by J. A. Jance
Ignoring the proffered handshake, Alma continued her tirade. “I have no intention of calming down!” she replied. “I happen to own this place, every inch of it. Now, where are my residents? What have you done with them? You can’t come waltzing in here without a search warrant.”
Alma’s right hand strayed toward the pocket of her jacket, and Joanna’s heart skipped a beat. The previous summer, one of her newer deputies, Dan Sloan, had been shot to death with his own weapon while trying to apprehend a homicide suspect. That life-ending tragedy had set Joanna off on a one-woman campaign to arm her officers-herself included-with effective but nonlethal Tasers. It hadn’t been easy to make that kind of department-wide change in the face of falling revenues. Buying new equipment and making sure she and her officers knew how to use it had been an expensive proposition, but Joanna had managed to convince the Board of Supervisors that using Tasers was a cost-effective alternative to handguns or batons in many combat situations.
Her biggest selling point had been the proposition that Tasers would improve the bottom line when it came to preventing line-of-duty deaths and injuries. Officers sometimes hesitated before deploying a lethal weapon, and it was often that single moment of hesitation-those bare seconds when a cop asks himself whether or not he should pull the trigger-that proved fatal. And if the criminal managed to get control of the officer’s weapon-as had happened in Danny Sloan’s case-the officer might well end up on the ground after being Tased, but at least he or she wouldn’t be dead.
Tasers were now Joanna’s officers’ first line of defense. That was the case for Joanna as well. She still carried her Glock, but she also wore a Taser X26 along with her Kevlar vest. She didn’t leave home without them, not even tonight on what had seemed to be nothing more than a simple missing persons call-out. That’s what happened when you were a cop. You could never tell in advance what might happen. Better to be safe than sorry. And she drew her Taser now, but before she could fire it, Alma’s hand emerged from her pocket holding a cell phone rather than a weapon.
Focused solely on her cell phone, Alma seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Instead, she flipped open the phone. Then, turning her back on both Joanna and Deb Howell, she punched in a series of numbers. “I’m calling my attorney, by the way,” she announced over her shoulder. “Believe me, Don Foster will be happy to set you straight.”
“You’ll have to talk to him outside,” Joanna said as she prepared to return her Taser to its holster. “Get her out of here, Detective Howell. Let’s secure the scene.”
The truth was, Tom Hadlock should have handled that. Joanna was disappointed that he hadn’t.
Obeying Joanna’s order, Debra approached the woman. “Excuse me, Ms. DeLong,” she said calmly. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me-”
“I most certainly would mind.” Alma’s answer was close to a snarl. “I already told you. I own this place, and I’m not leaving. You’re the ones who need to step outside. If you know what’s good for you, you’d better have a properly drawn search warrant. You can’t come charging onto my property without one of those.”
Joanna was in no mood for a lecture on police procedures from someone like Alma DeLong. “We don’t need a search warrant when lives are at stake,” she explained. “Several of your ‘residents,’ as you call them, appear to be in dire need of adequate medical care. They have all been transported to hospitals for treatment, except for the one who apparently walked away from this facility on her own earlier today.”
“Someone walked away?” Alma echoed. “That’s not possible. Our residents aren’t allowed outside unaccompanied.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” Joanna replied.
But Alma didn’t appear to be listening. Since there was evidently no answer at the first number, she immediately ended that call and punched in the numbers for another one.
“I believe the incident occurred late this afternoon,” Joanna continued. “At a time when your facility was left unstaffed for several hours.”
“Unstaffed?” Alma repeated in disbelief, holding the phone at arm’s length without punching the “send” button. “That’s utterly preposterous! There’s supposed to be someone here at all times. If my people weren’t here when they were scheduled to be, I’ll fire every single one of them. As for you, get out.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Joanna said. “This is a crime scene now, and it’s a serious matter. You’re welcome to make your phone calls, but please do as Detective Howell suggested. Make them from outside.”
Defiantly, Alma pressed “send.” “And as I already told you, I’m not leaving. Crime scene or not, this is my property, and you can’t force me to leave.”
“Yes, we can,” Deb Howell insisted firmly. “Come along now, Ms. DeLong. Let’s go.”
Furious, Alma snatched her arm away from Debra, then spoke into the phone. “Don, it’s Alma. Please call me as soon as you get this message. You’re not going to believe what’s happened. Some moron cops have taken over one of my homes, the one down in Palominas. They’ve invaded it! It’s utterly outrageous, and they’ve taken my clients away-kidnapped them. You’ve got to do something about this.”
“I said, ‘Let’s go,’” Deb repeated. “As Sheriff Brady said, you can finish your phone calls outside.”
“Don’t you understand?” Alma raged. “I’m talking to my lawyer. Now get your hands off me, you stupid bitch!”
Brandishing her phone, she took a single swipe at Deb’s face. It was an ineffectual blow which the detective easily dodged. For a long moment the two women stood staring at each other.
“That’s enough now, Ms. DeLong,” Joanna warned. “Either you go with Detective Howell or you risk being booked for disorderly conduct.”
“Disorderly conduct?” Alma retorted. “She was trying to manhandle me, and now you’re threatening me with arrest? No way! It’s not going to happen. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“For starters, you’re interfering with officers of the law, to say nothing of criminal assault. If Ms. DeLong refuses to go willingly, Detective Howell, cuff her and read her her rights.”
With a nod, Debbie produced a pair of handcuffs. At the sight of them, Alma went wild. She began backing away, as if preparing to make a run for it, but by then Tom Hadlock had appeared at the far end of the hall. When Alma saw him and realized she had lost that avenue of escape, she evidently decided to take her chances with Debra. First she flung her phone full in the detective’s face, then sprang after it. For a moment the two women grappled there in the hallway. Before Joanna could join the fray, Tom waded into the fight. In a matter of moments the two officers wrestled Alma DeLong to the floor. Once they had her down, Debra snapped the cuffs in place.
“My outfit!” Alma screeched as they hauled her back to her feet. “Look what you’ve done to my outfit. You’ve ruined it. That floor is filthy.”
“Maybe you should have had someone clean it,” Joanna suggested.
Deputy Matt Raymond appeared just then to offer his assistance. Taking over from Tom, he and Detective Howell headed back down the hall, holding the still-struggling woman between them.
“What got into her?” Tom asked.
“She’s upset,” Joanna said. “She should never have been allowed inside here.”
Tom nodded. He had been charged with securing the scene, and he hadn’t done so. “I know,” he said. “Sorry about that. I was talking to a reporter from Tucson when a car drove up and stopped behind me. Before I had a chance to stop her, she hopped out of her car and came racing in here.”
“It’s okay,” Joanna told him. “Don’t worry about it. For right now, we’re charging her with interfering and assault. Those will do for starters.”
Just then Peggy Whitehead of health department fame arrived on the scene. Dealing with another irate woman was pretty much the last thing Joanna needed.
“What’s going on here?” Peggy demanded. “If this is a health-related issue, my departme
nt has jurisdiction. You’ve got no reason-”
“I have every reason in the world,” Joanna interrupted. “This is now a criminal matter, Peggy. It’s also a crime scene. If you’d been doing your job, maybe it wouldn’t be. Get her out of here, Chief Deputy Hadlock. Now.”
Joanna realized immediately that she should have been more diplomatic. As she was still shaken from the confrontation with Alma DeLong, however, diplomacy wasn’t high on Joanna’s list. And once the words were out of her mouth, it was too late.
Tom Hadlock didn’t come right out and say, “With pleasure!” but the slow smile of satisfaction that spread across his face spoke volumes. Peggy Whitehead had done everything in her power to make his life miserable. Now Joanna had handed him an opportunity to return the favor.
“Right this way, please, Ms. Whitehead,” he said politely.
Peggy hesitated for a moment, then turned and strode away.
Good riddance, Joanna thought, watching her go. Good riddance to both you and Alma DeLong!
She stood there for a long time staring into yet another appalling room-a room with soiled and stinking bedclothes along with a handy supply of damning Flex Cuffs right there on the nightstand. She doubted Alma DeLong would spend more than a single night in jail before being bailed out, and she would be staying in far better conditions than the poor residents of her “care” facility. It was a shame Joanna couldn’t have ordered her to be locked up in one of these very rooms. The same went for Peggy Whitehead. Wasn’t she supposed to see to it that places like this didn’t exist? To Joanna’s way of thinking, the head of the health department deserved to be locked up as well.
Dave Hollicker, camera equipment in hand, came hurrying down the hallway behind Joanna. “Are you all right, boss?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, and she meant it. For one thing, her officers were all safe, and so was Alma DeLong. When their shifts ended that night, all of her people would be going home to their families, and so would she.
“I’ll be a lot better than fine,” she added, “once we locate Philippa Brinson.”
By the time Mel and I finally left Black Diamond and headed back to downtown Seattle, it was much later. Traffic was no longer an issue, but believe me, we were a long way from those Pecos Pit sandwiches we’d had many hours earlier. It was almost ten. Late-night dining choices in downtown Seattle aren’t what they used to be, but we stopped by the 13 Coins to grab a quick dinner. I had the steak salad. Mel had the buttermilk chicken salad.
“If she hadn’t won that lottery, she’d be dead by now,” Mel said thoughtfully as she cut into a chunk of crispy fried chicken. “Medicine can keep people alive, but not if they can’t afford it.”
“Yes,” I said. “Mama Rose is a remarkable woman.”
“A survivor,” Mel added. “And I notice you liked the idea that she put what’s essentially a homeless shelter where they didn’t want a homeless shelter.”
That made me grin. “I always like it when somebody manages to pull a fast one on over-reaching bureaucrats.”
“Most people see us as bureaucrats, too,” Mel reminded me.
“Yes,” I said. “But we’re the good guys.”
“Mama Rose is a good guy,” Mel added. “She’s not helping people because she’s naive. She knows these people-really knows them. She cares about them because she’s been there.”
I nodded. That had become clear the moment we mentioned the name Marina Aguirre. A troubled look had crossed Mama Rose’s face and she sighed.
“Oh,” she said. “That one. Marina really disappointed me. Most of the time I don’t have unreasonable expectations, but Marina had that special something-the spark; the determination. I thought she was going to be a star.”
“You remember her then?” Mel had asked.
Mama Rose laughed. “Who could forget her? For one thing, she still had her looks. Most people go to the consignment store or St. Vincent de Paul and come away looking like drudges. Marina came out looking like a rodeo queen, boots and all.”
Mel and I exchanged looks. I had told her about that single singed boot I had seen in Ellensburg.
“She was smart,” Mama Rose continued. “And she was determined. She told me she wanted her son back.”
“How did she lose him?” Mel asked. “A custody fight?”
Mama Rose shrugged. “Could be. She didn’t give any details. She was pretty closemouthed about where she came from, but that goes with the territory. Most of the girls don’t want to let on to the folks back home that they’re working the streets. When Marina walked out on Silver Pines, I assumed she’d decided she wanted to be back in the game and didn’t want to tell me to my face. In a way, I don’t blame her. Waiting tables at Denny’s is very hard work, and it doesn’t pay very well-not compared to what she was used to earning. I’m sure she could have done something else eventually, but to do that, she would have had to go back to school and get some training.”
It crossed my mind that Marina might not have wanted to change jobs because she was using some long-dead girl’s name and Social Security number. I didn’t mention any of that to Mama Rose. Instead, I asked, “When Marina disappeared, who cleaned out her unit?”
Tom Wojeck raised his hand. “That would be me. It’s pretty tough for Mama Rose to get around much these days. That means I’m the one stuck with doing the dirty work.” He smiled fondly at Mama Rose when he said it, as though it was a point of regular teasing between them.
“Did you find anything?”
Tom shrugged. “As I recall, the place was a mess. Worse than usual, especially considering she’d only been in the mobile for a matter of months. But we brought in our cleaning crew, mucked it out, and had it rented again within a matter of days.”
“Who’s on the cleaning crew?” Mel asked. “Some of the residents?”
Tom nodded. “But as far as I know, nothing of value was found.”
“And nothing that would have told you who she was or where she was from?”
“No,” he answered.
“What about her vehicle?”
“A 4-Runner, I think. I remember it had Arizona plates. I told her that once she had a job she would need to reregister it and get Washington plates. I don’t think she ever got around to doing it.”
“After she left, did you do any skip-chasing?” I asked.
“Look,” Tom said. “She had paid her rent up until the middle of November. When she wasn’t there to pay up on the fifteenth, we packed up her junk and got rid of it. It’s not like she owed months of back rent. She was gone, her rent wasn’t being paid, we moved her stuff out, and moved someone else in. End of story.”
“Her fiance, a guy by the name of Mason Waters, filed a missing persons report,” I said. “I don’t think the local cop shop expended much effort on the case.”
“Waters,” Mama Rose said. “Isn’t that the name of the guy whose private eye came around asking questions about Marina a couple of months ago?”
Tom Wojeck nodded. “I think that’s the right name, but by the time the detective showed up at Silver Pines, Marina’s stuff was long gone.”
And so was she, I thought.
With me mentally going over that previous conversation, Mel and I had been silent for quite some time. Finally I noticed that she was only picking at her chicken, which meant she was probably doing the same thing.
“What?” I asked.
Mel shook her head. “So chances are, the young woman in the morgue over in Ellensburg is the woman who claimed to be Marina Aguirre, but we have no idea who she really was. I wonder if we’ll ever figure it out.”
I wondered that myself.
“And what about Tom Wojeck and Mama Rose?” Mel asked. “They weren’t wearing rings.”
Being a man, I had somehow missed that small detail altogether.
“I wonder how long they’ve been together,” Mel continued. “I don’t think they’re married, but they seem to have a good working relationship.”
“They’re probably as close to being married as you can get,” I told her, “especially when one member of the team is HIV-positive.”
“Wake up,” Butch said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced up and down until Joanna opened her eyes. “Here’s some coffee. Time to rise and shine.”
“What time is it?” Joanna mumbled groggily.
“Ten to eight,” Butch answered. “I already called in and told Kristin you’d be late.”
Joanna took a sip of the coffee. “Thank you. But it was a great night. We were working a missing persons case. An old lady named Philippa Brinson walked away from an Alzheimer’s home out in Palominas.”
“Did you find her?” Butch asked.
“We certainly did,” Joanna answered. “They took her to the Copper Queen Hospital for observation, but I think she’s okay. Her niece was coming down from Phoenix. Once Ms. Brinson is released from the hospital here, she’ll go to Phoenix with her grandniece.”
“How about you tell me the rest of it over breakfast,” Butch said. “Otherwise you’re going to be even later.”
Showered and dressed, Joanna went out to the kitchen, where she had to weave her way through a scatter of boy, toys, and dogs to make it to the kitchen table. Dennis, as at home with the three dogs as he was with people, lay contentedly on the floor with his head propped on Lucky’s back while he chewed on the ear of a teddy bear that had originally been a dog toy.
While Butch whipped out two eggs over easy with bacon and toast, Joanna told him about the previous evening’s adventures. She edited out some parts of the story, focusing less on the appallingly filthy conditions inside Caring Friends. She failed to mention that on Alma DeLong’s watch, residents there were treated more like prisoners than patients, or how vulnerable and frail people had been left unsupervised and helpless for hours on end. Instead, Joanna told Butch about how they had successfully tracked down Philippa Brinson.
“Tom Hadlock managed to get an announcement about her being missing on the ten o’clock news from Tucson,” Joanna said. “Before the news broadcast ended, we had a tip from a man who called in and who said he had found an old woman standing beside the road in Palominas yesterday afternoon. He had stopped and asked if she needed help. She said she needed a ride to Bisbee, that she had to get back to her office.”
