“Sure he is,” Joanna returned with her eyes narrowing. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
As if on cue, Adam York turned and caught her looking at him. He left the officers and walked over to where she was standing. “Joanna, are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“Look,” she said, “you may have convinced my friend Bobo, here, that you walk on water, but I’m not buying it. Until I see some proof otherwise, I’m going to continue to consider you part of the opposition.”
“Your husband got Lefty O’Toole to agree to come into the Witness Protection Program,” York said. “Andy had contacted me and told me to expect Lefty within a matter of days. When it all fell apart, when Lefty showed up dead and then Andy suddenly laid his hands on a considerable sum of unexplained money,
I figured the cartel had turned him. Then,when Andy was killed as well it made sense that there was some other traitor pretty close to home.”
“You thought it was me?” Joanna asked.
York shrugged. “Why not? I was casting my net around and you turned up in it. You’re right, I do owe you an apology, and not just over the autopsy results. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Ken Galloway was the one who typed the suicide note in Andy’s file. We’ve known for years that Cochise County was a major conduit of the drug trade and we figured there had to be someone in law enforcement working with them, but it wasn’t until Andy connected with Lefty that we figured we were going to get a break. Now, thanks to you, we finally know who some of those people were.”
“If Lefty knew Galloway was involved, why didn’t he warn Andy?”
“Maybe he did or maybe he didn’t. It’s possible he tried to and Ken intercepted the message. Andy and Ken were supposedly good friends, weren’t they?”
“Supposedly,” Joanna agreed, bitterly. “We thought he was a friend.”
“With Lefty out of the picture, I figured the whole investigation was blown, but now, with this book…”
“What book?” Joanna demanded.
“Angie’s book. She’s scared to death and tired of running. I guess she finally decided she had to trust somebody. She spilled her guts about Tony and his little black book. She even suggested a possible deal.”
“Angie trusted you?” Joanna asked sharply. “Why not?” Adam York returned. “You don’t think I’d cheat her, do you?”
“Until I read that book for myself and make sure your name isn’t in it, I’m not trusting anybody “
York studied Joanna’s face for some time before he nodded. “Considering what you’ve been through,” he said, “that’s probably a very wise position to take. By the way,” he added, “are you aware that you have what appears to be a bullet hole in your jacket pocket? You may want to mention that to the crime le investigators here. Otherwise, they’re not going to understand some of the evidence they’re looking at.”
It was several hours later before anyone made a move to go home. Marianne Maculyea had shown up in her 1967 sea foam-green VW Bug. Jeff Daniels, who kept the old Bug running perfectly, turned up in Joanna’s Eagle, which he had hot-wired to bring down from the hotel. When it was time to go, Joanna loaded her mother into the car first and then went to find Jenny.
“What’s going to happen to Tigger?” Jenny asked. “We can’t just leave him here, can we?”
And, of course, the answer to that question was no. Jenny and Tigger rode in the back while a strangely subdued Eleanor rode in front. “Thank you for the ride,” Eleanor said when Joanna dropped her off in front of her own house at four in the morning. “Thank you for everything.”
Try as she might, Joanna could never remember hearing her mother saying those words ever before.
At home at last, Joanna was so tired she could barely walk. Without thinking, she went directly to the bedroom. Looking at it, she realized there would be times in the future when the memories of that bed would make sleeping there impossible, but now she was too tired. Joanna tumbled across it. With the comforting scent of Andy’s pillow lingering in her nostrils, she was asleep within minutes.
She didn’t stir again until almost ten that morning. When she went padding through the house to check on things, she discovered that both big dogs were curled up on Jenny’s bed. They opened their eyes and looked at her, but neither Sadie nor Tigger made any effort to get down, and since Jenny was still sound asleep, Joanna left them there.
In the kitchen where she went to start a pot of coffee, Joanna discovered a note from Jim Bob Brady saying he’d been out to feed the cattle and also that one of Norm Higgins’s boys had stopped by to see about picking up Andy’s clothes for the funeral. Jim Bob had told him to come back later.
Steeling herself for the ordeal, Joanna went back to the bedroom to pick out Andrew Brady’s clothing for the last time. She marched directly to his side of the closet. Norm Higgins had hinted that maybe, under the circumstances, it might be better if Andy were buried in civilian clothes rather than his uniform, but Joanna had decided otherwise.
One at a time she started sorting through the selection of carefully pressed clothing until she located Andy’s newest dress uniform shirt, one that wasn’t frayed around the cuffs and didn’t have any cracked or chipped or missing buttons. She picked out trousers and socks and a full set of clean underwear. After all, Andy never went anywhere without clean underwear.
When the clothes were all laid out neatly on the bed she retrieved the plastic package she’d given in the hospital and sorted through until she found Andy’s badge. Then, taking badge and his best dress boots, she headed for the kitchen. There, drinking coffee and shedding quiet, private tears, she polished the boots to a high gloss and cleaned the badge with Brasso. When she finished, she took the boots and badge back to the bedroom and carefully pinned the badge to the pocket of the shirt, using the previously made holes in the material as a guide to placing the badge properly.
Seeing his clothes all laid out like that made her feel lightheaded. It was as though he had put them there himself and was in the bathroom taking a shower, getting ready to go to work. It was almost too much. Joanna was relieved to hear a car drive into the yard. It meant she had to pull herself together. Otherwise she would have drowned in self-pity.
Marianne Maculyea came in the kitchen door without bothering to knock. “Where’s Jenny?” she asked.
“Still asleep,” Joanna answered.
Marianne shook her head. “Poor little tyke,” she said. “She must have been worn out. How about you?”
“I’ve been better,” Joanna allowed. “How’s Ken Galloway?” Part of her wanted him dead; the other part dreaded whatever investigation would inevitably follow.
“Still nip and tuck,” Marianne answered. “They’ve flown him to Tucson now. He’s at University Hospital under a heavy police guard.”
Joanna shook her head. “It hurts so much,” she said. “We thought he was our friend.”
“I know,” Marianne said. “The only way an enemy can betray you is by becoming your friend, but when friends…” She broke off, knowing that beyond a certain point, words are no comfort.
“I’ve been working on Lefty O’Toole’s eulogy,” she added, changing the subject. “I’ve spent the whole morning doing my homework. I’ve talked to Adam York. Bobo suggested I talk to him. It sounds to me as though Gertrude O’Toole was right after all, that Lefty really was getting his life turned around.”
“You’ve been talking to York, too?” Joanna asked. “First Bobo and now you. Next thing you know, Adam York’s going to be so popular around here that somebody’ll run him for sheriff.”
Marianne cocked her head. “No,” she said slowly, “but he did have a suggestion in that regard.”