by J. A. Jance
“I’m coming to Bisbee,” he said.
“Do that,” Joanna said, “but once I tell Liza what I know about you, I wouldn’t expect a very cordial reception. By the way, there’s one more thing I should warn you about.”
“What?”
“I believe the woman who thinks she’s your daughter is dealing with some kind of cancer. Her head has been shaved fairly recently. She wears a scarf. When you talk to her, you might want to take that into consideration.”
Joanna hung up without waiting to see if Lyle had anything more to say. She started to go back inside the M.E.’s office but changed her mind and dialed Amos Franklin’s number instead. Her call went straight to his answering machine, so she left a curt message. “Sheriff Brady here. Liza Machett just turned up here in Bisbee. She’s safe. She came looking for her brother and had no idea he was dead until we told her. She thinks there may be another victim who’s tied into all this—a guy named Jonathan Thurgard. He’s from somewhere near you, a town called Stockbridge. Thurgard came to Selma’s funeral claiming to be a friend of Liza’s father. While there, he warned Liza to be careful of some of her father’s former associates. You may want to check this out.”
Hanging up, Joanna walked back into the building only to discover that George Winfield had arrived in her absence. Liza’s storm of tears had abated. George was sitting next to the distraught woman, quietly conversing with her. Madge, acting with uncharacteristic kindness, was in the process of delivering a cup of coffee. All three of them looked at Joanna expectantly when she came back inside.
Joanna went straight to Liza. “I’ve just been speaking on the phone with a man named Lyle Morton who may or may not be your father.”
“My father is dead,” Liza said at once.
“No, he’s not,” Joanna insisted. “He lives near here. I believe the people who murdered your brother and your friends—the same ones who targeted you—are really after your father. They must have thought you could lead them to him.”
“How could I?” Liza asked in dismay. “As far as I knew, he ran off with another woman when I was a baby. My mother told me he died years ago.”
“Anson Machett did leave with another woman, but he’s definitely not dead,” Joanna told her. “I’m not sure what happened to the girlfriend, but your father has spent most of the last three decades hidden from view in the witness protection program.”
“Witness protection?” Liza echoed faintly.
“Your father worked for the mob back in Boston and stole money from them. The sudden appearance of your mother’s money must have caused them to see him as a renewed threat, because they’ve been moving heaven and earth to find him ever since.”
“This is unbelievable,” Liza declared. “Why didn’t anybody ever tell me the truth about him?”
“I’m not sure anybody, including your mother, knew the truth. Financial records show that your father and Guy probably reconnected while Guy was in medical school, maybe even while he was in college. The two of them have been in contact ever since. Your father seems to be fairly well off. He may have given Guy some financial help in getting through school.”
“If he helped Guy, why didn’t he help me?”
Joanna hesitated. Liza’s mother and brother were both dead. She had lost her home, her job, and her friends. Now Joanna was about to take away the one thing the poor woman had left—the man she had always thought to be her father. Having suffered all those losses, Joanna believed Liza deserved the truth. What was it the scripture said? “The truth shall set you free.”
“Anson didn’t take you with him because he didn’t believe you were his child,” Joanna said carefully. “He claimed your mother had slept with someone else and had pretended you were his in order to trick him into marrying her.”
Joanna said the words and left them there. When Deb Howell opened the door and walked into the reception room, the lingering silence was deafening.
“This is Detective Howell,” Joanna added, leading Deb forward. “Do you have your own vehicle?”
Liza nodded numbly.
“You’ve had a series of terrible shocks. If you think you’re up to driving, you can follow Detective Howell. If you’d rather she drove, that’s fine. I’d like you to go out to the Justice Center for an official interview. And since Detective Howell was in attendance when I spoke to Mr. Morton last night, she’ll be able to fill you in on the details. Is that okay?”
Liza nodded again. She and Deb were gathering up to leave when Joanna’s phone rang. Once again she went outside to answer. “Sheriff Brady.”
“Calvin Lee from the crime lab. I pulled one of those all-nighters,” he said, “and I’m happy to tell you, we’ve got a match. The DNA on the cigarette belongs to the mother of whoever left the human DNA on your injured kitty. I’m confused, though. I could have sworn you said your suspect was a fourteen-year-old girl. The DNA definitely belongs to a boy. We haven’t gotten around to checking out the clothing for either victim. The clothing problem has been assigned to another criminalist. I can tell you that someone is working on it, but it’s not yet completed.”
Joanna drew a sharp breath. He had given her what she needed, but with one unexpected twist—their suspect was the cigarette smoker’s son? Lucas? Unbelievable!
“Great,” Joanna said. “Thank you.”
“One more thing, about that cat. What’s her name again?”
Joanna had to think for a minute. “Star.”
“How’s she doing?”
Joanna wanted nothing more than to get off the phone, but Calvin had gone to the mat for her. “Okay, I think,” Joanna answered.
“Well, my wife said to tell you that if she ends up needing a new home, you know who to call.”
“I will,” Joanna said quickly. “Thank you so much, but right now I’ve gotta go.”
Fumbling her phone back into her pocket, she sprinted to her SUV. Then, with lights flashing and siren blaring, she raced back down the canyon’s narrow twisting main drag.
She didn’t dare send out a radio message. The last time she had seen Lucas, he had been in the parking lot at St. Dominick’s with his mother, supposedly involved in the search for his sister along with everyone else. If he was anywhere near one of the patrol cars, he might possibly overhear the transmission. Joanna didn’t want to give him any advance warning that she was coming.
That didn’t leave much else for her to do but drive, hope, and pray.
CHAPTER 29
TURNING INTO THE PARKING LOT OF ST. DOMINICK’S, JOANNA stopped next to Father Rowan and rolled down the window. “Have you seen Lucas Nolan?”
The priest frowned. “I think I saw him heading up the hill just a few minutes ago, probably going back to the house. I can ask his mother if you like.”
If there was going to be a confrontation with Lucas, the last thing Joanna needed was to have Rebecca in the middle of it.
“No,” Joanna said quickly. “Don’t bother. I’ll find him.”
Lucas was only fourteen but, Joanna suspected, an exceptionally dangerous fourteen. Since he was also a self-proclaimed weight lifter, Joanna wasn’t prepared to take him on without backup. She glanced around the lot and caught sight of Detective Keller walking away from the command post.
“Hey, Matt,” she called. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said, striding toward her. “What’s up?”
“Lots,” she said. “Get in.”
He was barely inside with the door closed when Joanna slammed the gearshift into reverse and backed out of the lot onto the street. “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “Where are we going?”
“To Rebecca Nolan’s place. The crime lab just called me from Tucson,” she said grimly. “They got a match from the human DNA left on our injured cat. It belongs to Lucas Nolan.”
“Lucas? Holy crap!”
“That’s what I say. Father Rowan told me that he saw Lucas going back up the hill a few minutes ago. Presumably he’
s headed for the house. We’re going to go pick him up.”
Since Lucas had left the parking lot, there was no further need to maintain radio silence. Joanna thumbed her radio. “Locate Detective Carbajal,” she told Larry Kendrick. “Tell him we’ve got a DNA match from Star, the cat. Lucas Nolan is a suspect as far as the cat is concerned. He’s currently a person of interest in the Dowdle homicide. Matt Keller and I are on our way to his mother’s house right now. Since we believe Ruth to be in danger, we won’t need a warrant to go inside at the moment, but we’ll need one for later. Tell him I want one ASAP.”
“How do you want to do this?” Matt asked once she finished.
“Is there a back door to their house?” Joanna asked.
“Yes,” Matt said. “It leads out to the garage, which is behind the house. The entrance to the garage is from Curve Street, the next street over.”
“Okay,” Joanna said, pulling to a stop half a block away in front of Moe and Daisy Maxwell’s house. “We’ll walk from here. You go to the front door. I’ll cover the back.”
“What’s your take?” Matt asked. “Is this kid going to be armed and dangerous?”
“I’m not sure about the armed part,” she answered, “but he’s sure as hell dangerous.”
They had gotten out of the Yukon and were approaching the Nolans’ place on foot when a vehicle, an older-model orange Mazda, charged out the driveway behind the house. It screeched to a skidding stop, then reversed direction and barreled directly toward them, spraying gravel in its wake. As Matt leaped out of the way, he grabbed Joanna by the arm and dragged her with him. Matt’s viselike grip on her arm was the only thing that saved her from being run over. Had they been walking with weapons drawn, one or the other of them might well have been shot.
“Hey, that was him,” Matt gasped, looking at the fast-receding vehicle. It took a few seconds for him and Joanna to untangle themselves and struggle to their feet. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Joanna said, brushing herself off. “I’m fine.”
“Lucas is only fourteen. What’s he doing driving?”
Joanna was already heading for the Yukon. “He must not have gotten the memo that he’s too young to drive,” she answered over her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s stop him before he kills somebody.”
Matt was a good foot taller than Joanna, and most of his height was in his very long legs. He sprinted past her. By the time she climbed into the Yukon, Matt was on the radio, alerting Dispatch to the situation and asking for roadblocks at either end of Tombstone Canyon. It was a good call. Both Joanna and Matt understood that if Lucas made it to the highway intersections at either end of town, he would be that much harder to catch.
Joanna fastened her seat belt, rammed the Yukon into drive, and then pulled a dazzling U-turn in a space barely large enough for the maneuver. By the time they made it down to the intersection with Tombstone Canyon Road, the Mazda was out of sight.
“Which way?” Matt asked. “Right or left?”
“Fleeing felons always turn right,” Joanna answered, so she did too, racing downhill toward the town’s main area of commerce, which, by this time on a Monday morning, would be fully stocked with innocent shoppers and pedestrians—people totally unaware that mortal danger was hurtling toward them.
“That’s how come Terry and Spike couldn’t pick up Ruth’s trail,” Joanna observed. “She didn’t leave on foot. Lucas must have carried her out of the house and then driven away in the car.”
Matt nodded. “Probably in the trunk.”
With lights and siren fully engaged, they careened down Tombstone Canyon. Joanna slowed considerably as they rounded Castle Rock, a huge stack of jagged limestone cliffs that rose up abruptly from the canyon floor. And there, in a cloud of dust, they found where Lucas’s Mazda had come to grief.
An inexperienced driver, he had tried to take the turn too fast and lost control. From the skid marks on the pavement, they saw where he had zigzagged out of his lane and into oncoming traffic. After bouncing off the sidewalk on the far side of the street, Lucas had overcorrected, recrossed the roadway, smashed through the barrier on the far side, and finally crashed nose down into a cement-lined drainage ditch that had once been a natural stream through the canyon. Most of the year the ditch was bone dry, but occasionally, after heavy rains, it carried flash-flood runoff and debris away from houses and businesses and down through the canyon.
Joanna slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt. She and Matt leaped out of the Yukon. With weapons drawn they raced to where the Mazda had crashed through a flimsy barrier—a guardrail made of two-inch pipe—that had never been intended to hold back a speeding vehicle. Already a crowd of twenty or so curious onlookers had emerged from the hotel on the far side of the ditch. They stood on the building’s Victorian-era verandah, watching the action.
“Lucas,” Joanna shouted. “We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up.”
Other than clouds of steam billowing up from the shattered radiator, there was no sign of movement inside the vehicle. Matt used one of the supports on the barrier to lower himself into the ditch, dropping to a crouched landing the last three or four feet. Joanna watched anxiously as he approached the wrecked vehicle. After peering inside, he stood up and shook his head. “Nothing here but an exploded airbag,” he told her.
Joanna turned to the audience of curiosity seekers. “Did anyone see where the driver went?”
The people on the porch shook their heads in unison.
“What now?” Matt called.
Joanna thought quickly. It’s easier to run downhill than up, and that’s the way Lucas was going originally—downhill. The kid was far shorter than Matt Keller, and Joanna knew that even Matt wouldn’t be able to exit the ditch without assistance. She had no idea how many tributaries might lead into the concrete-sided ditch or if they would be accessible or not as the waterway went underground beneath the businesses on Main Street. It seemed likely that the only spot where Lucas would be able to scramble up and out would be just beyond the main downtown area. There a steeply graded opening, locally known as “the subway,” allowed access into the underground passage. It also allowed runoff from Brewery Gulch to enter the buried storm drain.
“You follow him downstream,” Joanna directed. “I’ll come upstream from the subway. With any luck, we’ll meet up in the middle and cut him off.”
“I’ll need a flashlight,” Matt shouted, “and so will you. Do you have an extra?”
One of the men on the verandah, a guy Joanna recognized as the hotel manager, must have overheard the question. “Hold on,” he shouted. “There’s one in the office. I’ll be right back.”
They listened to the sounds of a dozen sirens echoing off the canyon walls as emergency vehicles converged on the scene. While Matt waited for a flashlight, Joanna jumped into the Yukon and headed down the street, grabbing the radio as she went. “Where’s Jaime?” she barked.
Detective Carbajal had grown up in Old Bisbee and had spent his childhood exploring the neighborhood’s every nook and cranny.
“He’s on his way uptown to meet with the judge. There’s a daylong conference of some kind at the Copper Queen Hotel.” Larry said after a moment. “What do you need?”
“Our suspect just bailed out of his wrecked car and fled down the drainage ditch where it goes underground above Main Street. Matt’s following him downstream. I’m going in through the subway so I can come upstream. We’re going to try to catch him in a squeeze play. Have Jaime meet me at the subway.”
“Got it,” Larry said.
In Bisbee, the subway was a concrete-lined, truck-sized access hole, located at the far end of Main Street in the middle of a small plaza with lanes of traffic moving on either side. A chain fastened to several posts provided the only barrier. A chain-link fence might have been a more effective deterrent for keeping people out, but it would also have caused a dangerous backup when floodwater debris from up above roared down Brewery Gulch.
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Turning on her flashers, Joanna parked next to the fence and looked around. Jaime wasn’t there yet, but she couldn’t afford to wait. Bailing out of the Yukon, she sat down at the top of the steep incline and slid into the ditch. Only a few steps from where she landed, the pavement closed over her head. Instinctively, her hand sought her holstered Glock, but after a moment’s consideration, she didn’t draw it. With sheer rock walls on either side, she didn’t want to risk being injured by a ricocheting bullet.
Only a yard or two from the entrance she needed help from her flashlight to pick her way through the jungle of trash and fallen boulders that littered the surface. Rusty metal hulks—the remains of discarded stoves and dishwashers and refrigerators—had ridden some long-ago flood this far downstream and no farther. As Joanna eased past each piece of wreckage, she was painfully aware of how much cover those items offered her quarry and how little protection they gave her.
It was difficult to judge distances, but she suspected she had gone barely a hundred yards when she heard noisy footsteps pounding behind her. “Wait up, boss,” Jaime shouted. “I’m coming.”
She huddled behind a piece of something that turned out to be an old car engine of some kind and waited as a pinprick of light gradually blossomed into the welcome company of a handheld flashlight.
“Any sign of him?” Jaime gasped when he caught up with her.
Putting her finger to her lips, Joanna shook her head. Then, gesturing, she motioned for Jaime to take the far side of the tunnel while she took the near one. They moved forward in cautious tandem with their muffled flashlights aimed at the floor. Now and then they paused to listen for the sounds of footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.
Joanna estimated the tunnel’s length to be half a mile or so. If Lucas was coming at a dead run, it wouldn’t take long for him to cover the distance—longer if he hadn’t had the foresight to bring along his own flashlight. A minute or so later, they heard him, blundering toward them in the dark. Without any discussion, Jaime and Joanna doused their lights completely and sought shelter. Joanna hid behind a rocky outcropping in the tunnel while Jaime ducked behind the unidentifiable remains of a rusted-out car that had come to rest several yards behind where Joanna was hiding.
