Tombstone Courage jb-11

by J. A. Jance

  After making hasty arrangements with Eva Lou, Joanna dialed the Sheriff’s Department and asked to speak to Dispatch.

  “This is Joanna Brady,” she said when a youthful-sounding operator came on the phone. “I want to speak to a dispatch supervisor.”

  “Who did you say this is?”

  “Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said firmly. “Who are you?”

  “Larry. Larry Kendrick. But I thought…”

  “What did you think?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am. You just got elected the other day. How can you be sheriff already?”

  “It happens, Larry, and you should have been briefed. I still need to speak to a supervisor.”

  “There isn’t one available at the moment. She’s down the hall. Is anything wrong? Something I can help you with?”

  “When did the call come in about Harold Patterson?” Joanna asked.

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Who took the call?”

  “Tica Romero.”

  “And who called it in?”

  “Let me check.” There was a slight delay before he answered. “Ivy Patterson. I believe she’s one of Harold’s daughters.”

  “And who responded?”

  “Deputy Dave Hollicker. His car was closest to the scene at the time. As far as I know, he’s still there. After Hollicker’s initial survey, he called for backup. Dick Voland and Ernie Carpenter both headed out there on the double.”

  Ernie Carpenter was Cochise County’s lead homicide investigator, but his being called in didn’t necessarily mean murder. He was usually summoned to the site of any unexplained death, where the first order of business was to determine whether the person had died of natural or unnatural causes. As acting sheriff, Dick Voland naturally would have responded as well. The problem was, Dick Voland was no longer acting sheriff. And no one had bothered to call the real one. The new one.

  “I see,” Joanna said, keeping her voice free of any trace of rancor.

  It was highly possible that Tica Romero and Larry Kendrick were doing things exactly as they had been told. Joanna’s swearing-in, the official changing of the guard, should have been top priority at all duty briefings as officers came on shift, but clearly few, if any, had been told. Joanna suspected that fault for that oversight lay fairly high up in the chain of command. If Joanna was going to make an issue of it, she had to make sure she was dealing with the responsible party.

  “Kristin Marsten isn’t in yet, is she?”

  “No, ma’am. She doesn’t come in until eight or so.

  “Leave word with her that I’m out at the Rocking P and won’t be in until later. And from now on, Larry, things are going to be different. If there’s a dead body found anywhere in this county, I want to know about it. Any time of the day or night. Once you dispatch duty officers and emergency personnel to a scene, I’m to be called next. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”

  “Good.”

  “And Sheriff Brady?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it okay if I say congratulations?”

  “It’s fine.”

  Once off the phone, Joanna hurried into the bed room to grab a quick shower and get ready herself. Standing under the steaming water, she felt dumb washing her hair just to go out and tramp around a crime scene, but she did it anyway. The shower was fine, but she didn’t hassle with makeup. Her shiner would just have to shine.

  Once again, the real question was what to wear. Did men have this problem? Certainly not in the same way women did. No matter what she wore, it made a statement one way or the other. And given that Joanna was operating in what was perceived as a male venue, she was subject to intense scrutiny every time she poked her head outside the house.

  By the time she was standing in front of the closet in her underwear, Joanna had nixed the idea of either a dress or a skirt. For working in Milo’s office, the choices had been relatively simple, heels, panty hose, skirts, blouses, and blazers. But none of those made sense for a glory hole on Juniper Flats.

  Finally, she settled on the much-used jeans and hiking boots she had worn for target practice earlier that morning, but she passed on the shirt. Her worn plaid flannel shirt, the comfortable one with patches on both elbows, would never do. Over coming her natural reluctance, she turned at last to Andy’s end of the closet.

  All through the campaign, she had put off sorting Andy’s things, telling herself that painful job, along with designating possible guardians, could wait until after the election, until she felt stronger.

  The Ladies’ Auxiliary at Canyon Methodist had started a clothing bank, and Joanna had planned to take most of Andy’s clothes there.

  She rummaged around on the top shelf until she located the extra Kevlar vest Andy had kept there, the one he had insisted was too small and uncomfortable to wear.

  As soon as she tried strapping it on over her bra, she could certainly believe the lack of comfort. Nothing about the bulletproof vest took the specifics of female anatomy into consideration. The vest was surprisingly heavy, and it chafed the skin under her arms.

  For a moment, she considered not wearing it at all But then she thought about Adam York and the wise counsel he had been kind enough to offer-lifesaving advice it didn’t make sense to disregard. Joanna was sure that in Adam York’s book, even an ill-fitting vest would be preferable to none at all.

  With a sigh, she undid the vest and added one of Andy’s undershirts to the mix before trying again. The extra layer of material did seem to help.

  Next she buttoned on one of Andy’s khaki uniform shirts, rolling the sleeves up far enough so her hands showed beneath the cuffs. Over the breast pocket where Andy had worn his badge, Joanna pinned the one her mother had given her.

  Hank Lathrop’s badge. Hers now.

  Once the badge was in place, she paused and studied it for a moment before pulling on jeans and boots. Next she belted the holstered semi automatic into position and was relieved to know that at least one thing she wore actually belonged to her. She finished off the outfit with Andy’s heavy denim jacket-the fleece-lined one with the single.44 caliber bullet hole in the pocket. From the inside out. She herself had pulled the trigger of that pocketed gun. She had pulled it with the intent to kill and she had done exactly that.

  Finally dressed, Joanna once again examined her costume in the mirror. And it was a costume, she decided critically. She looked like a little girl dressed up in her father’s oversized clothes and about to go out trick-or-treating. The ill-fitting, pasted-together ensemble would never pass inspection with Eleanor Lathrop. For that reason alone, Joanna found herself almost liking it.

  She was still standing in front of the mirror when Jenny came into the room. Except for slightly puffy eyes, all trace of her previous out burst had been seemingly scrubbed away.

  Joanna spun around, giving Jenny the full effect of her outfit. “Well,” she asked, “what do you think?”

  Jennifer wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “Daddy’s clothes are way too big for you,” she said.

  Joanna shrugged off her daughter’s confidence sapping comment.

  “Someday soon,” she said, “I guess we’ll have to go shopping for some clothes of my own. Are you ready to go? Did you feed and water the dogs?”

  Stopping in front of the Bradys’ duplex a few minutes later, Joanna shifted into Park, set the emergency brake, and got out of the car. Meanwhile, Jenny was already on her way up the brick walkway. “Hey, wait a minute here, Jennifer Ann Brady,” Joanna said severely. “Since when don’t I get a hug?”

  Dejected and dragging her feet, Jenny turned and came back. When Joanna hugged her, the child’s head thumped solidly against the hard surface of the Kevlar vest. Andy Brady had worn a vest like that to work for as long as Jennifer remembered. Recognizing the vest for what it was as soon as she bumped against it, the child stiffened and drew away.

  “Wearing one of those didn’t help Daddy,” she sai
d disparagingly. With that, Jenny darted up the walkway.

  Dismayed, Joanna climbed back into the idling Eagle. This wasn’t at all how she had imagined her first day as sheriff of Cochise County. Rather than savoring triumph, she seemed to be losing ground at every turn. If winning could be this bad, losing must be hell.

  And it didn’t get any better. When Joanna reached the turnoff to the Rocking P Ranch, a Cochise County Sheriff’s Department patrol car was parked sideways just inside the cattle guard, totally blocking the entrance. Marianne Macula’s sea-foam VW Bug was stopped on the shoulder of the highway. Reverend Macula herself, agitated and gesturing wildly, stood arguing with an impassive deputy, one Joanna didn’t instantly recognize, but from Dispatch’s information she guessed this to be Deputy Hollicker.

  Joanna parked behind the VW and was surprised to hear Marianne’s usually calm voice rise to the level of shrill outrage. “What do you mean, no one’s allowed in? Ivy Patterson called me. She specifically asked me to come! I’m her pastor. I’m sure she called because she wants help making funeral arrangements.”

  Hurrying to join the fray, Joanna heard the duty deputies dispassionate response. “Sorry, lady. Orders are orders.”

  “Whose orders?” Joanna asked.

  Together, both Marianne and the deputy turned toward Joanna. She had known Marianne Macula for years without ever seeing the woman this angry. Two vivid red splotches colored her cheeks, while her dark eyes crackled with emotion.

  “He says no one’s allowed up at the house,” Marianne complained. “Can you believe it?”

  The deputy’s glance took in Joanna’s appearance in one quick appraisal before settling warily on her holstered Colt, the nose of which peeked out from under the hem of her jacket.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?” They eyed one another, giving Joanna a chance to verify the name.

  “Does the name Joanna Brady ring a belL Deputy Hollicker?” she asked, pulling aside the jacket enough so the badge showed. “The last time I heard, someone told me I was the new sheriff in this jurisdiction.”

  Hollicker’s jaw dropped. “Oh, yes,” he said, relaxing his stance. “I believe something about that just came over the radio.” Joanna smiled, but without humor. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Now, what’s this about orders?”

  “They came straight from Dick Voland, the chief deputy. He said not to allow anyone at all past this gate.”

  “I see,” Joanna said. “Under the circumstances, it’s a perfectly understandable order, but for now I’m countermanding it. Please move your vehicle aside so Reverend Macula and I can drive through. You’re more than welcome to keep everyone else out after that.”

  “Okay,” Deputy Hollicker said uncertainly, moving at once to comply. “Sure thing.”

  Marianne and Joanna started back toward their respective vehicles. Reverend Macula was still steaming. “What’s the matter with that guy? He sounded as though your being sheriff was a total surprise to him, like he just found out about you a few minutes ago.”

  “It did sound that way,” Joanna agreed. “I may be the sheriff, but someone seems to be trying to keep that fact a secret.”

  “You mean if they don’t see you, maybe you’ll go away?”

  “Nice try, but no time,” Joanna answered grimly in time-honored rodeo lingo. “They’ll have to do better than that.”

  Dave Hollicker started up his Ford Taurus patrol car and drove it out of the way long enough for Joanna and Marianne to cross the cattle guard; then he moved it back into its original position, once more blocking the gate.

  Marianne continued on up the road toward the Rocking P’s ranch house, but Joanna stopped the car and went back to the Taurus, where Dave Hal licker was speaking animatedly into his hand-held microphone. When he saw Joanna peering in the window at him, he hurriedly switched off the microphone and rolled down his window.

  “Did you need something else?” he asked.

  “Yes. Where is this glory hole? How do I get there?”

  “Chief Voland said for you to wait right here. He’ll come down and get you.

  “Deputy Hollicker, I don’t believe you under stood what I said to you back there. I’m issuing orders, not taking them. And I have no intention of standing here waiting for Deputy Voland to come get me. Is that clear?”

  Even as she said it, Joanna realized it wasn’t fair to put Dave Hollicker in the middle of a power play between Dick Voland and herself, but some thing definitive had to happen to get the chief deputy’s attention.

  Hollicker waffled only a few seconds longer before making up his mind. “Drive just like you’re going to the house,” he directed. “When you reach the corrals, instead of turning in, go straight on past. About a half-mile farther on, you’ll come to a gate. Go through that, then take the left-hand fork. Whenever you can after that, bear left. It’s three miles, give or take.”

  “Thank you.” Joanna turned and started back toward her Eagle.

  “It’s a pretty rough road,” he called after her.

  “That’s why Chief Deputy Voland wanted you to wait here. He said he’d come get you in his Blazer.”

  “Radio back and tell him not to bother,” Joanna said over her shoulder. “My four-wheel-drive Eagle can make it anywhere Dick Voland’s Blazer can.”

  “Oh,” Dave Hollicker mumbled into the cloud of dust that billowed in her wake. “I’ll be sure to tell him that. He’ll love hearing it. And then he’ll chew my ass.”

  Even without directions, Joanna would have had no trouble finding her way. Much of the road was over coarse, trackless shale, but here and there in still-muddy low spots or in patches of dry, dusty dirt-a collection of freshly laid tire indentations left their separate marks. Wherever visible tracks remained in the roadway, Joanna was careful to drive around them.

  She followed the ever-narrowing trail, through a scrub-oak-dotted landscape toward the rockbound red cliffs that crowned the mountain. As she drove through the ranch where Harold Patterson had lived all his life, Joanna allowed herself a moment of private grief. She hadn’t thought about that part of the job, about investigating the death of someone she knew and cared for. But Cochise County was a relatively small community. Some of the people whose deaths came under investigation were bound to be acquaintances if not friends.

  Looking around her, she hoped Jim Bob was right; that Harold had “died with his boots on,” doing the work he loved. But there was something worrisome in the back of her mind, a stray thought that wouldn’t disappear no matter how much she wanted to stifle it.

  The last time Joanna had seen Harold Patterson was two days ago, when he came to Milo’s office. He had seemed anxious and upset when he came looking for those change-of-beneficiary forms. He had talked about wanting to change the provisions of his policies from Ivy alone to someone else.

  Those are the kinds of changes people don’t undertake without some reason prodding them to do so, marriage, a death, or, in this case, what seemed to be a change of heart.

  Taken together, Harold Patterson’s policies didn’t add up to a huge fortune, but a cool quarter of a million dollars or even half that much couldn’t be overlooked as a possible motive for murder. If Harold Patterson had, in fact, been murdered.

  Joanna racked her brain trying to remember the old man’s exact words. He had told her a story, a parable about his daughters, comparing them to two dogs pulling apart an old saddle blanket rather than sharing it. Did that mean Harold in tended to split the proceeds of his policies fifty fifty? It would be important for the investigators to learn whether or not those beneficiary forms had been properly signed and witnessed and a phone call to Milo Davis or Lisa would have answered that question in a minute, but Joanna was in her own car, with no radio and no kind of communications capability. How long would it take, Joanna wondered, for the new sheriff to have an official, properly equipped vehicle of her own? And how did she go about requesting one?

  Deputy Hollicker had told
her three miles. Dick Voland’s Blazer blocked the path at 2.5 in a spot where the road wound between two immense boulders. When Voland stepped up to the side of her car, he leaned down as if expecting her to roll down the window so he could speak to her. In stead, she turned off the ignition, opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded.

  Voland shrugged and glowered meaningfully at Joanna’s Eagle. “Nothing much,” he replied sarcastically.

  “Ernie Carpenter asked me to limit access to the area until he can have casts made of all the tire tracks. As you can see, we’ve been driving on the hump in the middle of the road and on the shoulder to avoid messing up anything important.”

  “So have I,” she answered crisply. “I do know how plaster casts work.”

  A shadow of disappointment crossed Dick Voland’s face so fleetingly that Joanna almost missed it. Clearly the chief deputy had fully expected her to screw up her first time out, but she had managed to outmaneuver him. So much for Round One.

  “Why wasn’t I notified when Harold Patterson’s body was found?” she asked, taking the offensive “Why wasn’t I called?”

  “The man was already dead,” Voland answered.

  “Deputy Hollicker, Detective Carpenter, and I had the situation well in hand through the regular chain of command.”

  “Mr. Voland, are you or are you not aware that I was sworn into office as of two o’clock yesterday afternoon?”

  “I knew about that,” he answered reluctantly, “but I saw no reason to drag you out of bed. It didn’t seem like that big a deal.”

  “For your information, I was already up and working at the time the call came in. I haven’t yet had time enough to study all the policies and procedures, but tell me something. How would a situation like this have been handled under Walter McFadden’s administration? Chain of command be damned, would he or would he not have been notified?”

  “Would have,” Voland conceded grudgingly. “Out of courtesy.”

  “Then I expect the same courtesy.”

  “But surely…” Voland started, then stopped abruptly.

  “But surely what?”