by J. A. Jance
She threw me a quizzical look. “Drive? What are you talking about? That snake wasn’t driving anywhere. The last I heard, Shorty Rojas was supposed to take it outside and let it go. In this state it’s illegal to keep snakes in captivity, unless you happen to be operating a legitimate museum. By now that snake is probably safely back in its cozy little nest or den or whatever it is snakes live in.”
Up until then, Rhonda Attwood had kept completely quiet. Before I could launch a verbal counterattack, she cut in.
“That snake hasn’t lived in the wild for the past fourteen years, Detective Reyes-Gonzales,” Rhonda commented quietly. “Ringo was my son’s snake, you see. He’s lived most of his life in a terrarium in Joey’s bedroom.”
Frowning, the detective focused her attention fully on Rhonda. “But Mr. Crenshaw told the sheriff—”
“I don’t care what Mr. Crenshaw said or why. That snake was a pet snake—my son’s pet snake—and if they’ve turned it loose in the desert by Wickenburg, Ringo will most likely die. Black rattlesnakes from the Mogollon Rim can’t live in the low desert, you know. It’s not their natural habitat. Not only that, Ringo hasn’t lived in the wild since he was tiny. He’s old for a snake, and he doesn’t know how to hunt. Without someone to feed him regularly, he’ll probably starve to death.”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales seemed genuinely taken aback. She looked first at Rhonda and then back at me for confirmation. “My understanding was that the snake had been displaced by the flood waters.”
Rhonda shook her head. “No. That’s not the case here at all. I’m sure Ringo was deliberately planted in Mr. Beaumont’s room, probably by Joey himself, unless I miss my guess.”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales’ eyes narrowed, but she was obviously intrigued by what she was hearing. So was I. Even if they know it’s true, perpetrators’ mothers don’t generally voice those kinds of accusations to law enforcement personnel. Detective Reyes-Gonzales evidently found it as disquieting as I did.
Leaving her perch on the desk, she went around to the back of it and sat down in her chair, leaning back with her fingers crossed and regarding Rhonda Attwood intently.
“Why would your son do a thing like that, Mrs. Attwood? And how?”
Her questions were asked with disarming directness. Rhonda responded in kind.
“How is easy. My guess is that Ringo was there for several days. Snakes can be in a room without people being aware they’re there.”
For a moment an echo of atavistic fear lurched through me. Rhonda was right. Ringo could have been there for some time without my knowing it, just as he had been loose in Rhonda’s house years before.
“As for the why,” Rhonda was saying when I came back to the discussion, “Joey believed Mr. Beaumont was a narcotics agent planted at Ironwood Ranch for entrapment purposes.”
I caught the sudden shadow of doubt that flitted briefly across the detective’s face. She looked at me questioningly. “Were you there on assignment, Detective Beaumont?” she asked.
“No way. Joey Rothman may have thought that,” I countered, “but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales nodded, gravely acquiescent. “I see,” she said.
There was something odd in her manner toward me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She regarded me for a long moment, studying me, assessing my reactions, wondering. Was I fish or fowl, ally or enemy, suspect or potential witness? Her attitude was equal parts professional courtesy and professional jealousy. I wasn’t offended. If anything, I respected her for it. After all, it was far too early in the investigation for a careful detective to remove any names from the list of possibles—including that of a visiting fellow detective.
Detective Reyes-Gonzales turned from me to Rhonda Attwood. “How did you come to be aware of your son’s suspicious about Mr. Beaumont here?”
“He called me last night and told me.”
“You mean the night he died?”
Rhonda nodded. “That’s right. It’s tomorrow already, isn’t it.”
“What was the purpose of his call?”
“He wanted to hit me up for some money.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I used to lend him money all the time, but then I stopped because he never paid any of it back.”
“So his calling you was unusual?”
“Yes.”
“How much did he want?”
“Ten thousand dollars. He said he was planning to leave the state, but that was probably a lie.”
“Did you give your son the money he asked for?” Detective Reyes-Gonzales asked.
Rhonda shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of money, at least not at one time. Even if I had it, I wouldn’t have given it to him. I learned the hard way. My son was a liar and a cheat. I quit lending him money years ago. I thought it would help him grow up and learn to stand on his own two feet.”
“Mrs. Attwood, do you believe your son was involved in drug trafficking?” Detective Reyes-Gonzales asked the pivotal question gently.
“Yes,” Rhonda replied.
“According to what I’ve seen so far, he got sent up on a Minor In Possession, an MIP. I can’t find anything official that links him to drugs.”
“Keep looking,” Rhonda said grimly. “It’s there.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me. He told me JoJo had gotten him off.”
“JoJo?” Detective Reyes-Gonzales asked.
“James Rothman, his father, my ex.”
“And you believe that’s possible?”
“Where JoJo is concerned, anything is possible.”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales nodded. “All right. I’ll do some more checking into that end of it. By the way, in his discussion with you, did your son ever mention someone by the name of Michelle Owens?”
“No,” Rhonda returned decisively. “Not that I remember.”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales continued. “Michelle’s young, only fifteen, a girl your son met while they were both in treatment at Ironwood Ranch. She told us Joey was in the process of ‘working some deals’ and then they were planning on running away together.”
Rhonda Attwood laughed. “Run away?” she asked.
“As in elope,” Detective Reyes-Gonzales replied seriously. “When I talked to her this morning, the girl showed me a ring. She claims they were engaged.” Reyes-Gonzales paused for just a moment before adding, “Michelle Owens is pregnant, Mrs. Attwood.”
For the first time in the entire interview, Rhonda Attwood looked stunned.
“Pregnant?” she said. “Joey got a girl pregnant?”
“Eventually you may want to confirm it with a paternity test, but for the time being, we’re taking the girl’s word that your son is the father.”
Rhonda sat perfectly still, her face ashen. I’m sure that, like me, Detective Reyes-Gonzales had assumed that someone else had given Rhonda the news. “I’m sorry. You mean you didn’t know?”
“No,” Rhonda answered weakly, almost in a whisper. “I had no idea.”
“It’s just that your husband—”
“I don’t have a husband,” Rhonda cut in.
“Excuse me, your former husband seemed to know all about it, and I thought you would too.”
“My former husband and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms,” Rhonda said testily. “Thank you for telling me.” Abruptly, she stood up and turned to me. “Can we go now, please? I’m not feeling well.”
To my surprise, Detective Reyes-Gonzales didn’t object. “Of course, Mrs. Attwood. I’ll be happy to finish going over all this with you some other time.”
“Thank you,” Rhonda murmured and fled from the room. Without moving, Detective Reyes-Gonzales watched the door swing slowly shut behind the departing woman.
“So that’s it?” I asked.
“For right now,” she replied. “If I have any more questions, I can ask them tomorrow.”
Being this close to the action and
at the same time being totally shut out of it was driving me crazy. I decided to try a direct approach. What did I have to lose?
“How about your answering one for me, then?” I asked.
“Such as?”
“Yesterday when you were interviewing me in Louise Crenshaw’s office, something happened. Somebody came to get you, and you got up and left me, just like that.”
A curtain of wariness fell across the detective’s face. “What about it?”
“What was it? Why did you leave?”
“A lead,” she answered coolly. “I’m not at liberty to say what kind.”
“Just tell me one thing. Was it something to do with Joey Rothman’s murder?”
“You’re not listening, Detective Beaumont,” she said, standing up. “I can’t say anything more without jeopardizing my investigation. Won’t,” she added.
“But you do have a suspect?” I insisted.
I had turned the questioning tables on her suddenly enough that I caught her off guard. An affirmative answer flashed in the lucid brown eyes before she could properly mask them. Yes, she did have a suspect.
“Who is he?” I asked, pressing my luck. By then, Detective Reyes-Gonzales was back in control. She ignored my final question as though it had never been asked.
“I understand you’re no longer staying at Ironwood Ranch.” It was a statement not a question, and I didn’t answer.
“Do you have any idea where you will be staying? For the time being, I would prefer your not leaving the state of Arizona.”
I had seen that request as a distinct possibility. “I’ll probably stay with my attorney, Ralph Ames. In Phoenix. His office is in Phoenix but he lives in Paradise Valley.” I gave her Ralph’s telephone numbers and addresses.
“What about my car?” I added.
“Oh, that.” She shrugged. “A minor detail. Have the rental agency call us. Better yet, have them call me personally. The car is still impounded, but you won’t have to pay any charges from the time we took it into custody. At least that’s my understanding of how it’s supposed to work.”
The detective got up and escorted me to the door. We found Rhonda Attwood pacing up and down the hallway. Pacing and seething.
She stopped as soon as she saw us, her face still contorted with anger. The change was remarkable. This new woman barely resembled the one with whom I’d spent the past few hours.
“I take it you spoke with my former husband at some length?” Her words were clipped, and staccato, while the question itself reeked with sarcasm.
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, we did. We were able to reach him early on during the day, long before the deputies were able to locate you.”
“And while you were chatting with him, he didn’t happen to mention when the services for Joey are scheduled, did he?”
Detective Reyes-Gonzales frowned. “That depends on the autopsy, but I believe he said something about Monday. Somewhere in Paradise Valley, I believe, but I can’t remember where or what time. When you talk to him—”
“I won’t be speaking to JoJo Rothman,” Rhonda said icily. “I haven’t spoken to him since before the divorce, and I see no need to change that now.” With that, she turned and stalked away down the hallway. I started after her, but Detective Reyes-Gonzales stopped me.
“What’s going on with her? Are you two involved in some way?”
“You mean romantically? No.”
“But you came here with her. She brought you along into my office like you were an advisor or a close personal friend.”
“I never met her before tonight. She offered me a ride out of Wickenburg, that’s all. The road is closed going the other way, remember?”
“And that’s all?”
“Of course that’s all,” I answered, exasperation creeping into my voice.
Detective Delcia Reyes-Gonzales smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Let me remind you, Detective Beaumont, that you are now in Arizona, not Washington. Yavapai County, not the City of Seattle.”
“In other words, butt out and mind my own business.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
The course of the interview had taken so many sudden twists and turns that I had almost lost sight of my initial reason for wanting to talk to her. I had come to report an attempt on my own life, but that original intention kept getting buried under other issues. Resentment boiled to the surface.
“And let me remind you, Detective Reyes-Gonzales, that no matter what you were told by the sheriff or Crenshaw or anybody else, somebody, most likely Joey, tried to kill me with that snake yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to let up until I know for sure.”
The detective flashed me a winning smile. “If I were you…” she began.
“You’re not me,” I reminded her, and strode away.
Rhonda Attwood was waiting in the lobby with a night clerk hovering in attendance when I came out of the office area. She seemed to have gotten herself under control.
“There’s a message for you,” she said.
I turned to the clerk. “For me? For J. P. Beaumont?”
“Yes. Mr. Ames said to tell you that he’s chartered a helicopter and that he expects to be in Prescott within the hour. He said for you to wait right here. We’ve sent a cab out to the airport to meet him.”
“Who’s Ames?” Rhonda asked, showing some interest.
“Ralph Ames. My attorney. He’s coming up from Phoenix.”
“By chartered helicopter?” she asked.
“He thought I was in some kind of trouble,” I answered lamely. “So did I.”
“I’ll wait with you until he gets here,” Rhonda said.
I thanked the clerk for the message then led Rhonda over to some chairs by a blind-covered window.
“Tell me about her,” Rhonda said.
“The detective? What’s to tell?”
“Not her, the girlfriend. Joey’s girlfriend…the pregnant one.”
“Her name’s Michelle, Michelle Owens.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Ironwood Ranch.”
“You mean she lives there?”
“No, she was a client, same as everybody else. They met there. Like the detective said, she’s only fifteen, a mousey little girl. The last time I saw her she looked like she was scared to death.”
“I don’t care what she looks like. Where does she live?”
“With her family, her father anyway. He’s in the service, a lieutenant colonel in the army, I believe.”
“From here in Arizona?”
“I think so, but I can’t remember where exactly. Fort something. It seems like the name starts with a W.”
Rhonda thought about that for a moment. “Fort Huachuca, maybe?”
“That’s it. I told you it starts with a W.”
“It starts with an H,” she corrected. “It’s Spanish.”
“You could have fooled me,” I said.
Suddenly, a light came on in my head. Detective Reyes-Gonzales had mentioned a suspect. She hadn’t said so in so many words, but her manner had hinted that I wasn’t it. I was off the hook and somebody else was on, and I wondered if that somebody was Lieutenant Colonel Guy Owens.
“I’m going to talk to her,” Rhonda said determinedly.
Absorbed in my own thoughts, I hadn’t been listening. “Talk to who?” I asked.
“Michelle, and her father, too.”
The mention of Guy Owens made me feel as though Rhonda had somehow been peering into my brain. Talking with Guy and Michelle Owens was the last thing Rhonda should do, especially if the lieutenant colonel really was Detective Reyes-Gonzales’ prime suspect.
“Don’t,” I said. “Leave them alone. Don’t go messing around with things you don’t know about.”
“What I don’t know about!” Rhonda repeated venomously. “After all, he was my son.”
“What I mean is…”
Rhonda didn’t wait for me to finish. She got up from
the chair and bolted toward the door, where she ran headlong into Ralph Ames. He stopped abruptly, grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling, apologized, and then looked around the room frowning until he caught sight of me.
“There you are,” he said. “How are things?”
“Fine.”
“I don’t see any handcuffs. Does that mean you’re free to go?”
“As near as I can tell.”
“Are you telling me this whole thing was a false alarm?”
“There’s nothing false about it, Ralph. My roommate’s still dead. This is his mother.”
Standing quietly beside him, Rhonda Attwood hadn’t moved during the course of Ralph’s and my exchange. He looked down at her and seemed to see her for the first time.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, releasing her arm and then holding out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ralph Ames, Mr. Beaumont’s attorney. His roommate was your son? I’m so sorry.”
She took his proffered hand and shook it. “Thank you,” she said. “My name is Rhonda Attwood.”
While a look of total consternation passed over his face, Ralph Ames did a complete double take. He stepped back a step, a full step.
“The water-colorist!” Ralph evidently knew the lady. If not personally, at least by reputation.
Rhonda inclined her head gracefully. “Yes,” she said.
“But your son’s name…”
“Attwood was my maiden name,” she explained.
“Of course,” Ralph said, nodding. “If there’s anything I can do to be of service…”
“I’ll let you know,” Rhonda said, completing his sentence. “And since you’re here to pick up Mr. Beaumont, I’ll be heading back to Sedona.”
She started away then stopped and turned to me. “I heard you tell the detective inside that you will be staying with Mr. Ames here. Is that where I could get in touch with you if I needed to?”
Ralph groped in his pocket and extracted a card. He handed it to her. “Both my office and home numbers are on there,” he said. “Feel free to call any time. If we’re not in, be sure to leave a message.”
Rhonda nodded her thanks and walked away.
“Who the hell is that?” I asked.
“You should know. You were with her.”
“But you acted like you knew her.”