“What about fingerprints on the vial?” Joanna asked. “It was made out of glass, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t there have been fingerprints left on it?”
“Probably, as long as the killer didn’t use gloves. I sent the vial over to the crime lab,” Fran said. “But the results from that don’t come back to me. They go directly to the detectives working the case.”
“To Hank Lazier, in other words.”
“Right,” Fran said. “And since he and Tom Hemming are working like hell to extradite those three kids from Mexico, Hank’s not going to be ecstatic when you show up with another suspect altogether, along with a whole new theory about what went on.”
“Tough,” Joanna said. “He’ll have to learn to live with it.”
Finishing that phone call left Joanna energized and ready to take on the world. She drove into the office and went straight to work. By the time Kristin Marsten and Frank Montoya showed up at eight o’clock, Joanna had already mowed through most of the previous day’s correspondence and was starting to return the congratulatory phone calls.
Frank Montoya stuck his head in the door. “Is it safe?” he asked. “Word is out that Her Majesty—meaning you—is lopping off heads right and left.”
“Dick Voland quit; I didn’t fire him,” Joanna said. “And I gave Kristin a clear choice of either shaping up or shipping out. In other words, I don’t think you’re in any danger of having your head lopped off. Come on in.”
“Won’t it be boring having our morning briefing without Voland here sniping at us?” Frank asked. “A little like coffee with no cream?”
Joanna gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage. First off, you need to know that I’m engaged to Butch Dixon, and here’s the ring to prove it.” She waved her hand and flashed the diamond past Frank’s face. “That’s all I’m saying about it,” she continued. “If you receive any questions from the media regarding my engagement, I will expect you to deliver a very firm ‘No comment.’ Is that clear?”
“Very.”
“I’ve been on the phone to Fran Daly this morning. She’s tracking the insulin vial that was found on Alice Rogers’ corpse. That trail may lead us straight back to Clete Rogers. Do you happen to know whether or not he’s diabetic?”
Frank shook his head. “Nobody’s ever talked about specifics, but I do know he’s had some long-term health difficulties. I remember Nancy, the hostess at the Grubsteak, making some allusion to it. It probably wouldn’t be all that hard to find out. If nothing else, I can ask her.”
“Do it,” Joanna said. “Also, is there a chance Clete Rogers’ fingerprints are on file anywhere?”
“I doubt it. As far as I know, he’s never been involved in anything that requires prints. He runs a restaurant, Joanna. It isn’t like he’s a securities dealer or something.”
“Would it be possible for you to get his prints?” Joanna asked. “Casually, of course. I’d want you to do it in a way that wouldn’t necessarily arouse suspicion. Maybe you could have him sign some phony-baloney form and then bring the pen back to Casey down in AFIS.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Frank said. “How soon do you want it?”
“ASAP.”
“It figures. I’ll handle it.” Frank paused. “What about Karen Brainard? I understand she resigned from the board of supervisors as of yesterday morning. What, if anything, are we doing about her?”
“I’ve assigned Ernie Carpenter to the Mark Childers/Lewis Flores cases,” Joanna said. “I told Ernie that if he finds any evidence of wrongdoing on her part, we should go after her for it.”
Frank raised a questioning eyebrow. “Ernie Carpenter investigating white-collar crime? That’s a long way from his usual area of expertise, isn’t it?”
“Not that far,” Joanna replied. “After all, two men are dead as a direct result of what was happening at Oak Vista. If there were bribes or payoffs involved in that mess, Ernie’s going to find them.”
“Fair enough,” Frank agreed. “Now, tell me. With Dick gone, have you given any thought as to who should be your next Chief Deputy for Operations?”
“As a matter of fact I have,” Joanna said. “You’re it.”
“Really?” Frank Montoya beamed. “Thanks, but who’s going to be in charge of Administration, then?”
“You again,” Joanna answered. “I’ve decided that from now on, I’m only going to have one chief deputy, and you’re it. That means you’d better find someone to take over the Tombstone marshal job, because I’m not going to be able to spare you. Any ideas?”
“Not right off the bat,” Frank said. “I’ll have to think about it. I’m sure I’ll come up with someone. Anything else?”
“Yes. I want you to get on the phone with authorities in western South Dakota. Check out all the jurisdictions within spitting distance of Mount Rushmore to see if they have a reported missing person whose first name is Junior.”
Montoya beamed again. “So my suggestion did work then. I haven’t had a chance to see the article yet, but if you’ve already got results this fast, Marliss must have written a dandy.”
“Marliss Shackleford had absolutely nothing to do with it,” Joanna replied. “If this pans out, we owe it all to Daisy Maxwell.”
“Daisy, over at the cafe?” Frank marveled. “I had no idea she was a writer.”
“She isn’t,” Joanna answered. “She’s just a woman with a whole lot of common sense, which is far more than I can say for Marliss Shackleford. Now then, what about that phone call from the fictitious Detective Garfield?”
“The call came from a pay phone located in North Las Vegas. That’s all I’ve been able to come up with so far.”
“And what about the rogue cops, the ones who went to prison?” Joanna asked. “Do we have any idea where they’re incarcerated?”
“Not so far, but I’ll check it out. Anything else?”
“Yes. What about yesterday’s incident reports? Do you have them?”
“No. I didn’t know I was supposed to have them. No one gave them to me.”
“That figures. I want you to make an official announcement about the change in personnel. We’ll need to issue a statement to the media saying that Dick Voland has resigned for personal reasons and announcing that from now on the department will have only one chief deputy. We’ll also need to let people inside the department know that those incident reports are to be routed to you from now on. Once you have them in hand and have a chance to go over them, come back and we’ll finish up.”
Frank had been making notes all along. Now he stopped. “What’s the real story behind Dick’s leaving?” he asked. “One minute the man is his usual charming self, throwing his weight around and giving people all kinds of grief. The next minute his office is empty and he’s out of here. What’s going on?”
Joanna had planned to keep her personal problems with Dick Voland strictly to herself, but Frank Montoya deserved a straight answer. “This is for your information only,” Joanna said, “and it’s not to leave this room. But it seems Dick Voland had some mistaken ideas about the relationship between us, some seriously mistaken ideas.”
“You’re kidding! As in romantic ideas?”
“That’s right.”
“What made him think that?” Frank asked. “He’s got to be a good fifteen years older than you are. In fact, I’m a lot closer to your age than he is.”
“Don’t you go getting any weird ideas.” Joanna grinned at him. “Otherwise, I’ll be running this department with no chief deputy at all.”
Frank Montoya jumped out of his chair. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning back. “Forget I even mentioned it. I’m sure Dick has plenty of time in grade, so he can afford to retire. Not me. I’m too young.”
“Get out of here then,” Joanna told him. “I’ve got work to do, and so do you.”
Seconds after Frank returned to the lobby, Kristin entered Joanna’s office. She slapped a pile of mail down on the edge of Joanna’s desk. Next to the
stack of mail she placed a cup of coffee.
Joanna looked up at Kristin. “Does that constitute a peace offering?” Joanna asked.
Without looking her boss in the eye, Kristin shrugged. “I guess,” she said.
“Does that mean you’ve decided you want to keep working here—that you want to continue being my secretary?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then,” Joanna said. “I’m glad to hear it, and thanks for the coffee.”
Seventeen
AS SOON as Kristin had left her office, Joanna picked up the phone and dialed Butch. “How’s it going?” she asked when he answered.
“Slowly,” he replied. “Very slowly. Junior slept so much in the car that by the time we made it home, he was wide awake and wired. Now he’s asleep again, and I wish I were, too. But I’ve got to get going today. I’ve spent days without touching my computer, and it’s time to get back on the horse. If I’m ever going to finish my book, I’ve got to sit down and work. Otherwise, I’m going to remain what Marliss Shackleford calls unemployed forever. The word’s out that unpublished novelists are worth a dime a dozen.”
Joanna had worried that leaving Junior with Butch was imposing on the man’s good nature. Now she felt certain those worries were justified. Junior’s presence was most likely exacerbating an already raging case of writer’s block.
“Maybe I could bring Junior to the office for the day,” she suggested. “He’d probably get a kick out of it. At least it would give you some time to work.”
“He’d get a kick out of it right up until you got called out on a case,” Butch replied, “on something where he couldn’t go along. He’d end up being stuck in your office all by himself. No, that’s already happened to him once, and it’s not going to happen again, not if I can help it.”
“Speaking of that,” Joanna said, “you’ll be happy to know that Frank Montoya is tracking the South Dakota connection.”
“Good.”
“And I’m sitting here admiring my ring,” she continued. “I still can’t quite believe it, Butch. I said ‘yes.’ We are actually engaged.”
“I’ll believe it more when I can corral you into setting a date,” Butch replied. “But don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly. “I’m not pushing.”
Joanna laughed. “The hell you’re not. I’m going to work now. You do the same. I’ll let you know the second Frank hears something.”
Without even putting down the phone, Joanna dialed her in-laws. When Eva Lou Brady answered the phone, Joanna had to pause momentarily and gather her nerve before she spoke. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning yourself,” Eva Lou returned. “How are you today?”
“Engaged,” Joanna said with a gulp. She had already sampled Jim Bob’s reaction, but Eva Lou was Andy’s mother. Would she manage the same kind of grace and generosity in the face of what she might well regard as her daughter-in-law’s defection?
“Did you think I didn’t know? Jim Bob and I had already discussed it with Jenny, and then Eleanor was on the phone to us last night, probably before the door closed behind you. I’m pleased at the news, Joanna, pleased for all of you. I really am. It means that Jenny’s going to have a daddy after all. From the sound of things, I think she needs one. Maybe Butch will be able to teach her not to fight all the time. Eleanor is all bent out of shape because she doesn’t think fighting is ladylike, which, of course, it isn’t. I’m more worried that one of these times Jenny’s going to pick a fight with the wrong bully and end up getting hurt.”
Now that word was out, Joanna breathed a little easier. “Speaking of the little truant, how is she this morning?”
“Fine as frog’s hair. She and Jim Bob are out back raking leaves.”
“Has she told you about Junior?” Joanna asked.
“She certainly has. Bubbling over with it. She seems to like him a lot. And it’s so nice of Butch to lend a hand that way. Most men wouldn’t.”
“But it is keeping him from doing any of his own work,” Joanna said. “And I was wondering if…”
“If we’d take him for a while?” Eva Lou asked. “Of course. I know Jenny gets bored hanging around with just us old folks. And with all the kids in school…”
“I believe that’s the whole idea of a school suspension,” Joanna observed. “She’s supposed to be bored. And miserable.”
“Well, I still think having Junior for the day will be fine. I’ll call Butch a little later and make arrangements. Come to think of it, maybe the whole bunch of you could come to supper tonight. I might even ask George and Eleanor. We could have a little engagement celebration. It’ll give me a chance to see your ring.”
Joanna’s breath caught. She had been able to pass off the ring as new with her own mother, but not with Andy’s. “You’ve already seen it, Eva Lou,” Joanna said quietly. “It’s the same one Andy gave me for our anniversary, just before he died. Since I already have a ring that I love, it just didn’t make sense to have to go out and buy another one.”
“What a perfectly lovely thing to do,” Eva Lou said at once. “I know Andy paid an armload for that ring. Of course I understood why you put it away, but it seemed like such a waste to me to have a beautiful piece of jewelry like that hidden away in a dresser drawer. This makes far better sense.”
“You don’t mind then?” Joanna asked. “You don’t think I’m being disloyal to Andy’s memory?”
“Disloyal? The only way you could be disloyal to Andy, Joanna, is to not go on with your own life. He loved you. All he ever wanted was for you and Jenny to be happy. If Butch Dixon makes you happy, he’s exactly what Andy would want for you too. And he’d be delighted that you didn’t have to go out and spend money on a ring when you already had one that was bought and paid for.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Joanna murmured. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it,” Eva Lou said. “I’m hanging up now. I need to call Butch and let him know about dinner. I’ll also find out when he wants Jim Bob and Jenny to come by and pick up Junior.”
“One more thing,” Joanna said hurriedly before Eva Lou could hang up.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell my mother where the ring came from. She’ll never understand.”
“She’ll never know then, will she?” Eva Lou said. “At least not from me.”
Holding the receiver after ending that call, Joanna knew there was one more that she needed to make. It was after nine by then—time enough for Hank Lazier to have shown up at his office in the Pima County Sheriffs Department.
“Joanna Brady here,” she said when he answered.
There was a noticeable chill in his voice when he replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Pleasure, my foot! Joanna thought. Knowing there was no love lost between them, she dispensed with the usual pleasantries. “I’m calling about the crime lab results,” she said briskly. “Any hits on the fingerprints from the insulin vial?”
“None,” he replied.
“You ran them through AFIS?”
“Sure did.”
That meant Parley Adams’ prints weren’t there, because they would have come up with a hit. That also held true for the three young men still sitting in the Nogales, Sonora, jail, as well as for Joaquin Morales, the boy who had aided searchers in finding Alice Rogers’ body.
Sitting on his end of the telephone line, Detective Lazier must have been reading Joanna’s thoughts. “The lack of fingerprints means nothing,” he said. “When we searched the Buick, we didn’t find any gloves, but they could have used them and then ditched them somewhere between Houghton Road and Nogales.”
“It could mean they didn’t do it,” Joanna pointed out “It could mean you and Detective Hemming are barking up the wrong tree.”
“Right this minute, Detective Hemming is out tracking down some search warrants.” Lazier told her. “We’ve ID’d the three suspects now and we’ll be executing those warrants as soon as we
have them. In the meantime, stop sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted or needed.”
“You have a nice day, too,” Joanna returned pleasantly. But it was too late. By then Hank Lazier had already slammed the phone down in her ear.
Joanna’s first and second cups of coffee disappeared along with the stack of mail. Next, Joanna went to work on the duty rosters. As she tried in vain to make sense of the complicated graph Dick Voland had devised to create shift schedules, Kristin buzzed Joanna’s intercom. “Someone to see you, Sheriff Brady,” she announced.
“Who is it?”
“Monica Childers,” Kristin said. “She’s Mark Childers’ wife.”
Widow, Joanna thought. She said, “Ernie Carpenter is in charge of that case. I’m sure he’s the one she needs to see.”
“I told her that already,” Kristin said. “She insists on seeing you.”
“All right,” Joanna agreed, shoving the graph aside. “Send her in.”
The door to Joanna’s office swung open and a tall woman strode into the room. At nearly six feet, Monica Childers was an imposing yet slim forty-five-year-old with fair skin and startlingly blue eyes. Her gray hair was cut short enough to resemble a crew cut. She was wearing jeans, a flannel work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of dusty work boots. She stopped in front of Joanna’s desk.
“How long is that detective of yours going to keep us shut down?” Monica demanded.
“Pardon me?” Joanna asked. “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on.”
“That makes two of us,” Monica said. Uninvited, she sank into a chair. “My work crew showed up this morning. A deputy met them at the gate and sent them packing, which means I have to pay at least an hour’s worth of show-up time, even though I didn’t get a lick of work out of them. The deputy claimed your office isn’t finished investigating yet. Lewis Flores shot Mark and then he shot himself. They’re both dead. This isn’t rocket science, Sheriff Brady. How much investigation can it take?”
“You’re talking about the Oak Vista work crew?”
Outlaw Mountain : A Joanna Brady Mystery (9780061748806) Page 24
