“Believe me,” Joanna said, “that makes two of us. If there were something I could do to speed things along, I would. Come on now. It’s cold. Let’s go home.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you do. I’m sure it’s almost time for dinner.”
“All right.”
When Joanna drove into the yard, she could see the glow of the Dixons’ flat-screen TV inside their motor home, which meant they were probably there watching the news. Hoping for a few moments of privacy, she hurried into the house looking for Butch. She found him in the kitchen fixing dinner, but he was in no better spirits than Jenny had been.
“What’s wrong?” Joanna asked.
“The same thing that’s been wrong around here for days,” he grumbled. “I’m glad I got to see Junior put my mother in her place at lunchtime, but she’s been on a tear ever since. I came within two seconds of asking them to leave.”
“You can’t do that, Butch,” Joanna said. “I know they’re annoying as hell, but they are your parents. They’re here because of the baby.”
“The baby,” Butch said ominously, “needs to get a move on.”
“Jenny said pretty much the same thing,” Joanna said with a smile. “And if the way my back hurts is any indication…”
“Your back hurts?” Butch said. “Maybe you should go lie down for a while-at least until dinner is ready.”
Joanna did as she was told, and dinner turned out to be surprisingly uneventful. At first Joanna thought Margaret was merely subdued. About the time they finished their salads, Joanna realized that her mother-in-law wasn’t speaking to anyone, which turned out to be a blessing. Jenny and Joanna were in the kitchen putting away leftovers and loading the dishwasher when the phone rang.
“Jaime Carbajal,” Butch said, handing Joanna the phone.
“How’d you do?” Joanna asked.
“Not that well. We never located Antonio Zavala, but Tucson PD was able to give us the names of a couple of his associates. One is an eighteen-year-old girl named Lupe Melendez. She was cited two months ago for letting her pit bull loose in an off-leash area of a city park, where it mauled three other dogs. We couldn’t find her today, either, but Debbie and I will take another crack at that tomorrow.”
“Did you hear anything from Ernie?”
“I heard from Rose. He’s home and resting and seems to be doing all right, but Rose said the only way he’s coming to work tomorrow is over her dead body.”
“I’m glad to hear it went well,” Joanna said.
She went on to tell Jaime about her trip to Sierra Vista. “Doesn’t sound as though talking to the Markhams helped much,” he said when she finished.
“It didn’t,” Joanna agreed. “But I’d like to know more about Rory Markham. He pretty much accused his wife of having had a previous relationship with Bradley Evans and then lying about it.”
“You’d say Rory Markham is the jealous type?” Jaime asked.
“Enough that I think we should check him out,” Joanna said. “But Frank and I can work on some of that background information. And tomorrow I’ll attend Bradley Evans’s funeral. In the meantime, though, I want you and Debbie to keep working on Jeannine’s case. How’s Debbie working out, by the way?”
“She’ll be fine once she gets a little experience under her belt. She’s still unsure of herself. And speaking of Jeannine, Debbie and I stopped by UMC to check on her before we left Tucson,” Jaime added. “Jeannine’s still in the ICU, but her condition has been upgraded to serious. We didn’t see her, of course, but we talked to Dr. Ross. By the way, thanks for warning me in advance about the deal between her and Jeannine. Otherwise I might have said something stupid. How long has this been going on?”
“Beats me,” Joanna said. “I only just now found out about it myself.”
When she got off the phone with Jaime, Joanna dialed Ernie Carpenter’s number. Rose answered.
“How’s he doing?” Joanna asked.
“Okay,” Rose answered. “But he’s lying down right now. Want me to get him?”
“No,” Joanna said. “Just give him a message. Tell him Sheriff Brady says if he gets past you tomorrow and tries to come to work, he’ll have to deal with me.”
Rose Carpenter laughed. “I’ll tell him, all right,” she said.
With Margaret still not speaking to anyone, she and Don retreated to their motor home early. The rest of the house, emotionally drained from dealing with their disruptive guests, went to bed shortly thereafter. Butch was still watching the Nine O’Clock News on Fox when Joanna rolled over on her side and went to sleep. But going to sleep that early had its disadvantages. By three o’clock in the morning she and her lead-footed baby were both wide awake.
She lay there for a long time thinking about Bradley Evans and about Leslie and Rory Markham. After murdering his wife, Bradley had gone off to prison where he had paid his debt to society and become what seemed to be an exemplary citizen- right up until a week earlier, when he had suddenly gone off the rails and started taking stealth photographs of a woman who claimed to know nothing about him. Joanna knew there had to be some connection.
What is it? she wondered. What am I missing?
After an hour’s worth of restless tossing and turning, Joanna finally bailed out of bed and padded into her office with Lady at her heels. She had read her father’s official version of Bradley Evans’s arrest in the case log, but she wondered if D. H. Lathrop might have written something more about the case in the privacy of his daily journal-something that might shed some additional light on Bradley’s present circumstances all these years later.
Grunting with the awkward position and effort, Joanna managed to rummage through the bottom file drawer until she located the volume in question, one that covered most of 1978 and the beginning months of 1979. She found what she was looking for on Monday, October 30, 1978. The entry read:
Picked up a drunk yesterday morning up on top of the Divide. Blood all over him and everywhere in his truck. His pregnant wife’s missing and most likely dead. The guy must have killed her, but he doesn’t remember a thing. Why do people drink?
That passage was what she had been looking for, and reading something that was related to the case she was working on seemed justified-it didn’t feel like prying. Originally that was all she had intended to do, but of course she didn’t stop reading after that one entry. She kept right on. Not only had D. H. Lathrop faithfully entered notations about his life as a Cochise County deputy sheriff, he had also set down his views of what was going on at home.
Ellie just can’t get used to the fact that I make a lot less money working for the sheriff’s department than I did working underground for P.D. She likes nice stuff, and she got used to being able to go to the P.D. Store and getting whatever she wanted by just signing for it. I keep telling her we can’t live this way. We won’t be able to keep our heads above water. I’m trying to see if they’ll let me put in some overtime.
A few pages later she came across the entry for December 17,1978.
The Christmas Pageant was tonight. J. sang “Silent Night” and “Away in a Manger” with the Junior Choir. She was wearing a beautiful green velvet dress. When I asked Ellie where it came from, she just shrugged. I asked her how much it cost. She said it only cost $40.00!!! Only!!! For a dress J. probably won’t wear more than once or twice. E. and I had a big fight about it, but J. looked so pretty in that dress, I probably should have kept my big mouth shut. We’ll pay for it somehow.
Joanna remembered that dress like no other. It had been a deep, rich green with rhinestone-studded buttons. She had thought it the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, and she remembered her mother telling her to go in the dressing room and try it on. They had been upstairs in Phelps Dodge Mercantile, in the children’s clothing department. When she came out of the dressing room wearing it, she had felt like a princess, and she had been amazed when Eleanor had said to the saleslady, “We’ll take it.”