Dead Wrong

Chapter 2

Joanna stayed at the scene long enough to listen as Jaime Carbajal interviewed Wally Rutterman, the Border Patrol officer who had discovered the body. Then she watched for a while as Dave Hollicker did a painstaking inch-by-inch survey of the dump site. Neither effort revealed anything worthwhile. On the drive back to the department, Joanna found herself chilled from the inside out in a way that boosting the output of the Crown Victoria’s heater did nothing to alleviate.

She radioed into the office on the way. “Any missing-persons reports come in this morning?” she asked. “None so far,” Tica Romero answered. “You’ll let me know if there is one?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tica said.

When Joanna arrived at her reserved parking place, she was surprised to see that the one next door-Chief Deputy Frank Montoya’s-was empty. After a moment’s reflection, she remembered it was Friday morning. That meant Frank was probably busy standing in for her at the weekly board of supervisors meeting.

Better him than me.

Entering the building through her private back entrance, she dropped her briefcase off on her desk and then poked her head out into the reception area outside her office. “How are things?” she asked.

Kristin Gregovich, Joanna’s secretary/receptionist, was busy sorting through a newly arrived basket of mail.

“Not so hot,” Kristin said. “Shaundra’s teething. She didn’t get any sleep last night, which means I didn’t either.”

“I’m in the same boat,” Joanna said. “Not getting any sleep, that is. Let’s hope my baby isn’t teething.”

Kristin laughed. “They say that parents of new babies lose bunches of IQ points. It’s no wonder. They never get any sleep. How’d it go down by Paul’s Spur?”

“Unidentified homicide victim,” Joanna replied. “Ernie’s on his way to observe the autopsy. Everybody else is working the problem. In the meantime, how much of that mail is for me?”

The daunting amount of paper that flowed across her desk each day made Joanna wonder how any trees remained standing anywhere. She wasn’t surprised when Kristin picked up the largest of the several stacks and handed it over. As she headed into her office, mail in hand, it occurred to Joanna that it might not have been such a bad idea to tag along to Doc Winfield’s office and observe that autopsy after all.

She paused just inside her office door. “Any calls?” she asked.

“Just Reverend Maculyea calling to remind you about today’s lunch. And speaking of lunch,” Kristin added, “there’s an errand I need to run at noon today at the same time you’ll be out. I know you don’t like to leave the office unattended, so I already asked if one of the clerks from the public office could come over and cover for me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Joanna said.

Once at her desk, she forced herself to put this latest homicide case out of her head and buried herself in dealing with the stack of correspondence. Her years of running an insurance office had given her superb typing skills, so she wrote, printed, and answered as much of the mail as possible without using Kristin’s help for anything other than printing the envelopes. By the time Joanna headed out for her lunch date at eleven-thirty Kristin was already gone.

Pulling into the parking lot at Daisy’s Cafe, Joanna was surprised to see several familiar cars there as well as Marianne’s antique VW bug. Joanna’s mother’s blue Buick was parked next to the VW and her former in-laws’ Camry was parked next to that. She recognized Angie Hacker’s husband’s Hummer as well. It was only when she saw Kristin’s little red Geo tucked in behind the Hummer and the pink and blue balloon bouquets on either side of the door that Joanna finally tumbled to what was going on. This wasn’t just her usual weekday lunch with Marianne. It was a baby shower.

Grinning from ear to ear, Junior Dowdle, Daisy and Moe Maxwell’s adopted developmentally disabled son, greeted Joanna at the door. “It’s a party,” he said, pointing at Joanna’s belly. “A party for your baby. We’ve got flowers and cake and everything.”

And “everything” was exactly what they had. Half of the restaurant had been cordoned off with strips of pink and blue crepe paper to accommodate the party Much to Joanna’s surprise, Jenny was seated at the makeshift flower-festooned head table.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Joanna asked. “Who sprung you?”

“Grandma,” Jenny said, nodding in Eva Lou’s direction. Taking that as a signal, Joanna’s former mother-in-law came over and gave her a hug.

“It’s a big occasion,” Eva Lou Brady declared. “I didn’t think she should miss it. And I wouldn’t miss it, either, not for the world.”

Andrew Roy Brady, Joanna’s first husband, had been gunned down years earlier. Nevertheless, his parents, Jim Bob and Eva Lou, continued to be unfailingly supportive and loving to their former daughter-in-law. Joanna didn’t have the slightest doubt that they would treat this new grandchild, Butch and Joanna’s baby, with the same love and attention that they had always lavished on Andy and Joanna’s Jenny.

“Thank you,” Joanna whispered, fighting back tears of gratitude.

Eleanor stepped in the moment Eva Lou moved away. “Don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” she warned. “It’s only a baby shower, for Pete’s sake. No reason to burst into tears.”

Joanna’s mother’s reaction was in such stark contrast to Eva Lou’s that it helped Joanna pull herself back together. “Right,” she said, wiping her eyes. “No reason at all.”

During lunch, Joanna sat between Marianne Maculyea and Angie Hacker. Eleanor still managed to look disapproving whenever Angie was around, but Joanna’s and Marianne’s unflinching acceptance of Angie had made it easy for most of Bisbee to forget about the woman’s less-than-stellar past. The fact that she had once made her living as a prostitute had faded into the background. She was now recognized as the prime reason one of Bisbee’s favorite watering holes, Brewery Gulch’s famed Blue Moon Saloon and Lounge, remained open for business.

Marianne couldn’t help gloating. “So we really did surprise you?”

“You certainly did,” Joanna agreed. “Nobody breathed a word.”

The whole thing was great fun and about as diametrically opposed to the grim way Joanna’s day had started as humanly possible. When she finally returned to the Cochise County Justice Center, it was mid-afternoon and much later than she had anticipated. She drove there with the backseat of her Crown Victoria loaded down with a collection of baby gear-most of it in suitably impartial shades of pastel green and yellow. Eleanor’s gifts, however, were all unabashedly blue-clearly announcing her preference for a boy. It surprised Joanna more than a little to realize that for some reason her mother was openly lobbying for a grandson.

Kristin was already back at her desk by the time Joanna got there. “Hope you didn’t mind my little fib about what I was doing at lunch,” she said.

Joanna’s initial dealings with Kristin had been difficult. Over time, however, they had become much more cordial. “No,” Joanna said. “I didn’t mind it at all. It was a fun shower, and I’m glad you were there.”

Chief Deputy Montoya emerged from his office and joined the conversation. “Did you pick up a lot of good loot?” he asked.

“You mean you knew about the shower, too?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “The only person who didn’t was you. So how was it?”

“The party was great,” Joanna said. “How about the board of supervisors meeting?”

“Dull,” Frank said. “Thank God for small favors. We weren’t in the hot seat for a change. Today’s meeting mostly concerned sanitary landfill issues, so we lucked out.”

“I’ll say,” Joanna agreed. “Time for the briefing?”

Frank nodded. “Coming right up. Ernie just got back from that autopsy. We can have the Double Cs sit in on the briefing as well.”

When Joanna entered the conference room a few minutes later, Frank and the two detectives were already there. Ernie, sitting with his arms crossed, looked more somber than usual.

“Do we have a cause of death?” Joanna asked.

Ernie nodded. “Blunt-force trauma to the head from a single blow. But the cause of death isn’t what makes this such an interesting case, Sheriff Brady. I’ve been in Homicide a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Like what?” Joanna asked.

“All ten of the guy’s fingers have been whacked off,” Ernie said, letting his breath out slowly. “All ten of ‘em! And not with a knife, either. Whoever did it probably used kitchen shears or maybe garden pruning shears of some kind. The only good thing about it is at least the guy was dead when they did that part.”

Ernie’s chilling words washed across Joanna like a bucket of icy water. It was a mind-bending shock to move from the carefree atmosphere of the baby shower to a recitation of murder and mayhem in the space of less than an hour. For a moment the room was totally silent. Gathering herself, Joanna was the first to speak.

“What actually killed him, then, and when?”

“The doc says he’d been dead for a good twenty-four hours and maybe more before he was found, and that he was killed somewhere else and brought to the dump site much later. There are some signs of defensive wounds-bruising and that kind of thing-that would indicate some kind of struggle.”

“Any trace evidence from the perpetrator?”

“Doc Winthrop collected some hair and fiber from the body. I brought that and the bloody tarp back here to the lab. Dave is starting to go over it now-looking for prints, blood smears, and so forth. The bloodstains we saw on the tarp were due to leakage from the wounds to his fingers.”

“Any ID found on the body?” Joanna asked.

“None at all,” Ernie said. “Doc estimates John Doe to be in his mid- to late fifties. Lots of dental work, done on the cheap, that would help identify him if we end up having to use dental records. Other than that, the only distinguishing mark is a tattoo-a homegrown, do-it-yourself job-that says ‘One day at a time.”“

“What does removal of the fingers tell us?” Joanna asked.

“My guess would be that the victim’s prints must be in the system somewhere,” Jaime offered. “The killer is betting that if we don’t have fingerprints, we won’t be able to identify him.”

Joanna considered that suggestion. “So it’s possible we’re talking about a guy who has been in jail at least once at some time in the past, and he’s also been involved in AA.”

“Doesn’t narrow the field much,” Frank said. “Lots of ex-cons have issues with drugs and alcohol. The big problem with Alcoholics Anonymous is just that-they’re anonymous. We’re not going to get any help from them in making our ID.”

“But that’s exactly what we have to do-figure out who he is,” Joanna said. “Until we take that first step, there’s no way to trace his movements leading up to the homicide. Have we checked out missing-persons reports?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime Carbajal replied. “Already done. I’ve got MP info from Arizona, New Mexico, California, and Nevada. So far there’s nothing that’s even close.”

“What are the chances,” Joanna asked, “that we’re dealing with someone who was locked up for a long time? Maybe he decided to make trouble for someone-maybe someone who helped put him away-as soon as he got out. Let’s check and see if we have any recent parolees who have suddenly dropped off their probation officers’ radar.”

“Don’t expect me to work overtime on this one,” Ernie grumbled sourly.

Joanna studied her detective. Ernie had a tendency to be grumpy on occasion, but throughout the briefing his attitude had been one notch under surly.

“What do you mean, Detective Carpenter?” she asked. “Do you have a problem with this case?”

“Damn right I’ve got a problem with it!” Ernie growled. “We’ve got no crime scene. No suspects. So with nothing to go on, why the hell should we be out busting our balls to find out who knocked off some drunken ex-con?”

“I believe it’s called equal protection,” Joanna said evenly. “Just because someone’s been in prison doesn’t give someone else the right to murder them. Somebody killed this man and mutilated his body. It’s up to us to find out who did it and why.”

Recrossing his arms, Ernie shut his mouth and subsided into his chair. Joanna turned her attention to Jaime Carbajal. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Not right off. In addition to the missing-persons reports we should also keep an eye out for reports on any abandoned vehicles. The victim sure as hell didn’t drive himself out to Border Road. If he left his car somewhere or if someone else abandoned it for him, chances are it’s parked somewhere it doesn’t belong. Eventually someone will get tired of seeing it, pick up a phone, and report it.”

“It’s a thought,” Joanna said, “but it could take days for someone to turn it in, especially with the weekend coming up.”

Jaime shrugged. “Best I could do,” he said.

Joanna turned to Frank. “Any bright ideas from you?”

“Nothing so far,” he said.

“Well, then,” Joanna said. “You guys do what you can,” she said to Ernie and Jaime. “And let me know right away if anything turns up.”

Once the door had closed behind the detectives, Joanna turned to Frank. “What got into Ernie? I don’t ever remember seeing him act quite like that.”

“He did seem out of sorts,” Frank conceded. “I know he’s taken a couple of sick days in the last couple of weeks, but I don’t know anything more about it than that. I’ll see if I can find out what gives.”

Joanna and Frank then returned to the usual day-to-day business of administering the 120-person department. Because of a billing snafu, Mainstay Foods, the jail’s major food vendor, was refusing to make further deliveries until the problem was solved. There were scheduling questions, sick leave and vacation issues, and all the difficulties that went along with trying to cover too many shifts and too many jobs without enough personnel to go around.

“I’m almost as tired of being shorthanded as I am of being pregnant,” Joanna observed at last as Frank closed his notebook.

Her chief deputy laughed. “You’ve got me there,” he said. “I wouldn’t have a clue what being pregnant feels like, but I know all about being constantly shorthanded. It’s hell.”

When the briefing was over, Joanna returned to her office to find that a whole new stack of mail had been added onto the top of the one she had managed to whittle down during the morning. By five in the afternoon she had pretty well finished. She was loading up her briefcase to go home when Ted Chapman, the executive director of the Cochise County Jail Ministry, tapped on the doorjamb next to her open office door.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

Ted Chapman was a very nice guy, and Joanna genuinely liked him. His work with jail inmates went far beyond merely ministering to their souls. Single-handedly Ted had introduced and helped maintain ongoing literacy and GED programs inside the Cochise County Jail that made it possible for inmates to finish out their jail terms better educated than when they went in. As far as Joanna was concerned, however, Ted Chapman had one major failing-at times he could be incredibly long-winded. One of Ted’s so-called minutes could expand to fill up all available time, and since Joanna was chronically short on time, it was difficult for her to rein in her impatience.

Not only that, with Butch out of town, Joanna was only too conscious that Jenny was at home alone. At fourteen, Jenny was certainly old enough to spend time on her own. Still, with chores to do and animals to feed…

“Come on in,” Joanna said. “What’s up?”

“It’s about one of my guys,” Ted said.

Knowing that a problem with one of Ted’s “guys” could run the gamut from something as serious as an inmate’s mother being on her deathbed to something as simple as a jail-yard feud over possession of the basketball, Joanna closed her briefcase and settled in for the duration. “Which one?” she asked.

“Oh, nobody here,” Ted said quickly. “Not one of the inmates. I’m sure it’s not anyone you know. Brad’s actually an associate of mine.”

“Brad?” Joanna asked.

Ted nodded. “Brad Evans,” he said. “Got sent up twenty-five to life in the late seventies for murdering his wife. I first met him when he got shipped down to Douglas to work on the dorms for the new Arizona State Prison Complex they were building down there. Over the years, he got saved and got himself squared away. Took complete responsibility for what happened to his wife. Never gave anybody any trouble. While he was still locked up, he started working toward his jail ministry certification. Once he got out, he asked to work in the Papago Unit down there. Considering his former problems with booze, we thought it would be a good fit. Or at least I thought it would be a good fit. Now I’m not so sure.”

Since Douglas was only thirty miles away from her office, Joanna knew a good deal about the prison complex located there. One of the three units, the Papago, was sometimes referred to as the Arizona State Prison Complex’s dry-out wing. In the mid-eighties the ASPC had decided to separate inmates with DUI offenses from other incarcerated felons. With that in mind, prison officials had negotiated the purchase of a failed Douglas-area motel that now housed over three hundred male prisoners in a space designed for no more than two hundred and fifty.

Four-plus years of being in charge of a jail had taught Joanna a whole lot more than she wanted to know about people involved on the wrong side of incarceration. In her experience, having an ex-con working with and counseling current inmates seemed like a bad idea. And although Ted’s programs did tend to produce good results, there were times when Joanna thought his ideas hopelessly naive. It didn’t surprise her to hear that one of Ted’s proteges had pulled some kind of boner, one that would likely reflect badly on a man who consistently put himself out on a limb for the prisoners he served.

“Poor Ted,” Joanna sympathized. “So now you’re discovering what I learned a long time ago-no good deed goes unpunished. What did he do?”

“He just took off,” Ted answered. “Everything was going fine, right up until yesterday, when he didn’t show up for his counseling sessions. When he didn’t turn up again today, his supervisor called him at home and got no answer. When somebody finally called me and let me know what was going on, I drove straight to his apartment down in Douglas to see if he was all right. He didn’t answer my knock. There were two unopened newspapers in the driveway, mail in the mailbox, and no car. Given Brad’s history with booze, I’m guessing he’s had a relapse and is back on the sauce. I was hoping maybe you could help me find him before things get any worse than they already are.”

Suddenly Joanna’s impatience with Ted Chapman melted away. She was no longer nearly so anxious for him to get to the point so she could head home. Ted’s “guy” happened to be just what her department was looking for-a released, long-term prison inmate with a history of alcohol abuse who had suddenly gone AWOL. Was it possible this Brad guy would turn out to be her department’s Border Road John Doe? Unfortunately, both the Double Cs had already left for the day.

“What’s his name again?” Joanna asked, pulling out a piece of paper and picking up a pen.

“I call him Brad,” Ted replied. “But his real name is Bradley- Bradley Evans.”

“How old is he?” she asked.

Ted shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Fifty-something, I suppose.”

“And what does he look like?”

“Reddish-blond hair,” Ted answered. “Balding. A little pudgy around the middle.”

“Any tattoos?” Joanna asked.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Ted returned. “Why?”

Without answering, Joanna picked up the phone and speed-dialed George Winfield’s office number. “Are you still there?” she asked when the medical examiner answered.

“Not really,” he returned. “At least I’m not supposed to be. I’m actually standing with my keys in hand and one foot out the door.”

“Put down the keys and wait for me,” Joanna told him. “I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Why? What’s the big hurry?”

“I have someone here in my office. I think he can shed light on this morning’s case.”

“You’d better hurry, then,” George said. “It’s Friday, and your mother is expecting guests for dinner. If you make me late again, Ellie will have my ears.”

“Don’t worry,” Joanna said. “This won’t take long.” When she put down the phone, Ted Chapman was staring at her. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, Ted,” Joanna said slowly, “but I’m afraid I may have some bad news for you. Early this morning a Border Patrol officer found an unidentified homicide victim out along Border Road. It sounds to me as though there’s a lot of similarity between him and your Mr. Evans. Reddish-blond hair. Fifty-something. Homemade tattoo on his upper left arm that says ‘One day at a time.”“

“You want me to see if I can identify him?” Ted asked.

Joanna nodded. “Yes, if you don’t mind. Identifying the victim would be a big help to our investigation. Without knowing who he is, we’re pretty much dead in the water.”

It took Ted a moment to come to grips with what Joanna had said. Finally he nodded. “Of course,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll be glad to.”

Ted sat quietly in the passenger seat of Joanna’s Crown Victoria as she drove the several miles from the Cochise County Justice Center, through town to Old Bisbee, and then up the winding curves of Tombstone Canyon to the failed low-cost mortuary George Winfield had converted into a state-of-the-art morgue.

On the way Joanna considered calling Ernie and Jaime at home to let them know what was up. In the end she decided against it. If Ted did manage to make a positive ID, there would be plenty of time to send out for reinforcements.

George was waiting in the doorway and looking pointedly at his watch when Joanna pulled in and parked under the covered portico.

“This is Ted Chapman,” Joanna announced once she and Ted were both out of the car. “He’s head of our jail ministry. One of his colleagues from the Arizona State Prison Complex down in Douglas has gone missing. I’m thinking perhaps…”

“Of course,” George said gravely, taking Ted Chapman by the arm. “Right this way.”

George led them into a velvet-lined room that, in the building’s mortuary days, had been a private family viewing room. As part of the county morgue it now served a grimmer but similar purpose. Joanna stood at Ted’s side while George went into the next room, retrieved the body, and then opened the curtain.

When he removed the sheet to reveal the dead man’s face, Ted swayed as though his knees were about to give way beneath him. Taking him by the elbow, Joanna eased him onto a nearby chair.

“It is him,” Ted whispered hoarsely. “It’s Brad.”

She turned back to signal George to shut the curtain, but he had already done so. She gave Ted a few minutes to regain his composure. “Thank you, Ted. Does Mr. Evans have any next of kin?”

“Probably,” Ted said. “But I have no idea who they are or how to contact them.”

“My detectives are going to need to talk to you as soon as possible,” Joanna told him. “Now that we have an ID, they’ll be able to start making progress on the case. If I call them back in, would you mind talking to them?”

“Tonight?”

Unlike Joanna, Ted Chapman wasn’t a cop. He didn’t grasp the urgency of getting on the killer’s trail while it was still warm.

“Yes,” Joanna said. “Tonight. Right now.”

“All right,” Ted said. “But I’ll need to call my wife and let her know what’s going on.”

While Ted used his cell phone to explain the situation to Ginny Chapman, Joanna used hers to call Jenny.

“When will you be home?” Jenny asked. “What’s for dinner?”

“You’re probably on your own for dinner,” Joanna returned. “Something’s come up here at work. I may have to stay late.”

“With Butch gone, I thought we’d get to have a girls’ night, just the two of us, the way things used to be.” Jenny sounded genuinely disappointed.

“I thought so, too, sweetie,” Joanna said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Jenny replied hotly. “You’re not sorry at all.”

With that, she hung up, leaving her mother listening to the empty hum of the phone line.