Judgment Call (5 page)

“Tell them to come as soon as they can,” Joanna said. “We're about three miles north of my place on High Lonesome Road. The road's a mess. Most of the way the road is wide enough for two cars, but it narrows down to one lane in the dips. Ms. Highsmith's Passat is blocking the road at the first wash. We'll need a tow truck to get it out of there. Pass the word that everyone will need four-wheel drive to get here.” Joanna paused and then added, “Oh, and I'll want the K-9 unit, too.”

“You got it,” Larry said. “What about the M.E.? Are you going to call him or am I?”

In the old days, when Dr. George Winfield had been the Cochise County Medical Examiner, the call-out could have come from any number of people inside Joanna's department. Unfortunately, George had fallen in love with Joanna's mother, Eleanor, and she had packed him off into a retirement that now included an annual snow-bird migration back and forth between Arizona and Minnesota.

Both in public and in private, Joanna's relationship with George Winfield had been businesslike and virtually trouble free even after he'd married Eleanor Lathrop. As sheriff and M.E., they had continued to work together with little difficulty. So it had come as something of a shock to Joanna and to other members of her department to discover that Doc Winfield's replacement, Dr. Guy Machett, was anything but trouble free.

For one thing, Dr. Machett—never Doc Machett—insisted that everyone follow a strict chain-of-command hierarchy. If his services were required, he expected the call to come from Joanna herself and not from someone who reported to her.

“That's my next call,” Joanna said.

“Good,” Larry said.

The relief in his voice spoke volumes. Larry had endured more than his share of Guy Machett temper tantrums. He didn't need another one.

The clock in Joanna's cell phone said 8:01
A.M.
as she scrolled through her contact list to find Guy Machett's number. He was nothing if not punctual, so she dialed his office number.

“Medical examiner's office,” Madge Livingston drawled.

Forty years of smoking unfiltered Camels had left Madge with a throaty voice that might have been sexy if it hadn't been punctuated by periodic fits of coughing. A sixty-something peroxide blonde, Madge had worked for county government all her adult life, moving from one department to another because no one had balls enough to put her out to pasture. Madge's last remotion, one that had moved her out of the county office complex, had landed her in the M.E.'s office. Like Joanna, Madge had gotten along just fine with Doc Winfield. Her relationship with Dr. Machett was something less than smooth sailing.

Dr. Machett was a man with a very high opinion of himself, someone who felt he was doing the world a favor by sharing his vast knowledge and abilities with the lowly folks in Cochise County. Unfortunately, there weren't many other people who agreed with that assessment.

“Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “Is he in?”

“I believe he's on the other line,” Madge said. “Can you hold?”

In the old days, Joanna would have passed the information along to Madge with no further muss or fuss because Madge would have informed George of the situation. These days it didn't work that way, and both Joanna and Madge knew it.

“Sure,” Joanna said. “I'll hold.”

While she waited, Joanna tried to imagine what had been going on when Debra Highsmith was gunned down. There was no way to tell where the victim had been standing in relation to her killer. As far as addresses were concerned, High Lonesome Road was a fine place to live—Joanna had lived there with Andy and she lived there now with Butch—but it struck Joanna as a hard place to die. It had been true for Andrew Roy Brady and it was equally true for Debra Highsmith.

“Who's calling?” Guy Machett asked when he came on the line.

Madge Livingston knew very well who was on the phone. Not telling her boss who was calling was his secretary's way of getting a little of her own back.

“Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “We've located a body on High Lonesome Road.”

“Where the hell is High Lonesome Road?” he demanded. “Sounds like it's out in the sticks somewhere.”

“It is. It's just down the road from where I live,” Joanna told him, “also on High Lonesome Road. Take Highway 80 east from Bisbee and take the turnoff to Elfrida. Turn left almost immediately. That's High Lonesome Road. Come north three miles. You'll probably need four-wheel drive to get here.”

“Is that how you got there?” Machett asked.

“No,” Joanna said quite truthfully while at the same time trying not to betray the grin that had suddenly tweaked her face. “I came on horseback.”

JOANNA'S NEXT CALL WAS TO BISBEE'S CHIEF OF POLICE. “WE
found Debra Highsmith's body,” she said without preamble.

“You're sure it's her?” Alvin Bernard asked.

Joanna sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“Where?” Chief Bernard wanted to know. “When?”

“My daughter went out for an early-morning ride and found the body on High Lonesome Road, about three miles north of our place. I'm no medical examiner, but I'd say she's been dead for more than a day.”

“How?” Alvin asked.

He seemed to be stuck in the world of one-word questions.

“I counted at least three gunshot entrance wounds in her back and one in her leg. I'd say he used the leg shot to bring her down and then finished her off execution style.”

“Ugly,” Alvin said.

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “Very, but since this looks like a joint case, I'm calling to see if you want to send out a detective.”

“Due to budget cuts, I've got only one investigator to my name, Matt Keller. He does the whole nine yards—property, homicide, whatever. I'll be glad to send him along.”

“Does he have a four-wheel-drive vehicle?”

“Are you kidding? This is Bisbee,” Chief Bernard said. “We don't have four-wheel-drive anything.”

“The road out here is rough. You might want to send Keller down to the Justice Center so he can hitch a ride out to the crime scene with Jaime Carbajal. I'll tell him to wait until Matt shows up.”

“I'll get right on it,” Bernard said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

After calling Larry Kendrick back with a request that Jaime wait for Detective Keller, Joanna turned to her daughter. Jenny and Kiddo were standing on the far side of the wash, where Kiddo was contentedly munching on several carrots Jenny had brought along in her pocket.

“Are you okay?” Joanna asked.

“I'm fine, Mom,” Jenny said. “I mean, I've seen something dead before.”

“Someone,” Joanna corrected, “and so have I. But to see someone shot like this? It's still upsetting.”

“Even for you?”

“Even for me.”

Jenny took a bite out of a carrot and passed the remainder to Kiddo. Joanna managed to keep from asking if Jenny had washed the carrots before sticking them in her pocket.

“How did the bad guy leave?” Jenny asked. “If his getaway car was stuck in the wash, where did he go?”

“He must have left on foot,” Joanna said.

That made it possible that the killer had walked right past High Lonesome Ranch. Not a comforting thought, but Joanna needed to know for sure.

“That's why I called for the K-9 unit,” Joanna continued. “Terry and Spike might be able to pick up his trail and at least give us an idea of which direction he went.”

“What if he walked by our house?”

Not for the first time, Joanna was forced to consider the mysterious workings of DNA. Jenny seemed to have a mental GPS that was following her mother's every thought, spoken or unspoken.

“If he had come anywhere near the house, I'm sure Lady would have raised a fuss, and just because Lucky happens to be deaf doesn't mean he isn't up to the job. If someone posed a threat to you or anyone else in the family, I have a feeling that big black lug of yours would tear the bad guy limb from limb.”

Jenny nodded. “Probably,” she said.

“Speaking of dogs,” Joanna said. “Did you see any dog prints around here?”

Jenny shook her head. “Why?”

“I understand Ms. Highsmith had a dog.”

“Giles,” Jenny said. “That's the name of her dog.”

“You knew Ms. Highsmith's dog?”

“I only saw him one time. His first owner, a guy out at Fort Huachuca, was being deployed and had to get rid of him—free to a good home. Ms. Highsmith brought him to the clinic for a checkup, to update his shots, and to have him chipped. He's a Doberman. He looks fierce, but he's a good dog.”

Joanna spent a few minutes looking but could find no visible dog prints. She had the sick feeling that if Debra Highsmith was dead, so was her dog.

Finally, Joanna turned back to Jenny. “You and Kiddo should probably head home,” Joanna said. “The crime scene team will be here soon.”

“Won't somebody need to interview me?” Jenny asked. “I mean, on TV the cops always interview the person who finds the body. The person calling it in usually turns out to be some kind of suspect or something.”

“The person who finds the body usually isn't my daughter,” Joanna responded. “If anyone besides me needs to interview you, I'll send them by the house.”

“Okay,” Jenny said, but she clearly wasn't happy about it. She turned away from Joanna, put a foot in the stirrup, and then vaulted easily up into the saddle. She was doing exactly what Joanna had asked her to do, yet somehow it felt like a rebuke.

“I'm your mother,” Joanna said. “I'm only trying to protect you.”

“I'm almost grown up,” Jenny said, with a defiant toss of her blond hair. “You can't always protect me, you know.”

With that, she touched her heels to Kiddo's flanks, and they raced off down the road, leaving Joanna standing in the cloud of dust kicked up by the departing horse's galloping hooves. With a sigh, Joanna pulled out her cell phone and called home.

“Incoming,” she said, when Butch answered. “Jenny's on her way home and she's bent out of shape again. She thinks I'm being unreasonable for sending her home instead of having her hang around here to be interviewed by one of my detectives.”

“Doesn't sound unreasonable to me,” Butch said.

“Maybe you can convince her of that. In the meantime, I'm waiting for my crime scene team to show up. Debra Highsmith's vehicle is stuck in the first wash and blocking the road. It'll have to be towed out of the way before anyone else can get here. I'm not sure how long that's going to take.”

“I guess I should have packed you a lunch.”

“Too late for that,” Joanna said. “I'll stop off and grab something on my way to the office. In the meantime, rather than inadvertently messing up some evidence, I'm walking back to the first wash. Since no one can get in or out for the time being except on foot, I'm deeming the crime scene secure.”

“You're walking?” Butch asked.

“Yes, the Yukon is on the far side of the first wash.”

“How did you get from there to the body?”

“Jenny gave me a ride on Kiddo. The fact that she didn't offer me a ride back gives you some idea of how mad she is.”

“Sometimes parenthood sucks,” Butch said, “but since she bestowed the honorary title of dad on me yesterday, I guess I'd better see what I can do to calm the troubled waters once she gets home.”

“Thanks, Butch,” Joanna said, and she meant it.

Call waiting buzzed. “Phone call,” she said. She clicked over to find Deb Howell on the line.

“I'm stuck on the far side of the first wash,” Deb said. “No sign of the tow truck so far.”

“I'm coming that way on foot,” Joanna said. “I'll be there when I can, but how did you make it there so fast? I thought you'd be the last to arrive.”

“If I'd had to track down a babysitter, I probably would have been, but Maury's here today and tomorrow. Ben and I were supposed to go ATVing with him today. Now Maury and Ben are going without me.”

A year earlier Maury Robbins, a 911 operator in Tucson, had called in a homicide that had occurred at Action Trail Adventures, a combination RV/all-terrain vehicle park north of Bowie in the far-northeast corner of Cochise County. During that investigation, Maury had exhibited more than a passing interest in Deb Howell, one of the detectives on the case. When Ernie Carpenter had mentioned as much, Deb had replied with an immediate denial, insisting that it was all about work. In the months since, however, Ernie's assessment had been proved correct. Deb Howell and Maury Robbins were now a romantic item. Although he still lived in Tucson, he spent many of his days off in Bisbee, parking his Jayco pop-up camper at the RV park in Old Bisbee, a few blocks from the home on Brewery Gulch that Deb shared with her son.