The picture on the screen switched to the figure of a young woman standing posed, microphone in hand, on the steps of a building Joanna instantly recognized as the Maricopa County Courthouse. Only when the camera zoomed in for a close-up did she realize the reporter was the same young woman who had thrust a microphone in Joanna’s face as she and Leann Jessup were filing out of the MAVEN-sponsored vigil.
The photographed face of a good-looking young woman flashed across the screen. “A month ago, Rhonda Weaver Norton moved out of the upscale home she shared with ASU economics professor Dean Norton,” Jill January said. “She moved into a furnished studio apartment in Tempe. At the time, Rhonda told her mother that she feared for her life. She claimed that her husband had threatened to kill her if she went through with plans to leave him.”
While what looked like a yearbook head-shot of a balding and smiling middle-aged man filled the screen, the reporter continued talking. “This afternoon, Professor Norton was arraigned in Maricopa County Superior Court, charged with first-degree murder in the bludgeon slaying of his estranged wife. Rhonda Norton had been missing for three days when her badly beaten body was found by a Salt River Project utilities installation crew working on a power line south of Carefree.
“Judge Roseann Blacksmith, citing the gravity of the case, ordered Professor Norton held without bond. Trial was set for February eighteenth.
“Rhonda Norton’s mother, well-known Sedona‑area pastel artist Lael Weaver Gaston, was in the courtroom today to witness her former son-in-law’s arraignment. She expressed the hope that the prosecutor’s office would seek either the death penalty or life in prison without possibility of parole.
“At the Maricopa County Courthouse, I’m Jill January reporting.”
When the reporter signed off, the picture returned to the studio anchor. “In the past eleven months, sixteen cases of alleged domestic violence have resulted in death. Because the accused is a well-known and widely respected college professor, the Norton homicide is the most high-profile of all those cases. Later in this news-cast, Jill January will take us to a candlelight vigil that is being held on the steps of the capitol building this evening to focus attention on this increasingly difficult issue. In other news tonight . . .”
With lightning fingers running the remote control, Jenny fast-forwarded the video through weather and sports, stopping only when Jill January’s smiling face reappeared on the screen.
“The crime of domestic violence is spiraling in Phoenix just as it is in other parts of the country. Domestic violence was once thought to be limited to lower-class households. Increasingly, however, authorities are finding that domestic violence is a crime that crosses all racial and economic lines. Victims and perpetrators alike come from all walks of life and from all educational levels. Often, the violence escalates to the point of serious injury or even death. So far this year, sixteen area women have died as a result of homicidal violence in which the prime suspects have all turned out to be either current or former spouses or domestic partners.
“Tonight a group called MAVEN—Maricopa Anti-Violence Empowerment Network—is doing something to address that problem. At a chilly nighttime rally on the capitol steps in downtown Phoenix this evening, domestic violence activist Matilda Hirales-Steinowitz read the deadly roll.”
The tape switched to the podium onstage at the candlelight vigil, where the spokeswoman fro MAVEN stepped forward to intone the names the victims. “The first to die, at three o’clock on afternoon of January third, was Anna Maria Dominguez, age twenty-six.”
Again, the reporter’s face appeared on-screen. “Anna Maria Dominguez was childless when she died as a result of a shotgun blast to the face. Her unemployed husband then turned the gun on himself. He died at the scene. She died a short time later after undergoing surgery at a local hospital.
“Often, however, when domestic violence ends in murder, children of the dead women become: victims as well.”
“Get ready,” Jenny warned Cecelia. “Here you come.”
Ceci Grijalva’s wide-eyed face filled the screen. Her voice, trembling audibly, whispered through he television set’s speakers. “I have a little brother . . .” she began.
Joanna turned away from the televised Cecelia to watch the live one. When tears spilled over on the little girl’s cheeks, Joanna moved to the couch and placed a comforting arm around Ceci’s narrow shoulders.
“.. he cries anyway, and I can’t make him stop. That’s all,” Cecelia finished saying on-screen while the child on the couch sobbed quietly, her whole body quaking under the gentle pressure of Joanna’s protective arm.
“They wanted me to say something nice about my mom,” Ceci said, her voice choking. “But when I got there, all I could think about was Pepe.”
“You did fine,” Joanna said.
“Nana Duffy says it’s my daddy’s fault, that he did it, but I don’t think so. Do you?” Ceci looked questioningly up at Joanna through tear-dewed eyelashes. Joanna wanted to comfort the grieving child, but what could she tell her?
Torn between what she knew and what could say, “I don’t know” was Joanna’s only possible answer.
“And now here’s my mom,” Jenny said.
The camera on Joanna and Leann making their way through the crowd.
“ .. police officers in attendance,” Jill January was saying “Cochise County Sheriff Joanna Brady.”
“Cecelia Grijalva is a friend of my daughter’s . . .” Joanna heard herself saying when suddenly Ceci scrambled out from under her arm.
“I know him, too,” she said, pointing to a spot on the screen where a man’s face had momentarily materialized directly over Leann’s shoulder. He was leading a crowd of people filing down the aisle toward the exit.
When first Joanna and then Leann stopped, so did he, but not soon enough. He blundered into Leann, bumping her from behind with such force that he almost knocked her down.
The camera was focused on Joanna in the foreground. Her words were the ones being spoken on tape. Still, the jostling in the crowd behind her was visible as well. As she watched the televised Leann turn around to see what had hit her, Joanna remembered Leann telling her about the incident on their way back to the car after the vigil.
And the glare Leann had mentioned—the one she had said might have been enough to spark a drive-by shooting—was there, captured in the glow of the television lights. Even thirdhand—filtered through camera, videotape, and TV screen—the man’s ugly, accusing stare was nothing short of chilling. He and Leann stood eye to eye for only a moment. Then he glanced up and into the camera as though seeing it for the first time. A fraction of a second later, he ducked to one side behind Leann and disappeared into the crowd.
“You know him?” Joanna asked.
Ceci nodded.
“Who is he?”
Ceci shrugged. “One of my mom’s friends.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me her friends’ names.”
“Jenny,” Joanna said, “would you please run the tape back to that spot and stop it there? I want to look at that sequence again.”
Jenny’s agile fingers darted knowledgeably over the remote control. Moments later, the man’s face reappeared. With his features frozen in place on the television screen, the glower on his face was even more ominous than it had seemed in passing.
“Did you know he was there that night?” Joanna asked.
Ceci shook her head. “No. I didn’t see him until just now.”
“Were there other people there that you knew?”
“Some,” Ceci answered. “There were two teachers from my old school, Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Sandoval. And a man named Mr. Gray from the place where Mom used to work, but he talked to Grandpa, not to me.”