Field of Bones

by J. A. Jance

  When Arthur first arrived on the scene and while he’d been transforming one of the tin-roofed shacks into his primary dwelling, he had lived for a time on the ground floor of the jail. He’d piped in water and installed electricity, upstairs and down. Intent on having to make fewer trips into town for groceries, he’d dragged home a used freezer and hooked that up in the basement at the foot of the stairs.

  By the time Jimmy came to Calhoun, the abandoned jail was empty once more, and that was where he decided to create what he liked to call his dungeon. His remodeling specifications were high on security and low on creature comforts. He left the earthen floor mostly as is except for a small concrete slab designed to hold a macerating toilet, one that flushed waste up and out of the basement and could be installed with only surface-mounted plumbing. Aside from the toilet, however, there was no other running water—no shower, tub, or lavatory. The toilet, a single bulb in the middle of the room, and a few glass blocks to allow a minimum amount of light were Jimmy’s only concessions to the modern age.

  Jimmy wanted a harem. That meant he needed to be able to control more than one prisoner at a time. After determining four to be the maximum number suitable for the space involved, he personally installed metal rings in the walls to secure his prospective captives. Carefully measured lengths of chain allowed each prisoner some freedom of movement. They could go as far as the toilet, yes, but that was it.

  Only when the remodel was complete did Jimmy take the next step. On a warm May morning, while Arthur was sitting in the shade of a nearby cottonwood tree and carrying on a spirited conversation with someone who wasn’t there, Jimmy walked up behind him and fired a single bullet into the back of his brother’s head.

  You could say Arthur Ardmore never knew what hit him.

  As far as the neighbors were concerned—for people from the nearby towns of Road Forks, Animas, and Portal—Jimmy Ardmore was an outstanding member of the community, someone devotedly caring for an aging and unwell older brother. When Jimmy finally got around to mentioning that he’d had to place Arthur in what he called a “memory-care facility” outside El Paso, everyone who heard the story sympathized with him for having had to make and carry out such a difficult decision. No one ever once bothered questioning the validity of that placement. Through the years Arthur Ardmore hadn’t ever gone out of his way to make friends with any of his neighbors, and none of them spent much time worrying about what might have become of him.

  A few weeks after Jimmy dumped his brother’s body out of the back of his pickup and left it to rot in an open field near Skeleton Canyon, a man who looked very much like Arthur Ardmore walked into the Department of Motor Vehicles office in Douglas to renew his Arizona driver’s license. The woman who took his photo commented that life in the desert must be agreeing with him, since he seemed to be getting younger rather than older. They’d both had a good laugh over that little joke.

  Arthur Ardmore’s Platinum AmEx was the card that paid for meals and vehicles and rooms on Jimmy’s occasional hunting trips. Jimmy Ardmore was the guy who lived in Road Forks, drove trucks for a living, and spent his spare time looking after the ranch that belonged to his ailing and now-institutionalized brother. No one anywhere had a clue that the two men were one and the same, and Jimmy wanted to maintain that fiction for as long as humanly possible.

  Over the years Jimmy Ardmore’s antipathy toward his mother had always gotten in the way of his having any lasting romantic relationships. He’d had more than his share of encounters with the prostitutes who plied their trade along the various interstates he traveled, but because Jimmy liked his sex rough, he’d had very few repeat engagements. Now, with Arthur gone and the dungeon ready for action, Jimmy Ardmore had been ready to change all that. The girls who would be coming here would do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. They wouldn’t have any choice.

  On that cold Sunday morning in November, more than two years after Arthur’s death, Jimmy crossed back into Arizona and drove as far as the Fortuna exit before pulling off the freeway. Parking his rig behind the gas station, he walked as far as Denny’s, where he indulged in one of their trademark Grand Slam breakfasts. Afterward he visited a nearby grocery store. Earlier his intention had been to buy a fifty-pound bag of dog food. Now, though, with only one mouth left to feed, he bought a twenty-five-pound bag instead, along with several plastic-wrapped packages containing multiple rolls of toilet paper. He supposed he could have bought the toilet paper anywhere, including closer to home. But the dog food? No way. Everyone in Road Forks knew damned good and well that Jimmy Ardmore didn’t have a dog.

  Chapter 19

  A SQUAWK FROM SAGE OVER THE NANNY CAM BROUGHT JOANNA wide awake at six the next morning. Once Tom Hadlock had left, she’d stayed up late enough for one more feeding, but given the fact that it had been nearly midnight by then, Joanna felt totally sleep deprived as she staggered into the kitchen.

  Holding Sage in her left arm and pouring milk and cereal with the other, Joanna managed to get both kids fed at more or less the same time. Since Sage showed no inclination toward going back to sleep, Joanna wrapped her in an extra layer of blankets and then carried her outside in a sling while she and Denny did the morning chores. Afterward she sat down to enjoy a double miracle. Now that she was no longer pregnant, she could drink coffee again without turning green at the very thought of it. And with Sage finally back asleep and Denny playing outside, Joanna was able to drink it while it was still hot. That was when Butch called.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling downright pioneerish,” she told him with a laugh. “You should have seen me outside this morning, feeding the horses and cattle and carrying Sage around in a sling. The only thing missing was a sunbonnet, although it was pretty frosty here last night, and it’s way too cold for sunbonnets this morning. How are things with you?”

  “Wondering if I should tell you about this or not,” he said.

  He sounded troubled, and Joanna felt a tug of worry. “Tell me what?”

  “The hostess who drove me back and forth to the library last night tried to put the moves on me.”

  That wasn’t at all what Joanna had been expecting, and she had to stifle the urge to giggle. “You’re kidding. Really?”

  “Really,” Butch replied, “and it wasn’t funny, either.” The way he said it made Joanna wonder if maybe he’d heard a hint of that stifled giggle after all.

  “All through dinner she was groping my thigh under the table,” Butch continued. “And after the event she wanted to stop by the hotel so we could have a beverage—wink, wink, in case I wasn’t getting the message. I finally got rid of her by telling her my wife had had a baby just two weeks ago. So we’re a real pair, Joey—you’re a modern-day pioneer, and I’m a late-breaking sex object.”

  The words “sexual-assault victim” flashed through Joanna’s head, although she understood full well that victim status in those kinds of situations was anything but a two-way street. Butch sounded genuinely troubled about what had happened, but since he seemed prepared to take a light-handed approach, so did Joanna.

  “It was probably that shiny bald head of yours that got her attention.”

  “Maybe so,” Butch replied. “But I’m guessing no male authors—young or old, bald or not—would be safe within reaching distance of that literary dragon lady. And, of course, if I tried to call her on it, the situation would immediately devolve into one of those ‘he said/she said’ things, and I’d end up being turned into the villain.”

  “Sorry,” Joanna agreed, knowing all too well that what he said was true. No matter what, any kind of sexual interaction would be presumed to be the man’s fault.

  Once he finished letting off steam, they talked awhile longer, with Joanna bringing him up to date on the latest about both the kids and the case before Butch had to head for the airport to catch his flight to Albuquerque. As the call ended, another one came in—this one from Tom Hadlock.

  “Struck out w
ith the FBI’s SAIC up in Tucson,” he said. “Whipple gave me the runaround. Said he’d need to have more information before he’d be able to request the assistance of a profiler from D.C.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “He was a little vague on specifics—autopsy reports, I suppose, along with crime-scene photos, notes from our investigating officers, that sort of thing.”

  “No real sense of urgency, then?” Joanna put in.

  “Hardly.”

  “Did you mention our concern about the possibility of additional victims?”

  “I did,” Tom said dejectedly, “and it didn’t make a lick of difference with the alphabet-soup guy. He said to send him what we have tomorrow. He’ll make a determination at that time, which translates to when he’s damned good and ready.”

  Just then Joanna caught sight of the book Denny had left lying on the coffee table. It was one of his favorites—The Little Engine That Could.

  “Let me take a crack at it,” Joanna said.

  “Good luck,” Tom countered, “but I doubt Whipple will listen to you, either.”

  “I’m not going to talk to Ted Whipple,” Joanna told him. “Are you familiar with the story of the Little Engine That Could?”

  “I guess,” Tom admitted, “from back when I was a kid. Why? What does that have to do with Ted Whipple?”

  “The train can’t get over the mountain to Yon because its engine has broken down. Everybody else is ready to give up, except for the clown. He keeps right on asking one engine after another for help, until somebody finally agrees to give it a go.”

  “Who are you gonna call?” Tom asked. “Agent Watkins?”

  “For starters,” Joanna replied.

  “Good luck, then,” Tom said. “Let me know how it turns out.”

  It was almost ten in the morning by then, late enough on a Sunday for an incoming call to be considered civilized.

  Robin answered on the second ring. “Hey, Joanna,” she said. “How’s it going? I just got back from my morning run and saw on the news ticker that you’ve had some excitement down your way—that your people are investigating a multiple homicide. You’re still on leave, right?”

  If the dump-site story was already showing up on a Tucson-based news feed, that meant word was definitely getting out. No doubt Marliss Shackleford had been working overtime.

  “Correct on all counts,” Joanna said. “I’m on leave, and my people have their hands full dealing with a multiple homicide. We’ve located a dump site that contains the remains of several victims.”

  “A serial killer, then?” Robin asked.

  “That’s how it looks,” Joanna answered. “Most of the remains have been out in the elements long enough so all that’s left is skeletal. One, however, is much more recent—a couple of days old at most. According to the M.E., we’re looking at a Hispanic girl, most likely in her mid- to late teens who was thirteen weeks pregnant at the time of her death. Dr. Baldwin says she was severely undernourished and had evidently been subsisting on a steady diet of dry dog food.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Asphyxiation, most likely, combined with hypothermia. The M.E. found evidence that suggests the victim had been locked in a freezer.”

  Robin gave a low whistle. “What about the other victims?” she asked. “Did they die the same way?”

  “One of them probably died of a gunshot wound to the head. Jury’s still out on the other two. As I said, those are skeletal remains only, and the M.E. is going to have to jigsaw the pieces back together in order to learn more.”

  “I’m betting that most of the victims will turn out to be young and female,” Robin suggested.

  “That’s my guess, too.”

  “And you’re thinking of asking the Bureau for help?”

  “More than just thinking,” Joanna replied. “The question has been asked and answered. Tom Hadlock already tried calling Ted Whipple and got nowhere fast.”

  “Not surprising,” Robin replied. “Ted Whipple is one of those chain-of-command kind of guys who doesn’t make a move until all the t’s are crossed and i’s are dotted.”

  “We weren’t really looking for additional manpower,” Joanna told her. “All we wanted was access to a profiler, someone who might be able to tell us what kind of person we’re looking for and point us in the right direction.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  “The dump site is in a remote location, one that would be known to locals but not so much to outsiders.”

  “You’re thinking the perpetrator is one of your own?”

  “Yes, someone who lives around here and can come and go and operate under the radar without arousing any suspicion. During the autopsy of the most recent victim, Dr. Baldwin noticed internal bruising to a lower leg that would indicate the victim had been held in restraints for a considerable period of time. Our biggest concern right now is that he might be holding additional captives. Once he knows we’re working his dump site, chances are he’ll—”

  “Get rid of them and then bail,” Robin concluded, “which means you can’t afford to wait around for crossing t’s or dotting i’s.”

  “Exactly,” Joanna said.

  “You may have come to the right place,” Robin said after a moment. “One of my good friends happens to be just what you’re looking for—an FBI profiler. Her name is Rochelle Powers, and we were roommates back at the academy in Quantico. By some strange coincidence, she’s currently in Arizona, visiting her folks, who live in Scottsdale. We were planning to get together while she’s here. Would you like me to give her a call?”

  “Would you?”

  “I’m happy to, but how will this kind of back-door arrangement go over with your acting sheriff?” Robin asked.

  “Tom Hadlock won’t mind,” Joanna said. “As I said, he already took his own shot at Ted Whipple and got nowhere.”

  “Tom Hadlock?” Robin inquired. “Isn’t he the chief deputy who was running the show the night you were in so much trouble?”

  “One and the same,” Joanna answered.

  “Cool guy,” Robin said. “Everybody seemed to think he was in over his head, but he came through that whole mess like a champ.”

  “He’s doing the same thing now,” Joanna said. “Sticking him with a multiple homicide means throwing him into the deep end. He’s swimming like crazy, but he asked me for some logistical support, and that’s why I called you.”

  “Fair enough,” Robin said. “Is it all right, then, if I give Rochelle your phone number?”

  “By all means.”

  Chapter 20

  WANTING TO BE REASONABLY PRESENTABLE BY THE TIME THE PAXTONS showed up, Joanna took a quick shower and dabbed on some makeup. While doing so, she toyed with the idea of maybe packing up both kids and driving out to the crime scene along with everyone else that afternoon—just to take a look at things and get the lay of the land.

  In the quiet of her steamy bathroom, it seemed like a reasonable enough idea—tempting, even. After all, how bad could it be? She’d be driving her own vehicle, and if the kids were with her, she wouldn’t hang around for very long. She was still on maternity leave. It wasn’t like she intended to go out stomping around in the desert looking for evidence. She knew for a fact, however, that if Butch were home, he’d be firmly opposed to the idea.

  Postponing a final decision, she went out to the living room, where, with a few quiet moments to herself, Joanna logged onto the Bisbee Bee’s Web site. As soon as she saw the lead headline, she knew exactly where the Tucson news feeds were getting their information.

  CCSD Investigating

  Multiple Homicide

  by

  Marliss Shackleford

  Sources close to the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department, speaking on the condition of confidentiality, report that homicide detectives are investigating a site in a remote area east of Douglas where evidence suggests the presence of several dead bodies in various stages of decay.

&
nbsp; According to the anonymous source, the most recent victim is reported to be a young, unidentified Hispanic female. Her remains were located in the foothills of the Peloncillo Mountains on Saturday morning under what are described to be somewhat mysterious circumstances. Other remains found nearby are said to be skeletal in nature and are thought to belong to several other as-yet-unidentified individuals.

  Currently all of the remains are being held at the Cochise County Medical Examiner’s office in Bisbee, Arizona, where autopsies are due to be scheduled. As of this time, Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Kendra Baldwin has released no information concerning the incident.

  According to the source, the cache of remains suggests the possibility that this is what homicide investigators refer to as a “dump site,” a place favored by serial killers as disposal locations for the remains of multiple victims.

  Newly reelected sheriff Joanna Brady is currently on maternity leave, so the investigation is being handled by her second-in-command, Chief Deputy Thomas Hadlock.

  This is a developing story. A press briefing is scheduled to occur at the Cochise County Justice Center later today. Further updates will be provided as additional information becomes available.

  Joanna finished reading and then sat staring at the words “Sources close to the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department.” So who the hell are those sources? she wondered furiously.

  Which of her deputies or clerks or detectives had Marliss Shackleford on speed dial in order to spill the beans about ongoing investigations? Obviously someone either in or close to her department couldn’t be trusted, and Joanna wanted to know who that person was.

  Picking up her phone, she dialed Tom. “Who’s the leak?” she demanded.

  “I don’t have a clue,” he muttered. “That article is enough to piss off the Good Fairy. As soon as I saw it, I asked myself the same question. Problem is, Ernie’s about to do his first presser. The conference room is full to the brim. We’re going to tape it. Do you want me to send you a copy?”

  “Please,” she said.