"It's great," he said. "I'm staying up at the Copper Queen this time. It seems to be quite satisfactory."
Visibly disappointed, Marliss turned back to Joanna. "Any inside scoops about what's going on up in Pomerene?"
Sure, Marliss. We've just figured out that we've got a serial killer loose in Cochise County, and I'm going to give you an exclusive on it.
"Not at this time," Joanna said. She finished the last morsel of chorizo and eggs. Something was making her nose run, and she wasn't sure if the heat came from the sausage or from the salsa. Taking one remaining tortilla from the warmer, she buttered it and then waved down Daisy.
"Any chance of getting a cup of coffee to go?"
"Coming right up."
“And the bill, please, too."
"Don’t bother with that," Butch said. "I'm buying."
"Well," Marliss said, finally accepting the fact that the conversation was over, "I guess I'll be going." She headed back to hex own table.
And not a moment too soon, Joanna thought, watching her go.
“Can I see you tonight?" Butch asked.
Joanna shook her head. She hadn't told Marliss about the serial-killer part, and she wasn't going to tell Butch, either. "I can't promise, what with everything going on at work and with Esther in the hospital in Tucson. Even if I did say yes, I couldn't give you any guarantees about what time I'd finish up. That's one of the reasons I feel so rotten about last night. You were stuck out there on the porch by yourself for all that time."
"After living up around Phoenix, I thought it was gloriously quiet. Believe me, I enjoyed every minute of it. I especially got a kick out of watching that storm off to the east, the one that put on such a light show and then never let loose with a smidgen of rain. 'Full of sound and fury' and all that jazz."
Daisy dropped off both a traveler coffee cup and the bill.
Butch snagged the bill away before Joanna could touch it.
"So how about it?" he added, not taking no for an answer. "How about if I show up at your house about the same time I did yesterday-say seven or so. And when you get home, we'll see what time it is and decide what to do then."
She wanted to say no, but he had come all that way and would be here for just a couple of days. It was only natural that he wanted to spend time with her. "All right," she agreed. “But if you come out to the house, don't wait on the porch. There's a key hidden in the grass. Use it to let yourself in. That way, if I get hung up, at least I'll able to let you know what's going on."
"A key hidden outside?" Butch asked. "Are you sure that's safe?"
Joanna laughed. "It's in the grass just to the right of the front-porch step, hidden under a plastic dog turd-a very realistic-looking plastic dog turd. Believe me, with Sadie and Tigger around, nobody's going to suspect that dark brown pile lying there in the grass isn't the real McCoy."
"I suppose not," Butch said. "Come to think of it, maybe I'll double-check before I pick it up."
Finishing the last of her orange juice, Joanna stood up. "Sorry to have to eat and run like this."
He waved her away. "It's fine," he said. "But if you don't mind, I'm going to hang around and drink my last cup of coffee here. I'd take one with me but coffee and motorcycles don't necessarily go together."
Grabbing both her purse and the Styrofoam cup, Joanna dashed toward the door. She was in the Blazer and headed uptown when she realized Butch Dixon hadn't told the truth to Marliss Shackleford. He had said that his business was up in Phoenix. But the phone to the Roundhouse Bar and Grill had been disconnected. His business used to be in Phoenix, Joanna thought. But it isn't anymore.
By the time she was up over the Divide, however, she had stopped thinking about Butch and was back to worrying about the case. Picking up the radio, she asked Dispatch to put her through to Detective Carbajal.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"I've been on the horn to Maricopa County," he told her. "According to the sheriff's office up there, we've got a possible."
"A case with the same MO?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's old-from two years ago-and it's still open. A fourteen-year-old named Rebecca Flowers was found up near Lake Pleasant north of Sun City. Shot first and then… well, you know the rest."
"No leads?"
"None so tar. And my guess is nobody looked very hard. Rebecca was a street kid, a drugged-up runaway from Yuma. And since it hadn't happened again as far as anybody could tell, there wasn't any reason to take it very seriously."
"Until now," Joanna said. She switched on her blinking red emergency lights and pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
"Right," Jaime agreed hollowly. "Until now."
"You've talked to Ernie?"
"Yes, and her Highness, Dr. Daly, too," Jaime replied. "You were right. I managed to catch her between autopsies. They're both on their way right now. Depending on where you are and where they are…"
"I'm just south of Tombstone," Joanna said.
"Then you'll probably be here within minutes of one another."
"Where are you meeting them?"
"They're coming straight here. I gave them directions. It's the same little track we took last night, the one off Pomerene Road right across from Rattlesnake Crossing. You'll come to a Y where we turned right last night. Go left this time. It'll lead you right here."
Still wearing her work clothes, Joanna had come dressed for next-of-kin notification rather than crime-scene investigation. Still, if that was where everyone else was going, she would, too.
"Listen, Jaime," she warned Detective Carbajal, "this is going to be a high-profile case. We're going strictly by the hook on this one. I don't want any procedures skipped or skimped. You got that?"
"Got it, Sheriff Brady," Jaime said. "I hear you loud and clear."
As she finished with Detective Carbajal, Joanna was fast coming up on Tombstone proper. She slowed slightly, but not much. Her next call was to Frank Montoya, still closeted in his office back at the department. "Frank," she told him, "I need your help. Get on the horn to Motor Vehicles and track down some information on Daniel Berridge."
"The guy who's wife is missing?" Frank asked.
"The guy who's wife is dead," Joanna corrected. "S and R just found the body. I want you to check out his date of birth and then compare it with a retired race-car driver by the same name, a guy who once drove in the Indy 500."
"You think they're one and the same? What gives you that idea?"
"A little bird told me," Joanna said. "Check it out. Let me know as soon as you can."
Even though it was summer, as she passed Tombstone's elementary and high schools, she slowed down some more just to be sure. Then, when she reached the Chevron station, she whipped across two lanes of traffic and pulled in, threading her way past two out-of-state minivans loaded to the gills with kids, dogs, and luggage.
Parking as close to the rest-room door as possible and leaving her lights flashing, she whipped her suitcase of freshly laundered just-in-case clothes out of the back of the Blazer. It would be far easier to change clothes in a restroom than it would be at the crime scene. Less than two minutes after ducking into the rest room, she was outside again. Dashing toward the Blazer, she almost collided with a little boy of about seven or eight who stood next to the door.
"Lady," he said, wiping an orange circle of soda onto his shirtsleeve, "how come you got those flashing lights on the front of this car? You a cop or something?"
Joanna unlocked the door with her remote key and stalled her clothes and the suitcase back inside. She was in a terrible hurry. II would have been easy to ignore the kid, but in the interest of good public relations, she stopped long enough to answer him. "Or something," she said.