In the intervening minutes the line of shade had moved several inches closer to Sister Anselm’s desperately still body, but it still wasn’t close enough. Picking up the fallen blanket, Ali shook the sand out of it and held it between the injured woman and the glaring sun.
For right then, that was as much as Ali could do.
CHAPTER 17
One at a time, a group of men sporting Kevlar vests with the ATF monogram printed on them came scrambling down the bank and into the gully. That meant that Agent Robson’s guys were the cavalry who had ridden to the rescue, arriving first and saving the day. One of them had also fired the shots that had sent the armed gunman tumbling to his death. One agent went to check on the gunman while two more came to kneel beside Sister Anselm.
The sounds of the gunshots were still reverberating in Ali’s head. Totally focused on Sister Anselm, she didn’t hear her phone ringing. Instead, she felt it vibrating in the zippered pocket of her torn tracksuit. Looking down at the remains of her outfit, Ali realized that her foresight in zipping that pocket shut was probably the only thing that had kept her from losing the phone altogether.
“Hello, Dave,” she said.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. The shooter’s dead. Sister Anselm isn’t dead, but she’s in bad shape.”
“I know,” he said. “You told me. The medevac folks are scrambling two helicopter crews. The first one should be at your location within the next twenty minutes or so.”
“I already told you,” Ali said. “The shooter’s dead. We don’t need two helicopters.”
“Yes, you do,” Dave answered. “One is for Sister Anselm, and the other is for Deputy Krist.”
“Who’s he?”
“A Gila County deputy. The guy shot him. Shot him, dragged him out of his vehicle, left him on the ground to die, and then drove off in his SUV.”
Dave was most likely a hundred miles or so away from the action, but he knew far more about what had gone on than Ali, who had been directly involved. No doubt he had heard detailed reports from Agent Robson’s helicopter.
“How badly is the deputy hurt?” Ali asked.
“Life-threatening,” Dave replied. “That’s as much as I know. Robson had his pilot put down next to him so he could drop off Officer Frank from the DPS to stay with Krist. As far as I know, Frank is still there, waiting for help to show up. Robson took off again and came back looking for you, but it sounds like his guys got there first.”
“Yes, they did,” Ali agreed, “and not a moment too soon. The killer had a loaded shotgun. He also had the drop on me. He demanded my car keys and threatened to shoot me and Sister Anselm if I didn’t cooperate. I was in the process of doing just that when the ATF showed up.”
“Just a minute,” Dave said. Ali heard muttering in the background. “Sheriff Maxwell is wondering if you ended up firing your weapon.”
That figured. Sheriff Maxwell had to be relieved that the shoot-out had taken place in someone else’s jurisdiction. He wouldn’t have to put one of his own officers on administrative duty during the ensuing investigation of an officer-involved shooting. Since this had all taken place in Gila County, it would be up to Sheriff Tuttle and the ATF to sort out whatever needed sorting. It would be someone else’s media relations problem as well. For some reason, that last thought made her giggle.
“Tell him no,” Ali managed, still laughing. “I didn’t fire my weapon, not even once.”
The sound of what was deemed to be inappropriate laughter caused some concern among the assembled ATF agents. One of the two guys kneeling next to Sister Anselm looked up at Ali. Then, after analyzing her face for a moment, he handed her a bottle of water.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m not hysterical, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ali assured him. “Someone just cracked a joke.”
He cocked his head as though he wasn’t sure whether he should believe her. “Okay,” he said finally, “if you say so. But how about if you let me hold the blanket while you go sit in the shade? You look like the heat is getting to you, too.”
Glad to oblige, Ali handed the blanket over to him, took the bottle of water, and then went to sit on a rock on the shady side of the gully.
“You really are all right?” Dave asked. “Your parents will have my ears for putting you in danger again.”
“You didn’t put me in danger. The shooter did. Do we have any idea who he is? Or, rather, was?”
Initially one of the ATF guys had checked the fallen suspect’s pulse. Finding none, they left him where he had landed. Now, that same agent had produced a digital camera and started diligently taking photos from every angle.
The Gila County Sheriff’s Department and medical examiner would require their own sets of crime-scene photos, but the ATF would have a set as well. And although Ali was fairly certain as to the cause of death, the Gila County ME would issue the final word on that-a gunshot wound or wounds, or maybe a broken neck.
“Motor Vehicles came up with the name Thomas McGregor. That’s the name listed on the registration for the Grand Torino he was driving. Records ran a check on him here and came up empty-not even so much as a speeding ticket. He evidently lived alone in a cabin outside Payson. The ATF is in the process of obtaining a search warrant and will be going to his place the moment they have the warrant in hand.”
“What’s his connection to all this?” Ali asked.
“No idea.”
Looking up, Ali saw Agent Robson appear at the top of the bank. He hesitated for only a minute before starting down. Halfway to the bottom, he fell and slid the rest of the way on his butt, to the detriment of what had once been a carefully pressed gray suit. He walked over to Ali, dusting himself off and shedding his Kevlar vest as he came. He looked thunderous.
“Gotta go,” Ali said to Dave.
To Ali’s amazement, Robson threw himself down in the sand beside her. “That bastard got the drop on you? Thank God you’re all right,” he said.
The way he said it, Ali knew he meant every word.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Your people got here just in time. Another few minutes, and things would have been pretty grim. I’m not sure what would have happened.”
“I am,” Robson declared. “He’d have had you in that patrol car and been screaming down the road. Krist managed to put a hole in the left rear tire of his Explorer as the guy drove off in it. He made it this far driving on the rim, but he knew he needed another vehicle in a hell of a hurry. That’s where you came in. You would have given him both another vehicle and a hostage.”
“Thank you,” Ali said, and she meant it, too.
Robson nodded. “We’ve got a name,” he continued. “McGregor. So far that’s all we’ve got. We’ll know more once we can execute a search warrant. We found a cell phone on the seat of his car. I’ve called in the number so someone can start checking his incoming and outgoing calls to see where they lead. He also had a whole arsenal of weapons on the floorboard of his vehicle. He came out shooting and wasn’t going to go down without a fight. We may not have a record of him, but all that means is that, whatever he’s been up to, he’s never been caught.”
Sister Anselm moaned and stirred. Ali went over to the two officers who had taken charge of her. One was holding the blanket to shade her while the other one held her hand. At Ali’s suggestion, the one officer let go of her hand long enough to offer the wounded nun another strip of water-soaked gauze.
“Did Sister Anselm say anything to you about McGregor’s connection to all this?” Robson asked.
“Not so far,” Ali said. It didn’t seem necessary to say that Sister Anselm was in no condition to say anything to anybody.