“So you and Aileen got married. What happened then?”
“Max was disappointed, but he decided to make the best of a bad bargain. He was the one who bankrolled my first election here in Cochise County. And, as I told you earlier, after Aileen dumped me, Max used his contacts to help me get a foothold up in Maricopa County. I suspect he was grateful that I left the marriage without making a fuss over custody arrangements or demanding a property settlement.”
“And you left the marriage because…?” Joanna asked.
“Because Aileen told me to get out. She made it perfectly clear that I’d never measure up to her father. She said she was bored with me. She said that she wasn’t ready to settle down- that she needed to live a little. When she hinted around that I probably wasn’t Leslie’s father, I finally decided she was right. Having a wild woman for a girlfriend is one thing, but having a wild woman for a wife is something else. I hung around for a while after Leslie was born, but when it came time for the next election, I didn’t bother to run. Instead, I took the job offer Max had found for me, moved to Phoenix, got a divorce, and went on with my life.”
“And Aileen?” Joanna asked. “According to Leslie, she never married again.”
“How long has she been sick?” Tazewell asked.
“Leslie didn’t say.”
“Once her HD symptoms started coming on, I can see why she would have stayed out of another relationship.” He paused and looked past Joanna to the ocotillo-and-bear-grass-dotted landscape outside her window. “I wonder…”he said thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Maybe Ruth convinced her to have a late-term abortion after all. And Aileen made arrangements to pass this other child off as her own so no one would know. Not even me, but I do have a right to know. I have half a mind to fly straight out to the ranch right now and ask Aileen about it face-to-face.”
“No,” Joanna said at once. “Please don’t. Interference like that could very well jeopardize our investigation into the Evans homicide. I’m convinced Bradley Evans died because he stumbled on a long-buried truth someone didn’t want exposed to the light of day.”
“Are you going to talk to her about this?”
“I’m going to try.”
“You’ll let me know what you find out?”
Joanna nodded.
“I loved her once, you know,” Tazewell added with a bleak smile.
“I know you did.”
With a light tap on the door, Frank Montoya reentered the room and placed a stack of papers in front of Joanna. At the bottom of the top sheet was a discreetly handwritten note: “T’s alibi checks out.”
“Is there anything else, then?” Tazewell asked. “Anything more you need from me?”
“Not that I can think of,” Joanna said. “Only your contact numbers so we can be in touch with you when we need to.”
Tazewell nodded and handed Joanne a business card.
Joanna stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know this has been hard on you. I’ll have a deputy take you back to your plane.”
“Thanks,” Tazewell said, then he added, “I don’t suppose you believe that I knew nothing about any of this-about the connection between my wife and the family of the man I sent to prison.”
“Actually,” Joanna returned, “I do believe you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But once they get wind of it, I doubt the press will be that kind. Best case, I’ll lose the federal nomination. Worst case, I’ll be forced off the bench.”
“I hope not,” Joanna said.
Tazewell shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. If Aileen was able to pull the wool over my eyes as thoroughly and as easily as this, I’m too damned stupid to sit on the Arizona Supreme Court!”
With that he turned and strode out of the office.
“He’s upset,” Frank said as the door closed.
“I’ll say,” Joanna responded. “He has every right to be. As soon as we can get someone to take him back to the airport, we’ll go out to the Triple H and see what we can do to get to the bottom of this.”
“Right now?” Frank asked.
“Does either one of us have something better to do?” Joanna asked. “Besides, if he thinks about it too long, Lawrence Tazewell may decide to have his own little chat with Aileen Houlihan. What about these?” she asked, picking up the fistful of papers.
“Bring them along,” Frank said. “I’ll drive. We can talk about those as we go.”
Buckled into the passenger seat of Frank’s Crown Victoria, Joanna scanned through the documents. The several pages dealt with the telephone numbers Lawrence Tazewell had given them. One after another, people had verified what he had said about the times he had arrived in Denver, where the plane had been tied down, as well as people he had seen while there. And, in every regard, each of the several people-from the guy in charge of the FBO to Tazewell’s stepdaughter-told the same story. Frank’s assessment about Tazewell’s lack of involvement in the Evans homicide seemed validated. The next sheet was a printout from
Joanna was amazed. “You found Lisa Evans’s friend!”
“Yup,” Frank agreed with a grin. “Address, phone number, and everything. Isn’t that why you keep me on the payroll?”
“And she still lives in Sierra Vista,” Joanna marveled. “Once we finish up with Aileen Houlihan, maybe we can see Barbara, too. After all, it’ll be on our way home.”
The last piece of paper was a copy of a phone message addressed to Debbie Howell. It listed the name Manfred Oxhill along with a Sierra Vista telephone number.
“Who’s Manfred?” Joanna asked.
Frank grinned again. “That’s the best part,” he said. “I noticed a message in Debbie’s box and decided to take a look at it. Turns out Mr. Oxhill manages the auto-parts section of Sierra Vista‘s Target store. I called him. He apologized for taking so long to respond to Debbie’s inquiry about primer. He’s been out sick all this week until yesterday, but it turns out they sold a whole case of primer last Friday morning. He’s going back through the records to see if he can find out if it was a cash or credit transaction.”
“Surely we wouldn’t be lucky enough that the killer used a credit card,” Joanna murmured.
“You’d be surprised,” Frank replied. “Most crooks get caught because they’re dumb, not because we’re all that clever.”
“What time does Mr. Oxhill get off work?”
“Six,” Frank answered. “So maybe we can see him today as well.”
“Anything on Jeannine this morning?” Joanna asked.
Frank nodded. “I called Millicent and checked with her. Jean-nine’s been upgraded to serious, so that’s good. It sounds like she’s making progress.”
Glad for any sign of improvement, Joanna stuffed the papers into her briefcase and then leaned back in her seat. As the Crown Victoria motored through the morning sunlight, she closed her eyes and thought about the upcoming interview. If Aileen’s Huntington‘s symptoms were as advanced as Joanna suspected, then there was no way the woman could have been directly involved in the murder of Bradley Evans. Indirectly involved, though, was another matter.
After nights of chronic sleep deprivation, Joanna soon fell victim to the warmth inside the vehicle and to the steady hum of tires on pavement. With the baby quiet for a change, she was lulled into a sound sleep and roused herself only when Frank slowed to turn off Highway 90 onto Triple H Ranch Road.
After crossing three separate cattle guards and opening and closing two gates, they arrived. There were two distinctly separate ranch houses on the property. What appeared to be the main one was set behind a white picket fence. It was a rambling old-fashioned, frame-style place with recently added vinyl siding and a standing-seam metal roof. A generous roof overhang created a shady front porch and allowed for covered verandas on either side of the house. A bank of brightly blooming honeysuckle grew around the base of the front porch. Halfway to the house a well-made wooden wheelchair ramp broke away from the sidewalk and led up to the side of the porch, where one section of wooden rails had been removed to allow access.