Devil's ClawJ

by J. A. Jance

  “I’m okay,” Joanna assured him with far more certainty than she felt. “Where’s Dick?”

  “Dick Voland?” Frank returned. “He left a few minutes ago. He said he was going to track Reba Singleton down and try to talk to her.”

  “You let him walk away just like that?” Joanna demanded. “Did anyone happen to tell him that my Colt Two Thousand is missing from the locked desk in my bedroom? What if an unsuspecting Dick Voland walks right up to Reba Singleton and she blows him to kingdom come?”

  “We tried to stop him,” Frank said. “But he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Was he wearing a vest?”

  Ernie Carpenter shook his head. “I don’t think so. If I remember right, he never much approved of wearing the damned things.”

  Joanna glared at the detective. “Sounds like somebody else I know,” she said. “But let’s all remember, Dick Voland is a civilian now. If he’s injured or killed as a result of his involvement in what ought to be a police action, you can bet there’s going to be hell to pay. Our department will be caught in a hail of lawsuits that will take the wind out of our budget for years to come. Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Ernie asked.

  “To where this all started,” Joanna replied in exasperation. “And where I’m guessing Reba Singleton means for it to end—to Rhodes Ranch.”

  Ernie and Frank immediately turned on their heels and headed for their respective vehicles. “Hey, you two. Don’t leave without me,” Joanna yelled after them. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  “So will I,” Butch added at once. “I’m coming, too.”

  “No, you’re not,” Joanna returned. “You don’t have a weapon, you don’t have a vest, and you don’t have a badge. That means you’re staying here.”

  “Like hell—!”

  Just then a pair of headlights came careening into the yard. Dodging around the clutch of parked vehicles, it skidded to a stop next to the gate and scattered a team of crime-scene techs who were gathered there assembling their materials.

  “Joanna Brady, what on earth is going on?” Eleanor Lathrop demanded. She slammed the car door shut behind her and came tottering up the uneven walkway in a pair of high heels. “We were all just getting ready to leave for our dinner reservation when Eva Lou called and told us something dreadful had happened out here—something about the dogs being poisoned and I don’t know what all else.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Joanna said hurriedly. “I have to go. Ernie Carpenter and Frank Montoya are waiting for me.” Neatly sidestepping her mother’s trajectory, Joanna dashed for the gate, leaving Butch Dixon trapped behind her.

  “But what’s going on?” Eleanor Lathrop Winfield insisted.

  “Don’t worry,” Joanna called back over her shoulder. “I’m sure Butch will explain everything.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Not wanting to drive either of the Crown Victorias over such rough terrain, Frank commandeered Deputy Howell’s Bronco for the short trip to Rhodes Ranch. They were crossing the wash when Joanna’s cell phone rang.

  “She’s here,” Dick Voland said, as soon as Joanna answered. “She’s here at her father’s place.”

  “I figured as much,” Joanna said. “We’re on our way. What’s happening?”

  “She’s swinging.”

  “She’s what?”

  “Swinging. There’s an old rope swing in one of the cottonwoods between the house and the barn. She’s swinging on that.”

  “Be careful, Dick,” Joanna warned. “She’s armed. My Colt Two Thousand is missing from the house. I’m guessing she has it somewhere on her person. Have you spoken to her?”

  “She doesn’t even know I’m here,” Dick replied. “I turned off my lights driving up the road and hiked in the last few hundred yards. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Out of sight on the far side of the house.”

  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll hear you talking on the phone?”

  “Not right now,” Dick replied. “She’s singing at the top of her lungs. If she stops, all bets are off.”

  “What’s happening?” Frank asked. “What’s going on?”

  Keeping the earpiece glued to her ear, Joanna explained to Frank what she had learned. “Ask him if he’s got a plan,” Frank said when she finished.

  “Don’t bother,” Dick said. “I heard that. My only plan right this minute is to wait for reinforcements.”

  “What’s she singing?” Joanna asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What song?”

  “What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “It might give us some idea of what Reba Singleton’s mental state is right now,” Joanna said. “Listen for a minute and see if you can tell.”

  “Sounds like ‘When You Wish Upon a Star,’ something like that,” Dick Voland said. “Isn’t that from one of those Walt Disney movies, Sleeping Beauty, maybe?”

  “Pinocchio,” Joanna told him. “It’s Jiminy Cricket’s song.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t know. What’s she doing now?”

  “Still swinging, pumping like mad.”

  Joanna picked up the radio and called Dispatch. “Tica, tell Ernie to pull over. We’ll all get out and walk from here. And one more thing. Where’s Detective Carbajal?”

  “Over by Pearce with Catherine Yates. You told him he should go there after attending Sandra Ridder’s funeral. At last report, he was still there.”

  “Good,” Joanna said. “Glad to hear it.”

  Seconds later, Ernie’s Econoline van pulled over to the side of the road. Frank followed suit. While leaving High Lonesome Ranch, Joanna had stopped by her Crown Victoria long enough to pull on a pair of sneakers. Now, as she and Ernie and Frank started up the rocky track to Clayton Rhodes’ place in Mexican Canyon, Joanna was grateful she had done so. She was also thankful that there was enough moonlight so that, once their eyes adjusted to the lack of headlights, the three officers were able to see well enough to walk safely.

  Moving along, Joanna couldn’t help but be amazed. In the few minutes since leaving her damaged house and during the ride in Deputy Howell’s Bronco, she had moved beyond the scope of her own personal crisis and slipped back into her role as sheriff. It seemed she couldn’t be both victim and police officer at the same time, and that was just as well.

  “Dick is asking how you want to handle this,” Frank asked. While Joanna had been on the radio with Dispatch, Frank Montoya had maintained the cell-phone link with Dick Voland.

  “Can he see if she’s holding the weapon?” Joanna asked.

  “Negative on that,” Frank answered a little later. “He can’t see it, but she’s wearing a heavy jacket of some kind. It could be concealed in a pocket.”

  “I want to try to talk her down,” Joanna said.

  “Talk!” Frank exploded. “She’s got your Colt, Joanna, and you want to talk?” Through the phone, she could hear Dick Voland’s angry objections as well.

  “First we’re going to get the lay of the land,” Joanna continued. “I don’t remember where that swing is in relation to the house. Is it closer to the front or the back?”

  “Dick says back.”

  “Okay, so I’ll go to the back of the house and try to talk to her from there. One of you can come with me to back me up. The others should stay up near the front.”

  “Shouldn’t someone go around and try to come up behind her?” Frank asked.

  “You mean, so if shooting breaks out, we can wing one of our own in the process?” Joanna asked. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right,” Frank agreed. “Not a good idea.” Then, after a pause, he said, “By the way, Dick said to tell you now she’s switched to that song from The Wizard of Oz—‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ Dick thinks it’s called.”

  “Fortunately, neither one of you will ever end up on ‘Name That Tune.’ “ Joanna told them. “I’m sure Reba
Singleton remembers them from when she was a little kid. From a time when the world wasn’t such a scary, uncertain place. My guess is she’s wishing she could go back there.”

  “Don’t we all,” Ernie Carpenter breathed. The road was rising sharply, and the detective was having to huff and puff in order to keep up. “I still don’t think talking is going to do any good. I vote we lob a canister of tear gas under the tree and catch her when she gets off the swing.”

  “And what happens if she falls out of the swing and breaks her neck in the process?” Joanna asked. “We’re doing this my way and talking first.”

  “Okay,” Frank Montoya said. “You’re the boss.”

  By the time they reached the gate to the yard, they could hear the singing. Dick Voland came to the gate to meet them. “Climb over the fence,” he advised in a whisper. “I tried opening the gate. It squeaks like a son of a bitch.”

  Joanna hiked up her skirt and scrambled over the fence. Dick Voland was there to break her fall as she landed. “Are you wearing a vest?”

  He shook his head.

  “Armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” Joanna said. “Frank, you’re with me. Dick, you and Ernie stay on the front porch and out of sight unless this thing goes in the toilet. Understood?”

  “You can’t—“ Dick Voland began.

  “I can and I will,” Joanna declared. “Front porch or nothing. Front porch or go down the road. Which?”

  “Front porch,” Voland agreed glumly.

  As Joanna and Frank made their way around the side yard, walking past thorny rosebushes and clumps of sharp-edged pampas grass, Reba Singleton tuned up with another song—a Teresa Brewer–like rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” The singing was plaintive. Sad. With a sudden jolt of insight, Joanna realized why Jenny’s room hadn’t been touched. Jenny was a child, and in her torment, so was Reba Joy Singleton.

  “Reba?” Joanna called softly, once she and Frank were in position.

  The singing stopped. The swinging did not. There was a steady creak from a rope rubbing on a tree bough. That didn’t change.

  “Who is it?”

  “You know who it is,” Joanna said softly.

  “How do you like being left with nothing?” Reba demanded. “How does it feel?”

  “I’m sorry about your husband,” Joanna said. “What he did must have hurt you very badly.”

  “How do you know about that?” Reba asked sharply. “Who told you?”

  “Dick Voland,” Joanna said. “You’re the one who told him.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I guess I did. And it did hurt. Dennis has a girlfriend, you know. Some guppy bimbo half his age that he picked out of the shallow end of the gene pool. He says he has to marry her because she’s pregnant. Do you believe it? He’s probably been planning this for months. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t moved most of his money offshore. That’s why I wanted this place. I’m not completely stupid. I saw it coming even if I didn’t want to admit it in public. I wanted this place so I’d have somewhere to run to if it came to that.”

  “Did your father know what was going on between you and your husband?”

  “Are you kidding? We hadn’t spoken in years. But now that I’ve been here, I remember how much I hate it. Everything but this swing. When I was little, I used to pretend that whenever I was in this swing I could see over the mountains. The whole time I was swinging, I told myself that someday I’d get out of here. And you know what? I did. I got away whole, and I’ll be damned if I’ll come crawling back. You can have this awful, godforsaken house. I don’t want it.”

  She paused. “I’m sorry about what I did to your house. It was like I was crazy. Maybe I am crazy. But I’ll get Dennis to pay for it. After all, it is his fault.”

  “Do you have an attorney?” Joanna asked.

  “No. If you’re going to arrest me, I suppose I’ll need one.”

  “I mean a divorce attorney,” Joanna said.

  The steady squeak of the rope began to slow. “I do have one of those,” Reba Singleton said thoughtfully. “Joyce Roberts is her name. I’ve used her several times through the years. She’s really quite good.”

  “Have you been in touch with her about your current situation, about what’s going on with Dennis?”

  “No.”

  “I have a cell phone here,” Joanna said quietly. “You’re welcome to use it, if you’d like to call her and get her on the job.” For several seconds there was no sound, only the ever-slowing scrape of the rope. “And, if what you suspect is true—if your husband is busy moving assets offshore—you probably don’t have a moment to lose.”

  There was another long pause. “You’d let me do that?” Reba Singleton asked. “You’d let me use your telephone?”

  “Sure. But first, let me ask you something. When you were in my house, did you take a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  No answer.

  “Where?”

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  “Put it down, Reba,” Joanna ordered calmly. “Put it down on the ground so no one gets hurt.”

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone else with it. I was going to use it on myself.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Joanna said. “You want to stick around and give Dennis Singleton what he deserves, and I’m sure Joyce Roberts will be more than happy to help you do it.”

  There was another long, long silence after that, followed eventually by a soft thud in the grass. “There,” Reba said. “I dropped the gun. Now can I use the phone?”

  CHAPTER 26

  Walking back to the cars, Joanna was almost giddy with relief. She had taken what could have been a terrible situation and had turned it around. Her strategic calls—her critical decisions—had transformed something that might have turned SWAT-team ugly into pass-the-cell-phone and not pass-the-ammunition.

  “What do you mean, we’re not going to arrest her?” Frank Montoya demanded.

  “Just what I said. We’re not. Her attorney is making arrangements for Reba to check into a hospital in Tucson for ten days of psychiatric evaluation. This way she pays for it. If we arrest her, we pay. Which of those two choices sounds like a better idea to you? Not only that, Reba says she’s willing to sign a statement acknowledging her culpability. She’s also going to have her attorney draw up a letter outlining her willingness to pay for all damages. If the letter isn’t forthcoming by the time she’s dismissed from the hospital, fine; we can arrest her then. But in my opinion, the Cochise County Jail can’t afford to house someone who’s used to flying in and out of town on board a private jet.”

  Frank shook his head. “Think how it’s going to look. People will say you didn’t have her arrested because of what was going on between the two of you concerning her father’s will.”

  “And people will say the same thing if I do have her arrested, only then we’ll have to deal with everything else,” Joanna countered. “I want Reba Singleton free to leave the hospital, go straight home, and start working on her divorce proceedings, in which, by the way, I wish her the best of luck.”

  Just then Tica Romero’s voice came over the radio again. “What is it this time?” Joanna asked.

  “I have a call from Detective Carbajal. He’s still with Mrs. Yates. She’s wondering where her granddaughter is and wants to know when she can see her.”

  So much had happened between the last time Joanna had spoken to Jaime Carbajal and right then that she had to think hard about what he knew and didn’t know. Joanna turned to Frank. “Has anyone told him about the diskette?”

  “I did,” Frank said. “At the same time I let him know Lucy Ridder had been found. I just didn’t tell him where she had been found.”

  Joanna nodded. “Patch me through to him, if you can, Tica,” Joanna said. “I think we’ll do better talking directly than with you passing messages back and forth.”

  “W
ait,” Frank said during the pause while they waited for Tica to make the connection. “There’s something else neither one of you know—something I forgot to tell you in all this other excitement. Two things, actually.”

  “What?”

  “For one thing, the evidence clerk in Tucson pulled off a small miracle. She found the bullet from Tom Ridder’s case and shipped it over to the state crime-lab gun unit. And guess what? It matches the bullet that killed Sandra Ridder.”