Authors: J. A. Jance
“How did you stop them?” Joanna
asked.
Ephrain shrugged. “The coyotes and the drug
smugglers—they are always on the roads, always looking for
trouble or making trouble. They beat people up and steal their
cars. And there are lots of people in this country who can’t
call someone like you to come help them.”
Finally Joanna caught the gist of what he was
saying. “You have a gun?” she said.
When he looked at her again, he nodded. “In
my truck,” he said at last. “I keep it under the seat.
For protection.”
So this man—this hardworking man who had
saved Jeannine Phillips’s life—was also driving around
southern Arizona with a loaded weapon concealed under the seat of
his pickup truck. Ephrain Trujillo was right, the world truly was a
dangerous place.
“What happened then?” she asked.
“I went back to my truck, got the gun, and
came back. I didn’t try to shoot them. I shot over their
heads, but they took off
like a bunch of scared
rabbits. One of them tripped over a rock. He fell down. He must
have twisted his ankle because he couldn’t get up right away.
He was calling for his friends to come help him; to wait for him.
But they didn’t. They took off and left him there alone. When
he did get up, he hobbled over to the truck—the woman’s
truck. He got in that and drove off. They all drove off and left
her there to die.”
“But you didn’t,” Joanna
said.
“No,” Ephrain agreed. “I did not.
At first I thought she was dead. But when I realized she
wasn’t, I ran back to my truck. My nephew and his friends had
all been riding in the camper. We had blankets there because it was
cold, but that way it looked like I was driving alone. We wrapped
her in the blankets and came here to Tucson, to the
hospital.”
Frank arrived just then. Jamming on his brakes, he
brought his Crown Victoria to a stop next to Joanna’s and
leaped out of the driver’s seat. As Frank ran toward them,
Ephrain rose to his feet as if to defend himself. Joanna leveled a
warning look in Frank’s direction, then she reached out and
took Ephrain by the hand.
“This is my chief deputy, Mr.
Trujillo,” she said. “His name is Frank Montoya. Frank,
this is Mr. Ephrain Trujillo. He and his friends are the ones who
saved Jeannine’s life last night. He’s just been
telling me all about it.”
The two men stood there for an electric moment,
regarding each other warily, then Frank held out his hand.
“Gracias, Señor Trujillo,” he said. “We
can’t thank you enough.” It was enough to break the
tension, but instead of resuming his seat, Ephrain started back
toward his truck.
“It’s getting late,” he said.
“I should be going now.”
“Please, Mr. Trujillo,” Joanna said.
“There’s one more thing. We need you to show us where
all this happened.”
“It’s on Doubtful Canyon Road,”
he said. “North of San Simon. I’m sure you’ll be
able to find it.”
“But we’ll be able to find it much
faster if you show us where it is,” she said. “And the
sooner we process the crime scene the better. Other vehicles may
drive through the area and disturb tracks. Evidence can blow away
in the wind…”
When it had been just the two of them—Ephrain
and Joanna—the man had seemed at ease. Now that Frank had
been added to the mix, however, Ephrain was outnumbered. Joanna
didn’t want to lose him.
“You lead the way in your vehicle,” she
said. “Frank and I can follow in ours.”
“So I am not under arrest? I can take my
truck?”
“You are not under arrest,” Joanna
confirmed. “And yes, you can take your vehicle. My detectives
will need to interview you, but once they’ve done
that—”
“But I already told you what I saw and what I
did.”
“Yes,” Joanna said. “But
I’m the sheriff, not a detective. They’re the ones who
take the official statements. I’ll have them meet us in San
Simon and do it there. That way you won’t have to miss any
work.”
“But if there are detectives…” he
objected. “What if they…”
“The detectives work for me,” Joanna
declared. “And they do what I say. You will not be placed
under arrest by them or by me. Once you show us where all this
happened and give my investigators an official statement, you will
be free to go.”
“What about my two friends?” he asked.
“They rode here with me. They have no way to get back to
where they are staying.”
“They were there with you?” Joanna
asked. “They were the ones who helped you bring Jeannine to
the hospital?”
Ephrain nodded.
“It would be helpful to have them go along as
well,” Joanna said. “They may have noticed something
you didn’t. And, if you’re hungry, we can stop off in
Benson and have some food along the way.”
“But you will not turn them over to
INS?”
“No, Mr. Trujillo,” she said. “I
promise.”
It took a few minutes for Ephrain to find his
lurking compatriots. Shortly after that, an odd-looking caravan
headed south on Campbell through afternoon-rush-hour traffic,
headed for the freeway. The faded red Chevy LUV led the way,
followed by the two Crown Victorias. Joanna took the opportunity to
grab for her radio. Her lead dispatcher, Larry Kendrick, took the
call.
“Time to roust out the troops,” she
said. “Dave Hollicker, and the homicide guys, Jaime Carbajal,
and Debbie Howell,” she said. “And if you happen to
have an extra deputy hanging loose in the northeast sector, you
might send him along as well. We’ll meet everyone at the near
end of Doubtful Canyon Road in San Simon. Since we don’t know
exactly where we’re going, we’ll lead them from
there.”
By the time they reached the little Mexican food
dive in Benson, Joanna’s flattened bladder was in a world of
hurt. She went inside and used the facilities. When she returned
from the rest room, Frank was busy ordering food for Ephrain and
the others.
“I’m going outside to call
Butch,” she told Frank when he finished with the waitress.
“I need to let him know that most likely I’ll be late
for dinner.”
Frank nodded absently and Joanna hurried outside.
But not to telephone—at least, not right away. The first
thing she did was
open the Crown
Victoria’s trunk and take out her Kevlar vest. She finally
had to lie down flat on the passenger side of the front seat before
she could fasten the damned thing, and once it was on, she could
barely breathe. But Ephrain Trujillo’s casual admission that
he routinely carried a gun—a telling reminder that lots of
people, good and bad people—carried guns, had gotten
Joanna’s undivided attention. In opting not to wear the bulky
vest—in choosing temporary comfort over safety—she had
put both herself and her baby at risk.
What’s the matter with
you?
she lectured herself.
I thought
you were all about leading by example.
Feeling like a little kid stuffed into last
year’s snowsuit, she managed to stand up. Only then did she
call Butch.
“When are you going to have this baby?”
he asked.
“I hope it’ll be any day now.
Why?”
“Because my parents are driving me
crazy,” he said. “Mom saw you on the
Noon News.
She wanted to know why a sheriff’s
office would be in charge of the dogcatchers.”
“So you know about Jeannine Phillips
then?” Joanna asked.
“I do,” he said. “Heard about it
from Jim Bob. We were supposed to go there for dinner tonight, but
he and Eva Lou have spent the whole day filling in at the pound, so
he called a little while ago to beg off. We’re going out for
pizza instead, much to Jenny’s delight. What about
you?”
“We’ve located someone who witnessed
part of the attack on Jeannine,” Joanna said.
“We’re on our way to the crime scene right now. I
don’t know when I’ll be home. Probably not in time for
dinner.”
“Right,” he said. “You’re
probably hiding out in your office and only pretending to be on
your way to a crime scene. I know
the real
story. You don’t want to have anything to do with my parents.
The truth is, neither do I.”
“You’ll just have to buck up,”
Joanna said. “They won’t be here forever.”
“Oh, yeah?” Butch returned.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not stuck
here at the house with them. I may call Dr. Lee and ask what it
would take to convince him to induce labor.”
“From the way I’m feeling right
now,” Joanna said, “that doesn’t sound like such
a bad idea.”
When she went back into the restaurant, the two
younger men were greedily and silently mowing their way through
individual platters of tacos. No doubt they were hungry after a
hard day of physical labor, but they ate as though their hunger
went deeper than that—as though it had been a long time since
they’d been able to eat their fill.
Frank Montoya and Ephrain Trujillo had been
speaking in Spanish. When Joanna finally managed to maneuver her
bulky self onto a chair at the table, the two men politely switched
to English. “Mr. Trujillo tells me that he came here from
Nicaragua twenty years ago,” Frank said. “He was
granted political asylum.”
Nicaragua. A country, yes, but also a word from the
history books. Joanna recalled what had happened earlier, how just
talking about the sound of someone being kicked had been enough to
cause Ephrain’s tears to flow. No wonder he carried a gun.
And knew how to use it. And what about the two young men with him?
Where did they come from? What had they seen? Whatever their
origins, they trusted Ephrain enough to come here with him, to sit
quietly in this restaurant with two police officers and to believe
that, whatever was coming, Ephrain Trujillo would see them safely
through it.
“Are you all right?” Frank asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Why?”
“You look…I don’t know…sort
of uncomfortable. I was afraid…”
I am uncomfortable,
she
wanted to say.
I’m wearing this
god-awful vest and I can hardly breathe.
“I’m
fine,” she said.
“Would you like something to eat?”
Frank asked.
I couldn’t squeeze in a
bite without popping the Velcro,
she thought. What she said
was “No, thanks. I just had lunch.”
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled into San
Simon, where two more sheriff’s department vehicles joined
the caravan for the drive out to Doubtful Canyon Road. Half a mile
beyond the locked and gated turnoff to Roostercomb Ranch, Ephrain
Trujillo stopped the LUV just short of a low rise. He and his
friends as well as Joanna’s team of investigators exited
their various vehicles and hiked up the hill behind Ephrain. Once
at the top, Ephrain stood in the middle of the dirt roadway and
pointed to a small, rock-strewn clearing off to one side.
“There,” he said, pointing.
“That’s where it happened.”
While Dave Hollicker and Casey Ledford began their
painstaking examination of the crime scene, Jaime Carbajal and
Debbie Howell began interviewing Ephrain Trujillo and his two so
far nameless passengers. Debbie’s Spanish wasn’t fluent
enough to do the questioning, so Jaime took the lead. With no
definite jobs to do, Joanna and Frank stood off to one side while
she briefed him on everything Ephrain had told her. They were
standing there speculating about what Jeannine had been watching
through her night-vision goggles when they heard a vehicle churning
up the hill behind them.
They barely had time to scramble out of the way
before an
old open-air jeep, spewing smoke and
raising a cloud of dust, charged over the top of the rise.
“What the hell do you think you’re
doing?” the driver demanded as he stood on the brakes and
brought the speeding vehicle to a skidding stop a few feet shy of
where Joanna and Frank had been standing.
Joanna recognized Clarence O’Dwyer at once
from the jagged scar that ran down one side of his face, a remnant
of a barroom brawl in which younger brother Billy had attacked his
older sibling with the business end of a broken Budweiser bottle.
Both brothers had been hauled into the county jail. The sutures to
stitch Clarence’s face back together—all fifteen of
them—had been done at sheriff’s department expense. She
also noted the wooden butt of a rifle sticking out of a scabbard
next to the man’s knee.
I wonder if this vest would
stop a 30-06 slug at close range?
she thought as she stepped
forward to answer his question.
“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Dwyer,”
she said. “We’re here investigating the attempted
homicide of one of my officers around midnight last night. She was
here investigating a complaint about a possible dogfighting ring.
You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would
you?”
“Screw you!” Clarence said.
Somebody already did
that,
she felt like saying, but this was no time for
tasteless jokes. “Do you know anything about it?”
Joanna persisted.
“I don’t know nothin’,”
Clarence growled. “Now get off my land!”
“We’re well outside the fence line,
which means we’re all in the public right-of-way,” she
said. “It also means that we won’t be
leaving until we’re good and ready or until
we’re done, whichever comes first.”
In reply, Clarence flashed her a one-finger salute.
Then he ground his gearshift into reverse and tore off back down
the hill.
“Same to you, buddy,” Joanna whispered
under her breath. “Have a nice day.”
J
oanna
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.”
J
oanna
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.”