Paradise Lost (27 page)

“I doubt it,” Joanna told him. “According to Jenny, Chris was the name of Dora’s boyfriend.

They’re kids, so naturally there was no last name. I’m guessing Chris Bernard is a teenaged son or maybe even a grandson. Jenny also said that Dora talked to Chris a couple of times while she was staying out there at the house with The Gs. That means Ernie or Jaime will need to interview him in case she told Chris anything on the phone that could shed light on what happened later.”

“I wonder if Chris knew he was going to be a father,” Butch said.

“Maybe,” Joanna said. “On Sunday Dora bought one of those home pregnancy test kits. I’m guessing that once she knew the results, she probably told him as well. I need to have Frank check their phone records as well.”

“Whose?” Butch asked.

“The Bernards’,” she said. “Never mind. I’m just thinking aloud.”

“So Jenny’s interview is over then?” Butch asked, switching gears. “Do you want me to come pick her up?”

“It’s not over, although they’re probably close to finishing up. I got called out of the conference room to take the phone call from Burton Kimball about Sally Matthews turning herself in.

They’re on their way here from Bisbee right now.”

“In that case, I’ll definitely come pick up Jenny,” Butch declared. “That’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.”

“Thanks,” Joanna said. “Once they’re done, I’m sure Jenny will be more than ready to go.”

“It was pretty tough then?”

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“Yes, it was,” she replied. “For both of us.”

“Sorry about that, Joey. I’ll he there in a few minutes.”

“If you come too soon, Jenny might not be ready.”

“That’s all right. I’ll wait.”

Without touching any of the papers waiting on her desk, Joanna headed back to the conference room. She met Jenny and Ernie Carpenter in the lobby.

“Finished?” Joanna asked.

Ernie nodded. “For the time being.”

Joanna handed him the piece of paper on which she’d jotted down Dr. Richard Bernard’s name and number. “Good enough,” Ernie said. “I guess Jaime and I had better head up to Tucson.

We’ll deliver the clothing to the crime lab so they can get started pro-cessing it. After that, we’ll track down Chris and talk to him.”

“Before you go, you need to know that Sally Matthews is about to turn herself in to MJF.

Burton Kimball is bringing her in. They’ll be here in a few minutes. I told them to use the back door. She wants to know what’s going on with Dora’s case, and I’m going to tell her.”

“So she knows?”

Joanna nodded. “How much she knows remains to be seen.”

Ernie Carpenter left to find his partner. With a subdued Jenny following behind, Joanna returned to her office and made a futile attempt to straighten the mess on her desk. Meanwhile, Jenny slouched in one of the captain’s chairs. For several minutes, neither mother nor daughter said a word.

Joanna finally broke the lingering silence. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Are you mad at me?” Jenny returned.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Jenny bit her lip. She had chewed on it so much during the course of the interview that morning that it looked chapped and swollen. “For not telling Grandma and Grandpa about Dora talking to Chris on the phone. I didn’t think she was serious about running away. I thought she was just talking big again, you know, like bragging. But maybe, if I had told ...”

Joanna went over to Jenny’s chair and knelt in front of her. “Jenny, honey, you’re going to have to decide that what happened wasn’t your fault. And now that we know a little more about what went on, it probably isn’t Grandma Lathrop’s fault, either. From what you said, it’s clear Dora Matthews was determined to run away. She would have done it anyway, whether she was at our house or at her own home up in Bisbee or in foster care.”

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“You really think so?” Jenny asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“What about Chris? Do you think he’s the one who killed her?”

“It could be,” Joanna said. “At this point in the investigation, anything is possible.”

There was a knock on Joanna’s private entrance. “Is that them?” Jenny asked. “Mr. Kimball and Dora’s mother?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t want to see them,” Jenny said urgently.

“Of course you don’t,” Joanna said. “Come on. You can wait outside in the lobby with Kristin.

Butch will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.”

Still clutching her book, Jenny retreated, closing the lobby door behind her, while Joanna went to open the outside door. Through the security peephole Joanna saw Burton Kimball, overdressed as usual in his customary suit and tie. With him was a desperately thin woman who must have been about Joanna’s age but who looked much older. Sally Matthews was gaunt and looked worn in her bottom-of-the-barrel thrift-store clothing. A loose-fitting baggy dress two sizes too large covered her bony, emaciated frame. On her feet was a pair of old flip-flops.

Bedraggled, ill cut brown hair dangled around a thin face that was mostly obscured by a huge pair of sunglasses. In one knotted fist she clutched a soggy hanky.

“Good morning, Sheriff Brady,” Burton Kimball said when Joanna opened the door. “May we come in?”

Joanna held the door open and beckoned them inside. By the time she returned to her desk, she found that Sally Matthews had shed her sunglasses to reveal a haggard, homely, and entirely makeup-free face.

“You can go ahead and put me under arrest if you want,” Sally said, in a harsh voice that trembled with suppressed emotion. “I don’t give a damn what happens to me. All I know is, your depart-ment took charge of my daughter, and now Dora is dead. Who’s responsible for that, Joanna Brady? Are you the one?”

As she spoke, the agitated Sally Matthews had leaned so far forward in her chair that, for a moment, Joanna was afraid she was going to clamber across the expanse of desk that separated them. It must have seemed that way to Burton Kimball as well. He laid a restraining hand on his client’s arm. “Easy,” he said. “Take it easy.”

“I won’t take it easy,” Sally Matthews hissed, shrugging away his hand. “I want to know who killed my daughter.”

“So do I,” Joanna breathed. “Believe me, so do I.”

She punched the intercom button. “Kristin,” she said when her secretary answered. “Would you please have Chief Deputy Mon-toya come to my office?”

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When she looked back at Sally Matthews, the woman had dis-solved into tears, sobbing into a large men’s handkerchief that had most likely come from Burton Kimball’s pocket. From the way Jaime Carbajal had described the Matthews’s home, Joanna knew Sally wouldn’t have won any Mother of the Year awards. Still, there was no denying that the woman was overwhelmed by grief at the loss of her only daughter.

Before Joanna could say anything to comfort Silly, there was asharp knock at her door. Turning, Joanna expected to sere FrankMontoya. Instead, Kristin stood in the doorway, beckoning frantically to Joanna.

“It you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Joanna said. She got up and walked over to the door.

Kristin drew her into the lobby and then closed the door after them.

“What’s the matter?” Joanna said.

“You’d better go out front,” Kristin said, speaking in an urgent whisper. “All hell’s broken loose out there.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“From what I can tell, right after Frank’s news conference, one of those photographers from theArizona Reporter tried to jump in and get a picture of Jenny as Butch was leading her out of the building. I think Butch grabbed the camera out of the guy’s hands and lobbed it into the parking lot. He and Jenny are both in Frank’s office.”

Joanna could barely believe her ears. “They’re not hurt, are they?” she demanded.

“No, they’re fine,” Kristin answered quickly. “But the photographer is out in the public lobby raising hell. He wants somebody to arrest Butch for assault and battery. And then there’s Ron Haskell. He’s here waiting ...”

Joanna looked across the room and saw Ron Haskell sitting forlornly on the lobby loveseat.

Stifling her own roiling emotions, she walked across the room to him and shook hands. “Thank you for conning, Mr. Haskell. As you can see, there’s a bit of an emergency going on right now.

If you don’t mind, I’ll have my secretary here take you back to speak to one of our evidence technicians.”

Joanna turned back to Kristin. “Take him to see Casey Ledford,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “She’ll need to take fingerprints from him. We’ll need to collect DNA samples as well.”

With that, Joanna Brady headed for her chief deputy’s office, where, with the public brawl now over, her husband and daughter were waiting.

By early afternoon, Joanna was in her office and elbow-deep in paperwork. Kristin Gregovich had gone out for an early lunch and had returned with a tuna sandwich for Joanna, the half-eaten remains of which lingered on her correspondence littered desk. With two separate murder investigations under way, it was difficult for Joanna to stay focused on the routine administrative matters that had to be handled—duty rosters to approve and vacation schedules to be juggled, as well as making shift-coverage arrangements around Yolanda Cañedo’s extended sick leave.

Looking over the schedule, Joanna was reminded of her stop at University Medical Center.

Picking up her phone, Joanna dialed Frank’s number. “All the inmates and all the jail employees made and signed get-well cards for Yolanda Cañedo,” she said. “Have the deputies done anything similar?”

“Not that I know of,” Frank replied.

“Is Deputy Galloway on duty?”

“He should be. Why?”

“If you can track him down, let him know I need to see him.”

Deputy Kenneth W. Galloway was one of Joanna’s problem children. He was the nephew and namesake of another Cochise County deputy, Ken Galloway. Ken Galloway the elder had been part of the corrupt administration that had preceded Joanna’s. He had died as a result of injuries suffered in a car accident during a high-speed car chase. A coroner’s inquest had ruled his death acci-dental, but years later, many members of the Galloway clan still held Joanna Brady personally responsible for his death.

At the time of his uncle’s death, Ken W, as he was called, was fresh out of the academy. He was still far too young and naive to have been involved in any of his uncle’s underhanded dealings.

After her election, Joanna had allowed Ken W. to stay on with the depart-ment. He had been a capable enough deputy, but he had never made any pretense of loyalty to Joanna or her administration. His obvious antipathy to Joanna made him a natural for membership in and eventual leadership of Local 83 of the National Federation of Deputy Sheriffs, where he had recently been elected president.

Months earlier, one of Joanna’s decisions had resulted in saving Deputy Galloway’s life, but if she had thought that would make her relationship with the union leader any smoother, she had soon been disabused of the notion. More than half hoping Frank wouldn’t find the man, Joanna returned to the morass on her desk.

One whole stack was devoted to requests for civic appearances: Rotary and Kiwanis meetings where she was asked to be the guest speaker; a call-in talk show on a radio station in Sierra Vista, where she would be joined on the air by a group of Latino activists who were concerned about racial profiling by various members of the law enforcement community, the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department included; and Elfrida High School, which wanted to know it she would be the main speaker at its career-day program.

As Joanna penciled one obligation after another into her rapidly filling calendar, she realized that even without having offi-cially announced her candidacy, as far as the people of Cochise County were concerned, she was already running for reelection. Every appearance put her in front of voters. Eventually she would have to make an official announcement one way or the
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other. Right that minute she wasn’t sure what she would do. The morning’s confrontation between Butch and photographer Owen Faulk of theArizona Reporter had left her feeling as though the most important pieces of her world were at war with one another.

Butch Dixon had yet to come to terms with the idea that being married to Arizona’s only sitting female sheriff meant giving up all claim to anonymity. The incident with Owen Faulk wasn’t the first time Butch had bridled at the unaccustomed and unwelcome intrusion of the press in their lives, but it was certainly the most serious. The fact that Butch had been protecting Jenny made it easy for Joanna to forgive his overreaction, but she doubted that the rest of the world would be equally understanding.

Dealing with that volatile situation had required Joanna’s personal intervention and all her diplomatic skill. First Joanna had had to persuade Butch to cool it. Then she’d had to soothe Jenny, who, after her grueling interview with the Double Cs, was even more traumatized. And, after all that, she’d had to smooth Owen Faulk’s ruffled feathers, managing to dodge a potential liability suit in the process. She had offered assurances that Faulk’s expensive equipment, if broken, would be repaired or replaced. Since the photographer had accepted her offer without any argument, Joanna surmised that Owen Faulk realized that he, too, had been out of line.

So that thorny problem was solved for the time being, but deal-ing with it had taken Joanna’s attention away from her job and away from the conference room, where Sally Matthews, with Burton Kimball present, was still being interviewed by Raul Enemas, a detective with the City of Bisbee Police Department, and Frank Bonham, one of the officers from the Multi-Jurisdiction Force, along with a representative from the county attorney’s office. By the time Joanna had finished handling the photographer uproar, the interview with Sally Matthews had been in process for well over an hour. Joanna had known better than to walk in and inter-rupt, and it bothered her that, all this time later, it was still going on without her.

Realizing she’d have to content herself with reading the tran-script, Joanna had gone into her office and tackled her logjam of waiting correspondence, only to be interrupted shortly thereafter by Casey Ledford poking her head into her office.