"Yes, it's me," he said. "Don't sound so disappointed. Now that I get thinking about it, I could even use an apology. The dogs and I had a nice evening watching the stars and the moon, but it wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
"I'm sorry," Joanna said. "I got tied up with…" The beginning apology sounded lame, even to her, and Butch didn't give her a chance to finish.
"I know," he said. "I picked up a copy of the Bisbee Bee this morning and read all about it. I could see from the headlines that you had your hands full yesterday. No hard feelings."
The fact that Butch was so damned understanding about it made things that much worse. Joanna didn't remember ever being understanding about Andy standing her up. Eleanor hadn't been understanding, either-not as far as D. H. Lathrop was concerned. Could that be a trait that was hidden away somewhere in maternal DNA?
"Where do you want to have lunch?" she asked. "And when?"
"Seeing as how I missed breakfast, any time at all would be soon enough," Butch told her.
Now that he mentioned it, Joanna realized she hadn't eaten any breakfast that morning, either. "What about where?"
There was the smallest hesitation in his voice before he answered. "Daisy's."
"All right. See you there. In what, about twenty minutes?"
"That'll be fine."
She put down the phone, finished racing through the few holdover items on her desk, and put that day's crop of correspondence to one side. Then she picked up the phone. "Kristin," she said, "I'm going to lunch. After that, I'll be going up to check on things in Pomerene. When I'm done there, I may end up going on to Tucson as well, so don't expect me back in the office today."
Picking up her private phone once again, she punched in the code that would forward all the calls on that line directly to her cell phone. If Marianne and Jeff called her from the hospital, she didn't want to risk missing them.
Joanna's corner office had a private entrance that opened directly onto her reserved spot in the parking lot. She had picked up her purse and was on her way to the door when the regular switchboard line rang once more. She hurried back to her desk and snatched the receiver up to her ear.
"What is it, Kristin?" she asked impatiently. "I was just on my way out the door."
"I know, Sheriff Brady," Kristin Marsten said. "But I thought you'd want to take this call. It's from Detective Carbajal."
"Right. Put him through."
"I think we found her," Jamie said as soon as he came on the line.
"Found who, Katrina Berridge?"
"That's right," he said, but there was nothing in his tone that sounded like the usual elation and pride of accomplishment that follow a successful search-and-rescue operation. Joanna heard none of the triumph searchers exhibit when they've gone into the wilderness and returned with a living, breathing, formerly missing person.
She felt a sudden clutch of dread in her gut, a knowledge that the other shoe was about to drop. "She's dead, then?"
Jamie sighed. "Yes, she is."
"How did it happen? Where did you find her?"
"The body is only half a mile south of where we were last night. If we hadn't been delayed by finding the first one yesterday, we might have found this one then as well. The victim was shot to shit with something big."
"How big?" Joanna asked. "A fifty-caliber, maybe?"
"Possibly."
But there was something more in young Jaime Carbajal's voice-a pained reticence-that Joanna almost missed at first. "What else?" she demanded.
"This one's the same as the other one," he said.
"What other one?”
"The victim we found last night. Like I said, she was shot. That's probably what killed her, but afterward…"
There was a part of Sheriff Joanna Brady that didn't want hire to go on, didn't want to hear what he had to say. But there was another part that already knew what was coming.
"Afterward, what?" Joanna demanded. "Was she scalped?"
"You got it," Detective Carbajal replied bleakly. "From the middle of her forehead to the back of her neck, there's nothing left but bare bone. Nothing at all."
Stunned, half sick, Joanna allowed her body to sink back into her chair. For the space of a few seconds she said nothing, letting the awful realization penetrate her being. Joanna's department had started out to investigate reports of someone shooting up local livestock. Instead, her investigators had stumbled into the deranged leavings of someone who was obviously a serial killer.
"Have you called Ernie?" she asked finally.
"Not yet, but I will."
"Do it right away. I talked to him just a little while ago from the Pima County Medical Examiner's office. If we're lucky, you may be able to catch him and Dr. Daly before she starts on the second autopsy. Where are you now?"
"Still at the scene. The S and R guys are roping it off. Evidence techs are up working on the ledge. There's no sense in bringing them here until after the ME does what she needs to do."
"All right," Joanna said. "Finish up as soon as you can, then meet me at Pomerene Road and Rattlesnake Crossing. I want to be with you when you go to notify Katrina Berridge's husband and sister-in-law. In the meantime, get on the horn to the FBI and see whether or not this is an MO they've seen before."
"Will do," Jamie replied. "How soon do you expect to be here, Sheriff Brady?"
"Soon," Joanna answered. "I'm on my way."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As soon as she turned the key in the ignition, Joanna remembered Butch. She also realized that if she went straight to Rattlesnake Crossing without either breakfast or lunch, her body would run out of fuel long before she finished what she'd have to do that day. Not only that, she didn't know when there'd be another chance to eat. Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she punched in the number of Daisy's Cafe. Not surprisingly, Daisy herself answered the phone.
"Sheriff Brady," she said, "your gentleman friend is already here. I've got him stowed in a booth and drinking coffee."
"Good," Joanna said. "And that's why I'm calling. Something's come up. I'm going to have to go on a call, but I thought I'd try to eat and run. Put in my order for chorizo and scrambled eggs and then go ahead and pour my coffee. I'll be there in three minutes or less."
"What about O.J.?" Daisy asked.
"I'll have some of that, too."
"Good enough," Daisy said. "It'll be on the table by the time you get here."
When Joanna pulled into the parking lot, the first vehicle she saw was Butch's Goldwing. That struck her as odd, because she dearly remembered him saying that he wouldn't be Goldwing-ing it when he came to take her to dinner. Oh well, she thought, he must have changed his mind.
She climbed out of the Blazer and slammed the door. That was when she saw a little white Nissan Sentra sedan with the Bisbee Bee logo on the door and a windshield sun-screen with the word PRESS printed on the outside. Joanna recognized the vehicle at once. It was one usually driven by Marliss Shackleford, whose tell-all column, "Bisbee Buzzings," kept the Bee's circulation humming with local gossip. Ever since Joanna's election to sheriff, she had often found herself chewed up and spit out as part of Marliss' journalistic fodder. The fact that the sheriff and the columnist were both parishioners of Canyon United Methodist Church had done nothing to blunt the difficulties between them.
In the small-town world of Bisbee and of Cochise County, Joanna Brady was regarded as a public person. What she did or didn't do was thought to be of interest to everyone-at least that was how Marliss seemed to view the situation. Unhappy with the constant scrutiny, Joanna had learned to dodge the woman whenever possible. In small towns and even smaller churches, that wasn't always possible. Just as it wouldn't be now, when Joanna would be seen having breakfast with an out-of-town visitor-a male out-of-town visitor.