Field of Bones

by J. A. Jance

  She was just going to tell him about her back-door approach on the profiler situation when the dogs set up a chorus of barking out in the yard. Seconds later Denny dashed into the house. “Mommy, Mommy!” he yelled as the door slammed shut behind him. “The people with the cadavel dogs are here. They’re out front. Do you want to come see them?”

  The dog people had arrived a good hour earlier than Joanna had expected. “I’ll be right out,” she told Denny. “Since there are other dogs, can you lock Lady and Lucky in the garage?”

  “I think so,” Denny said.

  To Tom she said, “The Paxtons are here. I’ve gotta go.”

  Wrapping Sage in an extra layer of blanket, she stepped out onto the front porch. With the dogs successfully contained, Denny came racing back around the house in time to accompany his mother down the walkway toward the front gate.

  The new arrivals consisted of an older, white-haired woman walking toward the gate with two enormous, wrinkle-faced, flop-eared hounds on leashes.

  “Sit,” the woman commanded, and both dogs instantly complied.

  “Good dogs,” Joanna observed.

  The woman nodded. “It’s a good thing, too. The leashes are mostly for show. They each outweigh me by twenty-five pounds. If they took a mind to, they could turn me into a flying human dogsled in a down-home minute. You must be Sheriff Brady,” she added, offering her hand. “I’m Patricia Paxton. Most people call me Li’l Pat for obvious reasons.”

  The obvious reason had to do with the fact that Li’l Pat was tiny and probably didn’t weigh ninety pounds soaking wet. All her life Joanna had been accustomed to being the shortest person at any given gathering, but that wasn’t the case here. Even in cowboy boots with two-inch heels, Li’l Pat was at least three inches shorter than Joanna’s diminutive five-four.

  Patricia Paxton appeared to be somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies, with a suntanned, leathery complexion that spoke to lots of time spent in the great outdoors. Dressed in faded jeans, a plaid flannel work shirt, and worn boots, she looked ready to set off on a daylong trail ride at a moment’s notice.

  “And who might you be, young man?” Li’l Pat asked, turning a pair of intense blue eyes on Dennis and offering him her hand.

  “I’m Dennis Dixon,” he replied gravely, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders to return the handshake. “Everyone calls me Denny. Do your dogs have names?”

  “Yes they do. This one is Stormin’ Norman,” Li’l Pat answered, nodding toward the dog on the right. “The one on the left is Big Red.”

  “Can I pet them?” Denny asked.

  “That depends,” Li’l Pat said. “Are you afraid of dogs?”

  “No, ma’am,” Denny said. “I’m good with dogs. My big sister showed me how to meet new dogs, by holding out the back of my hand for them to sniff.”

  “Sounds like your sister’s got it just about right,” Li’l Pat said. “If it’s okay with your mommy for you to pet them, it’s okay with me.”

  Dennis looked up at Joanna. When she nodded her assent, he let himself out through the gate and cautiously approached the dogs, carefully proffering the back of his hand. As he got closer, both dogs thumped their tails on the ground in greeting.

  While Denny knelt to pet the dogs, Li’l Pat smiled reassuringly at Joanna. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They’ll be fine. And that’s one handsome baby you’ve got there. How old, and is it a boy or a girl?”

  “A girl,” Joanna replied, feeling instantly at ease. “Her name is Sage, and she’s not quite two weeks old. Now, about your dogs. How are they around livestock—say, with cattle and horses?”

  “They spend a lot of time on our ranch on the Hassayampa up near Wickenburg,” Li’l Pat answered. “They’re both accustomed to horses. As for cattle? A couple of years back, Stormin’ Norman here got himself all tangled up with a Brahma bull we were boarding temporarily for one of the traveling rodeo companies. I’m afraid that one encounter cured this poor old guy of any interest in cattle whatsoever.”

  “You’re welcome to let them off leash, then,” Joanna said. “We’ve got our own two dogs locked inside.”

  “Where would you like my husband to park?”

  Out in the driveway, a man sat behind the wheel of an idling Sprinter. When Joanna approached the vehicle, the driver rolled down his window and tipped a worn Stetson in greeting.

  “I’m Joanna Brady,” she said. “Welcome to High Lonesome Ranch.”

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “Dwayne Paxton at your service. Glad to make your acquaintance. Do you want me to stash this rig anywhere in particular?”

  “Do you see that utility pole over by the barn?” Joanna asked, pointing. “There’s an RV pad there equipped with both electricity and a water hookup.”

  “Sounds good. Once I get parked, I’ll unhook the Jeep and get it out of the way so we don’t take up too much room.”

  The Sprinter was shiny and appeared to be brand-new. The Jeep Wrangler it was towing was a battered old warhorse that clearly had seen plenty of hard use. After expertly positioning the Sprinter on the concrete pad, Dwayne switched off the engine, opened the door, unfolded himself, and stepped down to the ground. When he did so, Joanna found herself staring up at a man who was well over six feet. Considering how tiny Li’l Pat was, Joanna was surprised that her husband was so tall.

  “That’s right,” he said with a grin, as though reading her mind. “Me and Li’l Pat there make for a regular Mutt-and-Jeff team. Now, if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll get that Jeep unhitched.”

  As an embarrassed flush spread up Joanna’s face, she was grateful that his attention was focused on the tow bar rather than on her.

  “I understand the crime scene’s some distance from here?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Fifty miles, give or take,” Joanna told him, “and a lot of it on less-than-wonderful roads.”

  “Will you be leading us there, or will someone else?”

  “I’m currently on maternity leave. I let Tom Hadlock, my chief deputy, know you’re here. He should be sending someone to get you.”

  “Fair enough,” Dwayne said. “We need to head out as soon as possible. With the days as short as they are, we’d best get started before we lose the light.”

  Once the Jeep was unhitched, Joanna showed Dwayne how to set up the utility connections while Denny bustled around helping Li’l Pat put out food and water for the dogs.

  “When cadavel dogs find bodies, do they eat them?” he asked.

  Li’l Pat shot a quick look in Joanna’s direction, but she replied without making a fuss about the boy’s mispronunciation.

  “No,” she answered. “When it comes to smell, dog noses are way better than human noses, and dogs can be trained to look for certain things—like drugs or bombs or runaway suspects. Cadaver dogs are trained to search out human remains, and they bark to let us know once they’ve found something so we can come tag it.”

  “You mean like evidence and stuff so Mommy can catch the people who do bad things?”

  “Exactly.”

  About that time Tom Hadlock sped into the yard, kicking up a rooster tail of dust. Joanna had spoken to him by phone only minutes earlier. Walking over to greet him, she was surprised that he was there so soon. “Is the press conference done already?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said. “I’m sure it’s still going hot and heavy. We snuck out early and left poor Ernie holding the bag. I wanted us to be well on our way before he cuts loose that flock of reporters.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Joanna asked.

  Tom nodded. “Dave Hollicker and I drew the short straws when it comes to working the crime scene. Deputy Raymond went home to grab some sleep while Deputy Hernandez is currently out there standing guard. Since we probably won’t finish up processing the scene before dark today, I’ve asked Deputy Raymond to plan on being back on duty at sundown. In the meantime I’ve got everyone else hitting the bricks on the ca
nvassing job. This evening the team will reassemble at the department for a debriefing so we can figure out what’s to be done tomorrow.”

  With both Dave Hollicker and Tom Hadlock heading for the crime scene, there was no longer any valid reason for Joanna herself to show up there. Reluctantly letting go of that idea, she changed the subject.

  “How’s Ernie doing with the media assault?” she asked.

  “Like gangbusters,” Tom replied with a grin. “If you put the guy in front of a microphone, unlike me, he’s a natural. You’d think he’s been working Media Relations all his life. On the other hand, he’s all thumbs when it comes to operating the electronic equipment, so I asked Kristin to come in and help out. She’s spent all morning fielding phone calls from the media outfits that weren’t able to have people covering the press conference in person. She’ll be sending out copies of the presser to them and to you as well.”

  “Okay, then,” Joanna said. “Let me introduce you to the Paxtons so you can get under way.”

  Chapter 21

  ONCE THE CADAVER CREW AND TOM SET OFF FOR THE PELONCILLOS, Joanna returned to the house feeling like a star quarterback benched in the middle of a playoff game. This was obviously a major case, and even though her people were doing an outstanding job, she couldn’t help resenting the fact that she’d been sidelined. She wanted to be in the middle of it rather than fixing a snack for Denny, feeding Sage, and starting another load of laundry, none of which improved her disposition.

  Just after two her phone rang with an unfamiliar number in the caller-ID window. Thinking it was some kind of solicitation call, she almost let it go to voice mail. Then, after the third ring, she changed her mind and answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Sheriff Brady?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “My name is Rochelle Powers. I’m a friend of Robin Watkins.”

  “Oh, yes,” Joanna said, “Rochelle. It’s so good to hear from you.”

  “Sorry it took a while for me to get back to you. I’m up at the Grand Canyon with my folks, and cell-phone service up here is almost nonexistent. The only place I can get even one bar is out in the parking lot. That’s where I’m calling from, and I can tell you it’s damn cold out here. This is Arizona. I thought it was going to be warm.”

  Not when you’re close to seven thousand feet in elevation, Joanna thought. “Thanks for calling,” she said aloud. “I hate to intrude on your vacation.”

  Rochelle laughed. “If you knew my parents, you’d know that having a vacation from my vacation isn’t such a terrible idea. How can I help?”

  “Did Robin bring you up to speed?”

  “Only the basics—that your department may be dealing with a serial-killer situation and that you’re having some challenges with bureaucratic stalling.”

  “That’s pretty much the size of it.”

  “How about if you fill me in?”

  “We’ve located human remains scattered across what we believe to be a dump site,” Joanna explained.

  “What kind of remains?”

  “Mostly skeletal, although one body was recent enough that our M.E. was able to perform an autopsy.”

  “How many victims are we talking about?”

  “That’s unknown at this time. So far we’ve found evidence of four separate victims, but there could be more. My people collected a good deal of evidence yesterday, and we have a team of cadaver dogs and more crime-scene investigators on their way to the site today.”

  “So most of the bones have been there for some time and have probably been open to scavengers?”

  “Correct.”

  “What about the body that was autopsied? How fresh was it?”

  “Several days old at the time it was found.”

  “Who did the autopsy?”

  “The Cochise County medical examiner, Dr. Kendra Baldwin.”

  “What did she turn up?”

  “According to Dr. Baldwin, we’re dealing with a young female, most likely in her mid- to late teens, who was thirteen weeks pregnant at the time of her death. Dental work suggests that she might have come from Mexico originally. There was internal bruising on at least one of her lower limbs that would indicate she was held in restraints for a considerable period of time. She was also severely malnourished. An examination of her stomach contents revealed dry dog food and nothing else.”

  “Dog kibble?” Rochelle asked. “That’s all she had to eat?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Which explains her being malnourished,” Rochelle observed. “What about sexual assault?”

  “There were signs of a violent sexual assault recent enough that the M.E. hopes will provide enough DNA to establish a profile. Given the fact that the victim was pregnant at the time of her death, I think it’s fair to assume that the sexual assaults had been ongoing for some time.”

  “Did the M.E. establish either a time or cause of death?”

  “Dr. Baldwin estimates our Jane Doe was dumped on Wednesday, so the time of death would have been prior to that—the same day or earlier. Cause is listed as asphyxiation,” Joanna replied. “In addition, the M.E. has established that at the time of her death the victim might have been locked in some kind of freezer.”

  “A freezer?”

  Joanna went on to recount the other troubling details surrounding the victim’s death. When she finished, there was a momentary silence on the line before Rochelle asked, “Have you found any matching missing-persons reports?”

  “None so far,” Joanna answered.

  “What about the other victims? I know you mentioned we’re talking only partial remains. Was the M.E. able to establish a cause of death in any of those?”

  “One skull exhibited signs of a gunshot wound. The other two show signs of blunt-force trauma. Once Dr. Baldwin sorts all the pieces, she may find evidence of other wounds as well.”

  Rochelle fell silent again for a moment, as if sifting through her thoughts. “So we’re dealing with an individual who abducts multiple victims, who has the ability to hold them prisoner for an extended period of time, who most likely subjects them to ongoing sexual assaults, and who murders them once he’s had his fill.”

  “Yes,” Joanna agreed, “those are our assumptions, too.”

  “All that being said, we can be reasonably confident that this is a well-established MO rather than a onetime thing, and with the likelihood of other victims no wonder you can’t afford to wait to have your request for a profiler slow-walked through channels and across desks.”

  When the profiler fell silent yet again, Joanna held her breath, waiting to hear what would happen.

  “I’m in, then,” Rochelle concluded at last. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I’ll need information. If you can have your M.E. forward her autopsy results, I can run those through ViCAP and see if there are any other cases out there, solved or not, with similar characteristics.”

  “Wait,” Joanna suggested. “Instead of my being in the middle, why don’t you contact Dr. Baldwin yourself? Tell her I asked you to call. Once we’re off the phone, I’ll text you her numbers. I’ll also send along the numbers for a guy named Ernie Carpenter. He usually works homicide, but right now he’s holding down the fort at Media Relations. His information will be more current than anything I can give you.”

  “What about the detectives working the case? When can I speak to them?”

  “Not anytime soon—they’re all out working right now, most likely not in cell-phone range, either knocking on doors or examining the crime scene. There’s going to be a debriefing later tonight when they finish up. Would you want me to see if we could maybe Skype that?”

  “Don’t bother,” Rochelle said. “The Wi-Fi connection here at the hotel is useless. We’re leaving in the morning, though, and heading back to Scottsdale. Whereabouts is your department again?”

  “We’re located in the Cochise County Justice Center complex, a few miles east of Bisbee on Highway 80.”r />
  “My knowledge of Arizona geography is pretty limited,” Rochelle admitted. “How far is Bisbee from Scottsdale?”

  “Four hours, give or take,” Joanna said. “Scottsdale is more or less in the middle of the state. If you think about a map of Arizona, Cochise County is in the lower right-hand corner. The crime scene itself is only a few miles from the New Mexico state line.”

  “So we’re not exactly right next door at the moment,” Rochelle said. “I can probably show up there late tomorrow, but it would be helpful to know what’s said in that debriefing between then and now. I’ll be able to access whatever’s in the reports, but I’d also like to hear everything else that goes on—the offhand hunches and theories people come up with, things that may not make it into any of the official reports but might prove useful in the long run.”

  “You’re saying you’ll need to speak to them directly?”

  “I will,” Rochelle asserted, “but I can’t stress how helpful it would be for me to have some inside access to that initial debriefing. That way I’ll know where the investigation started and where it’s heading. Would it be possible for you to record it and send me the file?”

  “I can’t promise, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Even though you’re supposed to be on maternity leave?” Rochelle asked.

  “Theoretically,” Joanna replied, “although I think people around here would tell you that I’m not very good at maternity leave.”

  Rochelle laughed.

  “What about you?” Joanna asked. “Is doing something off the books going to land you in hot water back home in D.C.?”

  “How long have you been sheriff?” Rochelle countered.

  “Eight years or so. I won my third term in office a couple of weeks ago. Why?”

  “In the intervening years, I have to assume you’ve had some dealings with the FBI.”

  “Yes,” Joanna said, “some good and some bad, although I have to say, when it comes to dealing with field agents, Robin Watkins is my hands-down favorite.”

  “Mine, too,” Rochelle agreed, “but do you know how she ended up being transferred to Tucson?”