Dead Wrong (13 page)

Tica’s question confirmed Joanna’s own
worst fears—that Jeannine Phillips wasn’t just missing;
that she could already be dead. “Yes, them, too,” she
said at last. “The Double Cs along with Debbie
Howell.”

Butch came into the bedroom while Joanna was
getting dressed. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“It sounded serious.”

“It is,” Joanna said. “I’m
on my way to Texas Canyon.” When she finished explaining the
situation, Butch headed for the kitchen. “You can’t
afford to go through a day like this on an empty stomach,” he
said. “I’ll fix you a traveler.”

Don and Margaret Dixon were at the table eating
bacon and eggs when Joanna stepped into the kitchen, briefcase in
one hand and car keys in the other.

“Aren’t you going to have some
breakfast?” Margaret asked Joanna on her way past.
“After Butch went to all this trouble…”

“She is having breakfast, Mom,” Butch
corrected. “I made her order to go.”

He followed Joanna out to the garage. Once she was
settled into the Crown Victoria with her seat belt buckled, Butch
reached in through the open car door. He handed her an open Ziploc
container with two peanut-buttered English muffins inside it and an
insulated thermos cup filled with freshly brewed tea.

“Be careful,” he said, kissing her
good-bye. “Be really, really careful.”

“I will,” she said.

She downed the muffins before she even reached
Highway 80. Once there, she turned on her lights and siren and
drove like hell, fuming as she went. After all, Joanna had called
off the dogfightring surveillance, and she had
ordered—
ordered!
—Jeannine
Phillips to stay away from San Simon and the O’Dwyers. Now
Joanna’s department, shorthanded and strained to the breaking
point, would have to turn away from an ongoing murder investigation
and from the Border Patrol’s request for additional
assistance to deal with Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer.

The first order of business, though, was to find
Jeannine Phillips. Joanna reached for her radio and was patched
through to Frank Montoya.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“On the far side of the Divide.”
Frank’s home in Old Bisbee put him a good seven or eight
miles ahead of her.

“Have you put out an APB on Jeannine?”
she asked.

“Tica is handling that,” he said.
“I’m sure it’s been issued by now, but I doubt
it’ll do much good. We have no idea what kind of vehicle she
might be traveling in or even if she’s in a vehicle.
And if she was dumped out in the desert somewhere, it
could be months before we find the body.”

“Or years,” Joanna added.

“Do you think she was still working the
O’Dwyer angle?” Frank asked.

“Probably,” Joanna said. “I told
her to drop it, but it’s pretty clear she
didn’t.”

Joanna’s cell phone chirped the distinctive
cockadoodle rooster crow that amounted to a ring. “Gotta
go,” Joanna told him.

“Sheriff Brady?” someone said.

“Yes.”

“It’s Millicent Ross. I hope you
don’t mind my calling you on your cell phone. I had the
number in my files.”

“No,” Joanna said. “I don’t
mind. What’s up?”

“Well…” Dr. Ross hesitated before
saying in a rush, “Jeannine didn’t come home last
night.”

Joanna heard the words and grappled with what they
might mean. Were Jeannine and the vet living together? Why
hadn’t Joanna known that?

“I’m up so early every day that when
she comes in off night shift, I don’t even hear her,”
Millicent continued. “But when she wasn’t home this
morning when I woke up, I wasn’t sure what to do. I
didn’t know if I should call in and report her missing or
what. And then I decided I’d call you and ask your advice. I
mean, if anyone would know what to do, it would be the sheriff,
right?”

“You and Jeannine are roommates?”
Joanna asked.

Millicent Ross hesitated. “We’re
actually a little more than roommates,” she admitted.
“In fact, we’re a lot more than roommates, but we
haven’t exactly advertised it. Bisbee’s such a small
place and all. Once gossip gets going, it can be
vicious.”

Joanna took a deep breath. “I’m sorry
to have to tell you this, Millicent. Jeannine is
missing.”

“Missing,” Millicent Ross echoed.
“What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean her truck was found over in Texas
Canyon, but she’s not in it. The last time anyone heard from
her was when she radioed in to the department at the end of her
shift. Did you hear from her last night?”

But Millicent didn’t seem capable of hearing
or acknowledging the question. “How can she be
missing?” she demanded. “Where would she go?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find
out,” Joanna said patiently. “Did she say anything to
you about where she was going or what she might be
doing?”

“She was still upset about the
dogfights,” Millicent answered after a pause. “She
traded shifts with Manny so she could go up to San Simon and keep
an eye on the O’Dwyers. That’s what she said to
me—that she was going to keep an eye on them.”

She must have done more than
that,
Joanna thought.

“Do you really think they’d hurt
her?” Millicent asked.

Joanna heard the growing concern in the
woman’s voice.

“We don’t know,” Joanna answered.
“All we know for certain is that she’s
missing.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

Probably,
Joanna
thought.

“She
may
be,” Joanna said. “It’s possible.”

There was a long pause after that. Joanna heard
Millicent draw a long breath. “I don’t suppose
there’s any point in my coming there,” she said
finally. “I’d probably just be in the way.”

“You’re right,” Joanna said.
“There’ll be a whole crew of peo
ple
on the scene, and you would be in the way. But I’ll call you
the moment we learn anything.”

“All right then,” Millicent agreed.
“I have animals that need to be attended to and appointments
that are due in. But please call me. Please.”

“I will,” Joanna promised, ending the
call.

When she came through the tunnel at the top of the
Divide, she saw the great expanse of bright blue sky spread out in
front of her. That spot on Highway 80 was a particular favorite of
hers. It was a place where the slightly upward elevation of the
road, combined with the abrupt drop of the Mule Mountains, gave
Joanna the sensation of being able to fly off the edge of the
earth. Today, though, with Jeannine’s possible fate weighing
heavily on her heart, Joanna felt instead as though she were
falling into an abyss.

A few miles later, she had another thought. Once
again she radioed in and asked to be put through to Animal Control.
Manny Ruiz took the call.

“You’ve heard?” she asked.

“Tica called me,” he said. “Any
news?”

“Not yet.”

“What are we going to do about the
workload?” Manny asked. “With Jeannine and me splitting
the burden, it’s still not easy. Our part-time clerk is fine,
but she can’t run the office and look after the animals, too.
And if I’m taking care of the animals, who’s going to
be out in the field? I can’t handle this place all by
myself.”

“No, you can’t,” Joanna agreed.
“Let me see what I can do to get you some temporary help
until we know how things stand.”

Her next call was to her former in-laws. Jim Bob
Brady answered the phone. “I need a favor,” Joanna
said.

“Name it,” Jim Bob returned.

When she finished explaining the situation, Jim Bob
was all business. “I’ll be glad to do what I
can,” he said. “And Eva Lou will, too. She’s
great with animals. We’ll go out to the pound right now and
find out what’s needed.”

“How is Eva Lou with snakes?” Joanna
asked.

“Did you say snakes?” Jim Bob
asked.

“Yes, one of the impounded animals happens to
be an abandoned python.”

“Well,” Jim Bob said thoughtfully,
“I may have to take care of that one. But don’t worry
about it. I’m sure Manny Ruiz will be able to tell us
whatever it is he needs us to do.”

Joanna hung up the phone thankful that Jim Bob and
Eva Lou Brady continued to be far more supportive and helpful than
Margaret and Don Dixon would ever be.

When she finally got out of her car, the rest area
was already teeming with activity. In fact, she was the last person
from her department to arrive on the scene.

Stamping his feet against the frosty morning chill,
Frank Montoya hurried over to meet her. “What have we
got?” she asked.

Frank shook his head grimly. “Come take a
look,” he said.

Jeannine’s Animal Control truck was parked at
the far end of the parking area. Approaching it from the
driver’s side, nothing seemed amiss. But the passenger-side
window, out of view from passing vehicles, was completely missing.
Joanna had to stand on tiptoe to peer inside. A bloodied rock the
size of a basketball lay on the passenger seat. The police radio
had been pulled from its console. It lay, its wire dangling loose,
on the floorboard along with a clipboard, a single shoe, and other
debris.

“What’s that?” Joanna asked,
pointing. “A nightscope?”

“That’s right,” Frank said.
“She must have been using that inside the vehicle when her
attacker surprised her, probably by heaving that rock through the
window. She never had time to call for help, but from the looks of
things, she put up a hell of a fight.”

Everything around Joanna—Jeannine’s
shoe in the footwell, the bloodied rock on the seat, the bare
mesquite branches beyond the truck, and the looming, bubble-shaped
rocks of Texas Canyon—stood out in a kind of stark relief
that reminded Joanna of photos observed through her old
View-Master. The idea that one of her officers had been attacked
and perhaps murdered left Joanna sick at heart but furious and
utterly focused.

“Did it happen here?” she asked.

“No,” Frank said. “Whoever did it
drove the truck here after the attack.”

“Because they didn’t want us to
identify a crime scene?” Joanna asked.

“That would be my guess,” Frank said.
“They also took off and left the engine running. It’s
out of gas.”

“So whoever abandoned it did so in a hell of
a hurry,” Joanna said.

Frank nodded. “Being in a hurry breeds
mistakes. With any luck, maybe we’ll find that they left a
little something behind—something we can use to find them.
Once Jaime finishes taking his photos, Casey will start dusting for
prints.”

“Any witnesses?”

“It was called in at six forty-five
A.M.
by a maintenance guy who stops
by early to service the rest rooms. He saw the truck and thought it
was unusual for the vehicle to be here with no sign of an officer
present. Ernie Carpenter is interviewing him
right now. Some of the long-haul drivers may have
been parked here overnight. Debbie is checking with them to see if
any of them noticed something out of line.”

With nothing much else to do, Joanna stood on the
sidelines while her people worked. It was only half an hour later
when the first of the Tucson-based television news vans, its top
bristling with antennas, arrived on the scene. Most of the time
Frank handled the media types. Since he was conferring with the
crime scene investigators, Joanna stepped forward to head off a
swift-footed female news reporter who was followed by a
cameraman.

“Sorry,” Joanna said. “No
unauthorized personnel beyond this point.”

The woman stopped and then held up her ID. Isabel
Duarte was with KGUN-9 News, but Joanna recognized her on sight
without having to check her identification. She was
young—barely out of college—and the newest member on
the news team, but Joanna had seen her before out on the campaign
trail as well as on the air.

“Sheriff Brady?” Isabel asked.
“We heard that one of your deputies is missing. Is that
true?”

The lens of the video cam was already focused on
Joanna with its red light showing. “Not a deputy,” she
corrected. “One of my ACOs.”

Isabel looked puzzled. “ACO?”

“Animal control officer,” Joanna
explained. “Her vehicle was found abandoned here a little
over an hour ago, and yes, she is missing. Chief Deputy Montoya, my
media relations officer, won’t be making any further
statements until later. Now, if you’ll excuse
me…”

Joanna started back toward her team of
investigators, but Isabel didn’t take the hint. Instead, she
followed right on
Joanna’s heels.
“Did you say a female officer? How old is she? Anglo?
Hispanic?”

Shaking her head and trying to keep her temper in
check, Joanna turned back to the pushy reporter. She was gratified
to see that the cameraman had stayed behind.

“Look, Ms. Duarte,” Joanna said.
“I appreciate that you have a job to do, but so do we. As I
just told you, my department won’t have any further comment
until later in the day. We’re all very busy right
now.”

“Please, Sheriff Brady,” Isabel
insisted. “Tell me how old she is.”

“How old? Early thirties.”

“Anglo?”

“Yes, but I’m not releasing the name,
if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I just came from University Medical
Center,” Isabel Duarte replied. “About three
o’clock this morning, an unconscious Anglo female—badly
beaten—was dropped off at the entrance to the Trauma Unit.
Two men in a pickup truck went running into the hospital, screaming
for help. Neither of them spoke any English. The clerk I talked to
said she was sure they were illegals. They claimed that they
didn’t know the woman; that they had found her lying naked
along the side of the road and brought her to the hospital because
they were afraid she was going to die. They had transported her,
wrapped in blankets, in a camper shell on the back of a pickup. A
third man was in the camper with her. When the attendants took the
woman inside, the three guys in the pickup took off.”