Dead Wrong

Chapter 3

On her way back to the Justice Center, Joanna called the Double Cs about interviewing Ted Chapman. Ernie wasn’t home and didn’t answer his cell. “You caught me in the middle of dinner,” Jaime said. “I’ll be there in a few”

“Any idea where Ernie is?” Joanna asked. “Tucson,” Jaime answered. “He told me before we left work that he and Rose were going there for a meeting of some kind.”

“For someone who claims to hate driving back and forth to Tucson, it seems like he’s been doing that a lot lately.”

“Yes, it does,” Jaime agreed, but he didn’t say anything more than that, and Joanna didn’t press it.

Joanna could see that Ted was shaken by what had happened to his friend, but he was eager to be of assistance in whatever way possible. While they waited for Jaime to show up for the interview, Ted called one of the jail ministry administrators.

“Hey, Rich,” he said. “Ted Chapman here. Sorry to call you at home like this, but I have some bad news about one of your guys-Brad Evans. He’s been killed-murdered.”

Joanna waited during a long pause while the unexpected news was assimilated.

“It happened along Border Road,” Ted continued. “Someone found the body early this morning. I just identified it, but the sheriff’s department is trying to locate next of kin, and I was wondering… Sure, sure. If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. What’s the phone number here?”

Joanna reeled it off.

“All right,” Ted said into the phone. “Call this number when you have the information. If I’m not here, ask for Sheriff Brady.”

Having put that in process, Joanna and Ted went into the conference room to await Jaime Carbajal’s arrival. The young detective came bearing gifts-a grocery-bag care package that included paper plates and plastic silverware as well as several bean-and-green-chili burritos wrapped in tinfoil and still warm to the touch.

“You didn’t eat, did you, boss?” Jaime asked.

“Not since lunch,” Joanna answered.

“That’s what Delcia thought,” he said with a grin. “She claims pregnant women need to keep up their strength. How about you, Ted? Hungry?”

“Not really,” he said, but once Joanna’s first burrito was unwrapped he succumbed and had one anyway. Joanna plowed gratefully into hers. Until she took that first bite, she had been unaware of how close she had been to running on empty.

As Jaime sat down at the table, Joanna pushed him the piece of paper on which she had jotted down Bradley Evans’s name as well as the address of his apartment in Douglas.

“I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, Ted,” Jaime ventured. “What can you tell us about him?”

Ted Chapman took a deep breath. “I’ve known Brad for a long time,” he said. “Before I broke away to start the Cochise Jail Ministry, I spent years working for the Arizona State Prison Ministry. Ginny’s parents were from Douglas, and she wanted to live closer to them, so when there was an opening in Douglas, I transferred down here from Florence. Brad was already there when I arrived.

“Most convicts are con artists one way or the other. They’re like politicians. They’ll say anything to suck you into believing that their version of things is the gospel. Brad wasn’t like that. He was always a straight shooter, but tough enough that no one messed with him.”

Jaime looked up from taking notes. “What was he in for?”

“Second-degree murder,” Ted answered. “He got twenty-five-to-life for killing his wife back in the late seventies. It happened out in Sierra Vista, or maybe it was just near there, I don’t remember which.”

“I’ve asked Maggie from Records to get us the file,” Joanna said.

“I don’t remember his wife’s name, but she was pregnant at the time of her death,” Ted continued. “He was drunk and evidently functioning in a blackout when it happened. I don’t believe her body was ever found.”

“They got a conviction with no body?” Jamie asked. “That’s pretty unusual.”

Ted nodded. “There was enough blood found in Brad’s vehicle and on his body to make a pretty good case that she was dead. And with her pregnant, I guess feelings were running pretty high. Even without a body, the county attorney was prepared to go for murder one. Instead, Brad copped a plea to second degree. Like I told Sheriff Brady here, he accepted full responsibility for his actions. Based on good behavior, he probably should have been turned loose a long time before they finally let him go, but every time he came up for parole, his former mother-in-law was there at the hearing to speak in opposition.”

“How long ago did Evans get out?”

“Three or so years ago. When I first met him, I would have to say he was what they call a dry drunk-an alcoholic who wasn’t actively drinking but who hadn’t done anything about working on the underlying issues. I helped him get into the program. You know anything about the twelve steps?”

Joanna and Jaime both shook their heads.

“There are twelve steps to recovery. One of them involves making amends to all the people you may have harmed. Once Brad got into the program, he wrote a letter to his former mother-in-law, asking her forgiveness, but nothing changed her mind about him. She was at the last meeting before the parole board set him loose, and she was still adamantly opposed to their letting him out. Still, once he was on the outside, Brad stayed with AA, and he’s one of the ones who really worked his program. He was serious about it. That’s why I thought he’d be so good working with the guys in the Papago Unit as a kind of peer counselor. And he was.”

“You have no idea where Brad’s former mother-in-law lives now?”

“No,” Ted answered.

“Do you have any idea about Brad’s friends or associates?”

“Not really. I’m guessing the people he was closest to will be the ones he was working with at the prison, maybe some of the guards, but they wouldn’t know him nearly as well as the inmates he was counseling.”

Jaime nodded. “We’ll get down there tomorrow and talk to them. It’s a start. Can you think of anything else?”

Ted shook his head. “Pride’s a terrible thing,” he said bleakly.

“Why do you say that?” Joanna asked.

“Because when Brad went missing, I was convinced he had fallen off the wagon. I was terribly disappointed in him, mainly because I thought it would reflect badly on me. The first thing that went through my head when I saw him uptown in the morgue was that at least he wasn’t drunk. It makes me ashamed to think that idea even crossed my mind. What kind of person would think that way?”

“Lots of them, Ted,” Joanna said. “Give yourself a break.” She turned to Jaime. “Can you think of anything else we need to ask?”

“When was he last seen at work?” Jaime asked.

“Tuesday. He had Wednesdays off.”

“All right, then,” Jaime said. “That’s about it.”

“I can go, then?” Ted asked.

“Sure,” Joanna said with a smile. “Go home to Ginny I’m sure she’s worried about you. If we need anything else, we know how to get hold of you.”

Jaime waited until Ted Chapman had left the room. “So you win the prize, boss,” he said. “John Doe turns out to be an ex-con with alcohol problems. I believe you called that one right on the money.”

“But we still don’t know who killed him,” Joanna returned.

There was a light knock on the conference-room door. Maggie Mendoza came in carrying a computer printout. “This is what the Department of Corrections has on Mr. Evans,” she said.

Joanna took the file. She hadn’t planned to look at it in any detail. Her intention was to glance at it briefly and then pass it over to Jaime so he could study it, but then a familiar name leaped off one of the pages: D. H. Lathrop! When Brad Evans was first picked up in October of 1978, Joanna’s own father had been the arresting officer.

Joanna felt a sudden shiver of recognition. It was as though her father had reached out from beyond the grave and tapped her on the shoulder. She hurried to the conference-room door and called after Maggie, who was on her way back to her desk.

“Wait a minute.” She turned back to Jaime. “What’s the wife’s name?”

Jaime picked up the papers and scanned through them. “Lisa Marie Evans.”

“Where are the homicide records from 1978?”

“In storage up in the old courthouse,” Maggie said. “Why?”

“I need one,” Joanna said. “Lisa Marie Evans. Murdered in October of 1978.”

“Do you need it tonight?” Maggie asked. “If you do…”

Joanna glanced at her watch. The hour hand was edging toward eight. She didn’t blame Maggie for not wanting to make a nighttime visit to the creaky old courthouse uptown, but it had to be done.

“We really do need it tonight,” Joanna said.

“All right,” Maggie agreed. “I’ll go get it, but it may take time. Those files aren’t in the best of order.”

When Maggie left the conference room, so did Joanna. The pressure the baby was putting on her bladder was more than she could withstand. When she returned from the rest room, Jaime was finishing a call.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks so much.”

“Who was that?” Joanna asked.

“Rich Higgins,” Jaime answered. “The guy Ted Chapman called. Rich is human resources director for Arizona State Prison System Jail Ministries.”

“So we have a next of kin?”

“Her name’s Anna Marie Crystal with a Sierra Vista address. She’s listed in Brad’s employment records as ‘mother-in-law.” She’s also the beneficiary of his group life insurance. It’s not very much-a ten-thousand-dollar death benefit, but still…“

“Did Brad Evans remarry?” Joanna asked.

“If he did, Ted never mentioned it,” Jaime replied.

“We should probably check this out,” Joanna said. “Twenty-plus years ago Brad Evans went to prison for murdering his wife, but he still lists his dead wife’s mother as his beneficiary? That strikes me as very strange.”

“Do you want me to go talk to her tonight?” Jaime asked. “Since Ted already identified the body, we don’t need her for that, but…”

Joanna looked at the computer printout. Even across the table she could make out her father’s name, Deputy D. H. Lathrop. It was eight o’clock, and Sierra Vista was thirty miles away, but even if it meant getting home at midnight, Joanna wanted to be there when Jaime spoke to Anna Marie Crystal.

She picked up the phone and dialed home. “Hullo,” Jenny said.

“How are you?” Joanna asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Jenny mumbled unconvincingly.

“Is everything all right?”

“I suppose.”

“What did you have for dinner?”

“Noodle soup.”

“As you know, there’s been a homicide, Jenny,” Joanna told her. “We’ve just found an important lead, but it means I need to go to Sierra Vista. Will you be all right?”

“I guess. I’m watching TV, but there’s nothing good on.”

“The doors are locked?”

Jenny sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

Joanna knew that being called “Mother” was never a good sign, but still…

“It’s part of a case your grandfather investigated years ago,” Joanna continued. “I really need to be there.” Want was more like it, but that’s not what she said.

“Go ahead,” Jenny told her. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mother!”

“Good night,” Joanna said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Your car or mine?” Jaime asked as Joanna put down the phone.

“Yours,” Joanna said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

They had crossed the Divide in the Mule Mountains and had turned off Highway 80 toward Sierra Vista when Joanna’s cell phone rang.

“I tried the house,” Butch said. “Jenny told me you were still working.”

“It’s a homicide,” Joanna said. “Jaime and I are on our way to do the next-of-kin notification.”

“Didn’t Dr. Lee say you were supposed to take it easy these last couple of weeks?” Butch demanded.

“I am taking it easy,” Joanna returned. “Jaime’s doing the driving.”

“And you’re wearing your seat belt the right way?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, a little annoyed by his fussing. “How was the panel?”

“Okay,” he said.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I’m wondering how much good this kind of thing does, when what I really want is to be home. I always thought writers were like hermits. This seems more like being a politician out on the stump, having to meet and greet. Carole Ann tells me I need to get used to it.”

Having just survived a bruising election campaign, Joanna knew exactly how it felt to be on the stump. She, for one, was glad to be off it.

“Jenny said this was one of your father’s old cases,” Butch said. “One of those cold-case-file deals?”

“Not really,” Joanna answered. “The homicide victim whose body was found this morning turns out to be someone my father arrested and sent to prison for murder in 1978. When we requested the record, there was my father’s name on the report. It was strange seeing his name like that, like there was some kind of weird connection between us. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Jenny didn’t sound too thrilled to be left on her own,” Butch said. “I would have thought she’d be ecstatic. She’s always saying we baby her too much.”

“I think it’s called attention deficit,” Joanna said.

“Probably pretty typical,” Butch said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Joey. No wonder Jenny feels neglected at times. Occasionally, so do I. We both want your undivided attention, and there’s only so much of you to go around.”

Joanna bit back the urge to apologize. She was, after all, simply doing her job, and a new baby was going to make it worse.

“Anyway,” Butch added, “don’t stay out too late. You’ll wear yourself out. How was the shower?”

“You knew about the shower, too?” Joanna asked. It seemed that everyone had known about it.

“Who do you think sent the note to school so Eva Lou could spring Jenny?”

“The shower was great,” Joanna said. “Lots of goodies. Come to think of it, they’re still in the car.”

“Don’t worry about unpacking them,” Butch said. “Let Jenny do it. Or wait until I get home on Sunday.”

“Butch,” Joanna cautioned, “I may be pregnant, but I’m not an invalid.”

“And I don’t want you to be, either.”

“Have fun,” Joanna said.

“I will,” Butch returned. “Don’t work too hard.”

Joanna closed her phone. “He’s worried about you?” Jaime asked.

“I guess.”

“I remember how it was when Delcia was pregnant with Pepe,” Jaime said. “I kept worrying and worrying. Delcia was fine the whole time. I was a wreck.”

Joanna laughed. “Sounds familiar,” she said.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Jaime asked, “Is this what you always wanted?”

“Having a baby?” Joanna asked.

“No. Being a cop,” Jaime said with a laugh. “Because of your dad, I mean.”

“I was proud of him,” Joanna returned, after a moment’s thought. “I thought what he did was important, and I thought he treated people fairly. And I was proud of Andy, too, but I never really thought about being a cop myself, not until after Andy’s funeral when someone suggested that I run in his stead. So I guess you could say I stumbled into it. Now, though, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Jaime nodded. “Me, either,” he said.

Anna Marie Crystal’s house was a modest bungalow on Short Street, a block-long fragment of street a single block off Fry Boulevard, Sierra Vista‘s main drag. It was a small clapboard affair with a screened-in front porch. Tucked in behind a collection of strip malls, the house resembled some of the older houses from up in Old Bisbee. It was easy for Joanna to assume that it predated the reopening of Fort Huachuca in the early fifties. The yard, surrounded by a four-foot chain-link fence, looked clean and well tended in the glow of the security lights from the loading docks of the businesses across the street.

With Jaime walking just behind her, Joanna opened the gate and made her way up to the porch, where a single yellow light illuminated an old-fashioned buzzer-style bell. As soon as she punched it, a small dog began barking furiously inside the house.

“Fritz,” a woman’s voice ordered from behind the front door. “Quiet now. Come here!” And then a moment later, “Who is it?”

“We’re police officers,” Joanna responded. “I’m Sheriff Brady. Detective Carbajal is with me. May we come in?”

Several locks clicked before the inside door opened cautiously to reveal a gray-haired woman clutching what appeared to be a tiny silky terrier mix in one arm. A high-volume television set blared somewhere in the background.

“Police?” she asked, peering out at them. “What’s wrong? Has something happened-a robbery or something? With all the people coming and going from that 7-Eleven on the corner, you just never can tell.”

“Are you Mrs. Crystal?”

The woman nodded.

“It’s not a robbery,” Joanna assured her. “But we do need to speak to you.”

After unhooking the screen door, Anna Marie took Joanna’s proffered ID wallet and carried it back inside the house. She put the dog on the floor and then studied Joanna’s ID in the illumination from an overhead light. Meanwhile the dog raced back to the screen door and resumed barking. Joanna held the screen door shut to keep the dog from bursting outside.

“Fritz,” the woman ordered. “Stop that right now. Come here.”

Fritz, of course, paid no attention. Finally the woman returned to the porch, scooped the dog back into her arms. “He doesn’t mind very well,” she said. “Wait right here while I lock him in the kitchen.”

Returning from incarcerating the animal, Anna Marie Crystal held the door open. “Sorry about that,” she said. “He’s a little spoiled. Come in.”

Joanna and Jaime entered a room that reeked of years of uninterrupted cigarette smoking. The massive green glass ashtray on the coffee table was full, but not to the point of overflowing. There were doilies everywhere-beaded ones on the coffee table and on the end tables and crocheted ones on the backs of the couch and chairs. A bookshelf against one wall was lined with what looked like a complete collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books.

Anna Marie was a tall, scrawny woman with an ill-fitting set of dentures. She motioned the two officers onto an old-fashioned sectional that was far too big for the size of the room, then hurried across the room, where she used a knob to switch off the blaring television set. “Now then, Sheriff Brady,” she said determinedly, “tell me. What’s this all about?”

Jaime looked questioningly at Joanna. Nodding, she took the lead. “Detective Jaime Carbajal is one of my homicide detectives,” she said. “I’m afraid we may have some bad news for you.”

“Homicide?” Anna Marie repeated, her gaunt face paling. “You mean someone’s been murdered?”

“Yes,” Joanna said. “The body was found early this morning on Border Road between Paul’s Spur and Bisbee Junction. The victim has been identified as Bradley Evans, your former son-in-law.”

The skin of Anna Marie’s face tightened into a grimace, revealing a glimpse of the angular skull beneath her wrinkled flesh. For a moment she said nothing. “So he’s dead then?” she asked at last. “That no-good son of a bitch is finally dead?”

“Yes,” Joanna said.

“What happened?”

“He was stabbed to death.”

“Good!” Anna Marie exclaimed bitterly, taking a seat in a wingback chair across from them. “It’s about damned time! Bradley Evans murdered my daughter. Why on earth would you think hearing he’s dead would be bad news for me? It’s what I’ve been praying for every day of my life since 1978. Twenty-five years to life! He murdered Lisa and her baby and all he got was twenty-five years! How the judge could give him that and then look at himself in the mirror I can’t imagine!”

With her hands shaking, Anna Marie shook a cigarette out of a packet of Camels on the coffee table, lit it, and then pulled the ashtray within easy reach.

“So you weren’t close?” Joanna asked.

Anna Marie blew an indignant plume of smoke into the air. “Close!” she exclaimed. “Don’t even think such a thing! Of course we weren’t close.”

“But he listed you as his next of kin.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m no kin of his at all.”

“He also named you as the beneficiary of his group life insurance policy. It’s a small death benefit, but-”

“Just because he put my name down on a piece of paper doesn’t mean I have to take the money!” Anna Marie declared. “Blood money is what I call it. He probably thought that by leaving me something I’d forgive him for what he did, but I won’t. Not ever. No matter what. I hope he rots in hell.”

It wasn’t at all the kind of next-of-kin notification Joanna had expected. Instead of a grieving relative, she was faced with this daunting old woman whose whole body bristled with righteous indignation.

“So he hasn’t been in touch with you since his release?” Joanna asked.

“Absolutely not. He wouldn’t dare. If he’d shown up here, I would have shot him myself. I have a gun, you know. An old thirty-aught-six. My husband used to hunt. I kept the gun after he died. I know how to use it, and believe me, if Bradley Evans had turned up anywhere within range, I would have plugged him full of lead. They’d have had to drag him off my porch in one of those zip-up body bags.”

Listening to the old woman rant, Joanna had no doubt that she meant every word. Anna Marie Crystal’s fury with her daughter’s killer was still white hot more than two decades after Lisa Marie Evans’s death.

“Tell me about your daughter,” Joanna said.

Anna Marie blew another cloud of smoke. Her face softened. “She was such a sweet, sweet girl,” she said. “She met Bradley over at the bar that used to be right there by the main gate. You remember the one.”

“The Military Inn?” Joanna offered.

Anna Marie nodded. “Right. That’s the one. It wasn’t a good place for her to hang out. I told her that, too, but she wasn’t about to listen. She was twenty-one and working for the dry cleaner’s just up the street. She liked going there after work to relax. It was a place where she and her friends could meet guys, and they did.”

“Did she and Bradley Evans meet there?”

“Yes. He was still in the army then. They got married only a couple of months after they met. Another bad idea. I told her she didn’t know enough about him. He was from somewhere else- Oklahoma or Texas maybe. Didn’t seem to have any family to speak of. That’s always a bad sign. Either the family’s bad or the one who’s on the outs is bad. It’s all the same. One way or the other it spells trouble, but Lisa thought Brad-as she called him-was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Nothing her father or I said could convince her otherwise.”

“So they got married?”

“Eloped,” Anna Marie said. “Ran off to Vegas and got married in one of those awful wedding chapels. I couldn’t believe it. Neither could my husband. He was crushed. He’d always planned on walking his little Lisa down the aisle. It broke his heart when she died. He never got over it.”

“You said Bradley was still in the army when he and Lisa met?” Joanna asked.

Anna Marie nodded. “Barely. He was about to get out. After he did, he managed to land some kind of job with the phone company. It was a good thing, too. A couple of months later, Lisa turned up pregnant. With him working for the phone company, at least she would have had maternity benefits. She didn’t have any benefits at all from the dry cleaner’s, even though she had worked there since her junior year in high school.”

“What happened?”

“You mean why did he kill her?” Anna Marie asked.

Joanna nodded.

“I have no idea. I thought Brad was a bit of a rounder. For sure he drank way too much, but he always seemed to behave around Lisa, and I thought he loved her.”

“Was there someone else involved?” Joanna asked.

“You mean like did Lisa have someone on the side? No way. She loved Bradley to distraction. I can’t say the same about him. I suppose Bradley could have had a girlfriend. I’ve wondered about that over the years, but I don’t know for sure.”

“They seemed happy together?”

“As happy as newlyweds are when they’re young and not making enough money. But Lisa was excited about being pregnant. She was never very interested in school. She did all right in high school, but she wasn’t the least bit interested in going off to college. She told me once that all she wanted to do was meet a nice man, get married, and raise lots of babies.”

“Did Bradley want the baby?”

“Who knows? I sure as hell didn’t ask him,” Anna Marie put in. “I mean, in those days, with the pill and all, if people got pregnant and it was after they got married, you assumed it was because they wanted to, but Bradley was a real good-time boy. On Saturdays, when he was off work and Lisa was at the dry cleaner’s, he’d go hang out at the bar and play pool until it was time for them to go home. He had a company car during the week, so they only had the one car-his pickup truck-on the weekends. So he’d take her to work and then he’d come back and pick her up when she got off in the afternoon.

“The last time I talked to her was that Saturday morning, the day she was killed. Lisa loved fried chicken, especially my fried chicken. I called her at work to see if she and Brad wanted to come over for a chicken dinner on Sunday. Fried chicken and pecan pie-Lisa’s two all-time favorites. She said she’d talk to Brad and let me know. I never heard her voice again. Sunday morning, about nine o’clock, a deputy sheriff showed up. He told me that they’d found Brad drunk out of his gourd somewhere up by Bisbee. He told me that they hadn’t found a body, but there was enough evidence of foul play that they were afraid something had happened to Lisa. And they never did find her. Brad went to prison without ever letting on what he had done to Lisa and her baby. Claimed he was drunk and didn’t remember.”

Joanna heard the words and wondered if that “deputy sheriff” had been her father.

“They never did find her,” Anna Marie repeated, grinding out the stub of her cigarette and looking off into the distance somewhere over Joanna’s and Jaime’s shoulders. “I always thought it would have been better if they had. If we could have found Lisa and the baby and buried them, maybe that would have made things better. ”Closure‘ is what they call it. These last few years, TV has been full of pictures of that awful Scott Peterson and that Hacker guy from Salt Lake, but at least those poor families found their daughters’ bodies. At least they had something to bury. Two months after Brad went to prison, my husband, Kenny, drove his pickup truck out to the San Pedro, parked alongside the river, drank a bottle of bourbon, and then put a bullet through his head. Left a note. Said that with Lisa gone, he just couldn’t see any point in going on. I didn’t blame him, either. I would have done the same thing, if I’d had guts enough. The cops even kept Kenny’s gun. Said they needed it for evidence.“

There was a plaintive whimper from behind the kitchen door, followed by a persistent scratching. Without another word, Anna Marie got up and rescued Fritz from his prison. When the old woman returned, she collapsed into her chair as deflated as if she’d been a balloon suddenly devoid of air. She seemed utterly exhausted.

Quickly Joanna rose to her feet. “We’ll be going then, Mrs. Crystal. I can see this has been very hard on you.”

“Thank you for letting me talk about Lisa,” Anna Marie said. “Most of my friends don’t have the patience for it. Talking helps me remember her. Otherwise she’d be forgotten completely.”

On an impulse, Joanna reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Lisa must have been a wonderful daughter,” she said. “Anytime you want to talk about her, feel free to give me a call.”

Anna Marie studied the card for a moment and then looked at Joanna. There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

As Joanna stepped off the porch and into the crisp, clear night air, she breathed in deeply, cleansing the cigarette smoke from her lungs.

Twenty-seven years earlier her father had probably come to this very house to make a next-of-kin notification. Despite the long slow passage of time since then, the grief that had filled the little clapboard house remained as palpable and overwhelming as it must have been that fateful Sunday morning in 1978. Through all the intervening years, none of the hurt had disappeared. It was still trapped inside the house right along with Anna Marie Crystal’s collection of decades-old cigarette smoke.