Web of Evil: A Novel of Suspense by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online

Ali retreated to a nearby chair. The detectives remained standing.
    Ali’s mind raced. She remembered the desolate desert, the darkness, the flashing emergency lights. She had driven Highway 111 into Palm Springs numerous times. She remembered the tracks running alongside the roadway. On the other side of the tracks was nothing—only desert. There was no reason to cross the tracks there, unless…
    “This is about that car that got run over by the train last night, isn’t it?” she said. “What happened? Did Paul commit suicide?”
    The two detectives exchanged glances. “You’re aware of the incident then?” Detective Sims asked.
    “The incident with the train?” Ali asked. “Sure. It was on the news just now. So was the story about Paul. When I saw that his Porsche had been found stripped and abandoned in a parking lot in Banning, I put two and two together.”
    “That’s what we’re doing, too,” Detective Taylor said, “putting two and two together. We have an unidentified victim we believe to be your husband, but we’re not sure. Detective Little from LAPD told us where to find you. We need someone to do a positive ID.”
    “I’ll get my purse,” Ali said, standing up. “Where do you want me to go?”
    “To the morgue,” Sims said quickly. “In Indio.”
    “But that’s hours from here, on the far side of Palm Springs.”
    “Riverside is a big county,” Taylor returned. “That’s where they’ve taken the body. But don’t worry about how far it is. We’ll be glad to take you over and bring you back. It’s the least we can do.”
    Ali’s purse was on the desk. Her Glock 26 was locked away in her room safe. She had left it there that morning when she was on her way to court, and she was glad it was still there. Even though she had a properly issued license to carry, it was probably not a good idea to show up in a cop car with a loaded handgun in her possession. Ali collected her purse and her cell phone.
    “Let’s go then,” she said.
    People glanced warily at the trio as they walked through the Westwood’s well-appointed lobby. Ali was in the middle with the two cops flanking her on either side. Detectives Sims and Taylor may not have been in uniform, but they were still clearly cops. Outside, the real giveaway was the plain white, well-used Crown Victoria parked directly in front of the hotel entrance. Sporting a rack of two-way-radio antennas and black-wall tires, the Crown Victoria stuck out like a sore thumb next to its nearest neighbors—a silver Maserati Quattroporte and a gleaming black Bentley GT.
    Sims opened the back door of the sedan to let Ali inside. When she saw there was no door handle, she felt a moment of concern. She realized belatedly that she probably should have called Helga before agreeing to come along with Sims and Taylor. Presumably Helga would have warned her against getting into a vehicle with them.
    On the other hand, why not? Ali thought. All they need is for me to identify the body. What’s wrong with that?
    Ali remembered times in the past when she’d been assigned to cover ongoing police investigations. She remembered instances where some of the people involved refused to cooperate, to give statements of any kind to investigating officers without having an attorney present. And even though at the time Ali had known full well that was everyone’s legal right, she had still harbored a sneaking suspicion that people who hid behind their attorneys had something else to hide as well.
    Well, I don’t, Ali told herself firmly. Settling into the backseat, she fastened her seat belt. While Detective Taylor drove, Sims rode shotgun and chatted her up.
    “I understand from Detective Little that you and your husband are in the process of getting a divorce?”
    Are getting a divorce? Ali wondered. The use of the present tense was telling. Until the detectives had a positive identification of their victim, they were going to hold firm to the fiction that Paul