Devil's Claw (44 page)

The fact that her wedding dress no longer existed had been such a huge stumbling block in Joanna’s mind that she hadn’t even allowed herself to think about it, much less go searching for a solution. Now she didn’t have to. Eleanor had solved the problem for her.

“I can barely believe it, Mom,” Joanna said with a lump in her throat. “In fact, it’s pretty damned wonderful—and so are you.”

“Thank you, Joanna. Now don’t you worry. I’m sure we’ll soon have everything under control.”

After Joanna put down the phone, she buried her face in her hands and allowed herself the luxury of a good cry. It was only when she finished crying and was blowing her nose that she realized one other important thing about that conversation with her mother. For the very first time, in all the months Eleanor Lathrop Winfield had known the man, she had called her future son-in-law Butch instead of Frederick.

It indicated a sea change in her mother’s attitude, and that was pretty damned wonderful, too.

CHAPTER 27

The messages included expressions of sympathy, concern, and outrage. There were offers of replacement furniture and appliances, offers to do free repairs and painting, to say nothing of offers of places to stay while the repairs were being made. The outpouring of sympathy was similar to the ones that had occurred when Andy died. The difference was, at the time of her husband’s death, Joanna had been in too much emotional pain to appreciate or even notice the many kindnesses of friends and neighbors. This time she noticed, and she was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Between calls and while she waited for Frank Montoya to return to the Justice Complex with Lucy Ridder, Joanna tried to work. She attempted to call Adam York but was unable to reach him. She dealt with some of her routine paperwork, but that day Joanna Brady’s heart wasn’t in the task of conquering her current batch of mail. Around eleven she checked in with Detective Carpenter.

“What’s happening, Ernie? Any luck tracking the witness-protection offer?”

“Not so far, but we’re working on the problem. It would help if everyone I asked didn’t think I was pulling some kind of April Fool’s stunt.”

“Keep after it,” Joanna told him.

About eleven-thirty, Frank Montoya called her on her private line.

“We stopped for lunch on the way, but we’re driving into the parking lot right now,” he said. “How about if we use your private entrance so we don’t have to drag Lucy and Big Red in through the front lobby?”

“Are you telling me you brought the bird along?” Joanna asked.

“He’s wearing his hood,” Frank said. “Lucy refused to come without him.”

“Okay, then,” Joanna said. “And you’re right. You’ll be better off bringing them in the back way. You know my door code, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

A minute or so later, Frank ushered Lucy Ridder, Sister Celeste, and Big Red into Joanna’s office through her private entrance. The red-tailed hawk, with his head swathed in a black hood, perched quietly on Lucy’s shoulder.

“Mr. Montoya told us what happened to your house,” Lucy Ridder said, stopping beside Joanna’s desk. “I’m sorry it happened.”

“Thanks,” Joanna replied. “So am I, and I appreciate your concern. But let’s get back to you. Did Mr. Montoya tell you what we’re going to need from you today, that you’ll be interviewed by our two homicide detectives—Detectives Carpenter and Carbajal?”

“Yes.”

“And that later on, after the interview is over, we’ll have an artist help you create a composite sketch of the man who killed your mother?”

“Yes, he told me that, too.” Lucy turned and surveyed the room. “Will my grandmother be with me when I talk to the detectives?”

Joanna glanced at Frank. After what Jaime Carbajal had said the night before about Catherine Yates’ eagerness to see her granddaughter, Joanna had expected the woman would have met her at the door first thing that morning. In the flurry of taking phone calls and returning messages, the fact that Catherine had yet to show up had somehow escaped Joanna’s notice. As a juvenile, if Lucy Ridder demanded that her grandmother be present, the interview would have to be delayed until Catherine Yates’ arrival.

“I thought she’d be here by now, but she isn’t,” Joanna said carefully. “If you’re worried about her coming, I’ll be glad to bring her to the interview room as soon as she arrives.”

Lucy nodded, then she brightened. “Since Grandma’s not here, can Sister Celeste come in with me? I’d feel better if she did.”

Joanna knew her detectives wouldn’t appreciate an extra person being added into the mix. “Sure,” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “That’ll be fine.”

As soon as Frank took his charges and left for the conference room, Joanna picked up the phone, dialed Dispatch, and spoke to Larry Kendrick.

“Who’s on duty at Catherine Yates’ house over by Pearce?” she asked.

Several seconds passed while Joanna listened to the clatter of computer keys. “Deputy Ken Galloway,” Larry returned.

“Has he checked in lately?”

“Not for an hour or two. Why?”

“He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on Catherine Yates, and I expected her to show up here by now. See if you can raise him by radio and find out what’s going on.”

Once Joanna was off the phone, she glanced at her watch. It was noontime. By rights it was past time for her to head out to High Lonesome Ranch to see how things were going and to cheer on the work crew’s efforts. It wasn’t fair to let the responsibility for her problem fall entirely on other people’s shoulders. Still, she knew she could trust Butch to oversee things. She had faith that he would be able to sort out which of her shattered possessions should be kept and which should be thrown away. And, just like Eva Lou, it was easier on Joanna not to be there in person. She didn’t want to witness the sad process of watching her past being thrown, item by item, into a Dumpster.

The phone rang. “Yes.”

“This is odd,” Larry Kendrick said. “I’ve tried raising Deputy Galloway several times, but he doesn’t answer.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Joanna said.

“Me neither,” Kendrick returned. “Deputy Pakin is over near the airport in Douglas right now. I’ve dispatched him to go to Pearce and check things out.”

Before Joanna had a chance to think about what that all might mean, her intercom buzzed. “A Mr. Jerry Reed to see you,” Kristin Marsten announced.

Who the hell is Jerry Reed?
Joanna wanted to ask.
Why don’t you ever get enough information?

Shaking her head, she bit back her sudden attack of irritation. “Send him in,” Joanna said.

The man Kristin showed into Joanna’s office was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. In Bisbee, where most men didn’t bother with suits and ties, Jerry Reed was wearing a perfectly pressed double-breasted suit along with an immaculate white shirt and an understated red-and-blue tie.

“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff Brady,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Jerry Reed. I’m a special investigator for the Attorney General’s office.”

“Which one?” Joanna asked.

He laughed. “
The
Attorney General,” he said, reaching into a pocket and extracting his ID. “The U.S. Attorney General.”

Joanna took the proffered leather wallet and examined the picture identification before handing it back to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

Jerry Reed eased himself into one of Joanna’s captain’s chairs. “I’ll cut right to the chase, Sheriff Brady. I believe you have something that belongs to us—to our department, that is—and I’ve been sent to retrieve it.”

Jerry Reed’s tone of voice—his very attitude—put Joanna Brady on edge. She didn’t like the way he had walked into her private office and, without an appointment, had helped himself to a chair. Through the years Joanna had worked several joint operations with any number of exemplary federal and state officers. On occasion, though, she had come to loggerheads with a few individuals. Each time, the conflict had grown out of some visiting fireman’s patronizing and overbearing attitude toward Joanna and her department and out of Joanna’s greatly reduced ability to tolerate same.

“And what would that be?” she asked, leaning back in her own chair and wishing she were wearing something more businesslike and tidy than yesterday’s somewhat grubby clothing.

“Please don’t be coy, Sheriff Brady,” Jerry Reed said. “It doesn’t suit you. I’m talking about the diskette Sandra Ridder promised to give us. I understand from Catherine Yates that it has somehow come to be in your department’s possession. My department wants it back.”

“I’ve been given to believe the diskette contains top-secret military command and control information,” Joanna said. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

Reed seemed stunned to hear that Joanna knew that much about the diskette’s top-secret contents. “How do you know what’s on the disk?” he growled.

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Joanna returned smoothly. “The point is, I do. Currently, that disk is evidence in one of our ongoing homicide investigations, and I’m certainly not handing it over.”

Reed reached into another inside pocket and pulled out a document. “Before you paint yourself into a corner, Sheriff Brady, you may want to take a look at this. It’s a properly drafted subpoena, signed by a Federal judge, requiring you to produce the diskette and hand it over to me at once.”

He passed the subpoena across the table. Joanna examined it and handed it back. As far as she could tell, it seemed to be in order. “Are you the one that offered Sandra Ridder a ticket into the witness-protection program?” she asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“And wasn’t there supposed to be a cash bonus if Sandra Ridder turned the diskette over to you?”

“Really, Sheriff Brady. Our negotiations with Ms. Ridder were and are entirely confidential. They have nothing at all to do with the situation here.”

“That’s not true, Mr. Reed,” Joanna said. “Sandra Ridder is dead, but her daughter—her only heir, Lucy Ridder—is very much alive. If a cash bonus was due Sandra Ridder for turning this mysterious diskette over to you, then the money should be due her daughter as well.”

“Sheriff Brady,” he said, looking somewhat agitated that Joanna was unwilling to capitulate. “Sandra’s daughter isn’t handing it over to me. You are. And I didn’t come here to play “Let’s Make a Deal.” This is a serious matter, and I’m not leaving your office without taking that disk with me.”

Instinct told Joanna something was amiss, but she couldn’t tell what. “Very well,” she said. “Wait here, and I’ll go get it. Since it’s down in the evidence room, that may take some time. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Outside her private office, Joanna pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 4-1-1.

“U.S. West,” a disembodied voice said. “How can I help you?”

“I want to be connected to the office of the Attorney General of the United States in Washington, D.C. My name is Sheriff Joanna Brady. Please tell whoever answers that this is extremely urgent—a matter of life and death.”

While Joanna waited impatiently for the connection to be made, she poked her head into Frank Montoya’s office and waved frantically for him to follow her. Then she hurried down the long hallway and out toward the public lobby, with her chief deputy padding along behind. She stopped at a locked supply-room door and opened it with her key.

“What’s up?” Frank demanded, following her into the supply room. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a man in my office who says his name is Jerry Reed. He claims he’s a special investigator for the U.S. Attorney General. He comes to us armed with a subpoena and demanding that we hand over Sandra Ridder’s diskette.”

With that, Joanna passed Frank the phone. “I’ve placed a call to the Attorney General’s office in D.C. You talk to whoever answers, and don’t put down the phone until you find out whether or not Special Agent Jerry Reed is legitimate.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Give him the disk.” Joanna reached up to a top shelf and pulled down a single computer disk—a blue one—from a box of blanks.

Frank’s eyes widened. “You’re going to give him a phony?”

Joanna nodded. “Why not? What’s he going to do, pop it into my computer to check it out before he ever leaves my office? If it turns out Reed is for real, we’ll tell him I made a mistake, and that our evidence clerk gave me the wrong disk. If he isn’t—”

“Hello,” Frank was saying into the phone. “No, this isn’t Sheriff Brady. I’m her chief deputy, Frank Montoya. We have a serious incident unfolding here that may involve one of your investigators. I probably need to speak to someone in Operations.”

Leaving Frank to sort through the layers of Federal officialdom, Joanna started back toward her office. Outside the door, Kristin flagged Joanna down and handed over the receiver from Kristin’s desk phone. “I know you’re in a hurry, but I think you’re going to want to take this.”