Joanna found herself blinking back tears as she read. She was appalled at the idea of those two little kids being left on their own for such a long time. They had coped with an independence and resourcefulness that went far beyond their tender years, but they shouldn’t have had to, Joanna thought, turning back to the article.
The tragedy of the Grijalva children is only one shocking example of an increasingly widespread problem of the nineties—that of latchkey kids. Cute movies notwithstanding, children in this country, are routinely being left alone in shockingly large numbers.
Most children who are left to their own devices don’t go to luxury hotels and order room service. The houses they live in are often squalid and cold. There is little or no food available. They play with matches and die in fires. They play with guns and die of bullet wounds. They become involved in the gang scene because gang membership offers a sense of belonging that they don’t find at home.
Sometimes the parents are simply bad parents. In some cases the neglect is caused or made worse by parental addiction to drugs or alcohol. Increasingly, however, these children live in single-parent, households where the family budget will simply not stretch far enough to include suitable day care arrangements. Divorce is often a contributing factor.’
Although Serena Grijalva’s divorce from her forty-three-year-old husband was not yet final, Cecelia and Pablo Grijalva fall into that last category.
“Serena was determined to make it on her own,” says Madeline Bellerman, the attorney who helped Serena Grijalva obtain a restraining order against her estranged husband. “She had taken two jobs—one full-time and one part-time. She made enough so she didn’t have to take her kids and go home to her parents, but beyond food and rent there wasn’t room for much else. Regular day care was obviously well outside her budget.”
Serena’s two minor children have now been placed in the custody of their maternal grandparents, but what happened to them has forced the community to examine what options are available to parents who find themselves caught in similar circumstances. This is the first in a series of three articles that will address the issue of childcare for underemployed women in the Phoenix area. Where can they turn for help? What options are available to them?
“You want a refill?”
Joanna looked up. A waitress stood beside the booth, a steaming coffeepot poised over Joanna’s cup.
“Please.”
The waitress glanced curiously at the article on the table as she poured. “That was awful, waddn’t it, what happened to those two little kids? Whatever became of them anyway? Their father’s the one who did it, isn’t he?”
Joanna lifted the one page and glanced at the next one. EX-HUSBAND ARRESTED IN WIFE’S SLA the headline blared.
“See there?” the waitress said. “I told you.” She marched away from the table, and Joanna picked up the article.
Antonio Jorge Grijalva, age 43, was arrested today and booked into the Maricopa County Jail on an open charge of murder in connection with the bludgeon slaying of his estranged wife two weeks ago. He surrendered without incident outside his place of employment in southeastern Arizona. Sources close to the investigation say Mr. Grijalva has been a person of interest in the case since the beginning.
Two City of Peoria police officers, Detectives Carol Strong and Mark Hansen, traveled over four hundred miles from Peoria to Paul Spur to make the arrest. The Cochise County Sheriff’s Department assisted in collaring the suspect, who was placed under arrest in the parking lot of a lime plant as he was leaving work.
Court records reveal that the slain woman had sworn out a no-contact order against her estranged husband four days before her disappearance and death. The fact that the suspect was not at work on the night in question and could not account for his whereabouts caused investigators to focus in on him very early in the investigation.
Mr. Jefferson Duffy, father of the slain victim, when contacted at his home in Wittmann, ex-pressed relief. “We’re glad to know he’s under lock and key. The wife and I have Serena’s two kids here with us. With Jorge on the loose like that, there was no telling what might happen next.”
“Hey, good-looking, you’re working too hard. I’d be glad to buy you a piece of pie to go with that coffee.”
Joanna heard the voice and looked up, not sure the words were intended for her. An overall-clad, cigarette-smoke-shrouded man was leering at her fro m the booth next to hers in a section reserved for professional truck drivers.
“You look kind of lonesome sitting there all by yourself.”
“I was reading,” Joanna said.
“I noticed. So what are you, some kind of student?”
Joanna looked down at her left hand. She still wore her wedding ring and the diamond engagement ring she had received as a gift only after Andy was already in the hospital dying. Seeing them made the pain of Andy’s loss burn anew. She looked from her hand back to the man in the booth. If he had noticed either the gesture or the pain engendered by his unwanted intrusion, it made no difference.
“I’m not a student, I’m a cop,” she answered evenly.
“Sure you are.” He nodded. “And I’m a monkey’s uncle. I’ve got me a nice little double bed in my truck out there. I’ll bet the two of us could make beautiful music together.”
For a moment, Joanna was too stunned by his rude proposition to even think of a comeback. Instead, she shuffled the stack of papers back into the envelope. “Which truck is that?” she asked.
“That big red, white, and blue Peterbilt out the in the parking lot.” He grinned; then he tipped the bill of his San Diego Padres baseball cap in her direction. “Peewee Wright Hauling at your service ma’am.”
“Where are you headed?”
Peewee Wright beamed with unwarranted confidence. “El Paso,” he said. “After I sleep awhile that is. It’d be a real shame to have to sleep alone, don’t you think?”
“I see you’re wearing a ring, Mr. Wright,” Joanna observed. “What would Mrs. Wright have to say about that?”
Peewee waved his cigarette and shook his head. “She wouldn’t mind none. Me and her have one of them open marriages.”
“Do you really?” Joanna stood up, gathering her belongings and her check. “The problem is, I don’t believe in open marriages.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her newly printed business cards. She paused beside his table, fingering the card, looking at the words that were printed there: JOANNA BRADY, SHERIFF, COCHISE COUNTY, BISBEE, ARIZONA.
“And how will you be going to El Paso?” she asked.
“Interstate Ten from Tucson,” he said.
Joanna nodded. “That’s about what I figured,” she said, dropping the card on his table. “If I were you, I’d check my equipment for any violations before I left here. I’d also be very careful not to speed once I got inside Cochise County.”
She waited while he reached out one meaty paw to pick up the card and read it.
Because the Arizona Highway Patrol, not the Sheriff’s Department, patrols the segment of I-10 that slices through Cochise County from the Pima County line to the New Mexico border, Joanna knew her words to be nothing more than an empty threat. Still, when the man read the text on her business card, he blanched.
He was still holding the card as Joanna walked away. If nothing else, the experience would give him something to think about the next time he tried to pick up a lone woman minding her own business in a truck stop.
CHAPTER SIX