About two o’clock in the afternoon-after a lunch that was almost as bad as breakfast-Joanna tried nursing Dennis. It wasn’t entirely successful, but Joanna remembered how it had been with Jenny. There had been a learning curve for both Joanna and the baby, and she was sure this was more of the same thing.
Dennis, fed at last and newly diapered, was back in his bassinet. Joanna was drifting into a much-needed nap when the door to her room swished open. She expected to see either Butch or else yet another flower delivery. Instead, Leslie Markham walked into the room.
She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a worn leather jacket, and an enormous pair of sunglasses. Her face, utterly devoid of makeup, was dreadfully pale. She stopped uncertainly just inside the door. Then, after a moment, she turned and started to leave.
“It’s all right,” Joanna said. “I’m not asleep.”
Leslie removed the glasses. Dark shadows surrounded her eyes-eyes that had wept too much and slept too little. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff Brady. I shouldn’t have disturbed you…”
“You’re not disturbing me,” Joanna returned. “I’m sorry, too, about everything that happened. If you’ll get in touch with my chief deputy, Frank Montoya, I’m sure he’ll do everything he can to assist you.”
“He already has,” Leslie said. “I came to Bisbee to talk to Dr. Winfield. I wanted to have some idea of when he’ll be able to release the body-bodies, actually; Joaquin Mattias’s, too. Dolores and I need to know so we can decide on services, that kind of thing. He said it’ll probably be several days.”
“That’s how these things go,” Joanna said. “It usually takes longer than you would expect.”
“Everyone in your department has been very kind,” Leslie continued. “Mr. Carpenter, your detective, told me about…” She paused and bit her lip. “He told me about what they found up by the old cabin,” she added. “About the two boxes and what was in them and what he thinks happened. He showed me the picture, too, the picture of Lisa Marie Evans. When I looked at it, I couldn’t tell if I was looking in a mirror or if I was seeing a ghost. A little bit of both, I guess.”
She paused again. This time it was more than a minute before she gathered herself enough to go on. Joanna wanted to hug the poor woman and comfort her, but Leslie Markham was too far out of reach. She remained just inside the doorway, as if what she really wanted to do was bolt out of the room and back down the corridor.
“I came to ask a favor,” she said at last.
“I’m sure Chief Deputy Montoya would be happy-”
“No, I need to ask you, Sheriff Brady,” Leslie said determinedly. “I need to ask you woman-to-woman. I want you to keep your people from trying to question my mother.”
“Mrs. Markham,” Joanna began. “We’re talking about several different homicides and a suicide here. My investigators need to get to the bottom of what happened and what caused it.”
“My mother used to take me to that cabin!” Leslie Markham broke in forcefully. “That’s where we’d go on horseback sometimes, just the two of us. Do you think she would have taken me there if she’d had any idea that her own dead baby was buried in that exact spot? She was terrified for me every minute, terrified that someday I’d come down with HD just the way she did and the way her mother did, too. Do you think she would have been so petrified if she’d had any idea at all that I wasn’t her own?”
“But how could she not know?” Joanna asked.
“Ruth Houlihan didn’t want her daughter giving birth to a baby at risk of developing HD,” Leslie answered. “She was also a nurse. I have no doubt she gave Aileen drugs of some kind, probably something that induced labor. I’ve done some checking on the Internet. Those kinds of drugs were available back then.
“Once Aileen’s baby was born, Ruth made the switch and then took Aileen and me to the hospital, leaving Rory and Joaquin to clean up the mess and take care of pinning the blame on Bradley Evans.
“Please, Sheriff Brady,” Leslie begged. “Aileen Houlihan is the only mother I’ve ever known. She won’t be around much longer. Let her die in peace. She doesn’t watch the news or listen to the radio. What’s going on outside her room-the things the news reporters are saying-stays outside her room, but if your detectives go there questioning her…”
“They won’t,” Joanna said. “I’ll see that they don’t.”
“Thank you,” Leslie said. “Thank you so much.
“And then there’s one more thing,” Leslie said. “One more favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not ready to do it now,” Leslie said. “Not until the DNA reports confirm it and probably not until after my mother is gone, but when it’s time, I’d like someone from your office-Mr. Montoya or Mr. Carpenter or someone-to take me to meet Lisa Marie Evans’s mother. Is that possible? I could go on my own, I suppose, but I think it would be better if there were someone there to introduce me-someone official.”
Joanna thought about her father, who had somehow felt that the wheels of justice had been spinning out of control when Bradley Evans went to prison for murder. And she thought about Butch and Frank telling her she would flunk maternity leave. And she thought about doing what needed to be done.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Joanna said, “let me know. I’ll be happy to go with you. In fact, I’d be honored.”
About the Author
J.A. Jance is the author of the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, and two standalone thrillers. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington.
