“And deal with the others,” Millicent interrupted.
“Exactly,” Joanna said. “I’m not sure how much the county will pay you for this…”
“I’m not doing this for the county,” Millicent Ross declared. “I’m doing it for Jeannine. It’s Saturday, so there won’t be any supply houses open. I’ll stop by several vets I know on the way and gather what I think I’ll need.”
“Thank you,” Joanna said.
When she finished the phone call, Deputy Thomas was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “So where are we going?” he asked.
“San Simon,” she said. “Once we get that far, I’ll direct you the rest of the way.”
As they drove toward Benson and the junction with I-10, Joanna considered her dog-care options. Frank was right. Euthanizing that many animals would be a public relations nightmare, but what were the alternatives? For form’s sake, she called the Humane Society in Tucson, but it didn’t take long for the director to disabuse her of looking there for help.
“We’re already overcrowded. We could take in five or maybe ten animals at the outside, but none of the vicious ones.”
“That’s about what I thought,” Joanna said.
By the time they reached the junction, the urgent pressure on Joanna’s bladder could no longer be ignored. “Sorry,” she told Deputy Thomas. “Being pregnant is hell. I need a pit stop. While you’re waiting, log on and download a copy of Antonio Zavala’s mug shot. Now that we’ve got printers and computers in the patrol cars, we might as well use ‘em.”
She was washing her hands at the rest-room sink when Deputy Thomas pounded on the door. “Sheriff Brady. We’ve gotta go!”
“What is it?”
“Carjacking,” he announced as they hurried back to the Yukon. “It just came in over the radio. It happened at the Texas Canyon Rest Area a few minutes ago. A woman was in the process of belting her child into the backseat when a man-a young Hispanic guy-appeared out of nowhere, pushed her out of the way, knocked her to the ground, grabbed her purse and keys and took off with her two kids belted in the backseat. He’s headed our way with some old guy in an RV in hot pursuit.”
Deputy Thomas’s words and the presence of two helpless children made Joanna see red. The rashness and desperation behind a daylight carjacking done in the presence of witnesses was all too obvious. And Texas Canyon-the same place where Jean-nine’s abandoned vehicle had been discovered-was a natural stopping-off place for a ruthless killer fleeing San Simon and heading back to Tucson.
“The guy who did this has to be Tony Zavala,” Joanna breathed as she fastened her belt. “Has to be!”
“The guy in the mug shot?” Deputy Thomas asked. “The guy suspected of shooting those three people over by San Simon?”
Joanna turned to look at him and realized with some dismay that, in this life-and-death situation, she was stuck with her most inexperienced deputy as her only asset. Thomas had the Yukon running and was putting it in gear when she demanded, “Are you wearing your vest?”
“Well, no,” he replied. “I had it on for the traffic stop, but once Dispatch sent me out to the Triple H to pick you up, I took it off and put it in back.”
“Stop the car and put it on,” Joanna told him.
“But we’re wasting time,” he began. “Shouldn’t we just-”
“That’s an order, Deputy Thomas!” Joanna barked. “I said stop the car!”
Thomas jammed on the brakes. Mumbling under his breath, he exited the car and headed toward the tailgate while Joanna reached for the radio.
“Sheriff Brady here,” she said. “Dispatch, what have you got?”
“Red Dodge Grand Caravan with Texas plates heading westbound on I-10 with two unidentified children in the back,” Larry Kendrick announced. “Repeat: two children in the back.”
“Where are they?”
“An RV driver took off after them. He followed them as far as the second Benson exit, but the grade’s too steep for him to keep up. He’s falling behind and says the guy is driving like a bat out of hell. Where are you?”
“At the third Benson exit,” Joanna answered. “We’ll wait at the bottom of the exit in case the guy gets off there. Even if he’s slow, have the RV keep following and let us know when he passes the Sierra Vista exit.”
Deputy Thomas slammed the cargo doors shut and returned to the driver’s seat, fastening his Kevlar vest. “Where to?”
“Drive as far as the freeway and stop underneath,” Joanna directed. “If he gets off the interstate there, we’ll have him. If he goes on by, we’ll have to catch up. How good are you at pursuit driving?”
Thomas shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I passed that part of my academy exam.”
“What about target shooting?”
“I did all right.”
A bare “all right” wasn’t the answer Joanna wanted to hear. With two children in mortal danger in the back of a speeding stolen minivan, “all right” wasn’t nearly good enough.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Turn on your lights. You drive. I’ll shoot.”
By then they were parked under the freeway. “Dispatch,” Joanna said into the radio. “What’s the word?”
“The RVer still has a visual. According to him, the ‘Van’s approaching your exit right now. Nope. He’s not stopping. Went right on past.”
“Okay,” Joanna said, nodding in Thomas’s direction and motioning for him to take off. As they started up the entrance ramp, the car skidded wildly from side to side. Eventually, though, Thomas got it back under control and they sped forward. It wasn’t a performance to instill much confidence, but still…
“We’re on it,” Joanna said into the radio. “Who else is in play here?”
“We’ve called DPS. They know of the situation. They’ve got cars headed that way, but with children involved, they’re not going to lay down any spike strips.”
“Right,” Joanna said. “What about our guys?”
“Frank’s on his way, but he’s a long way off.”
“Okay. We’ll do our best.”
She watched as the speedometer rose past seventy-five miles per hour, past eighty, past eighty-five. The interstate was chock-full of eighteen-wheelers. As Deputy Thomas dodged between them, Joanna remembered how, on another occasion, she had utilized truck drivers to slow down and help capture a fleeing suspect.
“Hey, Larry,” Joanna said into the radio. “How were you communicating with the RV guy?”
“On his radio. Why?”
“If he’s still around, see if he can send word to trucks up ahead to keep a lookout for the Caravan. Once the drivers catch sight of him in their mirrors, have them slow him down and keep him trapped behind them.”
“Good idea,” Kendrick responded. “Hold on. I’ll see what I can do.” There was a long pause before the dispatcher returned. “A couple of J. B. Hunt drivers had him stuck in behind them, but one of them just reported that the suspect turned off at exit 297. He’s headed northbound on Mescal Road. Got that?”
Joanna looked at Deputy Thomas, who nodded grimly. Exit 297 was coming up fast. They were in the wrong lane with a long line of semis and oversized RVs to their right. At the last possible moment, Thomas managed to dodge back into the right lane. He veered onto the ramp with the rough-shoulder warning strips whining beneath their speeding tires. By the time they hit the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, Joanna’s heart was in her throat. Still, as bad as Thomas’s driving was, she had to take him at his word that he was better at that than he would be wielding a gun.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Just keep after him,” she urged. And to Larry Kendrick she said, “Okay. We’re on Mescal heading north, too. Does everyone else know?”
“Yes.”
“And what are we looking at here?”
“The road’s paved for a mile or so, then there’s a Y. The left-hand fork peters out at the beginning foothills of the Rincons in about five miles or so. The right-hand one takes you along the base of the Little Rincons and dead-ends at Paige Canyon in about fifteen or so. Do you have a visual on him yet?”