Downfall (7 page)

His original version had said “two homicides.” Joanna had changed that to something less specific. The original version had mentioned the time of death as being “late on Saturday night.” Joanna had revised those words so they were less specific as well. Tom Hadlock had yet to learn the subtleties of telling as much as necessary while, at the same time, leaving out key details. Being brusque and straightforward was fine if you were running a jail, but they weren't traits that served one in good stead when you were dealing with the media.

“The two female victims have been positively identified. The first is Desirée Monique Wilburton, a twenty-seven-year-old teaching assistant at the University of Arizona who has been in the area around Bisbee for some time studying local flora. The other victim is Susan Marie Nelson, a thirty-six-year-old teacher and debate coach at the Sierra Vista School for Scholastic Excellence. Ms. Nelson reportedly went missing from her home in Sierra Vista sometime Saturday afternoon.

“The bodies of both victims have been transported to the Cochise County Medical Examiner's Office in Bisbee, Arizona, where they are awaiting autopsies. At this time, anyone who may have seen either of the two women or who may have information that will aide us in our investigation are urged to contact the Cochise County Sheriff's Department.

“The investigation is ongoing, and we have no additional information to offer at this time. Questions?”

Kristin turned her iPad toward the audience, which consisted of three sets of Tucson-based TV crews, along with a dozen or so other local and not-so-local print reporters. Naturally, Marliss Shackleford, in the middle of the front row, was the first to leap to her feet, waving to be recognized.

“My understanding is that this happened out by Geronimo,” she said. “Do you have any idea what the victims were doing there?”

That was the other reason for leaving details out of the briefing paper itself—to give the reporters a reason to ask questions so they could feel like they were doing their jobs.

“Thank you, Ms. Shackleford,” Tom replied smoothly, making Joanna smile in amusement. He was learning.

“Marliss is something of a local legend around here,” he said
with an apologetic grin toward the other attendees. “For those of you from out of town who aren't familiar with local geography and may be searching topo maps in vain, please be advised. Those of us who live here refer to the small peak involved in this incident as Geronimo. Its official name is Gold Hill.

“As for what the victims were doing there in the first place? The answer is that we don't really know. We've learned, for example, that one victim, Ms. Wilburton, was a microbiologist and an expert in the study of hedgehog cacti, specifically the Fendler's hedgehog.” Tom paused and made a show of consulting his notes. “Officially it's referred to as
Echinocereus fendleri rectispinus,
” he added, pronouncing the difficult words with what Joanna regarded as commendable aplomb and then spelling them out one slow letter at a time while the gathered reporters busily took detailed notes.

“Our understanding,” he continued, “is that Ms. Wilburton had been camping in the area for some period of time while she collected specimens. We have no idea why or how Ms. Nelson joined her there.”

“What about vehicles?”

“Ms. Wilburton's Jeep was found at the scene. So far there has been no trace of Ms. Nelson's vehicle.” He paused again to refer to his notes. “She was reportedly driving a blue Honda Accord, Arizona license C9L8A6. Anyone spotting that vehicle is asked to contact the sheriff's office immediately.”

“What about this second woman, Ms. Nelson?” someone else asked. “Were she and the woman from Tucson involved in a relationship of some kind?”

“That's unknown at this time. We have no information on that, one way or the other,” Tom replied.

“When you were retrieving the bodies last night, wouldn't it have been helpful to have had the use of a helicopter?”

That pointed question was from Marliss again. Who else? Joanna couldn't help smiling when she heard it. She had seen it coming well in advance and had provided Tom with a ready answer.

“You're right, of course,” he said. “There was a serious storm in the area early Monday evening—it's rainy season after all. Dealing with runoff made transporting the bodies from the crime scene somewhat challenging, but we were able to accomplish the task by simply carrying them on stretchers without having the added risk or expense of calling in a helicopter and crew.”

“You said the words ‘crime scene' just now,” one of the TV reporters said. “Does that mean the deaths are being investigated as possible homicides?”

“That has yet to be established. We expect to know more on that once the autopsies are complete.”

“When will that happen?”

“It's my understanding that the first autopsy is under way at this time.”

“It's been widely reported that Sheriff Brady's mother and stepfather died as a result of an I-17 shooting incident south of Sedona last week.” That comment came from another one of the Tucson TV correspondents. “I don't see her here in the briefing room this morning. Is she taking an active part in this investigation or is she out on leave?”

Tom nodded somberly. “At the moment, the unfortunate deaths of Eleanor and George Winfield last week constitute a dark cloud hanging over our entire department. Eleanor Lathrop Winfield, Sheriff Brady's mother, was the widow of our late sheriff
D. H. Lathrop. Dr. Winfield served as a well-respected medical examiner here in Cochise County for a number of years. Both of them will be greatly missed. That said, Sheriff Brady takes her role as sheriff very seriously, and yes, even though this is a particularly difficult time for her and her family, she is taking an active part in heading this investigation.”

“Any word on when the funeral services will be held?”

Joanna recognized the person asking that question as a reporter from the
Sierra Vista Daily News.
It was something she should have seen coming and hadn't. She should have let Tom know in advance that services for George and her mother would be private and by invitation only.

“No details on that are available at this time,” Tom answered. He glanced at his watch and then purposefully picked up his papers. “That's all I have for now. I'll let you know more as those details become available.”

With that he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. That was something else Joanna had coached him on—escaping the press conference in a clean, well-defined manner without letting one of the eager-beaver reporters trap him into making comments that weren't part of the official script. Maybe he was starting to catch on after all. Finally.

“Is that all, Sheriff Brady?” Kristin's image was asking from the screen of Joanna's iPad.

“For the moment,” Joanna replied. “Thanks so much for doing this and for giving me a bird's-eye view of what was going on, and please let Tom know I thought he did a great job.”

“I will,” Kristin agreed. “But it would probably be better if those words came from you directly rather than from me. Are you on your way into the office now?”

“In a matter of minutes,” Joanna said, “but not until I know the coast is clear. Let me know when the last of the reporters and camera crews leave the area.”

“Most especially Marliss Shackleford?”

“You've got that right,” Joanna said. “You know me too well.”

JOANNA ARRIVED AT THE OFFICE AT 11:40, A GOOD TWENTY MINUTES
before the scheduled twelve-o'clock meeting. Knowing she would be holding the briefing during her people's lunch hour, she'd had Kristin dispatch one of the front-office clerks to Daisy's Café to collect enough Cornish pasties to go around.

Pasties had come to Bisbee back in the early days when miners from defunct tin mines in Cornwall had emigrated to Arizona's thriving copper-mining camps, where the crusty meat pies became almost as much of a staple in miners' lunches as tamales were. For years, the previous owners of Daisy's Café, as well as the one before that, the original Daisy herself, had served pasties one day a week. Liza Matchett, who had come to town recently, had correctly gauged the dish's continuing popularity and now made them available seven days a week.

Accessing her office through the private backdoor entrance,
Joanna immediately caught a whiff of freshly baked pasties and knew the conference room was fully stocked. She was grateful that she had taken the time last night to mow through the many stacks of paperwork that had awaited her. There was a new load of paperwork again, but this was only today's batch, and it looked doable as opposed to daunting.

She set down her purse and then pressed a button on her phone, calling Kristin to let her know she had arrived.

“I'm so glad you're in,” Kristin said. “Deputy Stock is here to see you. He says it's urgent.”

Joanna took a breath. An urgent meeting with a deputy—a private meeting—usually spelled trouble. The possibilities were endless—everything from having two deputies involved in some kind of romantic entanglement (that had happened twice) to someone reporting that a member of her department had been seen drinking on the job. (That report had turned out to be bogus. A uniformed deputy had been in a bar in Tombstone, but the security tapes clearly showed that what he was drinking was nothing more than iced tea laced with a couple of packets of sweetener.)

“Any idea what this is about?” she asked.

“None,” Kristin answered. “I asked, but he said it was confidential.”

“You'd better show him in, then.”

Deputy Jeremy Stock came into the room, dressed in a spotless and well-pressed uniform and carrying his hat. He had been around longer than Joanna had, but he was content to remain where he was—as a deputy—and had exhibited zero interest in going after a promotion. Like so many of the younger generation currently in law enforcement, he was a product of military
training and had come looking for a job in the sheriff's department after serving a couple of tours of duty in the Middle East.

Joanna knew him to be a family man—a churchgoing guy, happily married, as far as she knew, to his first and only wife. He was the father of a pair of sons, one of whom was away attending college. Joanna knew from secondary sources rather than personal knowledge that Jeremy had spent years serving as both a Little League and a soccer coach. In other words, she regarded him as one of the good guys, and she was surprised to see him enter her office looking anxious and wary. He usually greeted her with a polite tip of his Stetson and an easy grin. This time he used both hands, clutching his Stetson in front of his chest with something approaching a death grip.

Rising from the chair behind her desk, Joanna stepped forward to welcome him into the room before closing the door behind him. Deputy Stock sank into one of the visitors' chairs while she returned to her place behind the desk. If this was something serious, she needed to address it from a position of authority.

“Good morning, Jeremy,” she said. “You needed to see me?”

He answered with a silent nod and nothing more.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“It's about my son—Travis.”

“What about him?”

“I read the morning briefing when I came on duty and saw the part about Mrs. Nelson,” he blurted. “She's one of my son's teachers and his debate coach, too.”

“I can see why you're concerned,” Joanna said. “Having your child come face-to-face with a homicide investigation is unsettling for all concerned. Early this morning we notified school officials
about what had happened. We wanted them to be informed well before the official press conference so they'd be able to have counselors on hand to help students deal with the situation.”

“It's more than just that,” Jeremy said miserably. “Travis actually had his regular Saturday-evening tutoring set with her. Then, at the last minute, one of his buddies invited him to go to Tucson to see the U of A football game. He asked me if I'd call her and let her know he wasn't coming, and I did.”

“You actually spoke to one of the victims on the day she died?” Joanna asked.

Deputy Stock nodded. “I did, and I thought you'd want to know about it right away.”

“I do,” Joanna answered with a nod. “What time did you speak to her?”

He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through what must have been a list of calls. “It says here I made the call at four forty-five.”

“Do you remember exactly what was said?”

“I told her that Trav had been invited to a ball game and wouldn't be coming to his tutoring session. She said that was fine, that she had some lesson planning she needed to finish up and that not doing the tutoring session would give her a chance to do that.”

“How did she sound?”

“Fine. I mean, I don't really know the woman. I've met her a couple of times at teachers' conferences and debate tournaments. What I do know is that Travis thought she was terrific. Losing her is going to be really hard on him.”

“Have you spoken to him since you found out about what happened?” Joanna asked.

Jeremy shook his head. “I thought it was my duty to let you know that I had been in touch with the victim. When we finish here, if you don't mind, I'll take the rest of the day off and go be with Travis.”

“Of course,” Joanna said. “I understand completely. I wouldn't want you to do anything else. Just be sure to let Chief Deputy Hadlock know so he can adjust the patrol assignments.”

Nodding, Jeremy got to his feet. “Thank you, ma'am. I'll be going, then.”

Watching him leave, Joanna understood all too well what the man must be feeling. She'd gone through a similar experience not long ago when Jenny's high school principal had been murdered. People in law enforcement had to face far too many grim realities in the course of the job. Parents in law enforcement naturally wanted to spare their children from having to deal with same. That strategy stopped working when a homicide landed right on your child's doorstep.

“You do know that Travis will need to be interviewed,” Joanna cautioned as Jeremy reached to open the door.

He paused and nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“We'll also be interviewing Ms. Nelson's other students,” Joanna added. “Please let Travis know that it's strictly routine and that all he needs to do is tell the truth. You can also assure him that you and/or Allison will be able to be present during the interview.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy said. “I'll let him know.”

He left then. Grabbing her iPad, Joanna followed him out into the reception area before making her way to the conference room. It was five to twelve, but her entire team was already assembled around a U-shaped arrangement of tables. The promise
of fresh pasties had helped ensure that everyone would appear on time. A set of open boxes sat arranged on a table at the back of the room. They were mostly empty, with only one or two unclaimed pasties remaining. Next to the boxes were two thermal carafes containing reasonably freshly brewed coffee. On the table at the front of the room and next to the lectern where Joanna would be standing sat a single paper cup. Joanna knew without taking a sip that it would be filled with her favorite apricot tea.
Thank you, Kristin,
she thought as she assumed her spot, looked around the room, and silently took attendance.

Other than Dave Hollicker, her entire investigative unit was already on hand—the Double C's, Deb Howell, and Casey Ledford. As promised, Frank Montoya had dispatched Detective Ian Waters to work the case. Chief Deputy Hadlock sat at the back of the room, stationed next to the door so that, should the need arise, he could be called away easily while Joanna was running the meeting.

There was nothing in the congenial atmosphere of the room to indicate that this was anything other than an ordinary business gathering. But Joanna understood it wasn't ordinary at all. Two people were dead, and these were the folks who were required to figure out why the victims were dead, to learn who was responsible for the crime, and bring them to justice.

Joanna was about to call the meeting to order when Kristin, shorthand tablet in hand, slipped quietly into the room as well. Joanna had asked her to take notes on the meeting. Since this had been designated a joint investigation, she wanted to have copies of all the proceedings available to pass along to Frank Montoya.

“Okay, people,” she said, rapping on the lectern with her knuckles to call the meeting to order. “Let's get started. First let's
have a round of applause for Chief Deputy Hadlock. Great job with the press conference this morning, Tom. Your handling of Marliss Shackleford was nothing short of brilliant.”

The people in the room put down their plastic silverware long enough to applaud while Tom Hadlock ducked his head and flushed with pleasure at the unexpected praise.

“Now then, on to new business. Has everyone here met Detective Ian Waters of the Sierra Vista Police Department?”

Ian raised his hand and waved to the others while Joanna continued with her introductory overview. “One of our victims, Susan Nelson, hailed from Sierra Vista. She failed to return home after leaving for school—the Sierra Vista School for Scholastic Excellence—late on Saturday afternoon. Susan had been a teacher there for a number of years and was also the coach of the debate team. Her husband told us that she often did one-on-one tutoring sessions with debate team members on weekends.

“Thinking her disappearance may have started in Sierra Vista proper, Chief Montoya and I have declared this to be a joint investigation. That's why Detective Waters is here with us today. At this point he's the only Sierra Vista investigator who is actively assigned to the case, but I'm sure we'll be able to call on other Sierra Vista personnel and assets as needed. Since we're working two cases, I suspect we'll need all the help we can get, and Ian here will be assisting with both. So what do we have and who's up first?”

To Joanna's surprise, Detective Waters was the first to raise his hand. “Last night when we interviewed Susan Nelson's husband, he indicated that his wife had been estranged from her parents for some time, but that her father had been stationed at Fort Huachuca at one time.

“As you might expect, we have a good working relationship with the folks on post. MPs were able to provide us with information on the parents' whereabouts. The father, Roger Judson, retired from the military ten years ago. He and his wife, Phyllis, then moved to Sweet Home, Alabama. Roger passed away two years ago, but his widow still lives there. I contacted the Sweet Home PD first thing this morning, asking them to notify the mother. The guy who made the notification called me later and said that Phyllis told him that she'd written Susan out of her life years ago and wanted nothing further to do with her. Then she slammed the door in his face.”

“Finding Susan's mother was a good start, but I'm guessing her reaction wasn't exactly what the cop in Alabama expected,” Joanna surmised.

“Exactly,” Ian agreed. “He wanted to know if he should make the effort to ask her any more questions. I told him we'd let him know.”

“If the mother is at home in Alabama, and if Susan died here after years of estrangement, I don't see why interviewing Phyllis any further is essential at this time,” Joanna said. “But thanks for following up on that.”

“In addition,” Ian continued. “We put out a BOLO on Ms. Nelson's Honda Accord. So far there's no sign of it. This morning we obtained a search warrant for Ms. Nelson's classroom at the SVSSE.”

“How did that go?”

“Her purse was in her desk, and her cell phone was inside it. There was nothing out of place in the room, and no sign of any struggle. But her car keys weren't in her purse, and her car wasn't in the parking lot.”

“Surveillance tapes?”

“Yup,” Ian said, “and I was able to obtain copies of the applicable footage.” It took a few minutes and some help from Casey Ledford to get the footage on his computer locked and loaded into a PowerPoint presentation. “Here's where it starts.”

Joanna studied the blurred images on the screen. The time stamp dated 8/23 at 4:45
P
.
M
. showed a single male wearing what appeared to be a hoodie walk onto the school grounds making sure his features were obscured from the camera lens.

“A little hot to be running around in a hoodie, don't you think?” Joanna observed. “But the hoodie does exactly what he intended it to do—it hides his features completely.”

Once the man entered the school grounds, he sheared off to the right and disappeared from view.

“The cameras are located at the school's front entrance,” Ian explained. “Ms. Nelson's classroom, however, is off on the right in one of five portables. Unfortunately, none of those are equipped with surveillance cameras.”

Ian fast-forwarded, stopping the film at 4:47
P
.
M
. “Here's what happens next.”

Two people appeared in the frame—a man and a woman. Joanna surmised that most likely the man was the same one they had seen before. He still wore the hoodie. The woman was dressed in a tank top, skimpy shorts, and a pair of tennis shoes. The man walked to the woman's left, gripping her upper arm with his right hand while keeping his left hand out of sight in the pocket of the hoodie.