"But he's already dead," Belle objected stubbornly. "What does it matter?"
Joanna took a deep breath. Maybe Dr. Daly was right and Clyde Philips had committed suicide. Even so, someone who knew him-someone who might have discovered the body before Belle had-could have stolen the guns. And Joanna was convinced that person with the guns was responsible for what had happened at the Triple C. One way or the other, Sheriff Brady needed Belle Philips' cooperation.
"It's not just Clyde," Joanna said. "It could be that other people are in danger as well. Someone wiped out Clyde's gun shop."
"Wiped it out? What does that mean?"
"I mean all of Clyde's guns are gone, Belle. A whole shop full of guns is empty. And all the paperwork that went along with them is missing. If Clyde didn't sell those guns, then someone stole them-probably the same person who killed him. Not only that, there's a very good chance that one of those weapons was used to murder someone up on the Triple C night before last."
"Someone else? Who?"
"A lady from Rattlesnake Crossing. Her name's Katrina Berridge. So far, we have possible links from that case to two others, not even counting what happened to Clyde. His death would make it four. We have to find out who's doing this, Belle. Find him and stop him. Whatever you can tell us about Clyde may help lead us to the person or persons responsible."
Again there was a long silence. "Boys," Belle said at last.
"Boys?" Joanna echoed.
Belle nodded sadly. "Clyde liked boys. If he had been messing around with other women, maybe I could of handled it. But boys was somethin' else. It just beat all."
"You're saying Clyde Philips was a pedophile?"
"That's a pretty highfalutin-soundin' word, Sheriff Brady. I don't know exactly what it means, but if it means someone who likes to screw boys instead of women, then that's right. Clyde was one of them. I didn't catch on to it for a long time. I s'pose you think I'm just stupid or some-thin'. And maybe I am. I thought he just liked havin' all those young folks around on account of us not havin' any kids of our own. And then when I finally did figure it out, my pastor kept telling me to love the sinner and hate the sin. So that's what I did. For as long as I could stand it. But he kept goin' up to Phoenix and hangin' out with them boy prostitutes. Finally I just gave up. Gave up and got out, especially seein’ as how I'd come into a little bit of money to help me get set up on my own."
Belle lapsed into silence once more, and Joanna had the good sense to realize that her questions were plumbing the depths of an open wound. "Do you know any of their names?" she asked.
Belle blinked. "Only one," she said.
"Who's that?"
"Talk to Ruben Ramos," Belle replied.
"Ruben Ramos? You mean Chief Ramos over in Benson? You're saying the Benson police chief is one of Clyde's friends?"
Belle shot her head slightly. "The chief's son. Ask him about his son. Ask him about Frankie."
That was what Joanna had come to Belle's room looking for-a single name that would put her inside Clyde Philips' circle of intimates. Now that Joanna had one, she rose to go.
"Before you take off, Sheriff Brady, tell me what I'm s'posed to do."
"About what?"
"About a funeral. I ain't Clyde's wife no more, but there ain't nobody left but me to plan a service. That's pretty hard to do with me lyin' here flat on my back."
"The body's been transported to the morgue here in Tucson," Joanna told her. "It's over at the Pima County Medical Examiner's office. Dr. Fran Daly is the investigator who'll be doing the autopsy. When that's done, she can release the remains to whatever funeral home you choose. You'll have to let her know which one."
"I ain't worried about no funeral home," Belle said. "It's what comes later's got me spooked."
"Later? What do you mean?" Joanna asked.
"The funeral part is what bothers me. What do I do? Go ahead and have a regular one in church with a casket and all that? Or what?"
"That's up to you, of course. You said something earlier about your pastor. Ask him. I'm sure he'll be happy to ad-vise you, and he could probably conduct an appropriate service for you as well."
"You mean in the church?"
"Why not?"
"Clyde never went to church. Never so much as set foot inside one, not even when we got married. A justice of the peace did that."
"Check with your pastor," Joanna urged. "I don't think Clyde's attendance will matter. Besides, funerals are for the living. Have the kind of service that will give you the most comfort. And remember, the last I heard, churches were supposed to welcome sinners."
"That's true," Belle Philips said. "But only up to a point. My pastor talks a good game," she added. "But when it comes to livin' it, he sometimes falls a little short."
Don't we all, Joanna thought. Just ask Marianne Maculyea.
After leaving Belle's room, Joanna walked as far as the elevator before turning around and walking back to the nurses' station, where a young man stood perusing a chart. His name badge read "Tony Morris, R.N." Finally seeming to sense Joanna's presence, he looked up. "May I help you?"
"You do blood work when patients come in here, don't you?"
"Yes. Why?"
"And you check for AIDS and HIV?"
"Yes."
"Do the patients know that?"
"They should. It says so plain as day right there on the admission form."
"If someone tested positive, would you let them know?"
Tony Morris's hackles seemed to rise. "Look-"
Joanna cut him off by handing over one of her cards. "I'm not faulting your procedures," she said. "You know Belle Philips, the lady down the hall with casts all over her body?"
Tony Morris nodded.
"There's a good chance that her former husband had AIDS when he died," Joanna continued. "I just talked to the woman. I don't think she has a clue about what was going on."
"You're saying her husband might have infected her and she has no idea."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
The nurse shook his head. "Christ," he said. "People like that deserve to be shot."
Maybe nobody shot Clyde Philips, Joanna thought. All the same, it sounds as though he got what he deserved.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Back in the ICU waiting room a few minutes later, Joanna found that Jeff Daniels was still involved with friends from Bisbee. Moving away from the group, she settled onto a couch in the corner and called the Pima County Medical Examiner's office. Joanna more than half expected to be told Fran Daly wasn't in, but to her surprise, the woman picked up her own line after only one ring.
"Don’t tell me somebody down there has found another body," Fran grumbled when she realized Joanna Brady was on the line. "How long before Doc Winfield comes back?"
"He's due in on Monday."
"Thank God for that," Fran said, "although, at the rate things are going, you people could probably have another three or four cases stacked up for me by then. What do you want?"
"I'm calling about the Clyde Philips case," Joanna said. "Have you had a chance to work on the autopsy yet?"
"Sure," Fran said. "I tossed him in the van when I went hauling ass out to the Triple C. I've been working on it in my spare time. Give me some slack, Sheriff Brady. You know what I've been up against."
"Sorry," Joanna said, "but I just finished talking to Clyde's ex-wife, Belle Philips. She doesn't believe her husband committed suicide. She said that she knew he had been dragging around some in the last few months, but I don't think she had any idea he might actually have been sick, and I don't think the possibility of HIV or AIDS ever crossed her mind. She also doesn't think he ever went to a doctor. According to her, he didn't believe in them."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Are you saying Clyde himself might not have known he had it?"