"But still amp;" Clemencia objected. "We can't afford to pay for any attorney."
"I can afford it," Ali said. "And I will. Be sure to tell Jesus that when you talk to him. And be sure he knows that if he wants it, he still has a job."
With that, she turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 12
Eddie Duarte stayed on the porch for several minutes after Ali returned to the car and while she was giving Dave a brief summary of what had transpired.
"You gave Jesus Sanchez Victor Angeleri's card?" he asked incredulously. "Who's going to pay the bill? I'd hate to think what his hourly billable rate is."
"She didn't take it," Ali said. "But I'll pay for whatever attorney they do hire."
"So now you're setting out to save the world?"
"Only the parts of it I've screwed up," Ali responded.
"Excuse me," Dave returned. "As far as I can tell, you had nothing at all to do with the fact that Monique Ragsdale took a header down those stairs."
"No, but if it turns out she was pushed"
"She was," Dave interjected.
"You know that for sure?" Ali asked.
Dave nodded. "I have a source who confirmed it as a suspected homicide while you were busy with Clemencia."
"Then whoever's responsible is probably connected to me as well," Ali asserted. "And if Jesus is being wrongly blamed for what happened to her? Well, I'm connected to him, too."
"I hope your husband left you a ton of money then," Dave said. "It sounds like you're going to need it."
Eddie Duarte approached Ali's side of the car and tapped on the window. She rolled it down.
"What did Clemencia say after I left?" Ali asked.
Eddie frowned. "She told me that you're as evil as your husband."
That revelation hurt Ali's feelings. Personally, she had to agree about Paulhe was evilbut Ali didn't like being tarred with the same brush.
"I told her I knew you were a good person," Eddie continued. "And that if you said you would do something, you would do it. I'm not sure she believed me, though."
Why would she? Ali thought. "Thank you for saying that, Eddie, and thank you for coming," she added. "I really appreciate your help."
"Not that it did much good," Eddie said dejectedly and, offering a good-bye, returned to his car.
"Where to now?" Dave asked. "Back to the hotel?"
Ali nodded.
"How did you find out Monique's death is now classified as a homicide?" Ali asked. "Who told you?"
"Ken Nickerson is one of my good old buddies from the Marines. We served together in Iraq. Now he works for LAPD."
"Ken's the one who got you Andrea Morales's address information?" Ali asked.
"That's right. While you were talking to Clemencia, I called him up and asked him straight out if they had autopsy results back on Monique Ragsdale, and they did."
"Already?" Ali asked.
Dave nodded. "Preliminary," he said. "It may be Sunday, but since it's a high-profile case, the guys over on North Mission Road really got their rears in gear on this one."
"And?" Ali asked.
"Bruising on her arms and on her back. Defensive wounds and definite signs of a struggle. No sexual assault. They took scrapings from under her nails. There could be identifiable DNA found in those. The real problem for Jesus Sanchez is that the cops found something at the crime scene that links him to Monique's death."
"I know," Ali said. "Keys with his name on them. I saw them, too. According to what Jesus told Clemencia, after he was let go, he came to the house to turn in his keys. That's when he found Monique at the bottom of the stairs. I'm sure he was upset at seeing her like that, and I don't blame him. I know how I felt when we found her later on. He must have panicked and dropped his keys. Later on, when he realized what had happened, he knew the cops would find them and come looking for himwhich they did. That's probably why he took off."
"The big question is, were the keys under the victim or were they beside her?" Dave asked. "If they were under, it means the keys and Jesus were probably there either before she fell or at the same time. In that case, things are looking pretty grim for poor old Jesus. If the keys were found nearby, they could have been dropped at the same time or either before or after the fact."
Ali thought about that. "I don't know," she said finally. "I don't remember seeing them until after the EMTs put Monique on the stretcher. It could be they were right there in plain sight the whole time, and we just didn't notice them."
"One way or the other, why is it you think it's your responsibility to hire a defense attorney for Mr. Sanchez?"
"Shut up and drive," Ali returned.
The fact that Dave Holman did so made Ali like him better.
"And that's not all," he said a few minutes later.
"There's more?"
"Actually, yes. It turns out your Sumo Sudoku pal's Web site bio didn't tell the whole story."
"What did he leave out?"
"That when he was eighteen he went to prison for grand theft auto. It's not the kind of thing somebody puts on a resume when he's out trolling for well-heeled investors."
"What if Paul suspected something was going on between April and Tracy? What if he started looking into McLaughlin's background and found out some of this stuff?" Ali asked.
"Sounds like possible motive to me," Dave said.
"Except the cops aren't looking in that direction."
"Not yet," Dave said. "But there's no reason we can't point them that way."
Without missing the critical merge, it didn't take nearly as long to get back to the hotel as it had taken to drive to Pico Gardens. "Are you coming up?" Ali asked, as they drove up to the entrance.
"I think I'll take a pass," Dave said. "I want to go back to my place and call my kids. I try to talk to them on Sunday afternoons."
"Just drop me at the front door then," Ali said. "At this point I don't care if the lobby is teeming with reporters. I'm tired of sneaking around. I'll just brazen it out."
"Good girl," Dave said. "I'm glad to hear it. Maybe you can afford to keep handing over those terrific tips. I can't."
The hotel lobby was completely devoid of reporters as Ali made her way upstairs, leading her to conclude that something more interesting must have turned up as fodder for that evening's news broadcasts. Back in the room she was surprised to find her mother wasn't there. Ali tried calling Edie's cell phone. When the call went to voice mail, Ali hung up. Maybe Edie had decided to take advantage of being in L.A. by going to a movie. Edie preferred what her husband called "arty" films to his shoot-'em-ups, but the former seldom made it to the screens of Sedona's single multiplex.
Kicking off her tennies, Ali returned her Glock to the safe and raided the honor bar for a Diet Sprite. While there she noticed something odd. Her mother carried her daily allocation of vitamins in a series of ziplock sandwich bags, which she carefully saved each day, packing them away for future use. One of those plastic bags lay in the armoire next to the TV remote. It contained a single cigarette butt.
Ali picked up the bag and examined the contents. The filtered stub was unremarkable in every way. There was no lipstick residue that might indicate that whoever had smoked it was a female. For Edie, a lifelong vociferous nonsmoker, to see fit to keep the remains of a cigarette in what was a clearly designated nonsmoking room could only mean Edie was playing detective in her own right.
Replacing the bag, Ali took her soda to the couch, sat down, picked up her computer, logged on, and googled Richard Dahlgood, Velma T's nephew. There were several hits, all of them concerning appearances in state and federal courts on behalf of various clients. From everything Ali was able to glean from those reports, Dahlgood seemed like the real deal.