Exit Wounds

by J. A. Jance

“Most likely she’s hiding from the wrong person,” Joanna answered. “But, yes, I think she’s out of harm’s way for the moment.”

  “Should we send an officer to look after Edith?” Frank asked.

  Joanna nodded. “Absolutely,” she said. “The same goes for Ed, once we locate him again. What about the phone situation, Frank? Any luck there?”

  “Not really,” Frank replied. “It’s a case of having too much information rather than too little. It turns out there are several phone calls going back and forth from Stella’s home number to her father, both in the days and weeks preceding the three murders and in the days afterward. So there’s no way we can point to a single individual call and say this one is significant. Mossman said Stella called and told him about Carol’s death sometime on Wednesday. He claims he doesn’t remember the exact time. Unfortunately, there are several different calls during which that communication might have taken place.”

  Ernie’s fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on the surface of Joanna’s desk. “We’ve got plenty of suspicion, but zero probable cause,” he said. “So far there’s nothing that would merit getting a search warrant, so how about this? What if I track Denny Adams down in Tucson and find out if Stella could possibly be in possession of one of those old Deportation Colt forty-fives? If he works for FedEx, they’ll have a local phone number and address for him.”

  “Good thinking,” Joanna said.

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s fine for a start.”

  “I’ll get on it then,” Ernie said, lumbering toward the door. “One other thing. Do we know when Jaime will be back?”

  “Not so far. I’ve tried calling him, but I can’t get through to him.”

  “Too bad. If we knew when he was coming in, we could have him go talk to Adams,” Ernie said. “As it is, I guess I’ll do it.”

  “You could always do a phoner,” Frank suggested.

  Ernie shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “Phones work fine for some people, but I’d rather be eyeball-to-eyeball and belly-to-belly. I get a better feel for things that way, and better information, too.”

  Ernie went out and closed the door behind him. “I should have known,” Frank said with a laugh. “I knew Ernie disapproved of computers, but this is the first I realized telephones are also suspect.”

  Joanna laughed. “Give the man a break, Frank. Ernie Carpenter’s just an old-fashioned kind of guy.”

  Frank left, too, and since there was no other excuse to avoid the paperwork on her desk, Joanna knuckled under and went to work. A whole hour had passed before her phone rang again. This time it was her private line.

  “I thought you said you were going to call me back,” Eleanor Lathrop Winfield huffed. “That was days ago now.”

  Joanna’s first instinct was always to grab hold of the guilt her mother was so willing to pass out, but for a change she caught herself. “It was only yesterday,” Joanna said. “And I’ve been incredibly busy.”

  “If you’re this busy now, how will you ever manage with a baby thrown into the bargain?”

  “Mother,” Joanna said quietly, “Butch and I are going to have this baby. And, if the voters are willing, I’m going to go right on being sheriff.”

  “In other words, like it or lump it.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Joanna countered. Although it’s exactly what I meant, she realized. “I suppose that is what I mean. I want you to be happy about this with us. I want you to be involved, and George, too. But, Mom, you’re going to have to get used to the idea that I’m a grown-up. This is my life, and I’m going to do things my way.”

  “That’s almost exactly what George said,” Eleanor replied tearily.

  “George Winfield is a very smart man.”

  “All right,” Eleanor replied. Then she paused, but only for half a beat. “So have you been to see the doctor yet? You shouldn’t let that go too long, you know.”

  All her life, Joanna had reacted to her mother’s interference with anger. When her mother pushed, she pushed back. Now, for the first time ever, she burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Eleanor demanded.

  “You’re hopeless, Mom. A minute ago you agreed to let me do things my way. Now, less than a minute later, you’re telling me to go see the doctor.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

  “And, if it’ll make you feel any better, I am going to the doctor,” Joanna said. “I have a prenatal appointment with Dr. Lee tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “Good. I’m delighted to hear it. Well, I suppose I should let you go. You said you’re busy,” Eleanor replied.

  “I am busy,” Joanna agreed. “But there’s one thing more.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I love you, Mom,” Joanna told her. “I love you very much.” For a moment, there was dead silence on the other end of the phone. “Mom? Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor replied, her voice strangely muffled. “I did hear you. And I think it’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

  Joanna’s desk was relatively clear when she left to go home at five-thirty. At seven, she and Butch were sitting at the kitchen counter with the three dogs flopped on the cool tile floor around them while she related the details of Eleanor’s phone call.

  “So she’s not mad anymore?” Butch asked.

  “Evidently, and I’m not mad, either.”

  “Then this is new ground for both of you,” Butch said. “If you weren’t off the sauce for the duration, I’d propose a toast.”

  Joanna raised her milk glass and smiled at him. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll drink to that.”

  She leaned over to kiss him, only to have Jenny appear in the doorway holding the cordless phone. “It’s for you, Mom,” she said. “Detective Carpenter.”

  “What’s up?” Joanna asked.

  “Denny Adams and I are on our way back to Bisbee right now. He’s in one car. I’m in another. Turns out his mother gave him an old Colt when he graduated from high school. He says he’s never fired it, but that he keeps it on the top shelf of his closet. He offered to check to make sure it’s still there, so he called home. Stella was out, so Denny asked Nathan to go look in the closet to see if he could find the gun. Naturally it isn’t there, and Nathan has no idea where his mother is. He says she went out today just after noon. She didn’t say where she was going and hasn’t been back since. I clued Denny in on what may be going on. He’s coming down to Bisbee to be with Nathan.”

  Joanna took a deep breath. “Did you ask him about…” She looked toward Jenny, who was waiting to retrieve the phone as soon as her mother was finished. “…about the rest of it?” Joanna finished lamely

  “Yes,” Ernie said. “It’s true. All of it. Denny has known the truth all along, but Stella swore him to secrecy. Denny Adams came into Nathan’s life when the kid was just three years old. Denny’s the only father the boy has ever known, and he’d like to keep it that way. I told him that was doubtful, but that we’d try. That we’d do our best.” Ernie paused. “That’s the one thing I hate about this job.”

  “What’s that?” Joanna asked.

  “Making promises I may not be able to keep.”

  “So what’s the game plan?”

  “We’re going to the house to talk to Nathan and see if he can give us any idea of where his mother might be.”

  “Jaime hasn’t shown up yet, has he?”

  “No, ma’am, but we’ve heard from him. There was a security breach at LAX. They had to empty two terminals and re-screen all the passengers. He still doesn’t know when he’ll get here.”

  “In that case,” Joanna said, “would you like me to meet you there—at Denny and Stella’s house?”

  “You bet,” Ernie Carpenter returned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Eighteen

  By the time Joanna returned to the far end of Arizona Street, it was dark. Due to
a Ponytail League softball game, the glowing ballpark lights cast that whole part of town in a strange half-twilight. Cars were parked everywhere, but all the drivers had observed the hand-stenciled No Parking signs that had been placed on both posts of the footbridge leading to Stella and Denny Adams’s front gate.

  Other than the hazy glow of a TV set somewhere deep inside the house, there was no sign of life. The driveway was still empty, and Joanna saw no trace of Ernie Carpenter’s Econoline van. She opened the car windows, turned off the engine, and settled in to wait. Across the street, a cheer went up from the crowd, and over the top of the fence Joanna saw someone use a long stick to change one of the numbers on the green and white scoreboard.

  It seemed odd to be sitting there dealing with a possible triple murderer while across the street carefree fans munched popcorn, sipped sodas, and cheered their respective teams. How could both things be happening in such close proximity at the same time? One was so normal and everyday, while the other was so…

  Joanna glanced at the clock on the dash. The digital readout said 9:10. Ernie had called from the far side of Tombstone. Joanna had left the house immediately after the call, pausing only long enough to retrieve her weapons and her vest. Even so, Ernie and Denny should be close at hand by now. How many hours ago was it since Joanna had stopped by this house the first time? Then, she had been coming to warn Stella Adams that her father, Ed Mossman, might be dangerous—that he might pose a danger to his surviving children.

  In the space of a few hours’ time, that whole situation had changed. Now Stella was the one who seemed to pose the danger and it was her son, Nathan, who would need protection—maybe not from his mother but from the awful truth of his own squalid heritage. Who would break that ugly news to him? Probably Denny Adams—the only father Nathan had ever known.

  The radio crackled to life. “Sheriff Brady?”

  Joanna picked up the mike and thumbed it. “I’m here, Tica,” she said. “What is it?”

  “City of Bisbee has reported finding Ed Mossman’s Taurus.”

  “Where?”

  “Up at the far end of Tombstone Canyon, where the old road goes up over the Divide.”

  “Any sign of Mossman?” Joanna asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Tica replied. “The officer reported what looked like blood dripping from the trunk. They popped it and found the body of a white male, fifty to sixty years of age, shot in the chest at close range. Mossman’s driver’s license was in the guy’s wallet, so we’re assuming that’s who it is. Bisbee PD is wondering if we have anyone who could do a positive ID.”

  Stella strikes again, Joanna thought. She started to say, “I suppose I could, but—”

  But Tica continued. “They also found two trash bags filled with what appears to be women’s bloodstained clothing.”

  “Most likely Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega’s,” Joanna breathed.

  “That’s what City of Bisbee is assuming.”

  “All right, then,” Joanna said. “I’m waiting for Ernie Carpenter, but as soon as—”

  She broke off in midsentence as a yellow Dodge Ram pickup with a matching yellow camper shell drove slowly past the place where Joanna was parked. The driver peered out at Joanna through a half-open window. If it hadn’t been for the ballpark lights across the street, Joanna never would have been able to make out enough details to recognize Stella Adams’s face.

  When Joanna’s eyes met Stella’s, an electric charge of recognition passed between the two women. With a squeal of tires that left a layer of rubber on the pavement, the Dodge sped off, heading south out of town, past what had once been the bus barn and on up the hill. Joanna dropped the mike, turned on the engine, and pulled a U-turn that sent the rear end of the Crown Victoria skidding back and forth across the street. Only when the in-grille lights were flashing and her siren blaring did Joanna retrieve the mike.

  “I’ve spotted suspect Stella Adams,” Joanna reported into the phone. “She’s headed south toward Bisbee Junction in a yellow Dodge Ram pickup with a camper shell. I’m in pursuit, but I’m going to need backup from whoever can get here.”

  Tica said, “Just a minute.”

  Driving and unconsciously holding her breath, Joanna felt as though far more than a minute had passed before Tica’s voice returned.

  “City of Bisbee has two cars en route. Ernie Carpenter is just coming around the Traffic Circle. Do you have the suspect in view?” Tica asked.

  “No, she went up and over the hill while I was turning around. I’m just topping the hill now. No, I still can’t see her. When I saw her last she must have been going close to…”

  As the road jogged slightly to the right, Joanna drove into a cloud of dust. When she came out the far side, a pair of glowing headlights slanted up into the air through the dust off to the right of the road.

  “Hang on, Tica. I think she rolled it. The pickup is off the road.”

  “Any sign of the driver?”

  Joanna peered through the dust. It was clearing enough that she could make out the truck sitting upside down on a berm, its wheels still spinning furiously. Joanna manhandled the Civvie’s spotlight into position and aimed it at the wreckage. The front driver’s door had disappeared completely. The draped remains of a deflated air bag and a seat belt spilled out through the opening and dangled, still swaying, in midair. But there was no sign of life inside the battered cab. Stella had either been thrown free or clambered out once the truck came to rest.

  Joanna swung the circle of light back and forth across the ground. She searched with such total concentration that it took her a moment to tune back in to Tica Romero’s voice.

  “Sheriff Brady!” Tica demanded urgently. “Are you there? Please respond.”

  “I’m here, Tica. I’m okay.”

  “Any sign of the driver?”

  “None. That’s what I’m looking for.”

  Behind her a series of vehicles alive with lights and sirens came screeching over the crest of the hill and through the still-drifting haze of dust. Two uniformed City of Bisbee patrol officers trotted off and began putting lighted flares down the middle of the road. Seconds later Ernie Carpenter appeared at Joanna’s window.

  “Are you all right?”

  Joanna nodded. “I’m fine, but Stella’s gone. She got away.”

  Ernie looked back at the debris field. “She can’t be far,” he said. “It’s a helluva wreck. The driver’s door is gone completely. She might have been thrown clear at the same time the door flew off. I’m guessing that when we find the door, we’ll find her, too.”

  A second man appeared behind Ernie. Tall and bony, he was in his late twenties and wore an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap along with a loose-fitting T-shirt. In the eerie glow of headlights and flashers, his face was deadly pale.

  “Did you find her, Detective Carpenter?” he asked.

  “Not yet, Dennis,” Ernie said kindly. “We’re looking for her.”

  As soon as Joanna knew who the man was, she let go of the handle on the spotlight and stepped out of the Crown Victoria.

  “I’m Sheriff Brady, Mr. Adams,” she told him. “I was the first person on the scene. And, as Detective Carpenter told you, so far there’s no sign of your wife.”

  Denny nodded mutely. Joanna could see that he was trembling as if from the cold and struggling to hold back tears.

  “I can’t believe any of this…It’s all so…so…” His voice faded into a croak that was half sob, half hiccup. Suddenly he blinked and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly steady.

  “Do you want me to try to talk to her?”

  Joanna thought about that and then shook her head. “You’d better go back to the house and be with Nathan.”

  “When you find her, will you let me know?” Dennis asked.

  “Yes,” Joanna said. “Of course we will.”

  Adams nodded. “All right then,” he said. With that, he turned and walked away.

 
Another emergency vehicle showed up, this one an ambulance dispatched by the Bisbee Fire Department. Across the desert, Joanna heard a shout. “Hey,” someone yelled. “The door is over here.”

  Without a word, Ernie Carpenter loped away in that direction. Joanna reached back into the Civvie and collected the mike. “Tica,” she ordered, “call out the K-9 unit. Everyone else thinks Stella Adams is lying around here dead someplace, but I’m thinking she did the same thing the Silver Creek driver did and walked away.”

  Fortunately, Terry and Kristin Gregovich’s rented house was on Black Knob, the last street on the southernmost part of town. The K-9 officer and Spike were at the scene in less than ten minutes.

  “What’s up, Sheriff Brady?” Terry asked, after leaping out of an idling Blazer he had parked directly behind Joanna’s Crown Victoria.

  Joanna pointed toward the wrecked pickup. “The driver’s missing,” Joanna said. “I want you to find her.”

  Terry nodded. “Will do,” he said.

  Taking Spike, he walked down the embankment and over to the wrecked vehicle. Joanna was relieved to see that Spike was wearing his new custom-fitted Kevlar bulletproof vest. Joanna watched while Deputy Gregovich reached inside and removed something from the tangled interior. Hurrying behind him, Joanna was astonished to see Terry was holding a single tennis shoe up to the dog’s nostrils.

  “Where did that come from?” Joanna asked.

  “It was wedged up under the dash. And that’s the good news,” Terry said. “If she took off with either one or both shoes missing, she’s not going to be that hard to track down.” Then, keeping a tight hold on Spike’s leash, he gave the order. “Find it!”

  For the next few minutes the dog, with his nose to the ground, went round and round in ever-widening circles. Ernie Carpenter reappeared at Joanna’s side.

  “Still no luck,” he said. “We’re looking on the ground, but if she was airborne, it’s possible she could have been tossed up into one of these clumps of mesquite.”

  Suddenly Spike stopped circling. He stood stock-still, ears up, tail straight out behind him, sniffing the air. Then he dashed off to the west, with Terry Gregovich galloping along behind him.