Damage Control (30 page)

Joanna was dumbstruck and more than slightly offended. “You hired her?” she demanded. “Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” Butch replied. “She worked in preschools for years before her husband got so sick that she had to stay home with him. She’s not exactly inexperienced as far as taking care of kids is concerned. I like her. Jenny likes her. She’s thrilled that she’ll be able to rent our old house—”

“You did all this without consulting me?” Joanna asked.

“Maybe not this morning, Joey, but I did consult you. Remember?” Butch said. “The last I heard, you said you wanted me to go on tour. I had to give New York a yes-or-no answer today.
With everything you were dealing with at work, I didn’t think you were in any condition to have a long heart-to-heart discussion about it or to schedule an interview.”

Joanna had to admit that much was inarguable. She had been up to her neck in work-related issues. There wouldn’t have been time for her to deal with a domestic crisis as well.

“I really do like Mrs. Sunderson,” Jenny put in. “And just think, this way there’ll be some kids living right next door.”

Now that the news had been broken, Butch hurried on with outlining arrangements. “Mrs. S. and the boys will stay at the motel until the middle of next week. Even with a full crew, that’s the soonest I’ll be able to complete the fix-up on the other house. Marianne said that will give her time to gather up some donated furniture for them to use. Once they get moved in, she’ll start working for us right away while the boys are still out of school for the summer. That way, by the time the tour rolls around, she’ll be familiar with our routines, know where things go, and so forth.”

“But—” Joanna began.

“Look,” Butch said, “you hire the best people you can find to do your job, and I’m doing the same thing. Having her here will help her because it’ll be a job she can do without having to worry about day care for her boys. It’ll help me because I’ll have some time for writing when I’m here and I won’t need to worry about how things are being handled when I’m gone.”

Jenny stood up abruptly. “There’s no sense in sitting around here if all you two are going to do is fight,” she declared. “Want me to burp him?” she asked Butch, reaching for Dennis.

“That would be nice,” Butch said. “But this isn’t fighting. It’s discussing.”

“It sounds like fighting to me,” Jenny said. She grabbed Dennis up. With all three dogs at her heels, Jenny flounced out of the room.

Butch picked up his now cold sandwich and munched on it in silence. Sitting there with him, Joanna knew there was a good deal of truth in everything he had said. Butch ran the household without complaint, but the very fact that he’d willingly accepted help from her mother was an indication that he sometimes had difficulty keeping all the balls in the air. And they did want his career to move forward. Both of them wanted that, and for that to happen he needed to go on tour.

“Can we afford the extra expense of hiring Carol Sunderson to help out around here?” Joanna asked at last.

“I don’t think we can afford not to have her,” Butch said. “It’ll be tight,” he admitted, “but I’m convinced it’s going to be a good thing for everyone concerned—Jenny and Dennis included.”

“All right, then,” Joanna said.

Butch gave her a grateful smile. “So now that you know about my day, how about if you tell me about yours.”

It turned out to be a very long story, from the time she had left the house overnight until she’d finally dragged herself home in the early afternoon. At that juncture, Joanna and Butch’s conversation was interrupted by the realities of life—of doing the dishes, straightening up the kitchen, getting Dennis put to bed. When things quieted down once more and Joanna resumed her recitation, she was tempted to skip mentioning the part about Suzanne Quayle and Andy. In the end, she didn’t. Butch’s response wasn’t what she had expected.

“Just because your dad was having an affair doesn’t mean Andy was,” Butch observed when she finished.

“Wait a minute,” Joanna said. “Now you’re defending Andy? What’s this all about? I suppose it figures that men would stick together.”

“I’m not defending him,” Butch returned. “But, if you ask me, you’re a long way from having probable cause. You’ve learned that someone Andy worked with was pregnant when he died. Since she didn’t kiss up to you at the funeral and left town shortly thereafter, you’ve developed this whole scenario of what may or may not have happened between them. I think you’re jumping to unwarranted conclusions. This isn’t what I’d call a slam dunk.”

Joanna bit her lip and said nothing.

“What are you going to do?” Butch asked.

Joanna shrugged. “Look into it, I suppose,” she said.

“What if you find out it’s true? What if Jenny has a little half brother or sister? What will you do then, tell her or not tell her?”

“I don’t know,” Joanna admitted. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“You’d better think about it,” Butch warned her. “As you’ve already figured out this week, those kinds of family secrets have a way of bubbling to the surface at all the wrong times.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a ringing telephone. For a change, the call was for Butch instead of Joanna.

“That’s right,” he told Jeff Daniels. “I’ll pick up the tile tomorrow morning in Sierra Vista. If you could get the painting crew started while I’m doing that, it would be a huge help.”

Butch paused, listening. “Tell Marianne thanks but that we’ve got that covered,” he said. “Eleanor said she’d be here as early as I need her.”

Jenny’s right,
Joanna thought.
We are fighting.
On the evening
of Joanna’s worst day as sheriff, the last thing she needed was to be wrangling with her husband.

“My mother’s coming over again?” she asked pointedly once Butch got off the phone.

“Eleanor knows how much work it’s going to be to have the house ready by next week. She said she’d be glad to do whatever she can to help.”

“Oh,” Joanna said. “With any kind of luck, I’ll be at work by the time she gets here.”

Except she wasn’t. Eleanor, smiling brightly, was in the kitchen drinking coffee with Butch by the time Joanna got out of the shower the next morning. “Come outside and see my baby,” she told Joanna. “I worried about driving her through the wash for fear we’d get hung up on a rock or something, but we made it okay.”

Joanna, accompanied by Jenny, followed her mother outside to a spot just beyond the garage, where Eleanor had parked her bright red Mazda Miata.

“What do you think?” Eleanor wanted to know.

Joanna didn’t know what to think. “It’s really something,” she said.

“Will you take me for a ride later, Grandma?” Jenny asked. “Can we put the top down?”

“Once Butch gets back,” Eleanor replied. “It’s a good thing you’re as tall as you are,” she added. “It’ll be a long time before Dennis can ride with me because of the passenger air bag.”

Butch chose that moment to abandon ship. “Gotta run,” he said, dashing up and giving Joanna a peck on the cheek.

“Well,” Eleanor asked, once they were all back in the kitchen. “What do you think?”

Joanna had lain awake for hours that night doing just that—thinking—and not just due to her long nap that afternoon. If her mother was so damned eager to help Butch out right now, why was she equally adamant about
not
helping when Butch was going off on tour? It made no sense, and Joanna was still grumpy enough about it that it was difficult for her to feign any enthusiasm about her mother’s automotive purchase.

“It’s cute,” she allowed, “but it doesn’t look like it’ll hold much luggage.”

“We won’t need room for luggage,” Eleanor said with a dismissive shrug. “When we travel, all of that will be in the Newell. We’ll tow the Miata.”

Eleanor seemed to be speaking a foreign language. “Excuse me?” Joanna asked.

“The Newell,” Eleanor repeated firmly. “The motor home. It’s older than Margaret and Donald’s, but it’s bigger, too.”

It took a moment for Joanna to realize her mother was referring to Butch’s folks, Margaret and Donald Dixon. Months earlier, just before Dennis was born, the Dixons had shown up in their RV. As far as Joanna was concerned, Maggie Dixon had ridden in on her broom. But Joanna was finally getting the message. Her mother and George had decided to get on board the RV bandwagon.

“You and George have bought a motor home?” she asked. “An RV?”

“Exactly,” Eleanor beamed. “It comes with a towing package. That means we’ll be able to drag the Miata with us wherever we go.”

“You’re going somewhere?” Joanna asked. “You’re taking a trip?”

Eleanor’s bright smile faltered. “You mean George didn’t tell you? I thought he was going to.”

“Tell me what?”

“I gave him a choice,” Eleanor said. “It was work or me. He chose me. He’s resigning immediately. George has a cabin on a place called Big Rock Lake in Minnesota. Or maybe it’s Big Stone. I’m not sure which. The cabin was supposed to be rented for the whole summer, but the people who had booked it for August called just last week and canceled. Some kind of family crisis. So George and I are going to head up there next week. The end of next week, actually. We’ll stay for the rest of the summer.”

Joanna was stunned. “You’re going to Minnesota?” she asked, surprised at the accusatory tone in her voice, as in, “You did this without consulting me.” “When will you be back?” she asked.

“Probably right around Thanksgiving,” Eleanor answered. “Too late to help out with the tour, of course, which is why I told Butch I’d do everything I could for him right now.”

“Does Butch know about this?” Joanna asked. “Is he aware you’re leaving town?”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor said. “I couldn’t possibly tell him about it until after I’d told you.”

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Joanna wanted to know.

“Oh, Joanna,” Eleanor said. “We’ve become so close since little Dennis was born. I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me. If I did something to hurt you, it would just break my heart.”

IT TOOK A WHILE FOR JOANNA TO EXTRICATE HERSELF FROM
home. As soon as she drove away from the ranch, she dialed George’s office number. “You’re leaving?” she demanded when he answered. “Just like that?”

“Ellie told you, then?” George returned mildly.

“She pretty much had to,” Joanna replied. “Since you’re taking off the end of next week in that new RV, she couldn’t very well put it off any longer.”

“It’s not a new RV,” George said. “It’s used and very affordable.”

“Whatever,” Joanna said. “But you’re quitting?”

“Resigning,” George said. “Effective immediately.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“No,” George agreed. “I don’t suppose you do. You’re proba
bly too young. I made plenty of mistakes in my first marriage, Joanna. The most critical one was working more than was good for me or for the relationship. From what Ellie tells me, I believe your parents’ marriage suffered from the same malady. Until your mother took off this week, I had no idea how unhappy she was with the way things were going. Now that Ellie’s managed to get my attention, she and I are determined to do something about it. Neither one of us wants to make the same mistake twice. We’ve decided to spend however much time we have left just that way—together.”

Joanna had to admit that she didn’t remember her mother ever looking as radiant as she had that morning. Joanna had thought her high spirits were all related to her brand-new little red sports car, but clearly there was a lot more going on than buying a car.

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” Joanna said.

The words sounded halfhearted and grudging, but she meant them when she said them. Still, there was a part of her that felt lost and bereft. She liked George. They worked well together. She would miss him terribly, not only at work but also for the special role he played in her family life. And no matter how much Eleanor had driven Joanna crazy over the years—no matter how often the two of them had locked horns over every little thing—it had been reassuring to know her mother was right there where she had always been—in the little house on Campbell Street. Now Eleanor Lathrop Winfield would be gone from there, probably for months at a time.

You’ve got to watch out what you wish for,
Joanna thought. Then, because she had to, she switched gears.

“What about Dan’s autopsy?” she asked.

“I’ll do it this afternoon—about one. Chief Bernard is sending Detective Lester. Do you want someone there, too?”

“Ernie Carpenter,” Joanna said at once. “I’ll let him know.”

“If I can release the body to the mortuary later today, the funeral could be scheduled for either Friday or Saturday. According to Jaime Carbajal, the widow is hoping for Friday. She wants it to be sooner rather than later.”

Joanna understood that. The days between Andy’s death and his funeral seemed to have gone on for weeks. She was also glad to hear that Jaime was doing what she had asked him to do—running interference for Sunny Sloan. It wasn’t easy to be a twenty-something widow. There was too much you didn’t know at that age—too much you shouldn’t have to know. The same thing was true for the people in Joanna’s department as well. They were all in unfamiliar territory. As they spent time and resources arranging the many details of a fallen-officer funeral, they’d be learning lessons none of them wanted to learn.

“All right,” Joanna told George. “Keep me posted if there’s anything you think I should know.”

Pulling into the Justice Center, she swallowed hard when she saw the flags hanging at half-mast. Stacked near the door was a mass of floral bouquets that had been dropped off in memory of Deputy Sloan. Joanna had no doubt there was another mountain of remembrance flourishing outside the Beasleys’ house in Tombstone Canyon. The other thing she noticed in the parking lot was the inevitable collection of media vans. They were empty, which meant the newsies were all assembled in the public lobby waiting for her.

Once again accessing her office through the private entrance, she sat at her desk for a moment gathering herself for the onslaught. Outside her window, the hillside leading up to the towering
limestone cliffs had turned a brilliant green. And the usually stick-thin, spiny ocotillos were covered with dark green leaves that left them looking fat as bottle brushes.

That’s how the desert responds to life-giving rain,
Joanna told herself as she collected her paperwork to go to the morning briefing.
And we’ll get through this, too.

Inside the conference room, the mood was nothing short of somber. Like Joanna, everyone had managed to get some sleep overnight. They had all come back to work, but their hearts weren’t in it.

“What have we put together on Larry Wolfe?” she wanted to know, addressing Dave Hollicker.

“We’ve got blood transfers in his truck, on the steering wheel and on the armrest,” he answered. “I also found bloodstained glass shards in the foot well of the vehicle that would be consistent with debris being dropped off the soles of his shoes.”

“You’ll be testing all those?” Joanna asked. “Finding out whether or not DNA from the stains match Dan’s?”

“Absolutely,” Dave said. “But what’s the point? Why spend a lot of time and effort on this—”

“The point is that regardless of who pulled the trigger, the media will be holding our department responsible for Dan’s death,” Joanna answered. “They’ll be questioning our policies and procedures. They’ll be wondering whether or not Deputy Sloan was properly trained. We’re going to conduct this investigation as vigorously as if it were going to trial because it will be—just not in a court of law. Got it?”

“Got it,” Dave replied. Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“That’s why Ernie will be joining Bisbee’s Detective Lester at Dan’s autopsy this afternoon. It’s also why we’ll be shouldering
the expense of testing all the foodstuffs taken from the Beasleys’ kitchen.”

“But I’m not sure we can afford—” Frank began.

Joanna already knew why he was objecting, and she cut him off in midsentence. “Yes, I know,” she said. “Doing that testing and contracting for DNA examination of all blood evidence will be expensive. Can we afford to do it? My position is we can’t afford
not
to do it. Have we heard any more from Sheriff Barnes over in Texas?”

Ernie nodded. “Hudspeth County CSIs found Dan’s Glock at the scene of the rollover accident. Until Doc Winfield retrieves the bullet, we won’t know for sure that was the weapon that fired the fatal shot.”

Joanna turned her attention to Jaime, who winced visibly at that bit of news. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“All right,” he said, but he didn’t look all right.

“Any word on funeral arrangements?” she asked.

“Father Rowan has reserved Saint Dominick’s for a service at ten
A.M.
on Saturday,” Jaime replied. “That’s all tentative, of course, based on whether or not Doc Winfield releases the body to the mortuary today.”

“And once those arrangements are finalized, you’ll be responsible for getting the word out?” she asked. “I’m expecting that there will be officers from all over the region who’ll want to attend.”

Jaime nodded. “I’ll let everyone know,” he said.

Joanna turned to Deb. “What about the guy in the Pima County Jail—the one whose fingerprints Casey found on the Wanda Mappin trash bags? Did you talk to him?”

“I did,” Deb replied. “He was more than a little surprised
when I showed up. Initially he claimed he didn’t know anything about anything. Couldn’t imagine how his fingerprint could have ended up on that trash bag. He’s lying, of course. He knows way more than he’s saying.”

“Do you think we might be able to flip him?” Joanna asked.

“Possibly,” Deb said.

“All right, then,” Joanna said. “Let’s keep that in mind as we gather more information.”

Most of the investigators departed the room, leaving Frank and Joanna to dispose of their routine business. They were almost done when Joanna mentioned the news about George Winfield’s pending resignation.

“Funny you should mention that,” Frank said with a surprisingly guilty expression on his face.

“So you already knew about it?” Joanna asked.

“Not George’s pending resignation,” Frank returned. “Mine.”

Joanna could barely believe her ears. “Yours?”

“Sierra Vista’s chief of police is taking early retirement,” Frank said. “I’ve applied for the position. I heard yesterday that I’m one of the three finalists.”

Two of her rocks, George Winfield and Frank Montoya, were abandoning ship. How could that be? It seemed as though Joanna’s carefully constructed professional world was falling apart.

“You’re leaving, too?” she demanded.

“It’s not a sure thing,” Frank told her. “They’re supposed to make a final decision by August fifteenth. If they offer the job, I’ll take it—no hard feelings. I’ve been happy being your chief deputy, honored, even. But five years is a long time to play second banana to anyone. I’d like the chance to run my own shop. Besides, with LuAnn and her kids out there, it would be a lot
easier if I wasn’t spending half my life running back and forth between Sierra Vista and here.”

“LuAnn as in LuAnn Marcowitz?” Joanna said. “As in Dr. Marcowitz?”

Frank nodded.

“The lady you told me you’d been having fun with.”

“Quite a bit more than just fun, I suppose,” Frank admitted.

“You’re serious about her, then?”

“Pretty serious.”

It took a moment for Joanna to summon a smile. “I suppose my loss is LuAnn Marcowitz’s gain,” she said. “And of course, you’ll get the job. They’d be stupid not to offer it to you.”

“Thank you,” Frank said. “I hope you’re right.”

He left the room then. Once he was gone, Joanna sat there for a while longer, feeling bereft and wondering how she’d manage without him. She cringed at all the times she’d been less than diplomatic with the man. How many instances had there been like the one earlier in this very meeting, when she’d ignored Frank’s opinion or run roughshod over what he’d been trying to say? Yes, on occasion she had treated him like a second banana. No wonder he was actively searching for other opportunities.

Lost in thought, worrying about where she’d find a new chief deputy and whether or not she’d be able to work successfully with the new medical examiner, Joanna was startled when Kristin tapped lightly on the conference room door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kristin said. She stuck her head inside and glanced around the otherwise empty room. “Oh, I thought the meeting was still in progress.”

“What is it?” Joanna asked.

“Phone call for you. A Detective Ramsey. From Tucson PD.”

“Thanks,” Joanna said. “I’ll take it in here.” She grabbed up the phone as soon as it rang. “Did you find Wayne Hamm?” she asked.

“Yes, I did,” Becky Ramsey said. “All we had to do was enter his dental records and we had a hit.”

“Where is he?”

“Buried in the pauper’s grave corner of Evergreen Cemetery.”

“In Bisbee?” Joanna asked.

Becky laughed. “In Tucson’s Evergreen Cemetery.”

“He’s dead, then?”

“Very. He broke into the apartment of a U of A grad student named Lauren Dayson and she shot him dead. She had broken up with her violent boyfriend some time earlier. The boyfriend had threatened her with bodily harm. She had a restraining order against him. When her dog started barking like crazy in the middle of the night, she thought he was making good on that threat. She pulled a loaded weapon out from under her pillow and shot him to pieces. Except it turned out the dead guy wasn’t her ex. She claimed to have no idea who the victim was. There was no ID at all. We got a hit on AFIS. The victim’s prints had shown up at the scene of several unsolved residential burglaries here in Tucson. The prints were found and linked but never identified. John Doe was shot dead on March 10. When no one came forward to declare him missing or to claim the body, the county finally went ahead and buried him on April fifteenth.”

“Wait a minute,” Joanna said. “You’re saying someone shot Wayne Hamm dead on March tenth? How’s that possible? From what I was told, he wasn’t reported missing from the group home until some time in May.”

“That’s right,” Becky answered. “May the twelfth, to be exact.”

“You’re telling me Wayne was dead for more than two months
before
he disappeared?”

“What makes it even more intriguing is that I have copies of records stating that the State of California Department of Health and Human Services was paying full fare for Wayne’s care right up until he was declared missing. Since he was dead a good two months before they admitted he was gone—”

“Someone at Flannigan Foundation was pulling a fast one,” Joanna concluded.

“At the very least,” Becky replied. “More likely they were committing outright fraud.”

“Anything else?” Joanna asked.

“I’ve reviewed the case file. When Wayne was found, he had no ID. The only personal property found with him is a single earring, presumably a woman’s earring, in the pocket of his jeans.”

Joanna’s heartbeat quickened. “An earring?” she asked. “What kind of earring?”

“Pink is what it says here in the written report—a pink pierced earring with the gold back still on it. It’s probably locked away in an evidence room somewhere. Why? Do you know something about an earring that I don’t?”

“We found one rose zircon earring in the plastic bag with Wanda Mappin’s bones,” Joanna said. “One earring, not two. The other one was missing.”

“And if they’re a matched pair, we’ve just connected the dots between these two cases.”

“Exactly,” Joanna said. “And I’ve got some even better news. Yesterday my latent fingerprint tech came up with a print from the
plastic bags and got a match off AFIS to a guy who’s currently being held in the Pima County Jail, a guy by the name of”—Joanna had to pause for a moment long enough to find the suspect’s name in her notes—“Billy Carmichael. He’s locked up on charges of petty theft. He claims that all he did was help dispose of Wanda’s body—that she was already dead when he saw her. Deb is of the opinion that, given enough encouragement, Carmichael might be persuaded to spill the beans. He seemed wobbly when she was talking to him about one murder. Now that a second homicide has been added into the mix, maybe it’s time to turn up the heat.”