It was a relief when, at eight-thirty, the telephone rang. More than half hoping it was something that would necessitate her driving to a crime scene, Joanna lumbered her unbalanced center of gravity off the couch and went to answer.
“Sheriff Brady?” Ernie Carpenter asked.
“Yes.”
“You weren’t asleep or anything, were you?”
I wish, Joanna thought. “No,” she said. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“I know it’s late,” Ernie said, “but I was wondering if I could stop by for a while to talk to you.”
For the first time since Joanna had known him, Ernie Carpenter sounded oddly ill at ease and uncertain.
“If you’d like me to meet you at the department…” she began.
“No,” he said. “This is personal. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather stop by the house. I’m in town, so it’ll be a few minutes before I get there, but it won’t take long.”
“Sure,” Joanna said. “That’ll be fine.”
She went back to the couch and found both Margaret and Don Dixon looking at her expectantly. Ernie had explicitly arranged to meet with Joanna away from the department. Obviously whatever he had to say he wanted said in private and without Butch’s parents hanging on his every word.
“It’s one of my detectives,” she explained. “He’s coming by to brief me on the developments in one of our homicide cases.”
Fortunately Don Dixon took the hint. “Come on, Margaret,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and helping her to her feet. “We’d better turn in then. If Joanna has work to do, we certainly don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re sure you’ll be warm enough out there?” Joanna asked. She had invited Margaret and Don to stay in the guest room and had been more than slightly relieved when they had turned her down.
“Oh, heavens, yes,” Margaret replied. “The RV is just as cozy as it can be.”
“Good night, then,” Joanna said. “Sleep well.”
Lady, who had made herself scarce with a strange man in the house, emerged from the bedroom and stayed next to Joanna on the couch. As soon as Ernie Carpenter turned up at the front door, Lady bailed again.
“Come in,” Joanna said, ushering Ernie into the living room. “Can I get you something?”
“I’m not working at the moment,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?”
Joanna went out into the kitchen and returned with Butch’s last bottle of Michelob Ultra. “What’s up, Ernie?” she asked, handing it to him. “You look upset. Is something the matter? Is it Rose?”
Ernie took a long sip of beer. “No,” he said, lowering the bottle. “It’s me.”
“What about you?”
“It’s not something that’s easy to talk about,” he answered. “I mean, you being a woman and all…”
“Ernie,” she urged. “Tell me.”
He took another sip of beer. “You may have noticed I’ve missed some shifts lately.”
“Yes,” she said. “Frank and I had noticed.”
“Well,” Ernie said, “it’s because I’ve been seeing a doctor- up in Tucson. Rosie told me I needed to tell you about it, so you’d know what’s been going on.”
“What is going on?”
He sighed. “When I went in for my annual physical, Dr. Lee said my PSA was way out of whack. He sent me to a specialist in Tucson.”
“PSA?” Joanna asked, feeling stupid.
“Prostate-specific antigen,” Ernie explained. “It means I’ve got prostate cancer.”
For a moment, Joanna could think of nothing to say. Finally she said, “Ernie, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “Me, too. Believe me. I got the news a couple of weeks ago. For a while I just couldn’t process it. Couldn’t think how it was possible for me to have cancer. I’ve always been healthy as a horse. And then, just like that, you’re sitting there in the doctor’s office, he says the magic words and wham-o, all of a sudden you’re a cancer patient. It’s like falling off a cliff.”
Joanna thought about finding Andy lying wounded along High Lonesome Road. Yes, it had felt just like that. One minute she had been mad as hell at him for being late for their tenth-anniversary dinner, and the next minute she was crouched in the dirt, praying for help, and applying pressure to his gunshot wound in hopes of keeping Andy from bleeding to death. It had been exactly like falling off a cliff.
“What’s the prognosis?” she asked.
Ernie shrugged. “You know how doctors are. They think they caught it early and all that happy baloney^ but who knows? Since nobody ever had me do a PSA test before, they’re not really sure how long it’s been around.”
“What about treatment?” she asked.
“That’s the thing. We’ve been trying to find out what all the options are. Surgery, radiation, whatever. Rosie and I have been meeting with people-doctors and patients both-trying to figure out what’s the best thing to do. Supposedly I’m a good candidate for seeds…”
“Seeds?”
“Radiation seeds. Then there’s some hotshot new treatment called cryo-something, where they freeze things, but my oncologist says that’s still out there in the experimental stages. He thinks if the tumor has spread at all, the radioactive seeding is probably the best course of treatment. So that’s the way we’re going to go-with the seeds. I’ll probably end up being some glow-in-the-dark freak. Maybe my dick will end up qualifying as an alternate light source.”
Dark humor at crime scenes was part of how homicide cops coped. Joanna recognized his glow-in-the-dark comment as part and parcel of that-a grim attempt to lighten the mood. But she made no attempt to reply in kind.
“How long does the seed treatment take?” she asked.
“They say it’s not that big a deal. Supposedly it’s a minor procedure. If there aren’t any complications, I’ll most likely be back at work after just a couple of days. My recovery would be a lot longer if we opted for the surgery.”
“Whatever course of treatment you choose,” Joanna said, “it has to be the one that’s right for you. Don’t choose one over another because of how much time you’ll need off.”
“Thanks, boss,” he said.
“And thank you for telling me,” Joanna said, meaning it. “Have you told anyone else?”
Ernie shook his head. “Haven’t,” he said. “Not even Jaime, and I should have. And I need to tell Frank-or you can- because he should know. But beyond that I’d like to keep a low profile because I don’t want to make a big thing of it. People are funny. As soon as they hear somebody’s got cancer, they sort of write ‘ em off. I ’m not ready to be written off. Still, whatever happens, I don’t want to leave you shorthanded.”
“Don’t worry, Ernie,” she said. “We’ll manage. The important thing is for you to do whatever you need to do in order to get better. How’s Rose?”
Ernie Carpenter used the back of one meaty paw to swipe at something in the corner of his eye. “She’s a brick,” he said, his voice breaking. “I mean, she’s always been there for me, but now-” He broke off, shaking his head, and took another sip of the beer.
“Anyway,” he continued after a short pause, “all this sort of got my attention. Made me realize that I’m not gonna live forever. Last night Rose and I went to a meeting in Tucson. It’s a support group for people who’ve had prostate cancer. That’s why I wasn’t home when you called about going to Sierra Vista. So today I got to thinking. What happens if I don’t make it? What happens if the seeds don’t work? Jaime and I have been working all right together. We’re a good team, but considering what all’s been happening around here lately, you’re going to need another couple of detectives. Have you thought about that?”