The messages included expressions of sympathy, concern, and outrage. There were offers of replacement furniture and appliances, offers to do free repairs and painting, to say nothing of offers of places to stay while the repairs were being made. The outpouring of sympathy was similar to the ones that had occurred when Andy died. The difference was, at the time of her husband’s death, Joanna had been in too much emotional pain to appreciate or even notice the many kindnesses of friends and neighbors. This time she noticed, and she was overwhelmed with gratitude.
Between calls and while she waited for Frank Montoya to return to the Justice Complex with Lucy Ridder, Joanna tried to work. She attempted to call Adam York but was unable to reach him. She dealt with some of her routine paperwork, but that day Joanna Brady’s heart wasn’t in the task of conquering her current batch of mail. Around eleven she checked in with Detective Carpenter.
“What’s happening, Ernie? Any luck tracking the witness-protection offer?”
“Not so far, but we’re working on the problem. It would help if everyone I asked didn’t think I was pulling some kind of April Fool’s stunt.”
“Keep after it,” Joanna told him.
About eleven-thirty, Frank Montoya called her on her private line.
“We stopped for lunch on the way, but we’re driving into the parking lot right now,” he said. “How about if we use your private entrance so we don’t have to drag Lucy and Big Red in through the front lobby?”
“Are you telling me you brought the bird along?” Joanna asked.
“He’s wearing his hood,” Frank said. “Lucy refused to come without him.”
“Okay, then,” Joanna said. “And you’re right. You’ll be better off bringing them in the back way. You know my door code, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
A minute or so later, Frank ushered Lucy Ridder, Sister Celeste, and Big Red into Joanna’s office through her private entrance. The red-tailed hawk, with his head swathed in a black hood, perched quietly on Lucy’s shoulder.
“Mr. Montoya told us what happened to your house,” Lucy Ridder said, stopping beside Joanna’s desk. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Thanks,” Joanna replied. “So am I, and I appreciate your concern. But let’s get back to you. Did Mr. Montoya tell you what we’re going to need from you today, that you’ll be interviewed by our two homicide detectives-Detectives Carpenter and Carbajal?”
“Yes.”
“And that later on, after the interview is over, we’ll have an artist help you create a composite sketch of the man who killed your mother?”
“Yes, he told me that, too.” Lucy turned and surveyed the room. “Will my grandmother be with me when I talk to the detectives?”
Joanna glanced at Frank. After what Jaime Carbajal had said the night before about Catherine Yates’ eagerness to see her granddaughter, Joanna had expected the woman would have met her at the door first thing that morning. In the flurry of taking phone calls and returning messages, the fact that Catherine had yet to show up had somehow escaped Joanna’s notice. As a juvenile, if Lucy Ridder demanded that her grandmother be present, the interview would have to be delayed until Catherine Yates’ arrival.
“I thought she’d be here by now, but she isn’t,” Joanna said carefully. “If you’re worried about her coming, I’ll be glad to bring her to the interview room as soon as she arrives.”
Lucy nodded, then she brightened. “Since Grandma’s not here, can Sister Celeste come in with me? I’d feel better if she did.”
Joanna knew her detectives wouldn’t appreciate an extra person being added into the mix. “Sure,” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “That’ll be fine.”
As soon as Frank took his charges and left for the conference room, Joanna picked up the phone, dialed Dispatch, and spoke to Larry Kendrick.
“Who’s on duty at Catherine Yates’ house over by Pearce?” she asked.
Several seconds passed while Joanna listened to the clatter of computer keys. “Deputy Ken Galloway,” Larry returned.
“Has he checked in lately?”
“Not for an hour or two. Why?”
“He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on Catherine Yates, and I expected her to show up here by now. See if you can raise him by radio and find out what’s going on.”
Once Joanna was off the phone, she glanced at her watch. It was noontime. By rights it was past time for her to head out to High Lonesome Ranch to see how things were going and to cheer on the work crew’s efforts. It wasn’t fair to let the responsibility for her problem fall entirely on other people’s shoulders. Still, she knew she could trust Butch to oversee things. She had faith that he would be able to sort out which of her shattered possessions should be kept and which should be thrown away. And, just like Eva Lou, it was easier on Joanna not to be there in person. She didn’t want to witness the sad process of watching her past being thrown, item by item, into a Dumpster.
The phone rang. “Yes.”
“This is odd,” Larry Kendrick said. “I’ve tried raising Deputy Galloway several times, but he doesn’t answer.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Joanna said.
“Me neither,” Kendrick returned. “Deputy Pakin is over near the airport in Douglas right now. I’ve dispatched him to go to Pearce and check things out.”
Before Joanna had a chance to think about what that all might mean, her intercom buzzed. “A Mr. Jerry Reed to see you,” Kristin Marsten announced.
Who the hell is Jerry Reed? Joanna wanted to ask. Why don’t you ever get enough information?
Shaking her head, she bit back her sudden attack of irritation. “Send him in,” Joanna said.
The man Kristin showed into Joanna’s office was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. In Bisbee, where most men didn’t bother with suits and ties, Jerry Reed was wearing a perfectly pressed double-breasted suit along with an immaculate white shirt and an understated red-and-blue tie.
“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff Brady,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Jerry Reed. I’m a special investigator for the Attorney General’s office.”
“Which one?” Joanna asked.
He laughed. “The Attorney General,” he said, reaching into a pocket and extracting his ID. “The U.S. Attorney General.”
Joanna took the proffered leather wallet and examined the picture identification before handing it back to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.
Jerry Reed eased himself into one of Joanna’s captain’s chairs. “I’ll cut right to the chase, Sheriff Brady. I believe you have something that belongs to us-to our department, that is-and I’ve been sent to retrieve it.”
Jerry Reed’s tone of voice-his very attitude-put Joanna Brady on edge. She didn’t like the way he had walked into her private office and, without an appointment, had helped himself to a chair. Through the years Joanna had worked several joint operations with any number of exemplary federal and state officers. On occasion, though, she had come to loggerheads with a few individuals. Each time, the conflict had grown out of some visiting fireman’s patronizing and overbearing attitude toward Joanna and her department and out of Joanna’s greatly reduced ability to tolerate same.
“And what would that be?” she asked, leaning back in her own chair and wishing she were wearing something more businesslike and tidy than yesterday’s somewhat grubby clothing.
“Please don’t be coy, Sheriff Brady,” Jerry Reed said. “It doesn’t suit you. I’m talking about the diskette Sandra Ridder promised to give us. I understand from Catherine Yates that it has somehow come to be in your department’s possession. My department wants it back.”
“I’ve been given to believe the diskette contains top-secret military command and control information,” Joanna said. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”