“I don’t want to get in the way of family discipline, Mrs. Styles,” Joanna said. “But please don’t be too hard on him. Andrew’s a hero. I was between a rock and a hard place. There wasn’t a soul around to help me until he rode up on his bike.”
Reluctantly, Andrew Styles’ mother opened the door. “Come on in,” she said. “I don’t suppose your talking to him will make that much difference.”
She pointed the way across a narrow living room. “I!is room’s down that hall, first door on the left.”
Joanna went to the closed door and knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time. Finally, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Everything about the room screamed little boy. The walls were plastered with posters of cars and athletes. A squadron of model airplanes dangled from the ceiling on strings. In front of the window sat a low bookshelf that was covered with model cars. Andrew himself lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to music. Even though he was wearing earphones, Joanna could still hear the pulsing bass.
“Andrew?” Joanna said. She had to speak to him twice before he finally turned in her direction. He slipped off the earphones.
“Whaddya want?” he asked.
“First, I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady.” She extended her hand. Gravely, Andrew Styles reached out and shook it. “I also wanted to say thank you once again,” she continued. “Maybe a little less hurriedly this time. Staying around long enough to help me was really brave, Andrew. That man had a gun, and you could have been badly hurt. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
“I got in trouble for it,” Andrew Styles said. “I wasn’t supposed to be riding my bike. I didn’t think Mom would find out, but when that reporter came to talk to me, I knew she would, so I decided I’d better tell the truth.”
“That’s always the best idea,” Joanna said.
“What about those people up the street? Are they really bad guys?”
“Yes. Really bad.”
“What did they do?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“Did they kill somebody?”
“We think so, although they’re not considered guilty until after a judge and jury say they are. What I can tell you for sure is that they’re not the kind of people who tell the truth. They’re not like you, Andrew. If they had been out riding their bikes when they weren’t supposed to, they wouldn’t have admitted it, especially not if it was going to get them into trouble.”
Andrew rolled over onto his side, planted one bony elbow in his pillow, and cushioned his chin in the palm of his hand. “Are you really the sheriff?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“Because the people elected me. I ran for office and I won.”
“I wouldn’t mind being sheriff,” he said. “But I don’t think I’d like it if people tied me up with duct tape.”
Joanna smiled. “Fortunately that doesn’t happen very often. Thanks again, Andrew, and remember, if there’s ever anything I can do for you-”
“Would you come speak to my social studies class sometimes?” Andrew asked. “The DARE officer is at school all the time, but I think it would be cool to have the real sheriff come talk to us.”
Joanna reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “I’ll be glad to. Have your teacher call me to set up a time.”
She started toward the door. “One other thing,” Andrew said.
“What’s that?”
“Are you going to get in trouble for shooting a hole in those tires?”
“I could, but I doubt it,” Joanna said. “I had to make a choice, Andrew, between public property and public safety. If the crooks had made it to the cars, it would have been a lot harder for them to get away in a vehicle with one flat tire than it would have been in one with four good tires. My deputies sometimes have to make those kinds of choices as well. As long as what they do is justified, no one gets in trouble.”
“Who decides whether or not they get in trouble?”
“I do.”
“How come?”
Joanna smiled. “Because I’m the boss. I’m going now, Andrew. See you later.”
As she walked back out to the crime scene, she hoped her explanation of the bullet hole in the Blazer’s right front tire would make as much sense to Danny Garner in Motor Pool as it had to Andrew Styles. Then there was the matter of the broken glass.
Out on the street, Chief Deputy Montoya was waiting for her. “What took you so long?” he asked.
“I had to see someone, Frank-the little boy who saved my neck. And I need some badges.”
“What kind of badges?”
“Some I can keep in my purse and hand out as necessary.”
“Fake ones, you mean. For little kids?”
“And grown ones.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Frank said, jotting down a note. “Anything else?”
“Remind me to look into a new gun. The Colt misfired twice this afternoon. Both times when a crook was using it instead of me, but twice is two times too many.”
She paused and looked around. “Now, where are we?”
“Deputy Pakin is just finishing changing your flat. The Blazer’s drivable, even though part of the windshield’s blown, or we can have it towed.”
“Tape the windshield,” Joanna said. “I’ll drive.”
“Meantime, we have Dena Hogan all loaded up in my Civvy and ready to go. I mirandized her, but she’s waiving her right to an attorney. She claims to be representing herself. She wants to see the prosecutor about a plea bargain, and she wants to do it right away. Now. Tonight.”
“Of course she does,” Joanna said. “She’s got to hurry and strike a deal before Ross Jenkins gets out of surgery, otherwise he may beat her to the punch.”
“You know what they say,” Frank said with a smile. “No honor among thieves.”
“Or killers,” Joanna said. “Any idea where Ross and Dena were headed when I was lucky enough to interrupt them?”
“She had two tickets to Mexico City in her purse-one for her and one for Ross Jenkins. But I’m sure Mexico City wasn’t their final destination.”
“What was?”
“Rio. Brazil doesn’t have capital punishment. Authorities there won’t extradite someone if it looks like they’re going to come back to the States and face a possible death penalty.”
“Fortunately, neither one of them made it that far. What kind of a deal do you think old Arlee will strike?” Joanna asked.
Arlee Campbell Jones, Cochise County’s aging prosecutor, had his own peculiar way of doing things-one that didn’t seem to stand in the way of his winning reelection time after time.
“Dena Hogan ‘s pretty enough,” Frank Montoya observed. “And she’s got nice legs. Nice legs always seem to count for something when it comes time for Arlee to wheel and deal.”
“Tough luck for Ross Jenkins,” Joanna said.
Just then, a car-this one a silver-gray Camry-wheeled around a blocking patrol car and surged up the street. Despite three different officers signaling for the vehicle to stop, the driver refused to slow down until he was directly behind Joanna’s Blazer, then he jammed on the brakes. A balding, paunchy, middle-aged man jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she told him. “Who are you?”
“Rex Hogan,” he said. “What are all these people doing here? Why’s the street blocked off? And what’s the meaning of all these cars parked in my driveway?”
Looking at the man, Joanna sensed that Rex had no idea what was going on. She felt a stab of empathy. His face was flushed. He looked as though he was already a candidate for a coronary even without hearing what Joanna was about to tell him. Before opening her mouth, she glanced in the direction of Frank Montoya’s Crown Victoria. From where she and Rex Hogan stood, it looked as though the Civvy’s backseat was empty. Dena Hogan had ducked down in the seat, concealing herself from her husband’s view.