Skeleton Canyon (8 page)

Like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t, Joanna turned to face the lady of the house. The luxury automobiles parked under the covered portico, the spaciousness of the beautifully tiled hallway, the elegance of the artwork had all led Joanna to expect that Katherine O’Brien would be someone equally elegant—slender, fashionable, and maybe even a little on the delicate side.

Joanna was surprised to see before her a plain-faced and sturdy woman in her early to mid-fifties. She was dressed casually in a tank top, Bermuda shorts, and leather thongs. Her brunette hair, going gray around the temples, was drawn back in a casual, foot-long ponytail. As soon as Joanna saw the woman she realized she had seen her before—in the grocery store and post office on occasion—without having the smallest glimmer of who she was.

“I’m sorry,” Joanna apologized. “The wood is so lovely I couldn’t help touching it.”

Katherine smiled sadly and nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon on my knees there, praying. Both pieces, the prie-dieu and the statue, came from a Sisters of Silence convent in upstate New York. When the Cistercian Order closed the place down, they asked Sotheby’s to auction off all the contents. The prie-dieu and the statue had both been in the mother superior’s private chapel. I was glad David was able to buy them so we could keep them together.”

Katherine stopped abruptly, as though the customary graciousness of telling visiting guests about her objets d’art had somehow outdistanced the painful circumstances that had brought this particular visitor into her home. “Sorry,” she said. “Detective Carpenter and my husband are out back by the pool. If you’ll come this way.”

Katherine O’Brien led Joanna past a formal dining room and through a large kitchen where the housekeeper was busy cooking something meaty that smelled absolutely wonderful. Beyond the kitchen was an informal dining room and a family room complete with a massive entertainment unit. French doors from the family room led to a fully enclosed patio complete with black wrought iron furniture, a permanently installed canopy, a hot tub, and a lap pool. The interior wall of the patio was lined with raised flower beds that held an astonishing assortment of vividly colored, dinner plate—sized dahlias.

An empty wheelchair sat parked next to the edge of the pool. In the pool itself, a silver-haired man Joanna recognized as David O’Brien swam back and forth. Meanwhile, Detective Ernie Carpenter, overdressed as usual in his customary double-breasted suit, sat sweltering under the canopy.

As soon as Joanna and Katherine came out onto the porch, O’Brien used two swift strokes to propel himself over to a stainless steel pole that stood next to the wheelchair. Turning his hack to the side of the pool, he did something that activated a whirring motor. Moments later, he emerged from the water seated on what was evidently a one-person lift. The lift stopped when David O’Brien was exactly level with the seat of the chair. Using the strong, well-defined muscles in his arms and shoulders, David swung himself from lift to chair.

A stack of terry cloth towels sat on the table. David O’Brien rolled his chair over to the table. Taking the top towel off the pile, he draped that over his deformed and useless legs. He used a second towel to dry his hair, face, and upper body.

“It’s about time you got here, Sheriff Brady,” he grumbled. “Maybe now you can get Detective Carpenter here to stop asking all these damn fool questions about Bree’s friends and start doing something useful like actually looking for her.”

“They
are
looking for her, David,” Katherine reminded her husband gently. “Detective Carpenter already told us that they have deputies and the highway patrol searching all the roads between here and Playas....”

“But she didn’t go to Playas!” David O’Brien exploded, pounding the table with his fist. The powerful blow sent Ernie’s almost-empty glass of iced tea skipping across the surface of the table. The detective managed to catch it, but only just barely.

“What would you like us to do, Mr. O’Brien?” Joanna asked. “Call in the FBI. Get some manpower on this thing.”

“The FBI?”

“Hello, Sheriff Brady,” Ernie said, nodding in greeting. He was a solidly built, beetle-browed man in his early fifties. His tie and stiffly starched white shirt were wilting fast.

“Mr. O’Brien here is under the impression that his daughter has been kidnapped.” He finished his tea and returned the emptied glass to the table.

 “Kidnapped,” Joanna repeated. “Why? Has there been a ransom demand?”

“Nothing like that,” Ernie replied. ‘‘Not so far.”

“What about the pay phone call? If that wasn’t an abortive tall for ransom ...” David O’Brien interjected.

“What phone call?” Joanna asked.

“The O’Briens have caller ID on their phones,” Ernie said. “A call came in a few minutes ago, just about the time I got here. The monitor reported it as a pay phone call. I traced it to a location near the Kmart down in Douglas. The problem is, whoever it was hung up.”

“So you didn’t actually speak to anyone?” Joanna asked Katherine.

“No.”

“And there was no request for ransom?” Joanna continued.

“‘That’s true,” Katherine agreed.

“But that’s where ransom calls usually come from, isn’t it?” O’Brien interrupted. “From pay phones so the calls can’t be traced back to the kidnapper’s residence or place of business.”

“It could have been nothing more ominous than a wrong number,” Joanna suggested. “What makes you think otherwise? Have there been kidnapping threats in the past?”

“No. Not really. But look around,” O’Brien said brusquely, with an expansive gesture that took in both the patio and the opulent home beyond it. “My wife and I have money, plenty of it. What better way for someone to lay hands on some of it than by kidnapping our only daughter? It’s not as though her existence is some kind of secret. Her graduation picture was plastered all over the papers a few weeks back. It’s no wonder-”

Joanna glanced back at Ernie.
“
Any sign of violence or foul play?”

The detective shook his head. “Not that I’ve found so far. In addition, Brianna has evidently taken off like this on at least two other occasions. According to Mrs. O’Brien here, there have been two other similar incidents in the last few months—times when Brianna has left for the weekend without arriving at her supposed destination. Each time it’s been with the understanding that she was going to visit this same girl, this” —Ernie paused to consult his notes— “this Crystal Phillips over in Playas. The problem is, Crystal’s father says Brianna hasn’t ever been there.”

“But she keeps pretending that’s where she’s gone,” Joanna said.

Ernie nodded. “Right. Each time, she left home late in the day on a Friday and returned Sunday evening. As long as her folks here didn’t call to check up on her, everything was peachy. My expectation is that she’s pulled the same stunt this time, too. She isn’t lost at all. Late Sunday she’s going to show up thinking everything’s all fine and dandy. Only this time, she’ll find out the game’s up. When she comes waltzing home on Sunday afternoon, she’s going to be one mighty surprised young lady.”

Ernie finished his speech by hauling out a hanky and mop-ping his sweat-drenched brow. His theory sounded reasonable enough, and Joanna wanted it to be right. She wanted to believe that an errant Brianna O’Brien would arrive home on Sunday night in time to be read the riot act by both her out-raged parents for having been AWOL all weekend long. Still, Joanna couldn’t dodge the premonition that had come to her before she ever left the parking lot on Mount Lemmon one that left her believing that Brianna O’Brien was already dead.

Standing there fully clothed with the late afternoon sun blazing down on her, Joanna was already regretting having changed clothes. The O’Briens’ flower-bordered patio might have been fine if you were dressed in shorts or if you had just stepped out of a swimming pool. For people dressed in business clothing and wearing body armor, though, it was like playing dress-up in the middle of a blast furnace.

David O’Brien glared across the table at the detective. “My daughter is an honor student,” he announced. “She’s never lied to me about anything in her life. I can’t understand why she’d start now. But since we’ve done our jobs as parents, how about you starting to do yours as cops?”

CHAPTER SIX

Joanna knew there were lots of people in town who were intimidated by David O’Brien. It was easy to see why. He was a craggy-faced man whose suntanned arms and chest glistened with silvery hair. He had a long, hawkish nose and piercing blue eyes. He was ruggedly handsome in an aging Marlboro man kind of way. In fact, at that very moment, he reached for a pack of cigarettes that lay on the table in front of him. Watching him light up, Joanna estimated that he had to be somewhere in his late seventies—of an age when he might be more likely
to
be
a
teenager’s grandfather rather than her father.

“You’d say you’re on good terms with your daughter, then?” Joanna asked.

“Absolutely!”

“David, please don’t shout,” Katherine said quietly, giving him a lingering look Joanna noticed but couldn’t quite decipher. “That isn’t necessary. And we’re forgetting our manners. Won’t you sit down, Sheriff Brady? This chair is still in the shade. Would you care for a glass of iced tea? And, it you don’t mind, I’ll switch on the mist cooler.”

Accepting the offer of tea, Joanna sank into the chair Katherine had indicated. Meanwhile, Katherine herself walked over to the wall and flipped a switch. Instantly a fine spray of water Nettled over the patio. It was a cooling device Joanna had seen in Phoenix and Tucson at nicer restaurants with outdoor seating areas, but this was the first time she had seen that kind of setup in a private home. She would have loved to strip off her jacket, but that would have revealed that she was armed, twice over. Her Colt 2000 rested in a shoulder holster under her arm. Her backup weapon—a Glock 19—was hidden in a discreet small-of-the-back holster.

“Did you already tell Detective Carpenter what kind of vehicle your daughter is driving?” she asked.

“A red Toyota,” Katherine said.

“It’s a Tacoma,” David added. “She could have had any kind of car, but what she wanted was a damned pickup. We gave it to her three months ago as a combination birthday/ graduation present.”

“Do you happen to know the license number?”

David shook his head. “Not off the top of my head, but I’m sure the registration and title are in my file. Would you like me to get them?”

Joanna shook her head. “That’s not necessary. We’ll get it from the D.M.V.” She looked at Ernie. “Have you checked the house to make sure nothing’s missing, Detective Carpenter?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “I was about to do that when—”

“Missing?” David O’Brien interrupted. “What do you mean, missing? Are you implying that Brianna would steal from her own parents?”

“I’m implying nothing of the kind,” Joanna returned coolly, choosing to ignore David O’Brien’s continuing bluster. “Your daughter left home yesterday, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I’m merely trying to ascertain what, if anything, she took with her. Something she might have taken along may give us a clue as to her actual destination.”

“I see,” David agreed reluctantly.

Joanna turned to Katherine. “Would it be possible for you to show us Brianna’s room?”

The woman stood at once. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll be happy to. Right this way.”

With Katherine leading, Ernie and Joanna walked back into the welcome coolness of the house. Morosely smoking his cigarette, David O’Brien remained where he was.

“Please excuse David,” Katherine O’Brien was saying. “He’s not usually so on edge. You have to understand, this has all been a terrible strain on him. A shock. And the idea that some-thing awful may have happened . . .” Pausing, she shook her head. “After what went on before, it’s just . . . just unthinkable,” she finished at last.

They had entered a part of the sprawling house that appeared to be a bedroom wing.

“After what happened before?” Joanna asked.

“You know,” Katherine said. “If he lost Bree, too. Just like he lost his other two kids. I don’t think he’d survive it.” Joanna frowned. “He had other children?”

Katherine had stopped in front of a closed door. With one hand on the knob, she hesitated before opening it. “I’ve always respected Bree’s privacy,” she said. ‘I’ve never gone into her room without permission.”

“Do it just this once,” Ernie urged. “I think she’ll forgive you.” Nodding, Katherine opened the door and let him inside, but without entering the room herself. Since the woman was Moving in the hallway, so did Joanna, mulling over what Katherine had just told them.

“I thought Brianna was an only child,” Joanna said a moment later.

“There were two others,” Katherine said. “A boy and a girl. From his first wife.”

“What happened to them?”

Katherine looked surprised. “I thought everyone knew about that.”

“I don’t.”

Katherine sighed. “They both died,” she said simply. “David and Suzanne, his first wife, were driving back to Phoenix after being down in Tucson over Fourth of July. David was at the wheel. The two kids were asleep in the backseat. David Junior was eight, and Monica five. On the road between Phoenix and Casa Grande, they got caught in one of those terrible Interstate 10 dust storms.

“David told me that he saw the dust cloud coming and was trying to make it to the next exit, but the storm got to them first. He drove over on the shoulder of the road, hoping to get out of the way of traffic. He got out of the car and was opening the passenger door to lead Suzanne and the kids to safety when a semi slammed into them from behind. The impact threw him clear of the wreckage. Suzanne and the kids were trapped in the car. The coroner said they all died on impact. I hope so, because there was a terrible fire after that—one of those awful chain reaction things. Nine people died in all, most of them burned beyond recognition.

“It was more than an hour later when someone finally found David. He was unconscious and had been thrown so far from the other wreckage that no one saw him at first. They airlifted him to Good Samaritan in Phoenix. That’s where I met him. I was an intensive care nurse. I was on duty in the ICU when they brought him in. I was there when he regained consciousness.”