Hand of Evil

CHAPTER 13

Emerging from being caught up in the diary, Ali glanced around the waiting room and realized that things had changed. The once-hourly ICU visitation schedule had evidently ended. Sandy Mitchell was again seated at the table. So was Kip’s mother. She sat with her wheelchair pulled up close to Sandy’s knees, and the two of them seemed lost in a low-toned conversation. Jane Braeton sat off to one side, absently thumbing through a dog-eared magazine. The other woman in the room, the mother of the injured motorcyclist, was back at her station, knitting away with single-minded concentration. Her husband-her ex-husband-continued his stolid vigil in front of the silenced television news. Crystal, with her earphones still attached, was curled up in a chair and appeared to be sound asleep.

The atmosphere in the room was so quiet and subdued that when Ali’s cell phone rang it startled everybody, including the nurse who said nothing but gestured pointedly toward the overhead sign that prohibited the use of cell phones. Leaping to her feet, Ali hurried out of the room and down the corridor. She didn’t answer until she was standing in the elevator lobby and well out of earshot of the charge nurse.

“I just wanted to set your mind at ease,” Dave Holman told her. “I think it’s over.”

“What do you mean?” Ali asked.

“One of the Tempe Fire Department guys just came out of the burned-out house. He’s located three separate sets of scorched human remains of gunshot victims along with one weapon. So we think we’re looking at a double homicide/suicide.”

“You’re sure one of the dead guys is the one who was after Crystal?” Ali asked.

“Reasonably sure,” Dave replied. “Right now it’s all tentative, pending positive ID of the remains, of course, but that’s where we are right now. I thought you’d be relieved to hear it.”

Three people were dead, but if one of them was the guy who had attacked Kip and had tried to lure Crystal out of the hospital, Dave was right. Ali was glad to hear it. She didn’t let herself think about how close she herself had come to tangling with him, and she was glad Dave didn’t mention it.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“Students at ASU. A kid named Jason Gustavson and his two roommates. The house actually belongs to Jason’s father. Daddy is on his way here tonight, flying by private jet from Minneapolis, so I’d say the family’s probably loaded. The thing is, you can have all the money in the world and your kid may still turn out to be a total screw-up.”

“And a killer besides,” Ali added.

“That, too,” Dave agreed.

The elevator door opened. A man in a wheelchair with a canvas computer case perched on his lap rolled out of the elevator and into the corridor where Ali was pacing with the phone to her ear. The man paused to study the signage then turned toward the ICU. In that split second when his face was no longer averted, Ali recognized him. First she noticed his brush-cut blond hair and crooked nose. Then the eyes. For an electric moment their gazes met, and Ali felt herself being scrutinized by that peculiar dead-eyed stare she had found so chilling in Madeline Havens’s hand-drawn likeness. Finally he shrugged, looked away, and continued down the hallway.

Too shocked to speak or move, Ali struggled to suppress an involuntary gasp. Dave had just finished telling her that three people were dead in Jason Gustavson’s home in Tempe, but if this was Jason, he was definitely back among the living and looking far too hale and hearty to have survived a horrendous house fire.

“Ali?” Dave asked into the suddenly silent phone. “Are you there? Did I lose you?”

The man was still well within earshot, and Ali barely trusted herself to speak. “I think he’s here,” she managed to croak.

“What?” Dave asked.

“Which one’s Jason?” she asked. “Which one of the drawings?”

“The one with the crooked nose and the funny eyes…”

“He’s not dead,” Ali whispered. “He’s here.”

“Where?” Dave demanded. “At the hospital?”

“Here on the floor. On the ICU.”

“What?”

“Call the cops,” Ali urged. “I’ve gotta go.”

By then Gustavson was rolling purposefully down the hall, and Ali understood his intentions. If there were weapons in the computer bag, Crystal, Sandy, and Kip himself were all in mortal danger. And no officers Dave could summon now would arrive in time to help-unless Ali could somehow manage to stall him. The only good thing about that was that although she knew who he was, the reverse was not true. At least she hoped so.

Ali shoved the phone in her pocket and started down the hallway. She needed a way to slow him down without sparking a confrontation. “Hey,” she called after him. “Hey, you. Did anyone ever tell you that you look like John Denver?”

It was the lamest of ploys because, of course, Jason Gustavson looked nothing at all like John Denver, but it was enough to cause him to hesitate.

The chair stopped moving, and he turned to face her. “Are you talking to me?” he asked. He was wearing a clean, freshly pressed blue denim shirt with the words ROTO-ROOTER embroidered across the pocket, a spare he’d found in the Roto-Rooter van.

As Ali hurried to catch up, her phone rang. She ignored it.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Has anyone told you that?”

But by the time she reached the wheelchair Gustavson had shifted the computer bag on his lap. He picked up the.38 semiautomatic that had been concealed beneath it and pointed it at her. Compared to Ali’s little Glock, the gun looked enormous, and it put her at a distinct disadvantage. Her Glock was still holstered. The.38 was in Jason Gustavson’s hand and pointed directly at her.

At sight of the weapon, Ali stopped short and took two quick steps backward, instinctively placing her own body between the wheelchair and the entrance into the ICU waiting room.

“No, lady,” he said with a sneer. “I don’t believe anybody ever told me that before. If they had, I wouldn’t have believed it for a minute. And I don’t think you believe it, either. Now, get out of my way.”

“What do you want?” Ali demanded loudly. This was a man who had already killed at least three people-probably four-and Ali was all that was standing between him and several more innocent victims. She needed to raise an alarm that would alert the unsuspecting people in the waiting room and at least warn them that trouble was coming.

The sound of her own voice surprised her. She was scared to death-petrified-yet her voice was steady and, considering the circumstances, amazingly calm.

“Move it,” he said.

Ali didn’t budge. Mere seconds ticked by, but Ali’s mind was racing. What will it feel like when the bullet smashes into me? How much of a mess will I leave on the wall? How much on the floor? Will it hurt when I fall down? At least I’ll already be in the hospital.

“I know who you are,” Gustavson was saying. “You’re the dumb broad who followed me home this afternoon in that blue Cayenne. You’re also the one who kept poor little Crystal on such a tight leash all day long. That doesn’t matter, though. I wanted her, and I’m still going to get her. As for that other woman, that busybody old hag from the grocery store? I didn’t see her name on the sign-in list, but since her boyfriend’s still here, I’ll bet she is, too.”

So much for thinking Jason didn’t know who Ali was. He must have followed her and the others in through the lobby.

Ali knew she needed to keep him talking. She tried to imagine how the authorities would respond to Dave Holman’s request for help. She couldn’t hear any sirens, but surely cops were on their way. There were ceiling-mounted video surveillance cameras throughout the hospital. Once help arrived, Ali knew the responding officers would be able to see what was going on. They’d probably try to treat this as a standard hostage situation by shutting down the hospital elevator system and trying to localize the problem on a single floor before attempting any kind of negotiation, SWAT team action, or rescue maneuver. But Ali already knew this was no ordinary hostage event. Jason Gustavson wasn’t interested in hostages. He was a spree killer out shopping for victims-the more the better.

“Why?” Ali asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of having human scum tell me what to do,” he explained. “Gustavsons aren’t raised to take orders or to have lowlifes like that jerk in the store bossing me around. Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who my father is?”

Somewhere in the background the hospital PA system crackled to life with a series of incomprehensibly coded announcements. Ali’s phone continued to ring intermittently-stopping now and then only to resume seconds later. And there were other phones ringing as well, landline phones in the waiting room and at the nurses’ station. But those sounds might just as well have been coming from a distant planet. Shutting them all out, Ali remained focused on Jason Gustavson-and on his gun.

“I have no idea who your father is,” she returned coldly. “And I don’t care. What I do know is that there are innocent people on this floor-doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors. They’ve done nothing to you, Jason. They don’t deserve to die.”

The fact that she knew his name seemed to startle him. “And who’s going to stop me?” he asked after a short pause. “You?”

“If she doesn’t, then I will,” a male voice said from behind Ali.

Without turning to look Ali knew at once that the man who had been watching the muted TV news-the man whose son was about to be taken off life support-had heard the uproar out in the hallway and had come to Ali’s aid.

“This man’s a killer,” she announced matter-of-factly to her newly arrived ally. “Two of the people in the waiting room and one of the patients in the ICU witnessed what he did. That’s why he’s here-he came after them.” Then to Jason she added, “I’ve called the police. They’re already on their way. You won’t get away with this.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he returned. “I don’t care if I don’t get away with it. That’s not the point. In fact, I’d rather be dead than have to live in a place where inmates like you are put in charge of the asylum. Let’s go.”

“My son’s in there,” the older man said quietly but firmly. “The only way you’re getting inside the ICU is through me.”

Jason laughed, stood up, and shoved the wheelchair out of the way. He had used it as a prop to give him credibility inside the hospital hallways. Now it was no longer needed. The visitor badge clipped to his shirt said he was visiting Kip Hogan, 3rd floor, ICU.

“Oh, really?” Jason returned, waving the gun menacingly. “Hey, old man. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your son, but if you want to die a hero, that’s up to you.”

Jason was no longer paying any attention to Ali. Dismissing her as a possible threat, he was focused instead on the man behind her, trying to assess what he might or might not do. In typical male fashion, it didn’t occur to him that Ali, too, might be armed and dangerous. All she needed was a chance to unholster her weapon.

Ali stepped aside and turned to face her would-be rescuer. He wasn’t a particularly impressive specimen. About her father’s age or maybe a little older, he was sallow-faced, paunchy, and visibly out of shape. His thin, sandy, comb-over hair was standing straight up. But out of shape or not, he stood there in the hallway, calm and determined, helping Ali face down an armed assailant. It took only a second or two for Ali to realize that his presence offered the momentary diversion she needed.

“I said get going,” Jason growled.

Keeping her left hand out of sight, Ali made a slight movement with her fingers, hoping to let her ad hoc partner know that she needed to pass in front of him. She couldn’t be sure if he understood or not, but he nodded slightly.

“All right,” Ali said. “I’m going.”

She ducked into the waiting room. As soon as she was inside, she stationed herself behind the wall just inside the doorway and managed to extract her Glock from its holster.

Ali had expected to find the waiting room full of people, but to her astonishment and immense relief the place was empty. Completely empty. The glass partition into the nurses’ station was blacked out, blocked by something Ali would later learn was a mattress. Windows in the swinging doors that led into the ICU itself were also darkened, as though someone had lowered a set of shutters. With any luck they were barricaded as well.

The wave of gratitude Ali felt was almost overwhelming, but she couldn’t afford to give in to it; couldn’t afford to let down her guard. With the gun clutched tightly in a two-handed grip, she stood just out of sight, holding her breath and waiting to see what would happen.

Again she became aware of the cacophony of sound. Her cell phone was still ringing somewhere, but she was no longer holding her purse. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere out in the hallway. A new announcement blared over the PA system. This one came in plain English rather than hospital Newspeak.

“Mr. Gustavson, we have you surrounded. Put down your weapon.”

Whatever Jason Gustavson had in mind, he had no intention of it happening in the hallway. Ali heard the sound of something sliding along the smooth tiled surface of the hallway. “There, old man,” Jason said. “Help me out. You carry the bag. Now!”

Out in the hallway, Ali caught a glimpse of the older man stooping down to pick up the computer bag. As he straightened and started into the waiting room, Ali held her breath. She knew she would have one chance only-one shot. She was reasonably proficient with her weapon. In recent months, once she had finally wrested her Glock from the authorities in California, she had put in hours of target practice at a shooting range outside Sedona. Ali knew instinctively she couldn’t afford a shot that would simply disarm her assailant. This was a survival-of-the-fittest moment, a time to kill or be killed.

Ali’s helper stepped into the waiting room, carrying Jason’s bag. The killer’s gun, at the end of a fully extended arm, appeared next. Taking aim from that, Ali waited for one more fraction of a second before squeezing off a shot. The bullet hit Jason square in the chest. He grunted with surprise but he didn’t go down. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him. He dropped the.38. It went spinning away from him and came to rest under the chair where Crystal had been sleeping minutes earlier.

After what seemed like only a moment, Jason seemed to catch his balance. He came roaring back into the waiting room, pausing in the doorway, clutching his chest, and looking for his weapon-looking for any weapon.

I hit him! Ali thought desperately. Why the hell isn’t he dead?

That’s when she realized that he had come to the hospital fully prepared for a shoot-out, carrying weapons and wearing a Kevlar vest.

He turned on her then, holding out his hand. “Give it to me,” he demanded. “Give me that gun.”

There were noises out in the hallway now, running footsteps, voices shouting. But before any of the arriving cops made it to the doorway, something else happened. Moving faster than Ali would have thought possible, the old man-the paunchy, out-of-shape old man-turned on Jason Gustavson and head-butted him back out into the hallway where he came to rest against the far wall.

“Get down,” one of the cops shouted unnecessarily. “On your stomach. Hands behind your head.”

Ali hurried over to her rescuer who, still gripping Jason’s computer bag, stood in the doorway and stared out into the hall. Then he limped across the room and put the bag down on what had been Crystal’s chair.

His face was bright red. He was breathing heavily, and his hair was still standing on end, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you all right?” Ali asked.

“Hurt my leg when I tackled him,” he muttered. “But damned straight I’m all right! Those vests may be bulletproof, but they sure as hell ain’t headproof. Not by a long shot!”

With chaos still reigning in the hallway behind him, the man wrapped his pudgy arms around Ali’s body and held her close. Hugging him back, Ali realized that right that moment, this unassuming, quiet man with his dying son had become her greatest hero. He had come to her rescue when there was no one else to step up. Ali had no doubt that his actions had saved her life and probably several others as well-and she didn’t even know his name.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

He gave her another squeeze. “You’re welcome,” he said. “It’s nice to do something useful for a change.”

The next several minutes were frenetic. While the cops handcuffed Jason, someone removed the makeshift barricade that had temporarily barred the way into the ICU. When the swinging doors opened, the lady with the knitting needles shot out through them. She bodily booted Ali out of the way and fell into her ex-husband’s arms.

“Bernie, Bernie, Bernie,” she murmured. “How could you do something so stupid and wonderful at the same time? How could you? There’s a security monitor in the nurse’s station. We saw the whole thing. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.”

When Crystal emerged, she was crying. “Thank you,” she said, giving Ali a shy hug. “If it hadn’t been for you…” She shuddered and fell silent.

“It’s all right,” Ali said. “They’ve got him now. He won’t be able to come after you again.”

Except it turned out that wasn’t true.

A uniformed cop had just approached Bernie and, with a latex glove-covered hand, tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Mr. Bernstein,” the cop said, pointing. “Is that Mr. Gustavson’s suitcase…computer case?”

Bernstein. That was the first Ali remembered hearing Bernie’s last name, but it was one she would never forget.

With some difficulty, Bernie extricated himself from his former wife’s fierce embrace long enough to nod in the direction of the chair. “That’s it,” he said. “I put it down over there to keep it out of the way.”

From the moment Jason Gustavson had moved the computer case to reveal his.38, Ali had assumed the case had held an arsenal of reserve weapons. It seemed likely the cops were of the same opinion. Ali watched as the young uniformed officer went over to the chair, picked up the computer case, and opened the zipper. She also saw the look of horror that washed across his face when he saw what was inside. Moments later the whole east wing of St. Francis Hospital was being evacuated.

As they were hustled out of the waiting room toward the emergency exit, Ali managed to grab her own computer from the chair where she’d left it earlier. On the way down the hallway, she heard her cell phone ringing. The phone was still in her purse, which she had inadvertently dropped in the hallway during the confrontation. She made no effort to retrieve either the purse or the phone. Those as well as her Glock were now part of a crime scene investigation. She knew from past experience that it could take weeks if not months to regain her property from evidence impounds.

As patients, visitors, and workers alike were being herded outside and away from the building, the bomb squad van arrived along with a phalanx of ambulances and aid cars. Those were lined up outside the ER doors and were used to transport the hospital’s most seriously ill patients-Kip Hogan and Danny Bernstein among them-to other facilities. Meanwhile everyone else gathered in anxious groups where, dazed and shivering from fear as much as cold, they tried to make sense of what had happened while a collection of news helicopters clattered noisily overhead.

For more than an hour, they stood outside, waiting for an explosion that never came. Finally the bomb squad, still wearing protective gear, emerged from the hospital and put something in their armor-plated van. As they drove away, the people outside applauded ecstatically.

Caught up in the emergency evacuation, there had been no time for investigators to take statements from anyone. Instead, they placed Ali and the others under the watchful eye of uniformed officers.

Standing in the dazed crowd, waiting to be interviewed, Ali knew that sooner or later someone from the media would pick up on her involvement in the situation. When that happened, there would be all kinds of unwanted attention. The same would be true for Bernie Bernstein as well. For the moment, Ali reveled in her anonymity. She wasn’t dead. Neither was Crystal or anyone else for that matter, and for that Ali Reynolds was incredibly grateful.

Jane Braeton came by and sought Ali out. “They’ve trans-ported Kip to Phoenix Providence,” she said. “I have Elizabeth and Sandy in my car. I’m going to drop Sandy off with Kip and take Elizabeth back home. This has been a very long night for her. She’s tired. It’s all been too much.”

Ali nodded. “I’m sure it has.”

“But she needed to be here,” Jane added. “She wanted to be here. It’s an answer to thirty years of prayers. So, thank you, Ali. Thank you for everything. You go, girl.”

With that Jane Braeton disappeared into the crowd. Watching her walk away, Ali was amazed by the difference those few critical hours had made.

Moments later, Crystal sidled up to Ali. “Can we go sit in the car, please?” she asked. “I’m freezing.”

Ali put one arm around the girl’s shoulder. She was shaking convulsively. Her teeth were chattering.

“Of course,” Ali said. “Come on.”

After telling the watching cop where investigators could find them, Ali and Crystal made their way through the crowd to the parking structure, where they walked up the stairs to the Cayenne parked on the second level. With her shoulder aching from the added weight, Ali was happy to unload her laptop. Once in the car, she started the engine and activated the heated seats.

“You saved all of us tonight,” Crystal said thoughtfully a short while later. “If it hadn’t been for you and that old man, I’d probably be dead by now. So would Kip and Sandy.”

“Bernie,” Ali interjected. “The old man’s name is Bernie Bernstein, and you’re probably right. What he did made all the difference.”

“I heard two of the nurses talking,” Crystal mused. “Bernie’s son, Danny-the one who was in the motorcycle wreck?”

Ali nodded.

“They said Danny probably isn’t going to make it, but his father helped us anyway. He helped you. How come?”

Ali shrugged. “Because he wanted to, I guess,” she said. “He thought it was important, thought it would make a difference.”

“And why did you do it?” Crystal asked.

Ali considered for a moment before she answered. “Because I could,” she said finally. “Because I didn’t think anyone else would.”

“When I was watching, when he was pointing the gun at you, I kept thinking that if you died, it would be my fault, just like it’s my fault Coach Curt is dead.”

The events of the evening seemed to have made an impression on the girl. She was far more subdued. As a consequence, Ali hoped that Crystal might be in a place where she’d be willing to listen to reason.

“What happened isn’t your fault,” Ali told her. “Yes, you and Curt Uttley were both in the wrong place at the wrong time and for all the wrong reasons, but Jason is the one who murdered Curt, not you. And I’m sorry Curt’s dead, but since he was a pedophile who went prowling the Internet looking for young women to prey upon, he wasn’t exactly blameless.”

“But he didn’t deserve to die,” Crystal protested.

“You’re right. If he’d been arrested for child molestation or statutory rape, he probably would have gone to prison. What he did to you wasn’t a capital offense, but men like that do deserve to be in jail, Crystal. It’s against the law,” Ali added.

Crystal’s phone rang. “Hi, Daddy,” she said in a voice that was choked with emotion. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m with Ali. It was cold, so we’re sitting in her car in the parking garage. Yes, I love you, too. Do you want to talk to her? Here she is.”

Crystal handed the phone to Ali. “Thank God you’re both safe!” Dave exclaimed. “I’ve been worried sick. I’ve been trying to get through to you, but the circuits are busy. Why don’t you answer your damned phone? You need to call your parents. Your dad managed to get through to me. He heard about what happened at the hospital and he’s frantic.”

“I can’t call anyone,” Ali said. “I lost my phone.”

“Lost it. Where?”

“It was in my purse. I dropped it during the struggle out in the hallway-a hallway that’s now a crime scene. My purse and phone-and my driver’s license, most likely-are all in some crime scene investigator’s evidence bag. At least I had my car keys in my pocket and not in my purse. Where are you?”

“Seventh and Thomas,” Dave said. “I’ve been on my way for the better part of an hour-ever since you hung up on me. But with all the emergency vehicles, traffic’s a mess. I could probably get there faster if I just parked the car and got out and walked. Have they interviewed you yet?”

“Not so far. They’re too busy with the bomb squad.”

“And you shot the guy?”

“Tried to,” Ali replied. “He was wearing a vest.”

“More’s the pity,” Dave said.

“If the third victim in that house fire wasn’t Jason, who was it?” Ali asked.

“We still don’t know about that,” Dave answered. “Since Jason’s vehicle was there and so was Uttley’s we assumed…”

“Did Jason have a job?” Ali asked.

“A job? Are you kidding? Not as far as I know. He’s a playboy kind of student who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and goes through life with a Platinum AmEx in his pocket. I doubt he’s ever done an honest day’s work in his life. Why?”

“Because when I saw him, Jason was wearing a Roto-Rooter shirt-a uniform shirt.”

“You say Roto-Rooter-as in stopped drains? Let me get back to you on that,” Dave said.

Ali closed the phone and gave it to Crystal.

“Is my dad coming?” Crystal asked.

“He’s trying to,” Ali said. “He’ll be here soon, but traffic’s not helping.”

“At least he’s coming,” Crystal murmured. “I’m glad.”

“I need to call Chris and my parents,” Ali said. “Can I use your phone for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Crystal said, handing it back. “They’re probably really worried.”

Crystal Holman had done yet another about-face. When it came to dealing with teenagers, it was getting harder and harder for Ali Reynolds to keep score.