Rattlesnake Crossing

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ernie Carpenter bagged the blood-spattered watch and Jaime Carbajal logged it. While they worked the actual crime scene, the S and R team continued to range over the river bottom and rising hillsides in search of evidence as well as the ugly, if unspoken, possibility of finding other victims. Within half an hour, Joanna's two detectives were joined by investigators from Pima County, Detectives Lazier and Hemming.

Hot, bored, and unable to make any real contribution to the task at hand, Joanna finally took Ernie aside. "I think somebody should go to Rattlesnake Crossing and let them know what we've found. I'd hate for either Crow Woman or Danny Berridge to hear the news on the radio or from some enterprising reporter before we deliver the notification in person."

"We've got three detectives working here now," Ernie said. "So if you'd like me to go along with you…"

Next-of-kin notifications always left Joanna with a hole in the pit of her stomach. Telling someone of the death of a loved one, regardless of whether that news was expected or not, often took as much of a toll on the messenger as it did on the recipient. Whoever brought the word was automatically lowed into the role of front-row spectator as someone else's entire existence imploded around him. Still, it had to be done, and this one would be worse than most.

"I'd appreciate that, Ernie," she told him gratefully. "I'd appreciate it more than you know."

Leaving the on-going crime-scene investigations under the overall direction of Dick Voland, Joanna took Ernie Carpenter along with her in the Blazer for the drive to Rattle-snake Crossing. Bumping up the rough, dusty road toward the main ranch buildings, Joanna had the sense that she was traveling through some kind of deserted movie set. No people were visible, anywhere, but she did notice for the first time that all the ersatz tepees and hogans had air-conditioning units attached to discreetly camouflaged platforms placed at the rear of each pseudo-Indian dwelling.

"If these guys want to pay good money to turn themselves into real Indians for two weeks at a time, you'd think they'd be tough enough to put up with real Arizona weather."

Ernie ignored the wry humor in her comment. "The scalping's real enough," he said grimly. "Whoever's doing this made damned sure he got that part right."

Joanna glanced in Ernie's direction. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "I never have."

"Since it's likely the killer's using a sniper rifle, is it possible all of this is connected to what happened to Clyde Philips?"

Ernie thought about that for a moment. "It could be, I suppose," he said finally. "The fact that a fifty-caliber may have been used in this latest case does point in that direct ion. We know from what Frank told us that Clyde was trying to demo a fifty caliber, so he must have had one or more in stock.”

"Frank told me this morning that Clyde claimed to have three different models available for immediate delivery."

"So he did have some, then," Ernie mused. "But which ones? And how do we know the killer's rifle is one of them? Without any serial numbers…"

"Wait a minute." Joanna reached for the radio clip. "Frank," she said once she had been put through to Chief Deputy Montoya, "how many companies manufacture fifty-calibers?"

"Not that many," he replied. "More than five but probably less than twenty nationwide."

"As soon as you get back to the department, and when you're not busy dodging reporters, I want you to call all those companies. ATF should be able to help out in locating manufacturers. Once you have them on the phone, find out if any of them were doing business with Clyde Philips in Pomerene. They should be able to come up with lists of serial numbers."

"Will do," Frank returned. "I'll get to it as soon as possible, although it may be a while. The first wad of reporters just drove up and they're clamoring for information. I told them to go to the Quarter Horse in Benson and wait for me there. How are you doing on the next-of-kin notification?"

"We're about to pull into the yard at Rattlesnake Crossing. We'll check in with you as soon as it's done."

Joanna stopped the Blazer in front of a sprawling ranch house built of bulging gray river rock and gnarled, rough-hewn eight-inch timbers. She and Ernie stepped onto a spacious covered porch with flagstone flooring and a scattering of cushion-covered wooden rocking chairs. At the door, Joanna turned and took in the view. The house was built on a low rise. Anyone who had been seated on one of the porch chairs would have looked off across the San Pedro to the ridge of cliffs behind it.

"If a person had a strong enough scope," she observed, "he could have sat right here and seen the whole thing."

"That's a pretty big if," Detective Carpenter replied.

Nailed to the doorjamb was a wooden notice that said, PLEASE ENTER. Since there was no sign of either a bell or a knocker, Joanna and Ernie did as they were told. Driving from the crime scene to Rattlesnake Crossing, Joanna had used the Blazer's air-conditioning, but the two officers had been out in the unrelenting heat for so long that they were still overheated when they entered the ranch house and found it to be surprisingly cool. The room was spacious and decorated with the kind of over-stuffed furniture most often seen in old-time hotel lobbies. Directly across from the officers was what looked like an unmanned hotel check-in counter, complete with a silver bell and directions to PLEASE RING FOR ASSISTANCE.

Ernie picked up the small silver bell and gave it a shake. For a long time after that, nothing happened. While they waited, Joanna plucked an expensive-looking, all-color brochure off the counter. It was filled with tourist-grabbing photos of the ranch house, some of the tepees, and what looked like an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The pictures included one of a beautiful, raven-haired young woman wearing a squaw dress and weaving a green and white bear grass/yucca basket. Another shot showed a war-painted young man wearing little more than a loincloth and sitting bareback astride a pinto pony. Behind rider and pony was a vivid, saguaro-punctuated sunset.

Come to Apache Country, the bold-faced ad copy said. Live along the fabled San Pedro as Native American Peoples did for thousands of years before the corning of the White Man. Give your mind body the purifying cleansing that only a sweat lodge ceremony can provide. Find or renew your life's purpose by enduring your own personal Vision Quest. Return to your workaday world with the blessing and direction that can come only from the Great Spirit.

She handed the brochure to Ernie and he read it, too. "Who dreamed this up?" he asked, handing it back to her. "Sounds like the Apaches meet the New Agers. A two-week stay probably comes complete with frequent-flyer miles and a free pass to the Happy Hunting Ground. And the restorative value of the purification ceremony will be directly proportioned to how much lighter the poor guy's wallet is."

Suppressing a chuckle, Joanna turned over the brochure. On the back was a paragraph that read:

THE LEGEND OF RATTLESNAKE CROSSING

Once, no rattlesnakes lived in the Land of the Apaches. They roamed the cliffs and hills on the far side of the river, but the water was so deep and swift that none could cross it. One day a great storm settled over the valley. From one full moon to the next, it rained and rained. It rained so long and so hard that some of the mountains tumbled down across the path of the river, leaving behind a wall of solid earth. Wise Old Rattlesnake took some of the younger ones and led them across the river. They have lived here ever since.

"May I help you?"

Joanna had expected Crow Woman to make an appearance. Instead, the person behind the counter was a tanned and handsome, blond haired, blue-eyed man who looked to he in his early forties. His words were touched by the slightest tract. of a New York accent.

"I'm Sheriff Joanna Brady," she said, bringing out her ID. "Anil this is Detective Ernie Carpenter. We're looking for either Daniel Berridge or someone named Crow Woman."

A quick flash of something that looked like hope passed across the man's chiseled features. "I'm Danny," he said. "Have you found her, then?"

"We're not sure, Mr. Berridge," Ernie put in. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"You have found her!" Daniel Berridge exclaimed as all hope disappeared from his face and was replaced by unmasked despair. "She's dead, isn't she? I knew it. What happened? Did she fall? Did a cougar get her? A snake? What?"

In this case, Joanna thought, being dead is the least of it. "We're not sure the person we found is your wife," she said kindly. "Detective Carpenter and I have been going over a copy of the missing-person report Deputy Sandoval took yesterday. It says Katrina was wearing a watch when she left home. Unfortunately, the report neglected to say what kind."

"An Omega," Daniel Berridge answered at once. "I bought it for her for Christmas years ago."

Ernie reached into his pocket and pulled out the see-through bag containing the remains of the shattered watch. "This one?" he asked.

Daniel Berridge looked at it and nodded numbly. "That's it," he said. "Where is she? Please, tell me what happened."

"Search and Rescue found her on the far side of the river," Joanna said. "She was shot-shot and mutilated."

"Oh, God," Daniel groaned as his face reddened and contorted with grief. He swallowed hard. "Was she… was she raped, too?"

"No," Joann, said. "To the best of our knowledge, she was spared that. From the looks of it, all her clothing was still intact."

"But I thought you said she'd been mutilated. What does that mean?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Berridge. There's no easy or kind way to tell you this. Whoever murdered your wife also scalped her."

"Scalped," he whispered hoarsely. "You're kidding! This is the twentieth century, for God's sake. This has to be some kind of sick joke. You're making it up."

"No," Joanna said. "I wish I were."

Stumbling backward Daniel Berridge collapsed on a low, rolling stool. He buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. Several minutes passed before he was once again capable of speech.

"What kind of a monster would do such a thing?" he croaked. "It's awful. It's insane."

"Yes," Joanna said. "I couldn't agree more. It is insane and whoever did it is indeed a monster."

For a time the room was silent except for the ticking of an immense grandfather clock. Finally Berridge seemed to pull himself together. "Who did it?" he asked. "What kind of a person could do such a thing? And why?"

"We don't know," Joanna said. "We were hoping you might be able to help us answer some of those questions. Did your wife quarrel with anyone recently? Did she have any disagreements with some of the guests here, or maybe with one of the other employees?"

Daniel Berridge's teary eyes met Joanna's. "Only me," he said bleakly. "The only person Tina ever quarreled with was me."

"When?"

"Just before she went out Monday afternoon. She told me then that she was going to leave me for good. She insisted she wanted a divorce, and it I wouldn't give her one, she'd gel one anyway. When she disappeared right after that, I thought that was what had happened. Even though she didn't take anything with her-no clothes, no luggage I still thought that the next time I heard from her would be through a lawyer. I never thought she'd turn up dead. I still can't believe it. I can't."

"What was the quarrel about, Mr. Berridge?"

"Money," he said. "Money and racing."

Just then a door on the far side of the lobby opened, and Crow Woman swept in. She was dressed much as she had been the day before, except this time her hair was pulled back into a hair net and she wore a long white cook's apron over her almost floor-length squaw dress.

"Danny?" she called. "Are you in here? Somebody said there were cars out front-" Crow Woman stopped short when she saw Joanna and Ernie. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"They found Trina," Daniel Berridge said.

"Good. I'm ready to have her come home to the kitchen, where she belongs. That substitute cook we hired from Sierra Vista doesn't know up from down."

"Trina isn't coming home," Daniel Berridge said softly. "She's dead, Carol. Somebody shot her."

Now it was Crow Woman's turn to stumble in search of a place to sit. "Shot?" she echoed. "No. Are you sure?"

"It's Trina, all right. They found her watch."

Crow Woman stood up and went over to the man who was supposedly her brother, although the two of them were as different as day and night. "Oh, Danny," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. Who did it? Do they know yet?"

"No…" Joanna began.

"And she wasn't just shot, Carol. Sheriff Brady here says she was scalped." Daniel Berridge’s voice broke over the word. "Whoever killed her scalped her."

"My God. I can't imagine…"

"I can," he said fiercely. "It's probably one of the guests. I've been telling you all along, Carol. Some of these people are nutcases. Just because they've got enough money to come here and stay for two weeks doesn't mean they aren't crazy."

"Oh, no," Crow Woman gasped. "A few of them may be a little strange, but I'm sure they're not killers. That's utterly out of the question."

"What do you mean, strange?" Joanna asked.

"Strange?" Daniel Berridge repeated. "I'll tell you about strange. Most of the people who come here have been playing at being Indians for years. It's a big deal over in Europe, in Germany especially. Sort of like Boy Scouts, but for grown-ups. For adults. People have little bands that go on camp-outs together. They give themselves Indian names and dress in Indian costumes. Some of them learn to make baskets or do beadwork.

"They believe Indians still live close to nature, and they think that by coming here, they're getting the real thing. It's bullshit, of course. They'd be astonished if they saw 'real' Indians, if they went out to Sells or over to San Carlos or into one of the reservation gambling casinos. Our guests don't want to know that the Indians in this country aren't any better off than, say, Turkish immigrants are in Germany. And here at Rattlesnake Crossing, they don't have to. They're in no more danger of meeting a genuine Indian here than they are a genuine Turk-"

"We give them what they want," Crow Woman interjected. "We give them what they expect to find here."

"We make money and we give them a crock of horse-shit," Danny Berridge countered. "We let them sleep on Posturepedic mattresses in air-conditioned cabins or spend the night cooking their brains out in a stupid sweat lodge. And when they go hick home after this 'native' experience-when they go hack to Düsseldorf or Frankfurt or Kempten-they're convinced that they've been touched by the Great Spirit. Give me a break!"

"Danny, please. What if one of them were to hear…"

"Let 'em," Daniel Berridge said fiercely. "Because when I find the son of a bitch who did that to Tina, I swear to God I'm going to return the favor!" With that he stood up, strode across the lobby and disappeared outside, slamming the heavy wooden plank door behind him.

Crow Woman gazed after him wonderingly. "I've never seen Danny like this," she said. "And he doesn't mean it, of course. He's the kindest, most gentle man I know. He wouldn't hurt anyone, but still…"

"Your brother told us that he and Trina quarreled before she left," Joanna said. "Is that true?"

Crow Woman looked at her. "I suppose so," she said. "I mean, I didn't hear them fighting myself, but Danny told me about it later. And I guess I knew it was coming."

"Knew what was coming?"

"That she'd leave."

"Why?"

Crow Woman shrugged. "She was tired. Tired of working so hard and getting nowhere. Struggling along with an operation like this is a lot different from being an Indy driver's wife. Cooking three meals a day for twenty-five or so fussy people isn't exactly glamorous, and I'm sure she thought she deserved better. She had this unrealistic idea that Danny could go back to racing any time he wanted; that he could pick up where he left off with cars and sponsors and all, and things would go back to being the way they used to be." Crow Woman stopped. "I don't suppose you know about any of that."

"We know your brother is a retired Indy driver," Joanna said.

"That news is out, then?" Crow Woman shook her head. "That means people around here are going to know who he is."

"People all over the country are going to know who and where he is," Joanna replied. "As soon as the wire services pick up on the murders, you can bet it'll go national."

Crow Woman stared questioningly into Joanna's face. "Did you say murders?"

Joanna nodded. "Your sister-in-law and at least two others. One of the other two victims was found here in the immediate area. The other one was a fourteen-year-old run-away from Yuma. Her body was found up near Phoenix."

"Then the killer couldn't possibly be one of our guests," Crow Woman said with what sounded like genuine relief.

"Why do you say that?" the sheriff asked.

"Our guests are booked in for two weeks at a time with a tour operator out of Munich. When they leave here, they get on a bus and go straight to the Grand Canyon. Do not pass Go; do not collect two hundred dollars. Between here and there one of them wouldn't be able to stop off in Phoenix long enough for visiting a Burger King, to say nothing of killing someone."

"If your sister-in-law worked here for you as a cook, what's your brother's function?" Ernie put in.

"Danny's my handyman extraordinaire," Crow Woman answered. "From the time he could walk he was taking things apart and putting them back together. It used to drive our parents nuts. He keeps the air-conditioning units running, fixes the pool filter when it conks out, looks after the grounds. But you're wrong about one thing. Danny doesn't work fin me, and Trina didn't, either."

"But I thought…"

"We're all equal partners in this," Crow Woman said. "If it weren't for the money and effort the two of them sank into this place, I never would have made it. You see, the ranch belonged to my husband originally," she explained. "To my ex-husband, that is. You may have heard of him-Dr. Lamphere, Dr. Carlton Lamphere."

Joanna remembered the story well enough. The scandal surrounding Dr. Lamphere and the sexual exploitation of his patients had been big news in Cochise County. But she, along with everyone else, had been under the impression that the people who had taken over the place and renamed it Rattlesnake Crossing were unrelated to the previous owner. And Crow Woman had done nothing to disspell that notion. No wonder she changed her name, Joanna thought. Under the circumstances, I would have changed mine, too.

"I'm familiar with some of what went on," Joanna said.

"Some but not all," Crow Woman returned with more than a trace of bitterness. "After one paternity suit was followed by several additional malpractice suits, there wasn't much left for anybody, especially an ex-wife. By the time the attorneys finished picking the bones, the ranch here was all that was left to be divvied up by the divorce decree. The only reason I got this was that none of Carlton's creditors wanted it or could figure out what to do with it. Bottom line, I came out of a twenty-year marriage with nothing to show for my trouble but a relatively worthless chunk of Arizona real estate. But I was sitting around thinking one day and I came up with this crazy idea that maybe I could turn it into a moneymaking proposition after all. And I have. Not by myself, mind you, but with Danny and Trina's help. After Danny left racing, he wanted to find a place to disappear out of the public eye. This was as good a spot as any to do just that."

"Let me get this straight," Ernie said. "Your sister-in-law has been gone for two days now, but you've already hired a replacement cook. Is that right?"

"Danny and I had to do that," Crow Woman said. "I can boil water occasionally. I can even peel a potato or two, but I can't cook. I've never been able to cook. So of course we hired a cook-early yesterday morning. Too late for her to help with lunch, but time enough for her to cook dinner."

"How did you manage that so fast?" Ernie asked. "This doesn't seem like the kind of place where people would be lined up looking for work."

"Oh, that." Crow Woman waved a hand dismissively. "We already had a list of potential applicants. Danny told me weeks ago that it might come to this. That Trina might leave."

"If he expected her to go, why did he report her missing, then?"

"Because she didn't take anything with her. Trina wasn't a woman who traveled light. She wouldn't have left here without taking her stuff. So when she did go, it was more or less what Danny expected, but she didn't do it the way he expected. Besides, if the police brought her back, maybe he could talk her out of leaving. Does that make sense?"

The outside door opened and Danny Berridge slammed his way back inside. Earlier, he had been dressed in work clothes-a short-sleeved khaki shirt, shorts, and work boots. Now he wore a light blue sport shirt, a pair of nice slacks, and dress-up boots.

"Where is she, Sheriff Brady?" he demanded. "Don't you need someone to identify the body?"

"Yes, we do, but it might be better if you waited until we got her into the morgue in Tucson."

"No," he said. "I want to do it now."

"Danny," Crow Woman said, "you don't have to do that. I'll handle it for you if you want me to."

"No," Daniel Berridge insisted. "She was my wife. It's my responsibility. Let's go," he said to Joanna. "I want to get this over with."