you did it?”

“I didn’t. All I did was help get him drunk. I swear to you, I didn’t know anything about Tracy and the rest of it. I never meant for Paul to die.”

“You did mean it,” Ali returned. “You meant it, and he did die. Why? Were you jealous because he got the job and you didn’t? Was that it?”

With that Ali reached for the door handle.

“Wait, Ali,” Jake said. “Don’t leave me, please. I’ll drop the gun if you stay. I promise. They won’t shoot me as long as you’re with me.”

What Ali felt in that moment was a contempt and loathing so complete and all-consuming that there was no room left in her soul for anything else, especially not fear.

“Forget it,” she told him. “You’re on your own.”

“But I have a gun.”

“You may have a gun, buddy-boy,” she told him, “but I know for a fact you don’t have balls enough to use it.”

With that, she opened the car door and stepped out into a world of flashing lights. And even there, in the middle of the sudden chill of the cold desert night, she knew that at least one or two of those flashing lights were bound to be cameras.

Blinded by them, she was startled when a pair of strong arms grabbed her and pulled her behind one of the waiting vehicles.

“Ali. Thank God!” Dave exclaimed. “Are you all right?” In the pulsing light she caught a glimpse of the relief on his worried face.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Come on, then,” Dave said, leading her away. “It’s too dangerous. Let’s get out of here.”

“How did you find us?” Ali asked. “How did you know where to look?”

Dave didn’t answer. “Later,” he said.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Out of the line of fire. Where you need to be, too.”

Someone shouting over what sounded like a bullhorn was still ordering Jake Maxwell out of the Alero as Dave led Ali to the far side of the concrete restroom complex. There she found Chris sitting on a picnic table with a paramedic applying ice to his ankle.

“The EMT grabbed me and wouldn’t let me loose. It’s just a little sprain, Mom,” he said reassuringly. “It’s nothing. How are you?”

Ali hurried over and hugged him. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m completely fine.”