by J. A. Jance
It took several minutes to help Edith Mossman into the car. Once she was settled, Joanna went back into the building. By then Jaime Carbajal had arrived on the scene. Joanna brought him up to speed. “You two handle Eddie,” Joanna told him. “In the meantime, I’m giving Mrs. Mossman a ride back to Sierra Vista.”
Once in the driver’s seat of the Crown Victoria, Joanna glanced in Edith Mossman’s direction. She sat slumped in the passenger’s seat, staring stonily ahead at nothing in particular.
“Are you all right?” Joanna asked.
“I’m a failure,” Edith said quietly.
“A failure?”
“At motherhood. If I’d done a better job, Eddie wouldn’t have turned out the way he did.”
“If your son turned out to be a child molester, it’s not your fault. It’s his.”
Edith turned sharply and stared at Joanna. “I never said that,” she said.
“No, you didn’t,” Joanna agreed. “You didn’t have to, but it is true, isn’t it?”
Edith shut her eyes. Two fat tears dribbled slowly down her bony cheeks. Finally she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered brokenly. “Yes, it is.”
“Would you tell me about it?”
“It’s too late. It’s over and done with.”
“It’s not over,” Joanna said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Edith asked.
“Two other women were murdered last week over near Rodeo, New Mexico,” Joanna said. “Pamela Davis and Carmen Ortega were independent television journalists doing a story on a group called The Brethren.”
Joanna let the last word fall into the conversation like a pebble into a deep well. It took a long time for her to hear the answering splash.
“The same group Eddie’s involved with,” Edith Mossman breathed at last.
Joanna nodded. “Pamela Davis and Carmen Ortega left California with a check for five thousand dollars from their production company, Fandango Productions, made out to Carol Mossman. They were going to pay her to tell her story, Edith. Somebody murdered them and your granddaughter, too, in order to keep Carol from going public.”
“And you think my son did that?”
“It’s possible.”
“If he did,” Edith said fiercely, “then you have to lock him up and throw away the key.”
“You’ll help us then?”
“Absolutely. Just tell me what to do.”
“You’ll need to talk to my detectives again.”
Edith nodded. “All right,” she said.
“Why didn’t you mention any of this to them the other day when you talked to them the first time?”
Edith shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think it was important. And Carol never wanted to talk about it. At least she never did before. I thought I was respecting her wishes. But now…Of course I’ll talk to them, but there’s something else I need to do first.”
“What’s that?”
“I need to talk to a lawyer. I want someone to go to court for me to keep Eddie from taking Carol’s body away.”
“You don’t have an attorney of your own?” Joanna asked.
“I used to,” Edith said. “Augie Deming, out in Sierra Vista. He’s the one who did Grady’s and my wills, but that was years ago. Augie died a few years after Grady did. I haven’t used an attorney since.”
While they talked, Joanna had started the car and driven down Tombstone Canyon as far as the downtown area. Now she pulled into a parking place. “Tell you what,” she said. “Burton Kimball’s office is just over there.” She pointed toward the entrance to a long red-brick building. “Burton’s an attorney. He’s also a friend of mine. He’s done some work for me over the years. I’m not sure what, if any, grounds he could use to keep your son from taking charge of Carol’s body, but if it can be done, he’s the one to do it.”
“Do I need to have an appointment in order to see him?” Edith asked.
“Just a minute,” Joanna said. “I’ll find out.”
Joanna used her cell phone to make sure Burton Kimball was available, then she escorted Edith as far as the office door. “You go inside and talk to him,” Joanna told Edith. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”
As soon as Edith disappeared inside, Joanna hurried back to the Civvie, and called Frank Montoya.
“I guess the morning briefing’s been canceled due to lack of interest,” he said derisively.
“Not lack of interest,” Joanna corrected. “Lack of personnel.” As quickly as possible, she explained everything that she had learned so far that morning.
“As long as Ernie and Jaime are meeting with Eddie Mossman,” Joanna finished, “he’s not going anywhere. And I’m relatively certain that he’ll stick around town long enough to try to wrest Carol Mossman’s body out of Edith’s grasp. But we have to move fast. If he once figures out he’s becoming an actual suspect, I’m afraid he’ll disappear back into Mexico.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Frank asked.
“First, I want you to call down to the police department in Obregón and find out whether or not they made a next-of-kin notification. I also want to know when and how Eddie Mossman traveled from there to here.”
“Got it,” Frank said. “If he was involved in his daughter’s death, he wouldn’t need to be notified.”
“Exactly. I also want you to get on the phone to Fandango Productions.”
“Right. The television production company Pamela Davis and Carmen Ortega worked with. I saw that in your report.”
“Talk to Candace Leigh, the CFO. Have her send you to whoever you need to talk to. Find out if they have any details on Pamela Davis and Carmen Ortega’s activities once they left there for Arizona. Diego Ortega said something about their being the target of one or more death threats. He even read me one that was purportedly from Ed Mossman. But it could have been sent by someone else. We need to know everything about that threat and any others that might have been received. If any police reports were made in regard to the threats, I want copies of those. And if Pam and Carmen sent any e-mails that contain notes or information, I’d like to have access to those as well. Somewhere along the way, they crossed paths with Carol Mossman’s killer. I want to know where and when that was.”
“Anything else?” Frank asked.
“Yes. Hidalgo County’s medical examiner is doing the two autopsies today. Call over there and let them know that I need preliminary results as soon as possible.”
“How come?” Frank asked. “They were shot, weren’t they? What’s an autopsy going to tell us that we don’t already know?”
“I want them to pinpoint the time of death as closely as possible. I want to know if they were murdered before or after Carol Mossman died.”
“So you’re thinking Ed Mossman murdered the two women in New Mexico and his own daughter as well?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“What if he skips out and goes back to Mexico before we pull together enough pieces to have probable cause?”
Joanna was quiet for several moments as a tiny chip of an idea began to take shape in her head. “At this point, we don’t know for sure that Ed Mossman is a suspect. But I do know he’s been threatened. In fact, his own mother was all set to assault the man this morning.”
“So?”
“We tell him that, because we believe his life may be in danger, we’re putting him under a police guard. Have one of the deputies on hand when Jaime and Ernie finish their next-of-kin interview. Tell him that because we’ve been notified of what we believe to be a credible threat to his life, we’re offering him protection. Tell him if we didn’t do that, there’s a possibility we’d be held liable in case anything happened to him.”
“That’s stretching it a little, isn’t it?” Frank Montoya asked.
“Whatever works,” Joanna returned.
“Okay,” Frank said. “So I have my marching orders. Anything else?”
“That’s all I can think of at the momen
t. No, wait. Any luck with Phelps Dodge on the General Office employees?”
“Not yet. What do you think I am, some kind of miracle worker?”
“Pretty much,” she told him.
Frank Montoya wasn’t amused. “So while I’m busy making my next set of phone calls, what are you up to?” he asked.
“I’m going to be picking Edith Mossman’s brain,” Joanna said. “Trying to get the goods on her son.”
“Nice,” Frank said. “Call me a wimp if you want to, but I’ll stick to making phone calls. Getting a nice little old lady to turn state’s evidence against her own son sounds a little underhanded to me.”
“Maybe,” Joanna agreed. “But if Eddie Mossman is the kind of creep he seems to be, I’m in favor of doing whatever it takes to get him off the streets.”
Fourteen
When Edith Mossman emerged from Burton Kimball’s office, Joanna hurried forward. She helped the older woman into the car and stowed her walker in the backseat. Once Joanna’s seat belt was fastened, she glanced at Edith. The older woman sat motionless. Her head was thrown back against the headrest; both eyes were closed.
“Are you all right?” Joanna asked.
“Tired,” Edith returned. “I’m very tired.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
Edith shook her head. “Knowing that Eddie was coming here to make trouble upset me so much that I couldn’t eat a thing.”
“Let’s go have some lunch then,” Joanna offered. “You’ll feel better after you have some food.”
“I don’t think so,” Edith said hopelessly. “I don’t think anything is going to make me feel better ever again, but I suppose I do need to keep up my strength.”
“Did Burton think he could help you?”
“Mr. Kimball wasn’t sure,” Edith replied. “He said we could probably slow things down some, but he didn’t know if we can stop Eddie from taking Carol’s body away altogether. He said that if Carol were a minor or incapacitated in some way and I had been appointed her guardian, then it was more likely he could fix this. Or if I had some kind of written document, like a will or something, specifying her wishes, then that would work, too. As it is, Eddie, as her father, is officially considered to be her next of kin.”
“Your son can’t take Carol’s body anywhere if he isn’t going there himself.”
Suddenly, despite her lack of food, Edith Mossman straightened in her seat and came to full attention. “What are you saying?” she asked sharply.
“If someone were to file criminal charges against your son, if he ended up going to jail or prison rather than returning to Mexico, he wouldn’t be able to take his daughter’s body anywhere. It’s my understanding that when it comes to shipping caskets containing human remains across the international border into Mexico, it’s customary to have a relative of the deceased ride along to accompany the body.”
“You’re saying, if Eddie doesn’t go back to Mexico, then Carol’s body doesn’t go either?”
Joanna nodded. “It’s not one hundred percent, but it might work.”
“Tell me what I need to do,” Edith said.
“First you’re going to have some lunch. Then we’ll talk.”
Joanna pulled into the last open parking place at Daisy’s Café. Junior Dowdle, Daisy’s adopted developmentally disabled son, met them at the door with a wide smile and a pair of menus. “Booth or table?” he asked.
“Booth, please, Junior,” Joanna told him.
Junior led them to an empty booth and deposited their menus on the table. As he waddled purposefully away, Edith Mossman eyed him suspiciously. “Why would a restaurant hire someone like that?” she asked.
“It’s his mother’s restaurant,” Joanna explained. “A few years ago, Junior’s guardian abandoned him over in St. David. Moe and Daisy Maxwell took him in. First they were just his foster parents. After the death of Junior’s biological mother, Moe and Daisy officially adopted him. They also taught him how to work here.”
“Oh,” Edith said, relenting. “I suppose that’s all right then.”
When Daisy appeared, pad in hand, Joanna ordered a roast beef sandwich while Edith settled on a cheese enchilada. As soon as Daisy walked away from their booth, Edith turned her full attention on Joanna.
“Now what can I do to help?” she asked.
Joanna herself had been mulling that very question. “Did any of your granddaughters’ abuse occur while they were still in the States?” she asked.
Edith shook her head. “I don’t think so. According to Carol, it started happening after they moved to Mexico. Cynthia, my daughter-in-law, was terribly ill ever before she became pregnant with Kelly. She never should have gotten pregnant that last time, but Eddie insisted. That’s one thing The Brethren do believe in—that they should go forth and multiply. Eddie believed in multiplying in a big way. And so, when Cynthia was too sick to…” Edith paused, searching for the proper word. “…to accommodate his needs any longer, he came to Carol looking for…sexual gratification.”
For several seconds, while Edith Mossman struggled to regain her composure, Joanna had to battle her own sense of outrage. A terrible revulsion assaulted her—a sickness that had nothing to do with current physical reality.
How could someone do that to his own child? a shaken Joanna wondered. How could he?
“Carol told me Eddie came to her bed late one night a few months after Cynthia became ill,” Edith Mossman continued at last. “With Cynthia confined to her sickbed in the room next door, he woke Carol up and forced himself on her. He told her that since Cynthia could no longer perform her wifely duties, they were now Carol’s responsibility. He said that her mother needed Carol to take her place. He claimed that was what Cynthia wanted!”
Edith paused again while her eyes brimmed with tears. “So, of course Carol complied. What choice did she have?”
In her years as sheriff, Joanna Brady had encountered more than her share of ugly situations. A year earlier she had struggled to come to terms with the murder of a pregnant and unwed teenager. Dora Matthews had been a sexually precocious classmate of Jenny’s, and it had been tough on Joanna to realize that children Jenny’s age were already sexually active. But the tale Edith Mossman had just related was far more appalling.
When Joanna tried to speak, the question she was asking stalled in her throat. “How old was Carol at the time?” she managed finally.
“She’d just turned ten,” Edith answered.
Months earlier, when thirteen-year-old Jennifer Ann Brady had crossed the critical line of demarcation that separates girl-hood from womanhood, Joanna had responded to the situation by taking her daughter out to dinner alone so they could have a private woman-to-woman discussion of the intricacies of human sexuality. To Joanna’s dismay, Jenny had wasted no time in derailing her mother’s best intentions.
“Come on, Mom,” Jenny had told her with a dismissive shrug. “I already know all that stuff. They teach us about it at school.”
Being told about the birds and the bees by your mother or by a respected teacher at school was one thing. To be routinely raped by your own father from age ten on was something else.
“How long did the incest continue?” Joanna asked.
“Until Carol was fourteen,” Edith answered. “As soon as she had her first period, she got pregnant. When it came time to deliver, she was too small and the baby was too big. The doctor did a cesarean, but it was too late to save the baby. He died. Later on the doctor told Carol that her female organs had been damaged and that she’d never be able to have children.”
Joanna thought about what George Winfield had told her about his autopsy findings. “They’d been damaged all right,” Joanna put in. “Dr. Winfield, the medical examiner, told me that he thought a complete hysterectomy was performed on Carol right along with the cesarean.”
“A hysterectomy?” Edith Mossman gasped. “Carol never mentioned that.”
“Maybe she didn’t know,” Joanna sugg
ested.
“They did that to her at age fourteen? That’s criminal.”
“Yes,” Joanna said quietly. “I couldn’t agree more, but go on. What happened then?”
“Carol said Eddie left her alone after that. She always thought it was because the scar made her too ugly—because the other girls were prettier than she was. I think it’s because my son is a pervert, Sheriff Brady. Fifteen was too old for him. He went right on down the line—from Carol to Andrea, and from Andrea to Stella.”
“And Kelly?”
“I suppose he abused her, too. I don’t know for sure because I’ve never talked to her about it.”
“And she’s still there,” Joanna said. “In Mexico.”
Edith nodded. “I believe Eddie married her off to one of his middle-aged Brethren buddies. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen at the time.”
“I know you told me the other day, but I don’t remember. How old was Carol when she finally ran away?”
“Twenty.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“You mean, after ten years of living in hell, what finally provoked her to leave?”
Joanna nodded. “Something like that.”
“She heard her father making arrangements to marry her off. To someone up in northern Arizona.”
“In one of the bigamist communities on the Arizona Strip?”
It was Edith Mossman’s turn to nod. “Somewhere up there,” she agreed. “I don’t know exactly, but that’s the thing. People like my son treat their wives and children—especially their daughters—like chattel. They make all the decisions and no one else is allowed any input. They marry them off to men twice and three times their age, and the girls have no say whatsoever.”
“You said wives?” Joanna interjected. “As in plural?”
Again, Edith nodded.
“And your son has more than one?”
“He had three the last I heard, but that was a long time ago. He could have more by now. The last one I knew about was thirty years younger than he is.”
“The same age as Kelly?” Joanna asked.
“Younger,” Edith answered. “And that’s what he was going to do to Carol—marry her off to an old buzzard in his sixties who already had four or five wives and a whole raft of children. Eddie told the guy Carol was good at looking after other people’s kids. Somehow Carol overheard the conversation. She must have been eavesdropping. That’s when she wrote and asked for my help. Not just for herself, but for her sisters, too. She was afraid her father would send her away and the three younger girls would be left completely unprotected—as much as she could protect them, that is.”