Field of Bones

by J. A. Jance

  “The Boss,” Joanna repeated. “Does that mean she’s been talking to you?”

  “When Latisha’s not sleeping, she talks nonstop,” Marianne said. “She was so lonely after Amelia died that she’s almost as starved for conversation as she is for food. And she asked me if I knew of a priest who would come see her.”

  “She’s a Catholic, then?”

  “She told me she’s not—not yet anyway—but that her parents are, her mother and her stepfather. So I got a hold of Father Rowan from St. Dominick’s. He said he’ll stop by later on this afternoon to see her. How are things out in the Peloncillos?”

  “The arrest team came up empty. The Ardmores had already fled the crime scene by the time they got there. They’re all just hanging out right now, waiting to help process the crime scene once Dave and Casey turn up to supervise.”

  “Maybe I should take a run out there after I leave the hospital,” Marianne said. “From what Latisha told me, it’s likely to be tough going for everyone.”

  When the phone call ended, Joanna remained on the living-room sofa for a few minutes, just sitting and thinking. By rights she needed to let Latisha know what had happened, but she wanted to wait around awhile longer to see if maybe Sheriff Trotter had better news.

  Joanna was alone. The house was quiet. Sage was asleep. Dennis was at school but was scheduled to go on a play date after school let out. The Paxtons had taken their dogs and gone somewhere. Carol was on her way to town to get the mail. Lucky and Lady, worn out from playing, were flopped down side by side on the living-room floor. Feeling suddenly beyond weary, Joanna allowed herself to kick off her shoes, lie down on the sofa, and put her head on a pillow. In a matter of minutes, she was fast asleep.

  In the dream she was coming home from somewhere—work, maybe? Instead of driving into the garage as she usually did, she parked out by the gate and then walked up to the front door. She had opened the screen and was reaching for the knob when the door opened in front of her. A man, seemingly a stranger, stood just inside the door, holding Sage in one hand and a butcher knife in the other.

  “Why, hello,” he said to her, waving the blade of the knife in her direction. “Welcome home, Sheriff Brady. So what’s it going to be today, you or this baby?”

  She awoke with a start, gasping for breath and with her heart hammering in her chest. The danger had been so palpably real that for a second or two she had a difficult time grasping that it had actually been a dream. And then she realized, that the stranger hadn’t been a stranger at all. She’d seen that face before, twice—on both Arthur Ardmore’s driver’s license and his brother’s.

  Joanna wasn’t even actively working the case—make that officially working the case—but it was still affecting her. If the horrors going on out in the Peloncillos were bad enough to haunt her from a distance, what would they do to her people—the ones who actually had to come face-to-face with such evil?

  Tom called at a little past noon to tell her that the examination of the scene had turned up the likelihood that Arthur Ardmore was deceased. He also told her about locating what appeared to be three shallow graves out behind Arthur’s house.

  “How are you doing, Tom?” she asked.

  He hesitated for a moment before answering. “It’s been rough,” he admitted, “on everybody.”

  Once off the phone with him, Joanna called the Paxtons to give them the news and to ask if it might be possible for them to stick around for a day or two longer. But the call she was waiting for, the one from New Mexico, didn’t come in until slightly after 2:00 P.M.

  “James Ardmore is dead,” Randy Trotter announced. “He had a wreck on the I-10 between Las Cruces and El Paso. He was airlifted from the scene and died on the way to the hospital in Las Cruces.”

  Still rattled by her recent nightmare encounter with the man, the relief Joanna felt was overwhelming. “Thank God,” she said. “How did it happen?”

  “Not sure,” Sheriff Trotter said. “My pilot and I were following him at the time, and suddenly he just lost it. Maybe he fell asleep.”

  There was something off in his voice, something that maybe wasn’t quite right, but Joanna didn’t pay that much attention. She was too busy being grateful. If James Ardmore was dead, Latisha would never have to face him across a courtroom to testify about what he’d done to her and to her friends. Joanna knew full well that nothing a judge and jury could dish out to him would be sufficient punishment for his crimes, but for now the fact that he was dead would have to be enough.

  “Because my department was actively pursuing him at the time,” Trotter continued, “my counterparts in Doña Ana County let me have a look at his personal effects. The weird thing is, he was carrying two very different sets of IDs and credit cards—one for James Ardmore and the other, including a current passport, for Arthur Ardmore. Any ideas about that?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Joanna said. “My people out in Calhoun are fairly certain that Arthur Ardmore is deceased. They found evidence to suggest he’s been missing since May two years ago.”

  “That’s interesting,” Randy Trotter said. “We ran a credit report, and according to credit-card records the man’s alive and well and living it up all over the country.”

  “It’s more likely his remains are locked in a drawer uptown in our M.E.’s office,” Joanna told him. “We believe the skull with the bullet hole in the back of the head belongs to him—or to one of them. Since they look so much alike, are you sure you’ve got the ID straight?”

  “One hundred percent,” Trotter said. “I had one of my deputies obtain a warrant and search James Ardmore’s mobile over in Road Forks. We lifted some prints, sent them over to Las Cruces, and they check out. Our dead guy is definitely James Edward Ardmore. We’re looking for other relatives, but so far none have turned up.”

  “I need to go let Latisha know. I’ve been waiting to hear from you before telling her the other news.”

  “What other news?”

  “My people found three more bodies buried in shallow graves behind Arthur Ardmore’s house in Calhoun.”

  “Three more?” Trotter echoed. “You’re saying seven so far?”

  “It would have been eight if Latisha hadn’t gotten away.”

  “Go tell her, then, by all means,” Sheriff Trotter urged. “It won’t make things right by any means, but it might make her feel better.”

  Joanna packed up Sage to go deliver the news to Latisha. Father Rowan was in the room with Latisha when they arrived, so Joanna waited in the hallway until he was leaving.

  The priest greeted her with a friendly smile. “I see that your bundle of joy has arrived. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Joanna said. It was refreshing for a change to hear a comment that had nothing to do with maternity leave.

  When Latisha caught sight of Joanna, her face lit up. The IV bag still hung next to her bed, but already the liquids being pumped into her system had made her look less gaunt.

  “I’m glad you came back,” she said. “Thank you for staying with me earlier. And thank you for sending that nice Marianne.”

  “She is nice,” Joanna told her. “We’ve been friends since seventh grade.”

  “And that’s your baby?”

  Joanna nodded. “Her name is Sage. We came to give you some news. I just got word from Randy Trotter, the sheriff over in Hidalgo County. He wanted me to let you know that the man you knew as the Boss, a guy by the name of James Ardmore, is now deceased. He had crossed state lines and was fleeing prosecution when he wrecked his truck. He died while being transported to the hospital.”

  Latisha’s eyes widened. “He’s dead, really?”

  “Really.”

  “You mean I’ll never have to see him again, and I won’t have to testify against him in court?”

  “It’s over,” Joanna answered, although she knew that wasn’t true. Latisha Marcum would be suffering the aftereffects of James Ardmore’s crimes for the rest of her life.

&n
bsp; The young woman’s tears came once again, as they had so often that day. This time they ended a little sooner than before. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I just can’t seem to stop crying.”

  “Under the circumstances I think you have every right. Later this afternoon my department will be holding a briefing about all this, and there’s something you need to know before it becomes public knowledge. When my people were out at Calhoun today doing crime-scene investigation, they located at least three more sets of remains.”

  “Other girls like us?” Latisha asked.

  “We’re not sure, but I suspect that may be the case. The bodies are currently being transported to the M.E.’s office.”

  “Sadie always said there were probably others,” Latisha murmured. “I should pray for them, but how can I? I don’t even know their names.”

  “Do you believe in God?” Joanna asked.

  Latisha thought about that before she answered. “I didn’t used to,” she said finally, “but now I do.”

  “You don’t need to know their names to pray for them,” Joanna told her. “He already knows.”

  A nurse came into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff Brady. Latisha is due down in the OR to have her toes worked on.”

  “It’s okay,” Joanna said. “Sage and I have said what we came to say.”

  “Can you be here tomorrow when my parents come?” Latisha asked.

  “Do you want me here?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then,” Joanna said. “You can count on it.”

  “And will you wear your uniform?”

  That seemed like an odd request, but Joanna saw no reason to refuse. “I will if you’d like me to,” she said. “But why?”

  “Lyle, my stepfather, always used to try to tell me that cops were my friends. I want to let him know he was right.”

  “Fair enough,” Joanna said. “A uniform it is.”

  On her way out, Joanna poked her head into Garth’s room. He was asleep in his bed, and his grandmother, seated in a visitor’s chair next to him, was sleeping, too. Joanna and Sage left without saying a word.

  She had planned to pick Denny up from his play date just before dinner. When she showed up early, he wasn’t happy.

  “Do I have to go?” he grumbled. “Can’t I stay just a little longer?”

  “Nope,” she told him, “Daddy’s coming home from his book tour today, and I believe some welcome-home balloons might be in order.”

  Chapter 48

  THE BALLOONS WERE A HUGE HIT. SO WAS THE PUBLICATION PAYMENT that Joanna had retrieved from Butch’s office and had leaning next to his glass when he sat down at the table. Carol had made up a batch of green-chili casserole for dinner. Denny, thrilled that his daddy was home, spent the entire meal monopolizing the conversation, so until Denny was in bed, there was no opportunity for adult conversation. When Joanna was finally able to recount the deadly turn the Ardmore investigation had taken that day, Butch could only listen and shake his head.

  “You’ve got a wounded deputy, a dead suspect, and now you’ve got three more victims. Could things get any worse?”

  “I don’t see how,” Joanna told him.

  Tom called at ten o’clock as they were getting ready for bed. “Just got home, and I’m beat,” he said, “but I wanted to give you an update.”

  “How are things?”

  “It was a hell of a tough day for everybody. The guys on the ERT worked their butts off. The M.E. came out and collected the remains of the three new victims, but it turns out she needed help with that from some of our guys because she’s shorthanded now, too. Seems like Ralph Whetson up and quit earlier today, right in the middle of his shift.”

  “He quit? Did Dr. Baldwin say why?”

  “No, just that he was gone. Anyway, just because we couldn’t see signs of more graves, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Did you update the Paxtons?”

  “Sure did. They’re still here and will be ready to deploy as needed whenever you give the word.”

  “Good. By the time we were headed back, it was too late for Ernie to do a presser. That’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine. I’m tempted to bar Marliss from attending.”

  “Don’t bother,” Joanna told him. “For right now I’m pretty sure she’s lost her inside track.”

  “Ralph Whetson?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Fair enough, then,” Tom said. “In the meantime I’m hitting the hay.”

  “Do that,” Joanna said. “You’ve more than earned it.”

  The answer to Butch’s earlier question came around midnight in the form of a phone call from the Copper Queen Community Hospital. “Sheriff Brady? Dr. Morris here.”

  Joanna’s heart went to her throat. “Has Garth taken a turn for the worse?”

  “No,” Dr. Morris said. “As far as I know, he’s doing fine. No, I’m calling about Thomas Hadlock. He insisted I call and tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “He showed up about an hour ago. He woke up with chest pains and was afraid he was having a heart attack, so he drove himself to the hospital. The damn fool should have called an ambulance, but it turns out he was right to get himself here in a hell of a hurry. He’s in intensive care right now, but he insisted I call and let you know.”

  “But I just talked to him a little while ago. Is he going to be all right?”

  “Our cardiologist will give him a full workup tomorrow.”

  “What’s going on?” Butch asked when Joanna put down the phone.

  “That was Dr. Morris from the ER. Tom Hadlock is in intensive care with a possible heart attack.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I came home early,” Butch said. “It sounds like your maternity leave is officially terminated.”

  And it was. Early the next morning, Joanna nursed Sage, turned the baby over to Butch, donned her dress uniform, packed her breast pump, and headed for the Justice Center. It wasn’t yet 8:00 A.M., but the parking lot was already filled to the brim with media vans, some from as far away as Phoenix. Ernie had billed the upcoming press conference as a joint one, with both the sheriff’s department and the medical examiner’s office participating, and Joanna spotted Kendra Baldwin’s Honda CRV parked out front as she drove around back to her reserved parking place.

  Once inside, Joanna found Kendra chatting with Kristin, Joanna’s secretary. They both seemed surprised to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” Kristin asked. “Where’s Tom?”

  “In the ICU,” Joanna answered. “He landed there overnight with chest pains. Drove himself to the ER.”

  “I wish I could say I’m surprised,” Kendra said. “It was a hell of a day out there for everyone involved. I hope he’ll be okay.” Even Kendra, a person who was usually completely put together, looked surprisingly bedraggled. “I’ve got three sets of bones laid out on tables and three more sets waiting in boxes. My office is a mess.”

  “And Ralph quit,” Joanna said.

  Kendra nodded. “He certainly did. Right after I got the call from Tom about finding the graves, I caught him texting someone on his phone. I asked him what he was doing. He said it was private and none of my business. I told him what happens while he’s on the job is most certainly my business. When he handed over his phone, there was a half-written text to Marliss, telling her he was headed to Calhoun to pick up some more bodies. I deleted the text—he hadn’t sent it yet—and I would have deleted him on the spot, but he quit before I had a chance. Good riddance. He probably called Marliss afterward, because she was there waiting along with a bunch of other reporters as we were leaving the crime scene last night. She would have been there much earlier if she’d gotten Ralph’s first message, and I’m sure she’ll be front and center today.”

  “And probably more objectionable than ever,” Joanna said, looking around. “But without Ralph feeding her inside info, I think she’ll be less of a problem. By the way, where’s Ernie?”

  �
��Trying to figure out how to shoehorn more chairs into the conference room,” Kristin said. “If the fire department shows up to do a head count, we’ll be in big trouble. In the meantime here are some messages I had for Tom.”

  Joanna took the stack of message slips into her office. At the top was one from Ted Whipple, the FBI’s special agent in charge at the Tucson office.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Brady,” he said when she returned his call. “I don’t believe you’re the one who contacted me originally, but I understand you folks down there are in need of our assistance.”

  “Actually we no longer are,” Joanna said. “Or rather the assistance we needed has already been provided. A friend of a friend pointed us in the direction of Rochelle Powers, an FBI profiler who happened to be in Arizona on vacation. She was able to give us some pointers, and the individual involved has been dealt with.”

  “You went around me, then?” he asked, sounding offended. “I was simply following procedures.”

  “We didn’t have time for procedures,” Joanna told him. “We were afraid he was holding other victims captive, and without Rochelle’s help he might have gotten away.”

  “He’s in custody, then?” Whipple asked, sounding somewhat mollified.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Joanna replied. “He’s deceased. He died as a result of an MVA on I-10 in New Mexico late yesterday morning.”

  “Fleeing prosecution, was he?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, all right, then. If you need anything else . . .”

  “Of course,” Joanna said cordially. “We’ll be sure to give you a call.” Adding under her breath, once the call ended, “Like bloody hell.”

  She was shuffling through the slips to see who should be next when a call came in on her cell phone from Randy Trotter.

  “I’ve got some news for you,” he said. “Based on the seriousness of the situation, I was able to get the Doña Ana M.E.’s office to move our boy Ardmore to the head of the line. Cause of death is a concussion. Manner of death accidental.”