Dead to Rights

SIXTEEN

Back at the cars, Eva Lou was already waiting in her husband’s Honda. “I guess we’ll see you later,” she said. “Your mother mentioned that you wouldn’t be coming to the church.”

Joanna smiled in at her through the partially opened window. “What is it Jim Bob always says about a wise man changing his mind?” She took her father-in-law’s hand and squeezed it. “He gave me a little pep talk over there. Sort of like the one you gave me earlier. Now that you’ve both go my attention, I believe I’ll come along to the luncheon after all.

Just inside the parish hall of Canyon Methodist Church Joanna ran into Bebe Noonan. Still dressed in black, she was carrying a plateful of food and looking somewhat restored. She smiled tentatively when she saw Joanna.

“‘Thank you for your help, Sheriff Brady,” she said. “I did lust what you said. I asked Dan Storey to represent me--ml and the baby.”

Joanna nodded. “I heard about the court order, so I knew you must have found someone.”

“That’s not all, either,” Bebe added. “I talked to Reggie Wade a little while ago. Did you know he’s taking over Bucky’s practice?”

“Yes,” Joanna said. “So I heard.”

“Well,” Bebe went on, “he told me that when the deal goes through, I’ll be able to stay on with him. He says it’ll be a big help to him if he has someone here in town who already knows Bucky’s clients. Since Terry won’t be working there anymore, I’ll have a full-time job instead of a part-time one. He may even let me stay in the house for a while. That way, he’ll have someone to look after things. So we’ll be all right, the baby and I, right?”

Joanna had terrible misgivings about what it would be like for Bebe Noonan as a single parent in a small town-particularly an unwed single parent. Joanna had the financial security of some insurance, a reasonably well-paying job, and loving grandparents and friends to backstop her when it came to emergency child care. Bebe Noonan and her baby would have none of those. Bebe seemed to have only the barest grasp of the difficulties ahead. Still, her question pleaded for a simple affirmative answer. Joanna gave her what she wanted.

“Yes, Bebe,” Joanna said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Why, Joanna,” Marliss Shackleford said, horning her way into the conversation in her customarily pushy fashion. Faced with the columnist’s arrival, Bebe Noonan paled and melted into the crowd.

Usually, Joanna would have dreaded running into the re-porter in a social selling. Today was different. “We missed you at the luncheon the other day,” Joanna said sweetly. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

Marliss must have had something in mind as she approached Joanna and Bebe Noonan. Now, whatever it was_, seemed to disappear in unaccustomed confusion.

“Oh, yes,” she stammered uncomfortably. “I was sorry to miss it. I had a little touch of the flu, but I’m fine now.”

“Good,” Joanna said. “And have you heard Jeff and Marianne^’s good news?”

“What good news?” Marliss asked.

“Marianne left for San Francisco bright and early this morning. She’s going there to meet Jeff and the baby and bring them home.”

“Is that right?” Marliss Shackleford’s disinterest was unmistakable. She may have been in the news business, but good news wasn’t necessarily her bag.

“I’m planning a shower for them as soon as they get home,” Joanna continued cheerfully. “Probably sometime it the next week or so. I’ll let you know as soon as I decide when it’ll be. Maybe you can put a little announcement about it in your column.”

“Oh, no,” Marliss objected at once. “I couldn’t possibly do that.”

“You couldn’t?” Joanna asked. “Why not?”

“Marianne Maculyea is a personal friend of mine. I could never use my column in that way. Making a personal plea like that would be a violation of journalistic ethics-a conflict of interest. It just wouldn’t do at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me…^”

Joanne felt a certain amount of satisfaction as Marliss Shackleford slipped away from her. Going on the attack was a good way of dealing with some people.

“What was that all about?” Eleanor asked, appearing at Joanna’s elbow.

Eleanor Lathrop and Marliss Shackleford were part of the same bridge group and had been known to be thick as thieves on occasion. Here was a golden opportunity to drive a wedge between them. In the end, whether the devil made her do it or not, the temptation was too much for Joanna to resist.

“Actually, Mother,” she said confidentially, “Marliss was asking me about you.”

Eleanor Lathrop’s eyes widened. “About me? Really? Whatever for?”

Keeping her face straight, Joanna leaned closer to Eleanor. “She told me she’s heard some rumors about you. I told her she must be mistaken.”

“What kind of rumors?” Eleanor asked.

“About you and George Winfield. She said she’d heard that you and the coroner were planning on taking a short jaunt up to Vegas. I told her that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.”

For the first time in Joanna’s memory, an aghast Eleanor Lathrop was shocked into absolute silence.

“It is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Joanna pressed.

Nodding numbly, Eleanor finally regained the power of speech. “Of course it is,” she agreed. “Where do rumors like this start?”

“I can’t imagine,” Joanna said.

Across the room, she caught sight of Larry Matkin standing near the door. Their eyes met briefly, but then he looked away. His message had said he wanted to talk to her. Thinking now would be a good time. Joanna started moving in that direction. Several people stopped her along the way. By the time she reached the door, he was gone. She even walked out into the parking lot to try to catch him, but he was nowhere in sight.

Oh, well, she told herself. I’ll call him as soon as I get back to the office. In the meantime, she turned back into the parish hall. By then, the serving line at the buffet had almost disappeared. Taking a plate from the stack, Joanna went to get some food.

Once the luncheon was over, Joanna returned to work with a renewed sense of purpose. She was relieved to find that things seemed to be going fairly well, considering. According to Dick Voland, both of the two critically injured U.D.A.s had been upgraded, one to critical but stable and the other to serious. In addition, none of the hospitalized aliens whose guards had been pulled had made any effort to run away. Jaime Carbajal had spent most of the morning interviewing the jailed crash victims. So far, three of them had expressed a willingness to testify against the driver, as well as against the Mexican national from Agua Prieta whom they all identified as the mastermind behind a very profitable drug and wetback-smuggling operation.

“The Border Patrol is ecstatic to get the goods on this guy,^” Voland told her. “They’ve been trying to put him out of business for years. What I can’t understand is what’s keeping Ernie. He should have been here to oversee the questioning. He was going to the Buckwalter funeral this morning but I expected him back long before this.”

“I sent him home,” Joanna said. “And I’d send you home too, if I could. We’ve all been working too hard. When I saw Ernie at the funeral, I could tell he was right at the end of his rope.”

Voland’s eyes bulged. “With all the cases we’ve got hanging fire? How could you send him home? He’s the only detective we have left.”

“Why is that?” Joanna countered.

“Why?” Voland shrugged. “The two other guys put in their twenty years and bailed out.”

“I know that,” Joanna replied. “What I don’t understand is why Deputy Carbajal hasn’t been promoted to detective. Has he passed the written test?”

“Yes, but I was waiting for Ernie to tell me he was ready.”

“What were you really waiting for, Dick? For hell to freeze over? It just did. We’ve had five violent deaths in as many days, and we’ve only got one detective to cover too many bases. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“But Jaime’s not ready yet. He’s still too young.”

“No, he’s not,” Joanna stated. “From what you said, it sounds as though he’s doing fine with those guys over at the jail.”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing, Mr. Voland. Do it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chief Deputy Voland replied. “I’ll get right on it.”

“And one more thing. Have you talked to Ruth since last night?”

Dick Voland flushed. “No.”

“Are you going to talk to her?”

“She threw me out,” Voland said. “What’s the point of talking? I’ve made some calls. I think I’ve lined up an apartment. I’m supposed to go look at it after work.”

With that, he turned and stomped out of her office. Joanna waited for several minutes after he had left before she picked up the phone and dialed Dick Voland’s home number. She had called it often enough in the past few months that she knew it by heart. Joanna was still trying to imagine what she would say to Ruth Voland when the answering machine clicked on telling her that no one was home.

Relieved, but sorry, too, Joanna put down the receiver and went to work. Half an hour later Kristin called in on the intercom to announce that someone named Philip Dotson was waiting in the outer office.

“Philip Dotson?” Joanna returned. “Who’s he?”

“He’s Reed Carruthers’ nephew and Hannah Green’s cousin,” Kristin replied. “He says he came here directly from George Winfield’s office. He was supposed to talk to Ernie Carpenter, but since Ernie’s not in, Deputy Voland suggested that he talk to you.”

Here it comes, Joanna thought, shifting her paperwork to the far side of her desk. This will probably be my first wrongful-death suit. Do I talk to the guy alone, or do I call for reinforcements? The problem was, Dick Voland had already passed I he problem on to her, and Frank Montoya would be out of I he office for the next several hours.

Time to be a grown-up, Joanna thought.

After a moment’s reflection, she pressed the intercom talk button. “I’ll see him, Kristin,” she said. “Go ahead and show him in.”

By the time Kristin ushered the visitor into the office, Joanna was standing, waiting to greet him. “Good afternoon,^” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Sheriff Brady. I’m sorry we’re meeting under such tragic circumstances.”

Dotson, a tall, spare man in his late forties or early fifties, bore no family resemblance to his dead cousin. He was carrying a cowboy hat, an old one made of worn gray felt.

“‘Tragic?” he repeated with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “I don’t know. Couldn’t be helped none, I guess. It was bound to happen.”

Joanna motioned him into one of the two visitor’s chairs. He sat down, carefully balancing his hat on the threadbare knee of a pair of worn Levis’. “What couldn’t be helped, Mr. Dotson?” Joanna asked.

“Reed Carruthers was a son of a bitch, if you’ll pardon the expression, ma’am. It’s a wonder somebody didn’t cave his head in a long time ago. His poor wife-my Aunt Ruth-was my mother’s sister. For starters, Aunt Ruth is the one who shoulda done it. There may be meaner men on the face of the earth; I just haven’t had the misfortune of meeting any of ‘em. Leastways not so far. And as for Hannah, she was always a couple tacos short of a combination plate, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re saying she was mentally disturbed?” Joanna asked.

“Amongst the family, we always said she was just plain crazy-crazy and dumb both. She got away from her old man once when she run off and married that trucker from Drip-ping Springs, Texas. What nobody could ever figure out was why she come back home once that marriage broke up, or why she stayed, either one. Guess she thought she just didn’t have no other choice. The thing is, if she’da left him, she pro’ly coulda made it on her S.S.I. Aunt Franny-Franny Langford, my mother’s older sister-woulda taken her in in a minute if need be. Hannah never woulda been left out on the streets.”

“Your cousin was receiving Social Security income based on what?” Joanna asked.

“Who knows?” Dotson said. “On account of being crazy, I expect. Disabled, one way or the other. I’m sure my uncle never let her keep none of the money to spend on herself. That wasn’t his way.”

Joanna thought of the five hundred or so dollars Hannah had said she had hidden away in her underwear drawer. For someone in her straitened circumstances, that must have amounted to a fortune. How long had it taken the poor unfortunate woman to accumulate that much of a hoard?

“So what can I do for you today, Mr. Dotson?” Joanna asked.

“I just come to town to retrieve the bodies and make arrangements. Only havin’ one body sent back, really. My uncle’s gonna be buried here in Bisbee, and the sooner the better. No service, no nothing. I’m havin’ Hannah shipped up to Thatcher. Aunt Franny’s makin’ arrangements for Hannah to he buried in the Langford family plot, where she belongs. Her mother, too, if we can work it out. She’s buried over in Willcox, but we’re seein’ about movin’ her to Thatcher as well.”

“Has anyone given you your cousin’s personal effects?” Joanna asked.

Dotson shook his head. “Not so far. The lady out in the lobby told me I should come here to talk to Detective Carpenter, exceptin’ I guess he’s not here, so I ended up with you instead.”

Joanna pushed the button on her intercom. “Kristin,” she said. “Have someone from the jail bring over Ms. Green’ personal effects, would you?”

While they waited, Joanna turned back to Philip Dotson “You wouldn’t happen to know whatever happened to Hannah’s right hand, would you?”

“Sure,” he said. “Reed slammed it in a door once years back to keep Hannah from leavin’ home that second time. Never carried her to no doctor with it, neither. My Uncle Reed didn’t believe in doctors. That’s how come Aunt Ruth died so young, too. She caught pneumonia and died. If she’da went to a doctor, she’d pro’ly still be around.”

Joanna reached for Ernie’s written report on the two linked cases-on Hannah Green and Reed Carruthers. “I’ve had detectives over there at Sunizona asking questions for two days. How come none of the neighbors mentioned any of this?”

“Pro’ly didn’t know nothin’ about it. Reed Carruthers never was one to wash his dirty underwear in public. My mother’s people-the Langfords-is the same way.”

Just then Tom Hadlock, the jail commander, showed up in Joanna’s office bearing a thin manila envelope and a plastic bag. He dropped the bag on the floor and then dumped the contents of the envelope out onto Joanna’s desk.

“Her clothes are all here in the bag,” he said. “You’re welcome to them if you want…”

“I know all about Hannah’s clothes,” Philip Dotson said. “You go ahead and get rid of ‘em. Like as how burnin’s all they’re good for.”

Leaning forward, he saw the stack of clipped-together bills that had fallen out of the envelope. Picking up the paper money, he thumbed through it. “Where’d all this come from?” he asked. “Looks like a bundle. How’d Hannah lay hands on so much money?”

Joanna glanced at the listing on the outside of the envelope. “It’s five hundred fifty-six dollars and eleven cents in all,” she said. “Hannah told me she had saved it. She claimed she had more than that set aside, so she must have spent some of it on her way to my house.”

“Why’d she do that?” Philip Dotson asked, his eyes narrowing. “That’s what my Aunt Franny wants to know. II Hannah was just gonna do herself in anyways, why’d she come all that way down here to see you first, Sheriff Brady? Why not just do it at home and get it over with and save everybody the trouble?”

“She said she wanted to talk to a woman,” Joanna answered slowly. “She said she wanted somebody to hear her side of what happened.”

“And what did happen?”

“According to what she told me, Hannah wanted to watch a particular program on TV, but your uncle took the remote control and ran off outside with it. Hannah went after him, trying to get it back. When she caught up to him, I think she went over the edge and started hitting him.”

“She told you then, didn’t she,” Dotson said. “About my uncle. About how mean he was.”

Joanna nodded.

“And you believed her?”

“Yes, I did,” Joanna said. “If her case had gone to trial, I don’t think there ever would have been a homicide conviction. Manslaughter, maybe. Considering the extenuating circumstances, maybe not even that.”

Without another word, Philip Dotson started scooping the money and the few other loose items back into the envelope.

“Don’t you want to count the money first?” Tom Hadlock objected. “I need you to sign for it. You should make sure it’s all there before you do.”

“It don’t matter none,^” Philip Dotson said. “However Much it is, it’s not enough to fight over.”

With careful concentration he signed the form Tom Hadlock handed him, then Dotson stood up. Holding both the envelope and his hat in one hand, he reached out toward Joanna with the other.

“Thank you, Sheriff Brady,” he said. “I thank you, and so does my Aunt Franny. She’s been cryin’ for twenty-four hours straight now, beratin’ herself somethin’ fierce on account of no one ever listened to Hannah or done nothin’ about her. But it turns out now that somebody did listen, and we’re mighty grateful. Can’t none of us vote for you, on account of we’re up in Graham County instead of in Cochise. But we’ll all be prayin’ for you. Aunt Franny’s especially good at that.”

“Thank you,^” Joanna said. “And tell your Aunt Franny thank you as well. Any and all prayers are greatly appreciated. After all, they’re part of the glue that holds us all together.”

Isn’t that right, Jim Bob? Joanna thought as she watched Philip Dotson amble out of her office. Lunches and prayers, both.

Through the remainder of the afternoon she continued to wade through the paperwork jungle. She tried several times to reach Larry Matkin, but to no avail. He evidently hadn’t returned to his office after leaving the parish hall. The next time Joanna’s phone rang, the caller was Butch Dixon. “Are we all set for dinner?” he asked. “What time and where?”

“There’s a place called the Pizza Palace out in Don Luis. How about if we meet there around six?”

“Don Luis?” Butch repeated. “Where’s that? I thought we were having dinner here in town.”

Joanna laughed. “We are. Don Luis is part of town. It was incorporated into Bisbee in the fifties, along with Warren, Bakerville, and Lowell. The thing is, all those individual neighborhoods have retained their original names, even though they’re all a part of Bisbee proper.”

“The Pizza Palace,” Butch repeated.

“Do you need directions?”

“No, thanks. I’m sure someone here at the Grand Hotel will be able to tell me how to find it.”

Once Joanna was off the phone, she tried Larry Matkin’s number once again for good measure. Still there was no answer. About four, Kristin came in with a stack of typed letters for Joanna to sign. “By the way, Deputy Voland told me to tell you he was taking off early this afternoon.”

“Did he say when he’d be back?”

“I’m sure he’s gone for the day,” Kristin said, a trifle too quickly.

Joanna regarded Kristin Marsten with a penetrating look. “I’m sure he won’t be coming back to work,” Joanna said. “But did he say whether or not he was coming back to sleep?”

Kristin flushed to the roots of her light blond hair. “So you did know about that?” Joanna pressed. Kristin nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The young secretary shrugged. “I guess I was afraid he’d get in some kind of trouble.”

“Kristin,” Joanna said. “Police officers are a lot more likely to get into trouble if we don’t know what’s going on in their personal lives. As my secretary, you’re my eyes and ears around here. Your job is to let me know things that are going on that may have some bearing on the performance of any member of my department. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Kristin replied. “I see.^,”

“Good.”

Kristin went out then. As Joanna sat putting her signature at the bottom of the typed letters, she thought about what she had just told Kristin. What she had said was true. But didn’t it go further than that, further than just needing to know what was going on? Now that she was aware of the situation in the Voland household, didn’t she have some responsibility to do something about it?

Closing up her desk, she took the signed letters out to Kristin to put in the mail. “I’m heading out early, too,” she said.

Except, instead of driving directly to Eva Lou and Jim Bob Brady’s to pick up Jenny, Joanna drove out to San Jose Estates. Ruth and Dick Voland lived in a four-bedroom stuccoed rambler with a magnificent view of the stately mountain peak several miles south of the border in Old Mexico from which the development took its name.

It was a long time after Joanna rang the bell before the mahogany door opened. Ruth was a heavyset, jowly woman in her early forties. Wearing sweats, she was panting, as though she’d been interrupted in the middle of a workout. Ruth paled as soon as she saw Joanna standing there. “It’s not Dick, is it?” she demanded. “Has something happened to him?”

“No,” Joanna said. “I came to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Joanna said. “Dick and I work together. That’s it. There is absolutely nothing going on between us.”

Ruth stood back and opened the door, gesturing Joanna into the house. She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter if there is or it there isn’t,” she said.

“Of course it mailers,” Joanna returned. “He’s out right now, looking for an apartment. Catch him before he rents one. Have him come back home. You guys have two kids, don’t you?”

Ruth Voland nodded. “One in high school and the other in junior high.”

“Those kids need their father. Dick is my chief deputy, but when it comes to romance, you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“I already told you,” Ruth asserted, “it is too late. I got sick and tired of listening to him talk about Joanna Brady this and Joanna Brady that twenty-four hours a day. I’ve found someone else. Kenneth is the coach of my son’s bowling team out in Sierra Vista. Ken’s already divorced, and I will be soon.”

Joanna was stunned. She had somehow thought all she’d have to do was walk up to the door, talk to Ruth Voland a few minutes, and the whole thing would be set to rights.

“You’re filing for a divorce?”

“Sure I am,” Ruth Voland replied. “Ken and I want to get married as soon as we can.”

“But Ruth,” Joanna argued. “You’ve already got a perfectly good husband.”

“If he’s so damned perfect, you have him then,” Ruth Voland said. “It was bad enough when he was married to the job. I could take that. I knew what to expect. But then, when you turned up, it was too much. I’m just a housewife, Sheriff Brady. I don’t know what you are, but to hear Dick tell it, you must be right up there with Wonder Woman. I can’t compete with that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get hack to my Exercycle.”

Still in a daze, Joanna walked back to the Blazer, got in, and drove back k her in-law’s place in Warren. Jenny was at a friend’s house when Joanna got there, and that was just as well.

“What’s going on?” Eva Lou asked. “You look upset.”

“Ruth Voland has thrown Dick out of the house. She’s filing for a divorce. She thinks there’s something going on between us.”

“Between you and Dick Voland?”

“That’s right.”

“There isn’t anything, is there?” Eva Lou asked.

“Of course not!” Joanna replied indignantly. “We work together, and that’s it. I tried to explain that to Ruth. I’m certainly not interested in the man, but I don’t think she believed me.”

“Probably not,” Eva Lou answered. “You’ve got to look at it through her point of view.”

“Which is?”

“Other than being an Avon Lady for a little while a few years back, I don’t think Ruth Voland has ever worked out-side the home. All of a sudden you arrive on the scene, not just as a fellow officer, but as her husband’s boss. He’s bound to talk about you. The more he does, the more threatened she must feel.”

“But Eva Lou,” Joanna argued, “we never did anything. There was never anything out of line. We’ve just worked together, but here she has me cast as the other woman.”

“Whether you meant to be or not, you are the other woman,” Eva Lou said quietly.

“But what should I do about it?” Joanna asked desperately. “What can I do to fix it?”

“Not a blessed thing,^” Eva Lou answered. “It’s strictly between the two of them. It has nothing to do with you.”

The front door banged open and a breathless Jenny came racing into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom,” she said. “When’s dinner? I’m starving.”