Devil's Claw (39 page)

“Mother drove us straight back to Tucson. On the way, I fell asleep for real. I don’t remember going home, and when we got there, she must have carried me into the house. When I woke up the next morning, the house was full of police, and Dad was sitting in the chair in the living room. He was dead.”

Lucy sighed and shuddered, as though the effort of relating the story had been too much for her.

“What happened next?”

“Some man—a detective, maybe—came to the house and asked me a whole bunch of questions. He kept asking me if my father ever hit my mother. And I said, ‘I never
saw
him hit her.’ Then he asked if Dad ever hit me, and I told him no. I kept waiting for him to ask me if my mother hit people or if she was a spy and did bad stuff, but nobody ever did. Then it was like they forgot all about me and nobody bothered to ask me any more questions. I figured out later that was because Mother confessed. She told them she did it. After that, a woman came to talk to me and told me they were going to send me to live with my grandmother and my great-grandmother.

“After I got there, I tried to tell a few people about what Dad said my mother had been doing, but no one would listen. Not even Grandma Bagwell. She and Grandma Yates both said my father was dead because he was a bad man and because he had beaten up my mother. I told them they were wrong about that—that it was my mother who was bad. I tried telling them the same thing Dad had told me about Mother getting into trouble at work. I thought if there was a trial, lawyers would ask me questions and I would have to tell them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“But there wasn’t any trial. My mother said she shot Dad because she was tired of him beating her up. Afterward she said she was scared. She picked me up from ballet and then drove all over half the night trying to decide what to do. She said she didn’t know what happened to the gun—that she had thrown it away somewhere. But that wasn’t true, either, because I found the gun in the bowl along with the diskette.”

“And when was that?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy answered with a shrug. “A long time later. I was only a little kid then. I turned eight the next summer. Grandma Yates didn’t like me wandering around in the hills by myself, but Grandma Bagwell did. She said it was neat. The fact that I liked to be out scouting by myself proved I was a ‘real’ Apache, just like her grandfather Eskiminzin.

“Anyway, one day I went to the rock pile all by myself. I dug up the bowl, found the diskette, and took it home. I wanted it because Dad had given it to me to take care of. I wanted to know what was on it. I kept it hidden in another plastic bowl—one of Grandma Yates’ this time. I hid the bowl out in the shed because I didn’t want Grandma Yates to find it when she was cleaning my room. I knew it was from a computer, and I kept waiting for a chance to look at it. Finally, when I got to high school, there was a computer in the library. I tried looking at it there, but it must have been the wrong program or something. Or maybe the disk got wrecked when it was in plastic all those years. There wasn’t anything there.”

“That’s not true,” Joanna said quietly. “There is something there.”

Lucy swung around to face Joanna. “Really?” she demanded. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s encrypted.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means most people can’t read it because it’s written in a top-secret code—a government code. As far as we can tell, it seems to contain command and control codes for the military.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Does that mean my father was right the whole time? My mother really was a spy?”

Joanna nodded. “Possibly,” she replied, “although at this point we can’t say for sure.”

“See there?” Lucy was almost shouting now. “I told you so. I was glad when they sent Mother to prison, and I’m glad, too, that she’s dead now. Unlike my dad, she deserved what she got. I loved my father, Sheriff Brady. I hated it when people thought he had been mean to her, when they thought he was the kind of man who would beat us—beat both of us—when he didn’t—not once, not ever.”

“Let’s go back to the other night for a moment,” Joanna said.

“Why?” Lucy asked.

“I need you to finish telling me what happened. It’s the only way we’re going to find out who killed your mother.”

“I don’t care who killed my mother. I already told you,” Lucy said fiercely. “I’m glad she’s dead. What does it matter who killed her?”

“Lucy,” Joanna said, “you told me that the whole time your father’s death was being investigated, no one ever asked you about your mother’s alleged spying or about her having a boyfriend. Right?”

Lucy nodded. “So?”

“That means no one ever knew about it—no one in authority, that is. Whoever investigated that case always assumed that the motive behind your father’s murder was related to what was going on between your parents. Domestic violence is a handy catch-all, especially when your father was already on record for being violent.”

“You mean that thing that happened back while he was in the army?” Lucy asked.

Joanna nodded.

“That was my mother’s fault, too,” Lucy declared. “She and my dad were in a bar together. Like I said, that was before my father quit drinking. He told me he got mad because Mother was flirting with some other guy. Dad hit him and knocked him out. He didn’t find out until later that the guy was a superior officer. They made Dad leave the army over that, but he said he didn’t mind. He said by then the army was driving him crazy anyway.”

“Is that when he stopped drinking?”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “I liked him a lot better after he did. From then on Dad was different somehow. Nicer. Happier—until that morning at the bakery, the morning when he came to tell me about Mother. He cried the whole time he was telling me. Not really crying like a baby does, but there were tears in his eyes. He had to keep brushing them away. I pretended like I didn’t see them, but I did.”

“Your mother admitted that some of her injuries that day were self-inflicted,” Joanna said quietly. “What if she isn’t the one who shot him? What if someone else did? And what if someone else beat her up?”

Lucy seemed stunned by the very suggestion. “Is that possible?” she asked. “If Mother didn’t do it, why did she say she did? Why would she go to prison for something she didn’t do?”

“I don’t know,” Joanna replied. “Maybe she was scared. Maybe going to prison wasn’t as scary as what might have happened to her if she hadn’t. And it looks like it worked. As long as everyone had your mother pegged for being a killer, no one but you and your father ever suspected her of being a spy. Which is why we have to find out who killed your mother. Remember those devil’s-claw patterns woven into baskets? What if the person who killed your mother is the same person who killed your father and he’s gotten away with it all these years?”

“What more can I tell you?”

“After they drove away that night, what did you do?”

“I was scared,” Lucy said. “I knew I had what he wanted. I was afraid he might shoot me, too, or maybe even Grandma Yates, so I didn’t want to go home. That’s when I decided to run away for good. When I left Cochise Stronghold, I was going to ride my bike to Tucson. I forgot about the freeway and that I couldn’t ride my bike on it. On the way, I kept trying to figure out who I could ask for help. I finally made up a list—my ballet teacher, Mrs. Quick; my mother’s lawyer, Ms. Goodson; and Sister Celeste, my teacher from Santa Theresa’s. By the time Big Red and I made it as far as the rest area in Texas Canyon, I was too tired to ride any farther. And it seemed safe. There was a vending machine there with candy bars and drinks and a phone. That’s where I made phone calls to the people on my list.”

“You had money?”

“Enough. Mrs. Quick’s son told me she was dead, so that didn’t work. I called Ms. Goodson, but when her answering machine came on I didn’t know what to say so I left my name but I didn’t leave a message. There was no way for her to call me back. Finally, I reached Sister Celeste. We talked, but someone came up to use the phone. I told her I’d call her back later, but I never had a chance to call again until Sunday morning.

“I was asleep in my bedroll when Big Red woke me up and told me someone was coming. I don’t know for sure it was him, but I ran away and left everything behind. I didn’t dare go back for it.”

“I don’t know if it was your mother’s killer,” Joanna said, “but whoever it was who found your camp, he broke up your bike and tore up everything else you left there.”

Lucy’s eyes were wide. “That means Big Red saved my life,” she said.

“I believe so,” Joanna returned. “So what happened then?”

“I hid for a while. Then, later, I started walking. I walked until I came to a ranch. I told the lady I had gotten lost while I was out hiking with my family. She let me use the phone. I called Sister Celeste, and she came to get me. She brought a hood for Big Red, otherwise he never would have gotten in her car. And we’ve been here ever since while she and Father Mulligan tried to decide what to do.”

“What about your gun?” Joanna asked, remembering for the first time the .22 Catherine Yates claimed Lucy had taken along with the bedroll and extra clothing.

Lucy shrugged. “Sister Celeste told me to give it to Father Mulligan, and I did,” she said. “But it was no big deal. It wasn’t loaded, and I forgot to bring along any ammunition.”

A relieved Joanna was gearing up for her next question when her cell phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Lucy asked, shaming Joanna into it.

“Hello.”

“Joanna!” Butch Dixon breathed. “Thank God I caught you. Where are you?”

Quickly, Joanna looked at her watch. It was only five. Certainly she wasn’t already late for dinner. Besides, the breathless urgency in Butch’s voice boded something far more serious than that.

“I’m in Saint David,” she answered. “I really shouldn’t be interrupted right now. I’m in the middle of an interview.”

“You’ve got to come home right now!”

The ferocity in Butch’s order took Joanna’s breath away. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s happened?”

“I’m leaving the vet’s right now. Dr. Ross says whatever the poison is, both dogs got into it. She’s administering an emetic, and she’s hoping we got them here in time.”

“Poison?” Joanna repeated. “Did you say poison?”

“Yes. Both dogs, Tigger and Sadie. Jenny is in the treatment room with them. She’s been a brick, but I’ve called Eva Lou. She and Jim Bob are coming here to take Jenny home with them, then I’ll go back out to the house. Deputy Howell is there keeping an eye on things.”

“Butch, what the hell has happened?”

“Just come home, Joanna,” he begged. “Please. You’re not going to believe me if I try to tell you. You’ll have to see it with your own eyes.”

CHAPTER 24

Even in her own turmoil, Joanna was moved by the wonderful simplicity in that act and by the visible bond of trust that existed between the lonely girl and the bird she had rescued and raised. It was nothing short of miraculous that Lucy—a child whose life had been torn apart by forces beyond her control—could find comfort in caring for something else. Joanna had no doubt that Lucy’s concern for Big Red accounted for the young woman’s very survival. Had she not saved a little hatchling from starvation, the grown bird wouldn’t have been there to warn a sleeping Lucy that someone dangerous was headed for her camp in Texas Canyon.

Speeding toward home with her lights flashing and siren blaring, Joanna couldn’t get that thought out of her mind. There were only three people who could possibly have known that Lucy Ridder was calling from the rest area pay phone—Jay Quick, Sister Celeste, and Melanie Goodson. Jay Quick had called his concerns to Joanna as soon as he put Lucy’s name together with the fact that Sandra Ridder had been murdered. Sister Celeste had done everything humanly possible to protect Lucy from whoever was following her. That left only Melanie Goodson—someone who had lied about receiving a middle-of-the-night phone call but someone who was also dead.

That meant that at the moment, Bill Forsythe was the only one working on the single real lead in the case.
Tomorrow,
Joanna promised herself.
Tomorrow I’ll get Ernie and Jaime playing catch-up ball.

Once past Tombstone, between there and the Mule Mountains, Joanna kept her blue lights flashing behind the Crown Victoria’s grille. The speedometer hovered right around 95 miles per hour. She made no effort to listen to the chatter on the police radio. In fact, she actively blocked it out. Butch had said she needed to see it—whatever it was—for herself. No matter what, it couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it?