“I don’t think we’re dealing with a terribly sophisticated or organized perp,” Frank Montoya theorized as Valentine thumbed his way through the new set of crime scene photos. “If he was, he never would have left his brass lying around like that, to say nothing of brass with prints on it.”
“I agree,” Ernie said. “He may not be organized this minute, but at the rate he’s going, he won’t stay disorganized for long.”
“Right,” Jaime Carbajal added. “It could be he’s somebody who’s been thinking about killing people for a long time and he’s only just now started.”
“But he’s off to a big start,” Ernie said. “Right this minute the death toll stands at three. If he keeps up the pace, I’d hate to think how much damage he might do between now and Monday morning.”
“And he may not have started here,” Joanna put in. “Sheriff Trotter is having his people check points east looking for cases with similar MOs. I told him we’ll look west of here. If we can come up with any other recent cases that might be connected, we’d at least have some idea of what direction he’s going in.”
Valentine finished sorting through the Mossman material 139
and then stuffed it into the now empty folder he’d brought with him. “I’d better take this and head home,” he said.
“Sorry there’s not more,” Joanna told him.
“That’s okay. It’s better than nothing.”
“Well, guys,” Joanna said, turning to her officers once Deputy Valentine had left the room. “What do you think?”
“Sounds like we’ve got a big problem,” Jaime Carbajal said.
Ernie nodded. “The sooner we find this guy, the better. The trouble is, we spent a big chunk of today dealing with Richard Osmond when we should have been chasing Carol Mossman’s killer.”
Joanna nodded in agreement. “That’s what I think, too. This is too serious to let sit fallow over a three-day weekend. Overtime or not, we have to have people tracking on this tomorrow and Saturday both.”
“Count me in,” Jaime said.
“Wait a minute,” Ernie objected. “Don’t the Coyotes have a big game tomorrow?”
Jaime Carbajal coached a Little League team called the Copper Queen Coyotes. Pepe Carbajal, Jaime’s twelve-year-old son, was the Coyotes’ star pitcher.
“Yes,” Jaime said, “but not until mid-afternoon. Why?”
“I’ll tell you what,” Ernie said. “The Fourth of July is for kids. I’ll take your on-call. You spend the day with Delcia and Pepe. I’ll come in and work.”
“Thanks, Ernie,” Jaime said, “but phone me and keep me in the loop.”
“Don’t thank me,” Ernie added gruffly. “I’ll see to it that we even up eventually.”
Joanna appreciated the effortless way in which the two detectives sorted out the scheduling arrangements.
I
140
“Now tell me,” she said. “Did you finish the Calhoun and Braxton interviews?”
“Sure did,” Ernie said. “And it looks like we’re in the clear on those. Osmond never said a word to either one of his cell mates about not feeling well. We’ve got no notations of him asking to see a doctor or of his going to the infirmary, either.
I’m guessing the situation just snuck up on him. Took him by surprise same as it did everybody else. And, if you ask me, it’s a pretty good way to go. Not in jail, mind you, but to just lie down to take a nap like that and … poof… you’re out of there.”
“I have a feeling that Maria and Gabriel Gomez won’t necessarily share your benign view of the situation,” Joanna said. “You’ll have transcripts for me?”
Ernie nodded. “ASAP,” he said.
“And what about Edith Mossman? Did you find out anything more in talking to her this afternoon?”
“Not really,” Jaime Carbajal answered. “We’re making arrangements to interview the two sisters who live in the States-Stella, here in Bisbee, and Andrea, the one who lives in Tucson. Andrea is supposedly coming down to see Edith over the weekend.
I’ll try to interview her while she’s here. Since Stella lives in Bisbee, I can talk to her sometime next week if I don’t catch up with her sooner than that.”
“What about the sister who lives in Mexico?” Joanna asked.
“Kelly,” Jaime answered. “I asked Edith about whether or not she had let Kelly know what had happened. She said no, because
as far as she knows, there’s no phone service out to where they live. I spoke to an officer named Enrique Santos in the Ciudad Obregon Police Department. He knows about The Brethren-that’s what they call themselves. Santos agreed to send someone out there in person to notify Kelly and her father of Carol’s death 141
and to ask them to call me either here in the office or on my cell phone.”
“Good enough,” Joanna said. “Does that do it then?”
There were nods all around. “All right then. See you tomorrow.”
The Double Cs headed for the door. Jaime turned back from the doorway. ‘About the baby, boss. If it’s a boy, you’re going to name it after me, right?”
Joanna glanced at Frank. “I guess that means the bulletin went out?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Right, Jaime,” Joanna replied with a grin. “We’ll call him Carby short for Carbajal.”
She could hear Ernie and Jaime laughing as they made their way down the hall. Joanna turned back to Frank. “Remember, you’re on call tomorrow, too. I’m going to be all over God’s creation.”
“Don’t wear yourself out,” Frank cautioned.
Joanna shook her head. “I’m pregnant, Frank. That doesn’t turn me into some kind of invalid.”
“But you’re not Wonder Woman, either,” he told her.
Back at her desk, Joanna’s calendar lay open to July 4. Oh, yeah? she thought, glancing down through the jumbled notations of appointments to be kept. Prove it.
It was not yet dusk and still very hot when she drove up to the house on the expanded High Lonesome Ranch. Tigger came to greet the Crown Victoria. Lucky shot out of the garage the moment she opened that automatic door. Lady hung back until she was sure Joanna was alone, then she came crawling toward the car, groveling on the ground.
“Somebody really did mistreat you, didn’t they, girl,” Joanna said soothingly.
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The dog’s tail wagged tentatively. Joanna had to coax her to come back into the cool interior of the rammed-earth house. She took off her weapons and put them away, then she stopped in the laundry room long enough to fill dog dishes. Butch had decreed that feeding the dogs in the garage would help cut down on the mess, so that’s what she did.
Once the three dogs had finished mowing through their food, Joanna let them outside.
Then she pushed the button that closed the automatic garage door. Back in the laundry room, she closed and locked the door to the garage as well. As she did so, she couldn’t help thinking about Carol Mossman. She, too, had closed and locked the doors to her home, thinking those barriers would somehow keep her safe and protect her dogs as well. But nothing could have been further from the truth. She had locked death inside her tumble-down mobile home rather than keeping it out.
Thoughtfully Joanna extracted the small notebook and stubby pencil she kept in her pocket. “Why were dogs inside?” she wrote.
Still pondering the question, she walked through the house. In the bedroom she changed into a T-shirt and shorts. Back in the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of lemonade from the fridge.
With Butch and Jenny both gone and with the dogs outside, the house was unnaturally quiet. Taking her glass with her, Joanna went into the family room and settled on the couch to watch the evening news. Peter Jennings had no more than opened his mouth when Joanna fell sound asleep. She was awakened much later by a chorus of barking dogs and the sound of the door opener operating on Butch’s garage. Except for the flickering light from the television set, the whole house was dark.