Dead Wrong

Chapter 11

Joanna was still at the crime scene when Dr. Waller reached her. “Sheriff Brady,” he began. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking. You put me and the hospital in a terrible position!”

“Me?” Joanna asked innocently, but of course she knew exactly what was coming.

“When a woman claiming to be Jeannine Phillips’s mother showed up late this morning and when she asked that we process a rape kit, I assumed she was legitimate-that you or one of your officers had actually made a next-of-kin notification. Imagine my surprise this afternoon, during rounds, when there was a near brawl in the ICU waiting room between two women, both of whom said Ms. Phillips was her daughter. The one had come all the way from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. She only found out her daughter was hospitalized because a friend from Tucson called to check on her after seeing Ms. Phillips’s name on the local news.”

“How do you suppose such a thing happened?” Joanna returned. As she said the words, though, she was thinking about how the raised voices of two very angry women would have sounded in the hushed gloom of the ICU waiting room. And had the battle escalated to more than voices, Joanna suspected Millicent Ross would have been quite capable of physically defending herself.

“Right,” Dr. Waller said sarcastically. “I’m sure you can’t. And since the rape kit was illegally obtained, I’m not at all sure the results will stand up in court.”

Joanna felt a sudden chill. “So she was raped then?”

“Your name isn’t on the approved notification list.” Dr. Waller’s reply was crisp. “Privacy rules preclude me from giving you any information concerning her condition. Once I realized that we were dealing with an impostor, I would have thrown the woman out altogether, but it happened that Jeannine had regained consciousness enough by then to make her wishes known. So the fake mother is now on the official visitors and notification list. As for the real mother? She bitched me out three ways to Sunday. I finally had to have security escort her out of the building.”

Dr. Waller was pissed, and he was calling to do his own bitching-out. If he expected Joanna to repent her actions, his words failed to have their intended effect. Jeannine Phillips had been raped by her assailants. Knowing that left Joanna sick at heart, but at least Millicent Ross was now cleared to be there with Jeannine rather than the parents who had betrayed her time and again. In the face of Jeannine’s otherwise dire circumstances, at least that one small thing had gone right, but Joanna could hardly blame Dr. Waller for his entirely righteous anger.

“I’m sorry for all the confusion,” Joanna said. It was all the apology she could muster.

“No, you’re not,” Waller returned and slammed the phone down in her ear. Joanna didn’t blame him for needing to have the last word. She deserved it.

Frank had been standing there hanging on every word of the conversation. “She was raped?” he asked when Joanna flipped her cell phone shut.

Joanna nodded grimly.

“If they did a rape kit, we’ll have DNA evidence,” Frank said.

Joanna didn’t respond to that. She didn’t want to acknowledge that evidence from the rape kit might not be admissible, but it would still give them information they could use in the investigation to verify possible evidence they might collect in some other fashion.

“But is she going to make it?” Frank continued.

“No word on that,” Joanna returned. “At least not from the doctor.”

In the course of the next hour or so, she tried to reach Millicent Ross several times but never got through. Joanna finally left the crime scene and dragged her weary butt into the house at 10 p.m. Everyone else seemed to be in bed. Two pieces of somewhat bedraggled pepperoni pizza had been left out for her on the kitchen counter. She downed them gratefully. If indigestion visited her again tonight, so be it.

In the bedroom, Butch was asleep with the light on and with a book plastered to his nose. Once she was undressed, she removed the book, put it on the nightstand, and doused the light. When she got into bed, Butch stirred.

“You’re home,” he said. “Are things okay?”

“Not really,” she said. “We still don’t know if Jeannine’s going to make it, and it turns out she was raped.”

“I’m sorry,” Butch mumbled sleepily. “What about you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, although she didn’t feel fine. “All I need is a decent night’s sleep.”

But a good night’s sleep wasn’t in the cards. She had to get up three different times overnight, and each time she came back to bed she lay awake for an hour or so agonizing over what was going on at work. When she finally awoke the next morning, she could tell it was late by the way the sun was shining into the bedroom. When she looked at the clock, she was astonished to see it was already after eight.

After showering and dressing, she went looking for Butch and found him in the kitchen at his computer. “Why did you let me oversleep?” she demanded.

“Because you obviously needed it,” he returned. “You were snoring up a storm when I got out of bed. I called Frank and told him you’d be late. He said not to rush, so sit down and have your tea. I can have your breakfast ready in five.”

Glad for the temporary respite, Joanna did as she was told. “Where are your parents?” she asked.

“I asked Jenny for some help, and she sweet-talked them into taking her to school,” Butch answered. “That way I have a few minutes to work, and you can make it through the morning without any of my mother’s dogcatcher comments.”

Joanna tasted her apricot-flavored tea. It was heavenly. Butch pushed his computer aside and then went over to the stove. “What would you like?”

The question made Joanna smile. “You still sound like a short-order cook,” she said.

“I am a short-order cook,” he returned. “Eggs, bacon, toast?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Joanna said, and took another sip of tea. “So your mother was still off on her dogcatcher tangent this morning?”

“In spades,” Butch said. “Especially after Jim Bob called.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He wanted me to tell you that he and Eva Lou would be back at the pound today and for as long as you need them. He also said you shouldn’t worry, that Eva Lou and the python are getting along just fine.” Butch paused long enough to crack a pair of eggs into a skillet. “Which causes me to ask,” he added, “what python? I don’t remember anyone mentioning that Animal Control had picked up a stray python. I thought they mostly did dogs and cats.”

“They mostly do,” Joanna answered. “Jeannine picked the snake up out in Sierra Vista the other day. Some guy left town and abandoned his pet python in his old apartment. The landlady was evidently quite upset.”

“Well,” said Butch, “apparently the python is trying to become the next Houdini. He had made it out of his kennel or cage or whatever you call it and was on his way to find himself a tasty morsel of kitty-cat when Jim Bob and Eva Lou showed up. According to him, the clerk was a complete basket case, and Eva Lou spent most of the day taking care of her.”

“I so do not need a python right now,” Joanna said.

Butch grinned. “But you should have seen the effect hearing about it had on my mother. Gave a whole new meaning to her idea of what a ‘dogcatcher’s life’ is all about. Of course, if you like, we could always trade. I’ll go into the office for you or go help out around the pound, and you can stay here with my parents.”

“No deal,” Joanna returned. “I didn’t think so.”

Joanna arrived at the office at nine-thirty. She hadn’t come in all day yesterday, so her desk was buried under one day’s worth of paperwork, and Kristin was already hard at work sorting out the latest batch. Instead of starting to play catch-up, Joanna picked up her phone and dialed University Medical Center. When she asked to be put through to Jeannine Phillips’s room, Millicent Ross answered.

“How’s she doing?” Joanna asked.

“It was a rough night,” Millicent replied. “But they finally upped her pain meds. She’s sleeping now. The phone didn’t even wake her.”

“And how are you?” Joanna asked.

“Tired but okay,” Millicent said, although she didn’t sound okay.

“I know about the rape,” Joanna said.

“The lousy bastards!” Millicent breathed. “I always thought Jeannine was strong as an ox. How did they…?”

“The guy who chased them away said there were at least six of them. She didn’t stand a chance.”

“Did the O’Dwyers do it?” Millicent asked. “Are they the ones responsible?”

“We don’t know one way or the other,” Joanna said. “We’re investigating, of course. And that’s going to take time. How is she? The doctor wouldn’t give me any information.”

“I’m not surprised. I thought Waller was going to have a heart attack when he realized I wasn’t Jeannine’s mother. Thank you for that, by the way,” Millicent added. “It meant a lot to both of us. At least I’m able to be here for her. As for her long-term prospects? They’re not very good. The broken bones will mend. A decent plastic surgeon may be able to do something with her face, but her internal injuries are still life-threatening. As for her right eye? It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Joanna repeated.

“She’ll be totally blind in that eye.”

“I’m so sorry,” Joanna murmured.

“Don’t be sorry,” Millicent said. “Just get the bastards.”

“We’re doing our best,” Joanna said. “But how are you managing? Is everything under control at your clinic?”

“Yes. I dropped off all the animals from my clinic-including the little pit bull Jeannine found-with Dr. Tompkins out in Sierra Vista. If I have any emergencies, they’ll be directed to him as well.”

“You’re going to stay there then?” Joanna asked.

“Yes,” Millicent said. “For as long as it takes.”

Kristin came to the door and mimed that Joanna had another call. “Sorry to cut you off,” Joanna said, “but I have to go.” She hung up. “Who is it?” she asked Kristin.

“Tom Hadlock,” Kristin replied.

Tom was Joanna’s jail commander. “We’ve had a little incident,” he said when Joanna came on the line.

Fresh from the disturbing news about Jeannine’s injuries, the idea of any kind of jail incident-little or otherwise-made Joanna’s blood run cold. “What kind of incident?” she asked.

“There was a dustup with some cell-made weapons out in the exercise yard.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Not badly enough for stitches. The guards broke it up right away. The two guys involved are in solitary, and the whole jail is under lockdown while we search for additional weapons. In other words, it’s all under control, but I wanted you to know what’s going on.”

“Thanks, Tom,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

For a few minutes after the second phone call she sat staring into space. Then she picked up the notebook she took to the briefings and wrote: “Discuss with Frank. Need new ACO.”

Moments later, the man himself appeared in her doorway. “Time for the briefing,” he said.

“You heard about the problem at the jail?”

Frank nodded. “It’s a good thing the guards stopped it when they did. It could have been a lot worse, but there is some good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Casey Ledford rides again,” he said with a grin.

“Are you saying she got a hit on AFIS?” Joanna asked. “What kind?”

“She didn’t give me the details,” Frank returned. “She said she’d meet us in the conference room to go over what she’s found.”

Casey, Jaime Carbajal, and Debbie Howell were already assembled by the time Joanna and Frank got there. Dave Hollicker came rushing in a few minutes later as Joanna was giving the group an update on Jeannine’s condition, including the disturbing news that the animal control officer had been raped.

“In other words,” Frank said when Joanna finished, “we’ve got to nail these guys!”

“Exactly,” Joanna said. “Not only the ones who actually did the dirty work, but the ones who are behind it.”

“The O’Dwyers?” Frank asked.

“That would be my guess.” She turned to Casey. “Now, then, I understand you may have found something?”

“I found lots of somethings,” Casey said. “For one thing, I lifted prints from the boulder that was used to smash the window on Jeannine’s truck. AFIS says those prints belong to a guy named Antonio Zavala, a nineteen-year-old gangbanger from Tucson. He’s got a string of moving violations, including driving while suspended. Pima County has a warrant out on him for suspicion of grand theft auto. And the guy who got left behind and drove away in Jeannine’s vehicle? His name is Juan Mendoza. He was released from Fort Grant just two months ago on the occasion of his twenty-first birthday. He was sixteen when he got locked up in juvie for vehicular manslaughter, which probably should have been Murder One. The guy who got run over just happened to be dating Juan’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Do we have addresses on those two guys?” Joanna asked.

“Possibly,” Casey said. “But not for sure. Pima County is in the process of forwarding whatever they have.”

“Back to the prints. Are those the only ones you have?” Joanna asked.

“No,” Casey replied. “There are lots more that I haven’t been able to process yet. Dave collected a whole bunch of rocks where Luminol located blood spatter. Once he gets what he needs from those, I’ll process them to see if I can lift any prints from them as well.”

Joanna turned to Detective Carbajal. “You and Debbie will head up to Tucson?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “As soon as we get the info from Tucson, we’re on our way. Should we go by the hospital while we’re there?” he added. “Is Jeannine in any shape to be interviewed?”

“I doubt it,” Joanna returned. “But since you’re going to be in Tucson anyway, you could just as well check and see. Millicent will be able to say whether or not Jeannine can handle visitors or questions.”

“Millicent?” Jaime said. “Millicent who?”

“Millicent Ross, the vet. She and Jeannine are together.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “As in partners?”

“As in,” Joanna returned.

Jaime made a note. “What about the Bradley Evans investigation?” he asked. “Are we dropping it for the time being, or what?”

“Something has to give,” Joanna said. “With Ernie gone, we’re way too shorthanded to do everything. As far as I can tell, no one other than Ted Chapman is particularly upset over Evans’s death, which means no one is going to be pressuring us to solve that case. Jeannine Phillips, on the other hand, is one of our own. She was in the process of investigating possible criminal activity when she was attacked.”

“In other words,” Jaime said, “we’re pulling out all the stops.”

Joanna nodded. “That’s right,” she said.

Around the table Joanna’s grim-faced team of investigators nodded in solemn agreement.

“Is there anything else?” she asked. When no one volunteered anything, Joanna nodded. “All right then, you guys,” she told them. “Go get ‘em.”

The investigators hustled out of the conference room, leaving Joanna and Frank alone. “What are we going to do about Jeannine’s position?” Frank asked.

“Fill it,” Joanna said.

“A temporary fix or a permanent one?”

“Temporary for now,” Joanna said. “Check with the part-timers. Maybe one of them will be able to work full-time for the next little while, but if Jeannine’s injuries are as severe as Millicent said, she may never be able to come back.”

“That’s tragic!” Frank exclaimed.

Joanna nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. I know you’re working on checking phones and credit-card charges on Bradley Evans, but if you have any spare time, see what you can find out about the O’Dwyers. I have a general idea of what they’ve been up to the past few years, but we need specifics. If they sicced that gang of thugs on Jeannine because she was too close to something, I want to find out what that something is.”

“Will do, boss,” Frank told her.

The remainder of their morning briefing took the better part of an hour. After that, Joanna went into her office and dived into the paperwork. It was close to one when the phone rang. “Are you ready for lunch?” Butch asked. “Dad heard it’s pasty day at Daisy’s Cafe. I called and they still have a few left. I put three of them on hold. One each for Mom and Dad and another for the two of us to split.”

“Sounds great,” Joanna said. “I’ll be right there.”

Cornish pasties-meat pies filled with cooked beef, rutabagas, and other vegetables-had migrated from Cornwall, England, to Bisbee, Arizona, along with the miners who had hailed from there. Because pasties were readily portable, miners had taken them underground in lunch pails. Most mining operations in and around Bisbee had been shut down for decades, but the foods the miners had brought with them from all over the world remained part of Bisbee’s traditional fare. Don Dixon had been astonished to find pasties available in southeastern Arizona on a previous visit and had been thrilled to find that the ones served at Daisy’s compared very favorably with the ones he remembered finding in Upper Michigan.

Junior Dowdle met Joanna at the door. “I want to see the baby,” he said with his customary grin.

“So do I,” Joanna said.

“When?”

“Soon now,” she said. “I hope.”

Junior led her to the table where Butch and his parents were already seated.

“Is he always here?” Margaret asked with a frown and a nod in Junior’s direction as he walked away from the table. “He’s so weird.”

“He’s not weird, Mom,” Butch explained. “Junior may be developmentally disabled, but he’s far less weird than a lot of so-called normal people around here.”

“Still,” Margaret insisted. “It seems to me that having someone like him hanging around all the time would be bad for business.”

“He isn’t hanging around,” Butch said. “He actually works here-as in making a contribution.”

Seeing Butch’s temper fraying, Joanna tried to smooth things over. “He’s really very nice.”

Junior returned with a glass of water, which he placed in front of Joanna. “Yes,” he said, thumping his chest while looking directly at Margaret Dixon. “Nice, not deaf.” And then he stalked off.

As Junior walked away that time, Joanna was gratified to see Margaret blush to the roots of her peroxided hair. Junior Dowdle had nailed her. It was about time someone did.

“Are you ready to order?” Daisy Maxwell asked.

They ordered and ate, but lunch wasn’t a complete success. Joanna, Butch, and Don downed their pasties with gusto. Margaret picked at hers.

“I doubt Mom will be eager to come back here anytime soon,” Butch said to Joanna as he walked her to her car.

“You’re right,” Joanna agreed. “But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Butch grinned. “Me either.”

Back at the Justice Center, Joanna was disappointed not to hear anything from Debbie Howell and Jaime Carbajal. While waiting for word, she returned to the drudgery of paperwork. She was lost in concentration when Ted Chapman showed up an hour later.

“Any progress?” he asked.

He was asking for progress in the Bradley Evans case. Joanna was reluctant to tell him that the Jeannine Phillips assault case had knocked his friend’s down a notch as far as priority was concerned.

“Not much,” she answered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’ve located the person he was stalking,” Joanna said. “That is, we know who she is, but no one’s had a chance to interview her yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re shorthanded, Ted,” Joanna returned. “Ernie’s off for the next several days. We’ve got another important case that we’re working on up near San Simon. But believe me, she will be interviewed.”

“Oh,” Ted said. “All right. I just wanted to let you know that Brad’s funeral is tomorrow at one o’clock in the afternoon. It’ll be held at the Papago Unit at the prison down in Douglas. People who want to attend need to be on the guest list for security reasons. Do you think any of the detectives on the case will want to go?”

Joanna knew Ernie was out and Debbie and Jaime would be busy with the Phillips case. Frank would have his hands full all morning with the board of supervisors meeting. That left only one person available.

“Put me on the list,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

“Thanks,” Ted said. He started to leave. As he turned, Joanna noticed the name badge clipped to his shirt pocket-a name badge that came complete with a photo ID.

“Do the jail ministry guys down in Douglas wear the same kind of name badge?” she asked.

Ted looked down at his. “Sure,” he said. “Why?”

“Do you think you could get someone from there to fax me a copy of Bradley Evans’s ID photo?”

“Probably,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He left. Joanna went back to work, but her mind wandered. She kept going back to what she had said to Ted. Yes, Debbie had located Leslie Markham, the woman who had been Bradley Evans’s stalking target. That had happened day before yesterday. More than twenty-four hours had passed without anyone interviewing the woman. Regardless of what else was going on in Joanna’s department, it was inexcusable to allow an important lead to lie fallow for that long this early in an investigation.

A few minutes later, when Kristin came into her office carrying a faxed copy of Bradley Evans’s ID photo, Joanna made up her mind. She rummaged through the mess on her desk until she located an interoffice envelope containing her copies of the prints from the camera found in Bradley Evans’s vehicle. The same envelope also contained a mug shot of Bradley Evans that dated from his original arrest back in 1978. There was some resemblance between the young man in the mug shot and the guy in the ID photo, but clearly the years spent in prison hadn’t been kind to him.

With all the photos now collected in the same envelope, Joanna stuffed it into her briefcase. Then she jotted down the address of Rory Markham Real Estate Group, told Kristin she was on her way to Sierra Vista, and left the office. As she drove, she was honest enough to realize that the main reason she was going was to get away from the paper jungle on her desk, even though she knew that leaving it for another day would only make matters worse.

Something’s got to give, she told herself sternly. And then, as if she had heard it yesterday, she remembered the advice her boss, Milo Davis, had given her years ago when she was working in his insurance agency. “You’ve got to stop majoring in the minors,” he had told her. “Don’t get sidetracked by the little stuff. Do the important stuff first.”

That was good advice then, and it’s good advice now, she told herself. Tomorrow’s the day you start running the paperwork instead of letting the paperwork run you.

When Joanna had first arrived at the department as its duly elected sheriff, Kristin had been more than a little hostile. She had also been very young. Joanna had been accustomed to managing an insurance office. In the beginning it had been easier for her simply to do the work herself than to give Kristin more responsibility while, at the same time, making sure things were done right. But now she was on a much better footing with Kristin, and it was time to teach her the difference between what really needed to land on Joanna’s desk and what didn’t.

When it comes time to sort tomorrow morning’s mail, Joanna vowed, Kristin and I will do it together. We’ll sort the new stuff as well as what’s already on my desk. Once we finish…

Her reverie was interrupted by the baby suddenly launching a drop kick into her lowest rib hard enough to make her Kevlar vest rise and fall. The kicks came along sporadically when she was in the office or out in public, where she mostly managed to ignore them. This time, though, she was alone in a vehicle, and the baby’s movements made her feel incredibly happy. He or she was alive and kicking in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe that meant the child would arrive with an inborn knowledge of the difference between day and night. Having a baby that slept through the night from the beginning would be an incredible blessing. Of course, the opposite was always possible.

Joanna was still thinking about the baby when she arrived at Rory Markham Real Estate Group on Fry Boulevard just west of Highway 92. The building had once housed a local fast-food establishment before it succumbed to the competition from too many nationally owned franchises. Someone had spent time and money trying to take away the distinctive Tacos to Go aura, but somehow the lowbrow image still lingered. The website had made the place sound far more upscale than the company’s physical presence warranted.

Trying to brush off this negative first impression, Joanna went inside. “I’d like to see Mrs. Markham,” Joanna said, handing her card to the receptionist.

The receptionist studied the card for a long moment. “Can I tell her what this is about?” she asked.

Joanna smiled. “It’s personal,” she said.

The clerk went away and returned a few moments later followed by Leslie Markham. Joanna’s first impression was that she was familiar; that Joanna had met her somewhere before- perhaps at one of the many campaign functions she had attended prior to the election.

The photos Joanna had seen of Leslie Tazewell Markham- Bradley Evans’s stealthily captured images or the promotional ones downloaded from the Internet-had not done the woman justice. Leslie was an attractive brunette with lush wavy hair that surrounded a fine-boned face. Her complexion was flawless, and the blue eyes she turned on Joanna were disarmingly direct. Still, there was an air of sadness about her, something that her upscale business attitude and attire didn’t quite conceal.

“Sheriff Brady?” she asked, holding out her hand. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did,” Joanna said. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”

Leslie turned back to the receptionist. “Is anyone in the conference room, Fran?”

“No, it’s free,” Fran said, casting a suspicious glance in Joanna’s direction.

Leslie led the way into a small conference room. “What’s this all about?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”

Joanna reached into her briefcase, pulled out Bradley Evans’s ID photo, and slid it across the table. “Does this man look familiar?”

Leslie picked up the picture, studied it closely, and then handed it back. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Who is he?”

“Maybe he came through your office here looking to buy a house,” Joanna suggested.

“Then he must have spoken to someone besides me,” Leslie replied. “I remember all my clients. I don’t recognize him.”

Listening as Leslie spoke and watching her reactions, Joanna believed she was telling the truth.

“What about these?” Joanna asked. She held the envelope over the table and let the photos spill out.

Leslie studied several of them. When she looked back at Joanna there could be no doubt about her dismay. “Where did you get these?” she demanded. “Who took them? Am I under surveillance for something?”

“These aren’t police photos,” Joanna said. “We believe you were being stalked.”

“Stalked,” Leslie echoed faintly.

“Do you have any idea when they were taken?” Joanna asked.

Leslie studied the photos more closely. “It must have been sometime last week,” she said. “I bought that outfit on my last trip to Tucson two weeks ago. Last week was the first time I wore it to work.”

“Do you know what day that was?” Joanna asked.

“Wednesday or Thursday. I guess it must have been Wednesday, but tell me, who took these pictures?” Leslie demanded. “And how were they taken without my knowledge? Whoever did it must have followed me for hours-from the post office to the mall to the grocery store. This is too creepy.” She paused and then shivered slightly as a look of understanding crossed her face. “Wait a minute. It’s him, isn’t it,” she said. “The guy whose picture you just showed me is the one who was following me around. Who is he? What does he want?”

“His name is Bradley Evans,” Joanna said. “I was hoping you could tell me what he wanted.”

“How can I? I’ve never met the man or even heard his name.”

“Is it possible you might have met him somewhere? Maybe he went by another name.”

“No. I already told you. I’ve never seen him before.”

“And you have no idea why this complete stranger would have wanted to take your photograph?” Joanna asked.

“None whatsoever,” Leslie said defiantly. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you ask him?”

“We can’t because he’s dead,” Joanna answered. “Because somebody murdered him. We found the camera with the photos still in it hidden in his vehicle.”

Leslie Markham’s eyes widened. Then she stood up. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I think I need to go get my husband.”