“He may not be answering his phone, but that probably also means he’s okay,” Ali said.
“Wait,” Sylvia said, looking aghast. “Are you saying A.J. was the shooter?”
“He’s not a shooter,” Ali said, “because there was no shooter, but he did take a gun to school. It was in the trunk of his car.”
“That’s impossible,” Sylvia Sanders insisted, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. My son doesn’t own a gun. I don’t own a gun. I don’t allow guns in my house. And if A.J. is the one who’s been arrested, I need to go there-to the jail or the police department or wherever he is-to see what I can do to help.”
She started to get up out of the booth, but Ali took hold of Sylvia’s arm and bodily pulled her back down. “Right now the best thing you can do to help your son is sit here and talk to me. I told A.J. that the first thing he needs to do once he’s taken into custody is to ask for an attorney. Appointing attorneys takes time, especially since two different jurisdictions are involved-Phoenix PD, where the alleged gun incident happened, and the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department, where your son is a possible suspect in one homicide and a person of interest in another.”
“This can’t be happening!” Sylvia exclaimed. “A.J. is a suspect in a homicide?”
“Are you going to listen or not?” Ali asked.
“I’ll listen.”
For the next ten minutes, Ali related everything she had learned, both from her phone call with A.J. and from her own investigations.
“From what you’re telling me, it’s like he’s been living a double life. We’ve always been so close. I don’t understand why he didn’t talk to me about any of this. And why did he call you instead of me?”
“I think he was ashamed about betraying you,” Ali said. “Now tell me what you know about the girlfriend, Sasha. A.J. said she was the only one who knew about the gun at school. She probably mentioned it to someone without realizing that other people would be upset about it and report it to the authorities.”
“Maddy told me Sasha’s last name is Miller.”
“Any idea where she lives?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Somewhere inside the school boundaries, I suppose.”
“No matter. I’ll be able to find her.”
Sylvia fell quiet, then nodded as if having come to an understanding. “I know why A.J. didn’t tell me about the money.”
“Why?”
“Being given that much money must have seemed like a miracle to him, but he knew that when I found out about it, I’d probably insist that he give the money back. For one thing, who knows how James got it? If Scott Ballentine is involved, it’s probably some crooked deal or another. I’d rather A.J. take six years to work his way through school than use ill-gotten gains for some kind of free ride.”
“Tell me about Scott Ballentine,” Ali said.
“Scott and James were good pals at one time. Best friends, even. He was one of the four guys involved in that counterfeiting scheme from years ago. He paid a fine. James went to prison. Some friend!”
“Did you stay in touch with any of those guys afterward?”
“Are you kidding?” Sylvia replied. “Why would I? After my husband went to prison, I barely stayed in touch with him. The other three of them all walked away and hung James out to dry. I wouldn’t cross the road to see any of them, not ever.”
“I watched the security tape from the casino,” Ali said. “Ballentine turned over three hundred thousand in gambling chips to James Sanders, who loaded them into a strongbox and walked away. Four days later, James was dead. Your son admitted to being in possession of two hundred and fifty grand of that money. We’ve accounted for another five thousand. So where’s the other forty-five thousand? Do you know?”
“Wait,” Sylvia said, her cheeks reddening. “You’re asking me if I have it?”
“Do you?” Ali asked. “If James slipped money to his son without your knowledge, the reverse might also be true. Maybe he gave you some of it, too.”
“No,” Sylvia declared. “He didn’t, and even if he had, I wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“Tell me about the reporter,” Ali said. “The one who came to see you yesterday.”
“Betty Noonan?”
Ali nodded. “What did she look like?”
“Tall,” Sylvia said at once. “About your height. Light reddish-brown hair. Curly.”
“Did you see what kind of vehicle she was driving?”
“An SUV, I think-a little white SUV-but I can’t tell you which kind,” Sylvia said. “I’ve never been particularly interested in cars, and I’m not very good at telling one make and model from another.”
“Did anything she said strike you as odd?”
Sylvia frowned. “Not then,” she said, “but now I realize she seemed to be under the impression that we had seen James sometime very recently. I told her that wasn’t true. That the last time we’d seen him was when he gave A.J. the car on his sixteenth birthday, but that was over a year ago.”
Looking out the window beyond Sylvia’s shoulder, Ali watched as a pair of unmarked Phoenix PD patrol cars nosed into the parking lot. One stopped directly behind Sylvia’s Passat and stayed there, making it impossible for the vehicle to drive away. Two plainclothes detectives got out of the first vehicle and walked into the office building.
“Oops,” Ali said. “It looks to me like you’ve got company. A pair of cops just went into your office.”
Sylvia turned around and stared out the window. “They blocked my car,” she said.
“Yes,” Ali agreed. “I’m pretty sure they want to talk to you in person.”
“What should I tell them?”
“The truth,” Ali answered. “You don’t know where A.J. got the gun. You may be tempted to give him an alibi by claiming he was home the whole time, but save your breath. Pretending it’s impossible for A.J. to sneak out of the house at night without your knowledge is a joke. I know for a fact that he did it at least once yesterday.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw him. He came out of the house after my interview with you. He was carrying a backpack loaded with the strongbox containing all those gambling tokens. He put it in the trunk of the car and went back inside without your ever being the wiser.”
Sylvia said nothing. “He’s been playing me,” she said finally, making no effort to hide her disappointment.
“It certainly sounds like it,” Ali agreed, “but that makes him a kid, not a killer. You need to go talk to the cops now. Don’t make them come into the restaurant looking for you. It’ll be better if you show up voluntarily. You’ll look less like you’ve got something to hide.”
“What’s going to happen to A.J.?”
“I’m not sure,” Ali answered. “For the next little while, he’s going to be a jurisdictional football. Phoenix PD will want to charge him on the unlawful possession of a firearm. Right now he’s a person of interest in Yavapai County. If the weapon they found on him turns out to be the murder weapon, the county prosecutor will be the one lodging possible homicide charges against him. My best guess is that Yavapai will ultimately win the toss. The chief detective there, Dave Holman, is a friend of mine. He can be a jerk on occasion, especially when he’s shorthanded and dealing with two separate homicides, but he’s also a straight shooter. I’m not sure the same can be said for Cap Horning, the Yavapai County prosecutor. Make sure A.J. gets a court-appointed attorney before he talks to anyone.”
“What about you?” Sylvia asked, giving Ali an appraising look. “Are you a straight shooter?”
“Yes,” Ali said. “I am, but I don’t have any way of proving it. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“What’s your part in all of this?” Sylvia asked. “Why are you helping us? Why are you helping A.J.?”
“I have a son whom I raised on my own a lot of the time. A.J. reminds me of him. They’re both good kids. From what I can tell, A.J. was an unwitting pawn in whatever was going on between you and his father. I’m sure he picked up on the idea that the only way he’d be able to accept this very generous gift from his father-a life-changing gift-was to try to keep it a secret from you. That might have worked for him if you hadn’t raised him to be a responsible kind of guy who, when the chips were down, would pick up a phone and try to help a dying woman by calling 911.”