Just dealing with the prisoners proved to be a logistical nightmare. Most of the time, Border Patrol policy dictates that undocumented aliens simply be returned to Mexico. This time, however, with authorities wanting to file vehicular homicide charges against the driver, it had been deemed necessary to hold all the U.D.A.s in what, for now, was being billed as “protective custody.”
The smuggler/driver-who had been wearing a seat belt and wasn’t injured in the wreck-had left the scene on foot. After three hours of searching, a canine unit finally found him hiding under a mesquite tree in a wash.
It was almost ten by the time Joanna and Dick Voland returned to the county jail. Not wanting to leave until all the prisoners had been properly booked, Joanna settled down at her desk. There were more messages-two more from her mother and one from Larry Matkin, but Joanna simply put them aside with the others. She would return her calls-all of them-in the morning and not before.
Shortly after eleven Tom Hadlock, the jail commander, stopped by Joanna’s office to report that all the prisoners had been booked into the jail.
“I’ve got the coyote in an isolation cell,” Hadlock told her. “I was afraid some of his victims might try to do him in.”
“I wouldn’t be too surprised if they did,” Joanna said. “Any idea who he is?”
At the time of his arrest, the smuggler had been carrying no driver’s license and had given what everyone had assumed to be a phony name.
“You bet,” Tom replied proudly. “When we ran his prints through that new Automated Fingerprint Identification System, they rang bells from here to Texas. The guy’s real name is Jesus Rojas Gonzales. He has three outstanding warrants on non-related drug-running charges-two in New Mexico and one in Texas. Those warrants plus the three kilos of black gold heroin hidden under the floorboards are most likely what triggered his attempt to elude the Highway Patrol officer who was stopping him for nothing more serious than a busted taillight. By the way, how’s the officer doing?” Had-lock asked.
“About how you’d think,” Joanna replied. “He’s in shock. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong, but there are plenty of people who are ready to string him up right along with the coyote.”
The jail commander grinned. “The Highway Patrol is the state’s baby,” he said. “It’ll be interesting to see what the governor’s Ms. Morales makes of this.”
After Hadlock left her office, Joanna gathered her purse and coat. She was preparing to leave herself when she realized the light was still on in the reception area outside her door. Stepping across the room, she had just switched off tilt light and was about to return to her own office when silt heard a strange rumbling sound. It took a moment for her to place the noise-someone snoring.
Three offices and the conference room opened off the reception area-hers, Dick Voland’s, and Frank Montoya’s Frank’s office was empty, as was Joanna’s. In Dick Voland’ office she found her chief deputy lying stretched out full length on his couch. Except for his shoes, he was fully clothed. His sock-clad feet stuck out beyond a length of plain wool blanket. He was sound asleep.
Joanna went over to him and shook him gently by the shoulder. “Wake up, Dick,” she said.
His eyes blinked open. Glazed with weariness, he stared at Joanna for a moment without seeming to recognize her. “Everything here is under control “ she continued. “Go home and get a good night’s rest. There’s no reason for you to sleep here.”
Slowly he swung his feet to the floor and then sat with his hands clasping his forehead. “I can’t go home,” he muttered.
“Of course you can,” Joanna returned. “If you’re too tired, I’ll get one of the deputies to drive you.”
“I said, I can’t go home!” He drew the blanket around him and sat staring down at the floor. There was something in the way he looked, some quality of abject misery in his voice, that warned Joanna there was more going on here, something over and above his being too tired to drive.
Without waiting for an invitation, she sank down on the couch beside him.
“What is it, Dick?” she asked.
“Ruth kicked me out,” he said at last. “She says she wants a divorce, and I haven’t had time to go looking for an apartment.”
“Ruth kicked you out?” Joanna repeated. “How come? What’s going on?”
“She’s jealous,” he answered.
“Jealous of your job? She’s been married to a cop for long enough that she should know how it goes.”
There was a long silence. “No,” he said finally. “It’s not the job. She’s jealous of you.”
“Of me!” Joanna exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You told her there was nothing to it, didn’t you?”
“I tried,” Dick Voland said miserably. “I don’t think she believed me.”
Shocked beyond speech, Joanna got tip, walked bark over to the doorway and switched on the light. “How long have you been sleeping here?” she asked.
“A week,” he said. “I’ve been keeping my clothes in the car and showering in the deputies’ locker room, all the while hoping she’d come to her senses.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?” Joanna asked.
“Not on your life!” Dick Voland replied. “That’s the last thing I want you to do.”
FIFTEEN
Late as it was when Joanna arrived home, she started the washer the moment she walked in the door. She had used the last of her clean underwear that morning. If she didn’t stay up late enough to put a load of wash in the dryer, she’d have to wear a damp bra and pair of panties to work the next morning.
Ruth Voland is jealous of me? she thought. How can that be?
Once she staggered into bed, sleep came quickly, but so did morning. Feeling guilty about spending so much time away from Jenny, Joanna had set the alarm for six so she could drive into town early and have breakfast with Jenny before she left for school.
She was dressed and close to leaving the house when the phone rang. Hurrying back to answer it, she found her mother on the phone. “You never called me back yesterday,” Eleanor complained.
“I didn’t get home until almost midnight,” Joanna answered. “I didn’t think you’d want me to call that late.”
“Well, I suppose not,,” Eleanor agreed. “Were you out dealing with that awful mess up by Tombstone?”
Joanna sighed. “As a matter of fact, I was.”
“What I can’t understand is why those people keep on coming here in the first place. Why don’t they just stay in Mexico where they belong?”
“Why didn’t your great-grandparents stay in England?” Joanna asked.
“That was different,” Eleanor told her.
This was a long-standing argument-one that no amount of logic could win. Joanna closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “What is it you want, Mother?”
There was a slight pause before Eleanor answered. “Are you planning on attending the Buckwalter funeral this morning?” she asked finally.
“Yes.”
“Well, good,” Eleanor said. “You should. Your father always did. Keeping up appearances, you know. In the face of this awful crime wave, it’s important that people see you out in public and know you’re on the job.”
Eleanor hadn’t been wildly in favor of her daughter’s running for office in the first place. Now that Joanna had won the election, however, Eleanor Lathrop seemed determined to do everything necessary to keep the job of sheriff in the family.
“Right, Mother,” Joanna said.
“You know,” Eleanor added, “I never remember anything like this number of homicides happening all at once when your father was in office.”