Dead Wrong

Chapter 17

Once the Yukon was under way, Joanna took out her cell phone and turned it on. There were five missed calls, all of them from Frank. Rather than bothering to check voice mail, Joanna simply called him back. “What’s up?”

“You’re not going to believe it,” Frank returned. “Our one gunshot victim has turned into three.”

“Three!” Joanna exclaimed.

“That’s right. We’ve tentatively identified the female found in the yard at Roostercomb Ranch. She turns out to be Lupe Melendez, Tony Zavala’s presumably ex-girlfriend.”

“Her identification was on her?” Joanna asked. “Not exactly,” Frank returned. “How did you identify her then?”

“She was naked. We found her ID inside the O’Dwyers’ house, in a bedroom along with the second victim, who’s evidently one of the O’Dwyers-the one with the scar on his neck.”

“That would be Clarence,” Joanna said. “He’s dead, too?”

“It looks like he took a bullet in the middle of the forehead while he was sound asleep.”

“So Lupe hooked up with Clarence, and Tony Zavala took exception?” Joanna asked.

“That’s a likely scenario,” Frank replied. “And our crime scene folks just got here to work the yard and the ranch house.”

“What about Billy?”

“Unfortunately, we found him a little while ago,” Frank answered. “He’s dead, too, but not here at the ranch. It looks like he took off through the desert, trying to get away. Someone chased him down and shot him off his ATV just over the state line in New Mexico. We found a disabled Toyota RAV abandoned a mile or so from where we found Billy O’Dwyer’s body. In chasing after the ATV, the shooter evidently broke the Toyota‘s front axle.”

“Who’s it registered to?”

“The Toyota? Amelia Zavala, Tony’s mother.”

“We’re assuming he’s the shooter and he’s on foot then?” Joanna asked.

“For the moment.”

“Have you called in the K-9 unit?”

“Like I said, Billy O’Dwyer’s body was found just across the state line,” Frank explained. “The Toyota was found a mile or so beyond that. So Sheriff Trotter is organizing the ground search. He’s called for the Hidalgo County K-9 unit, although the last I heard, they had yet to arrive.”

“Are there visible tracks?” Joanna asked.

“Not really,” Frank answered. “It’s pretty rocky terrain.”

“There’s no guarantee that just because Zavala started out in New Mexico he ended up staying there,” Joanna said. “He could easily have retraced his steps and come back this way. I want Terry and Spike working the scene.”

Terry Gregovich and his German shepherd Spike made up Joanna’s K-9 unit.

“I’ll call them,” Frank said, “but speaking of dogs… We do have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“A potential PR disaster. The O’Dwyers were running a pit bull breeding kennel here, if you can call it a kennel. Puppy mill is more like it. But Clarence and Billy are both dead, so we can’t leave the dogs here.”

“How bad is it?” Joanna asked.

“Bad,” Frank replied. “Bad enough to make me think it was probably a good thing someone took a gun to those two yahoos. There are at least ten dogs chained in the yard-fighting dogs so vicious that our officers can’t get anywhere near them without being torn to pieces. They’ll all have to be tranquilized before we can unchain them in order to move them. Then we’ve got a bunch of starving bitches with batches of starving puppies locked in filthy runs. Seventy-five dogs in all, by my count.”

Joanna was aghast. “That many?”

“That many,” Frank repeated. “What the hell are we going to do with seventy-five dogs, Joanna? Even if we had room for them at the shelter, which we don’t, we don’t have the manpower to care for them. Some of them are in really bad physical shape. With the owners dead, we can’t leave them here, and we can’t just put them down, either-not if you intend to stand for reelection anywhere in Arizona ever again.”

Great! Joanna thought. Another dog disaster!

Ever since Animal Control had been moved into the sheriff’s department on a temporary basis, Joanna had been faced with one AC crisis after another.

“Where’s Manny?” Joanna asked.

“Out at Animal Control. He’s shifting animals around and doubling them up wherever possible to create more room. Once he’s finished with that, he’ll be coming here to start picking up dogs.”

“What about Randy Trotter? Can he help us out with any of the AC issues?”

“Hidalgo County Animal Control has offered help, but only with transportation,” Frank replied. “And I believe two of their AC trucks and officers are already en route, but since the dogs are all physically located on our side of the line…”

“I get it. I get it,” Joanna said. “They’ll help all right, but only up to a point because dealing with starving or abused animals is political suicide. Everybody else is going to pass the buck on this, so we’re stuck with it.”

“That’s right,” Frank said.

“Well, let me think about it,” Joanna told him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Where are you right now?” Frank asked.

“Deputy Thomas just picked me up from the Triple H, where I didn’t get to first base interviewing Aileen Houlihan. I did talk to Leslie, though, and to Leslie’s creep of a husband. Now we’re on our way to the Target in Sierra Vista. I wanted to talk to Mr. Oxhill.”

“Wasted trip,” Frank said. “Manfred Oxhill called me a little while ago and told me that he had tracked down the transaction. The primer was purchased on Friday afternoon and paid for in cash. We’re not going to find a paper trail.”

“We’re having a bad week,” Joanna said.

“That’s what I say,” Frank agreed.

“Since there’s no sense going to Target, I’ll have Deputy Thomas bring me there. At least that way I’ll be able to see firsthand what’s going on. I seem to remember there was a warrant out on Zavala. Do we have a current mug shot?”

“Yup,” Frank said. “I’ve loaded it into the website, and I’ve put out an APB. You should be able to access it from the computer in Rick’s Yukon.”

“Great,” Joanna said. “Will do.”

“All right,” Frank said. “We’re at the Roostercomb ranch house. See you when you get here.”

Joanna closed her phone and leaned back in the seat. Seventy-five dogs! And with Jeannine still out, how are my people going to handle that many animals?

Joanna sat up straight. Then she opened her phone and scrolled through the incoming-calls section until she found what she hoped was the one belonging to Millicent Ross. She punched talk and was relieved to hear the veterinarian answer.

“Dr. Ross.”

“Sheriff Brady here,” Joanna said. “How are things?”

“Better,” Millicent responded, her voice sounding lighter than air. “Much better, in fact. Jeannine’s been moved out of ICU. Dr. Waller says by tomorrow or the next day, depending on how she’s doing, she may be ready to come home. Plastic surgery comes later. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost her, Joanna. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.”

Clearly Jeannine and Millicent’s relationship had turned a corner. Whatever the gossipmongers in Bisbee might have to say, Jeannine Phillips would be coming home to Millicent Ross’s house in every sense of the word. Pretending to be simply roommates wasn’t going to cut it any longer.

“In fact,” Dr. Ross continued, “I’m thinking of running home for a little while this afternoon to check on things and maybe pick up a change of clothing. I hadn’t exactly planned to be here this long.”

It was the opening Joanna had been waiting for. “Actually,” she said, “I’m calling to ask a huge favor.” Briefly she explained what had happened at Roostercomb Ranch.

“So those two assholes are dead?” Millicent asked. “Good riddance. As far as I’m concerned, they got what they deserved, but what do you need from me?”

“Help with their dogs,” Joanna said. “From what Chief Deputy Montoya told me, some of them are too dangerous for anyone to approach, and some of the others are verging on starvation. I need someone-a trained professional-to go and assess the situation. Save the ones you think can be saved and-”

“And deal with the others,” Millicent interrupted.

“Exactly,” Joanna said. “I’m not sure how much the county will pay you for this…”

“I’m not doing this for the county,” Millicent Ross declared. “I’m doing it for Jeannine. It’s Saturday, so there won’t be any supply houses open. I’ll stop by several vets I know on the way and gather what I think I’ll need.”

“Thank you,” Joanna said.

When she finished the phone call, Deputy Thomas was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “So where are we going?” he asked.

“San Simon,” she said. “Once we get that far, I’ll direct you the rest of the way.”

As they drove toward Benson and the junction with I-10, Joanna considered her dog-care options. Frank was right. Euthanizing that many animals would be a public relations nightmare, but what were the alternatives? For form’s sake, she called the Humane Society in Tucson, but it didn’t take long for the director to disabuse her of looking there for help.

“We’re already overcrowded. We could take in five or maybe ten animals at the outside, but none of the vicious ones.”

“That’s about what I thought,” Joanna said.

By the time they reached the junction, the urgent pressure on Joanna’s bladder could no longer be ignored. “Sorry,” she told Deputy Thomas. “Being pregnant is hell. I need a pit stop. While you’re waiting, log on and download a copy of Antonio Zavala’s mug shot. Now that we’ve got printers and computers in the patrol cars, we might as well use ‘em.”

She was washing her hands at the rest-room sink when Deputy Thomas pounded on the door. “Sheriff Brady. We’ve gotta go!”

“What is it?”

“Carjacking,” he announced as they hurried back to the Yukon. “It just came in over the radio. It happened at the Texas Canyon Rest Area a few minutes ago. A woman was in the process of belting her child into the backseat when a man-a young Hispanic guy-appeared out of nowhere, pushed her out of the way, knocked her to the ground, grabbed her purse and keys and took off with her two kids belted in the backseat. He’s headed our way with some old guy in an RV in hot pursuit.”

Deputy Thomas’s words and the presence of two helpless children made Joanna see red. The rashness and desperation behind a daylight carjacking done in the presence of witnesses was all too obvious. And Texas Canyon-the same place where Jean-nine’s abandoned vehicle had been discovered-was a natural stopping-off place for a ruthless killer fleeing San Simon and heading back to Tucson.

“The guy who did this has to be Tony Zavala,” Joanna breathed as she fastened her belt. “Has to be!”

“The guy in the mug shot?” Deputy Thomas asked. “The guy suspected of shooting those three people over by San Simon?”

Joanna turned to look at him and realized with some dismay that, in this life-and-death situation, she was stuck with her most inexperienced deputy as her only asset. Thomas had the Yukon running and was putting it in gear when she demanded, “Are you wearing your vest?”

“Well, no,” he replied. “I had it on for the traffic stop, but once Dispatch sent me out to the Triple H to pick you up, I took it off and put it in back.”

“Stop the car and put it on,” Joanna told him.

“But we’re wasting time,” he began. “Shouldn’t we just-”

“That’s an order, Deputy Thomas!” Joanna barked. “I said stop the car!”

Thomas jammed on the brakes. Mumbling under his breath, he exited the car and headed toward the tailgate while Joanna reached for the radio.

“Sheriff Brady here,” she said. “Dispatch, what have you got?”

“Red Dodge Grand Caravan with Texas plates heading westbound on I-10 with two unidentified children in the back,” Larry Kendrick announced. “Repeat: two children in the back.”

“Where are they?”

“An RV driver took off after them. He followed them as far as the second Benson exit, but the grade’s too steep for him to keep up. He’s falling behind and says the guy is driving like a bat out of hell. Where are you?”

“At the third Benson exit,” Joanna answered. “We’ll wait at the bottom of the exit in case the guy gets off there. Even if he’s slow, have the RV keep following and let us know when he passes the Sierra Vista exit.”

Deputy Thomas slammed the cargo doors shut and returned to the driver’s seat, fastening his Kevlar vest. “Where to?”

“Drive as far as the freeway and stop underneath,” Joanna directed. “If he gets off the interstate there, we’ll have him. If he goes on by, we’ll have to catch up. How good are you at pursuit driving?”

Thomas shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I passed that part of my academy exam.”

“What about target shooting?”

“I did all right.”

A bare “all right” wasn’t the answer Joanna wanted to hear. With two children in mortal danger in the back of a speeding stolen minivan, “all right” wasn’t nearly good enough.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Turn on your lights. You drive. I’ll shoot.”

By then they were parked under the freeway. “Dispatch,” Joanna said into the radio. “What’s the word?”

“The RVer still has a visual. According to him, the ‘Van’s approaching your exit right now. Nope. He’s not stopping. Went right on past.”

“Okay,” Joanna said, nodding in Thomas’s direction and motioning for him to take off. As they started up the entrance ramp, the car skidded wildly from side to side. Eventually, though, Thomas got it back under control and they sped forward. It wasn’t a performance to instill much confidence, but still…

“We’re on it,” Joanna said into the radio. “Who else is in play here?”

“We’ve called DPS. They know of the situation. They’ve got cars headed that way, but with children involved, they’re not going to lay down any spike strips.”

“Right,” Joanna said. “What about our guys?”

“Frank’s on his way, but he’s a long way off.”

“Okay. We’ll do our best.”

She watched as the speedometer rose past seventy-five miles per hour, past eighty, past eighty-five. The interstate was chock-full of eighteen-wheelers. As Deputy Thomas dodged between them, Joanna remembered how, on another occasion, she had utilized truck drivers to slow down and help capture a fleeing suspect.

“Hey, Larry,” Joanna said into the radio. “How were you communicating with the RV guy?”

“On his radio. Why?”

“If he’s still around, see if he can send word to trucks up ahead to keep a lookout for the Caravan. Once the drivers catch sight of him in their mirrors, have them slow him down and keep him trapped behind them.”

“Good idea,” Kendrick responded. “Hold on. I’ll see what I can do.” There was a long pause before the dispatcher returned. “A couple of J. B. Hunt drivers had him stuck in behind them, but one of them just reported that the suspect turned off at exit 297. He’s headed northbound on Mescal Road. Got that?”

Joanna looked at Deputy Thomas, who nodded grimly. Exit 297 was coming up fast. They were in the wrong lane with a long line of semis and oversized RVs to their right. At the last possible moment, Thomas managed to dodge back into the right lane. He veered onto the ramp with the rough-shoulder warning strips whining beneath their speeding tires. By the time they hit the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, Joanna’s heart was in her throat. Still, as bad as Thomas’s driving was, she had to take him at his word that he was better at that than he would be wielding a gun.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Just keep after him,” she urged. And to Larry Kendrick she said, “Okay. We’re on Mescal heading north, too. Does everyone else know?”

“Yes.”

“And what are we looking at here?”

“The road’s paved for a mile or so, then there’s a Y. The left-hand fork peters out at the beginning foothills of the Rincons in about five miles or so. The right-hand one takes you along the base of the Little Rincons and dead-ends at Paige Canyon in about fifteen or so. Do you have a visual on him yet?”

“Not so far,” Joanna said. “But once the pavement ends, we should be able to see his dust. I doubt there’s any other traffic out this way.”

When they reached the Y, Deputy Thomas stood on the brakes hard enough that the seat belt clamped tight across Joanna’s thighs and her and her oversize breasts. Far ahead of them and to the right, a cloud of dust roiled into the air behind a speeding vehicle.

“Okay,” Joanna said as the Yukon sped forward once more. “We don’t see the vehicle, but we do see the dust. What are the chances of calling in a helicopter on this?”

“I was just talking to DPS about that. They have one on the scene of a fatality wreck near Marana. Someone from the state patrol will see if they can break away from there and get back to me on it. Frank’s just now coming through Benson. So is Jaime Carbajal, but in the meantime, you and Deputy Thomas are pretty much on your own.”

“I already figured that out,” Joanna said. “Where’s Detective Howell?”

“She stopped off at the rest stop to interview the mother.”

“Great,” Joanna said. “I need the names of those kids.”

“Hold on.” There was another long pause.

Watching the cloud of dust rising skyward ahead of them, Joanna tried to judge whether or not they were closing the distance. The speedometer in the Yukon was hovering around fifty-five miles per hour. On this washboarded gravel surface, that was far too fast.

“Slow down,” she said. “If we push him too hard, he’s liable to go off the road.”

Shaking his head, Thomas slowed to a slightly more moderate but still dangerous fifty.

Larry Kendall came back on line. “Hannah and Abel,” he said. “Hannah is four. Abel just turned two.”

“Okay. Have Debbie find the mother a Kevlar vest and bring her in this direction. If this thing turns into a standoff, I want her on hand to talk to her kids.”

“Will do,” Larry replied.

By now Mescal Road was rising abruptly into the foothills. As it wound back and forth, the dust cloud was still visible but only intermittently. Carefully Joanna removed Thomas’s standard-issue Colt.223 semiautomatic rifle out of its holder. She was more comfortable with her Glock, but with the possibility that the suspect might grab one of the children and flee, she wanted the rifle available if needed.

“Is this thing clean?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Thomas replied. “How much longer?”

Looking at him, Joanna noted beads of sweat streaking down the side of his face and the back of his neck, soaking his collar.

The man was scared to death, she realized, and rightly so. She was scared, too, but she didn’t dare show it, not with Deputy Thomas looking to her for confidence and direction.

“Not long,” she assured him. “According to Dispatch, the road should end in another seven or eight miles. I doubt the suspect has any idea that’s going to happen, and it’ll be a rude awakening for him. When the road does end, one of two things will happen. He’ll either abandon the kids and take off on his own, or he’ll grab one or both of the kids and try using them as human shields. It’ll be one or the other,” she added grimly. “There won’t be any middle ground.”

“So what do we do?”

“We get as close as we can. If he takes off without the kids, I’ll use either your rifle or my Glock to bring him down.”

“And if he uses the kids?”

Joanna took a deep breath. “In that case,” she said, “we play it by ear.”

“Sheriff Brady,” Larry Kendrick cut in. “DPS reports that their helicopter is on its way, but it’s probably a good forty-five minutes out.”

Too little too late, Joanna thought, but she didn’t say so.

“Great,” she said into the mike. “I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

The Yukon rounded a sharp turn and almost smashed into the Caravan, which was now stopped and sitting perpendicular to the roadway. On the far side of the vehicle, Joanna saw someone struggling to remove a flailing child from the backseat.

“Stop!” Joanna ordered. “Now. Hit the ground and stay low. I’ll try to take him out.”

Joanna was out of the Yukon and onto the shoulder before the vehicle had come to a complete stop. The impact took her breath away for a moment, but not her focus. She heaved herself over on her bulging belly. Abandoning the Glock, she aimed the semiautomatic beneath the parked minivan’s dusty undercarriage. From inside the van she could hear children wailing. As the struggle continued, Joanna realized one of the kids was desperately battling being forcibly removed from a car seat.

“No! No! No!” came the scream. “Let me go! Let me go! Go away!!! I want my mommy! I want my mommy!”

All Joanna could see was tennis-shoe-clad feet topped by a pair of jeans. Then a gym bag appeared beside the feet. It occurred to Joanna that the suspect had dropped the bag in order to use both hands in his attempt to grasp the struggling child. According to officially mandated procedures, Joanna should have issued a verbal warning to the suspect at that point-she should have shouted at him and warned him to freeze. But not with the child’s life hanging in the balance.

Knowing that the minivan’s sheet-metal body wouldn’t adequately protect the children from flying bullets, Joanna nonetheless carefully sighted in on one of the moving tennis shoes, aiming slightly above the shoe itself to account for the bullet’s trajectory. With a heartfelt prayer on her lips, she pulled the trigger.

There was a screech of pain as the bullet smashed into the man’s ankle. The unexpected blow forced the suspect backward and sent him sprawling onto the ground, where he lay for a moment, bellowing with a combination of rage and pain. Then, with a purposeful roar, he flopped over on his belly and scrambled toward the fallen gym bag. Instinctively, Joanna knew she couldn’t let him reach it.

“Stop right there,” she ordered. When he didn’t, she shot again. This time the bullet kicked up a cloud of dirt and gravel inches from his face. Even at that distance she knew who he was from Frank Montoya’s mug shot. She had been right. The car-jacker was none other than Antonio Zavala.

Howling in pain once more, he stopped and lay still.

“Freeze,” Joanna shouted, and then, over her shoulder to Deputy Thomas, “Take him.” Joanna sprang to her feet with an ungainly but adrenaline-fueled agility that surprised even her. Once upright, she darted forward and around the van with the rifle still at the ready. As she ran, she heard a distinctive click. Mistaking the sound for a handgun hitting on an empty chamber, she momentarily ducked for cover. But instead of a shot, the next sound Joanna heard was the low-throated rumble of the minivan’s rear passenger door. Somehow, one of the resourceful children inside the van had pushed a button and shut the door. The next click was actually the sound of the van being locked from the inside.

That’s one smart kid! Joanna thought gratefully.

“You shot me, you bitch!” Zavala groaned, writhing on the ground. “I’m hurt. I’m bleeding. I’m gonna lose my foot.”

“If you move again, you’re going to lose your life,” she told him. “Face on the ground; hands over your head.” Deputy Thomas materialized at her side. “Cuff him,” she added.

As Deputy Thomas complied, Joanna kept him covered, all the while edging closer to the fallen and half-open gym bag. When she saw the semiautomatic lying just inside the bag, a cold chill ran down her body. With a quick kick, she sent the bag a good fifteen feet away from Tony Zavala.

Furiously she turned on the now-cuffed prisoner. Seeing the gun had brought home the grave danger they’d all been in. It was then she knew for sure that shooting first and warning later had been the right decision-her only possible decision. It was also when she realized that for Zavala’s well-being as well as her own, she needed to stay away from him.

“Here,” she said, handing Deputy Thomas his rifle. “I’ll go check on the kids.”

Behind her the terrified children in the van were still screaming their lungs out. Oblivious to the racket, Joanna hurried to the Grand Caravan and knocked on the front passenger window. Inside the screaming stopped abruptly. The little girl, now in the driver’s seat, knowledgeably switched the switch that unlocked the door, allowing Joanna to wrestle it open.

Behind her Zavala continued to screech, “My foot! My foot. You shot the hell out of my foot.”

“Shut up!” Joanna snapped. “Or I’ll shoot you again. Put a tourniquet on his leg, Thomas. Do what you can to stop the bleeding. If he keeps blabbing, put one on his mouth, too!”

Inside the van, the little boy, his face wet with tears, remained strapped in his car seat while his sister huddled next to the door on the driver’s side. “Are you all right?” Joanna asked.

The little girl, her eyes huge, nodded slowly.

“I’m Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “Are you Hannah?”

The girl nodded. “Who’s he?”

“Don’t worry,” Joanna said. “We’ve got him. He can’t hurt you now.”

“Did you really shoot him?”

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “I did. He was trying to take you away. I didn’t have any choice.”

“Did he hurt our mommy? Where’s she?”

That last question was enough to galvanize Joanna to action. Somewhere back down Mescal Road, Hannah and Abel’s mother was living in a world of terrible uncertainty.

“Your mommy’s on her way here right now,” Joanna said. “But come on. Let’s go see if we can talk to her.”

The car-seat fasteners that had so baffled Antonio Zavala let go easily under Joanna’s practiced hand. Moments later, she was carrying Abel and leading Hannah back to Deputy Thomas’s Yukon.

“Dispatch?” Joanna said into the radio.

“Sheriff Brady! Are you all right?”

“Yes. The suspect is wounded but in custody.”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“Yes,” Joanna said. “You’d better send one.”

“Where do you want him taken to?”

“Maybe the Copper Queen on Bisbee, but we’ll let the EMTs make that call,” Joanna said. “I shot him in the foot, but it looks like he’s hurt pretty bad. As soon as the ambulance crew decides where to take him, let the jail commander know. Tom Hadlock will need to post a guard wherever Zavala goes. In the meantime, please patch me through to Debbie Howell’s vehicle. I have two very brave children here with me. Their names are Hannah and Abel. They want to talk to their mother.”