by J. A. Jance
Between calls and while she waited for Frank Montoya to return to the Justice Complex with Lucy Ridder, Joanna tried to work. She attempted to call Adam York but was unable to reach him. She dealt with some of her routine paperwork, but that day Joanna Brady’s heart wasn’t in the task of conquering her current batch of mail. Around eleven she checked in with Detective Carpenter.
“What’s happening, Ernie? Any luck tracking the witness-protection offer?”
“Not so far, but we’re working on the problem. It would help if everyone I asked didn’t think I was pulling some kind of April Fool’s stunt.”
“Keep after it,” Joanna told him.
About eleven-thirty, Frank Montoya called her on her private line.
“We stopped for lunch on the way, but we’re driving into the parking lot right now,” he said. “How about if we use your private entrance so we don’t have to drag Lucy and Big Red in through the front lobby?”
“Are you telling me you brought the bird along?” Joanna asked.
“He’s wearing his hood,” Frank said. “Lucy refused to come without him.”
“Okay, then,” Joanna said. “And you’re right. You’ll be better off bringing them in the back way. You know my door code, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
A minute or so later, Frank ushered Lucy Ridder, Sister Celeste, and Big Red into Joanna’s office through her private entrance. The red-tailed hawk, with his head swathed in a black hood, perched quietly on Lucy’s shoulder.
“Mr. Montoya told us what happened to your house,” Lucy Ridder said, stopping beside Joanna’s desk. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Thanks,” Joanna replied. “So am I, and I appreciate your concern. But let’s get back to you. Did Mr. Montoya tell you what we’re going to need from you today, that you’ll be interviewed by our two homicide detectives-Detectives Carpenter and Carbajal?”
“Yes.”
“And that later on, after the interview is over, we’ll have an artist help you create a composite sketch of the man who killed your mother?”
“Yes, he told me that, too.” Lucy turned and surveyed the room. “Will my grandmother be with me when I talk to the detectives?”
Joanna glanced at Frank. After what Jaime Carbajal had said the night before about Catherine Yates’ eagerness to see her granddaughter, Joanna had expected the woman would have met her at the door first thing that morning. In the flurry of taking phone calls and returning messages, the fact that Catherine had yet to show up had somehow escaped Joanna’s notice. As a juvenile, if Lucy Ridder demanded that her grandmother be present, the interview would have to be delayed until Catherine Yates’ arrival.
“I thought she’d be here by now, but she isn’t,” Joanna said carefully. “If you’re worried about her coming, I’ll be glad to bring her to the interview room as soon as she arrives.”
Lucy nodded, then she brightened. “Since Grandma’s not here, can Sister Celeste come in with me? I’d feel better if she did.”
Joanna knew her detectives wouldn’t appreciate an extra person being added into the mix. “Sure,” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “That’ll be fine.”
As soon as Frank took his charges and left for the conference room, Joanna picked up the phone, dialed Dispatch, and spoke to Larry Kendrick.
“Who’s on duty at Catherine Yates’ house over by Pearce?” she asked.
Several seconds passed while Joanna listened to the clatter of computer keys. “Deputy Ken Galloway,” Larry returned.
“Has he checked in lately?”
“Not for an hour or two. Why?”
“He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on Catherine Yates, and I expected her to show up here by now. See if you can raise him by radio and find out what’s going on.”
Once Joanna was off the phone, she glanced at her watch. It was noontime. By rights it was past time for her to head out to High Lonesome Ranch to see how things were going and to cheer on the work crew’s efforts. It wasn’t fair to let the responsibility for her problem fall entirely on other people’s shoulders. Still, she knew she could trust Butch to oversee things. She had faith that he would be able to sort out which of her shattered possessions should be kept and which should be thrown away. And, just like Eva Lou, it was easier on Joanna not to be there in person. She didn’t want to witness the sad process of watching her past being thrown, item by item, into a Dumpster.
The phone rang. “Yes.”
“This is odd,” Larry Kendrick said. “I’ve tried raising Deputy Galloway several times, but he doesn’t answer.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Joanna said.
“Me neither,” Kendrick returned. “Deputy Pakin is over near the airport in Douglas right now. I’ve dispatched him to go to Pearce and check things out.”
Before Joanna had a chance to think about what that all might mean, her intercom buzzed. “A Mr. Jerry Reed to see you,” Kristin Marsten announced.
Who the hell is Jerry Reed? Joanna wanted to ask. Why don’t you ever get enough information?
Shaking her head, she bit back her sudden attack of irritation. “Send him in,” Joanna said.
The man Kristin showed into Joanna’s office was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. In Bisbee, where most men didn’t bother with suits and ties, Jerry Reed was wearing a perfectly pressed double-breasted suit along with an immaculate white shirt and an understated red-and-blue tie.
“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff Brady,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Jerry Reed. I’m a special investigator for the Attorney General’s office.”
“Which one?” Joanna asked.
He laughed. “The Attorney General,” he said, reaching into a pocket and extracting his ID. “The U.S. Attorney General.”
Joanna took the proffered leather wallet and examined the picture identification before handing it back to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.
Jerry Reed eased himself into one of Joanna’s captain’s chairs. “I’ll cut right to the chase, Sheriff Brady. I believe you have something that belongs to us-to our department, that is-and I’ve been sent to retrieve it.”
Jerry Reed’s tone of voice-his very attitude-put Joanna Brady on edge. She didn’t like the way he had walked into her private office and, without an appointment, had helped himself to a chair. Through the years Joanna had worked several joint operations with any number of exemplary federal and state officers. On occasion, though, she had come to loggerheads with a few individuals. Each time, the conflict had grown out of some visiting fireman’s patronizing and overbearing attitude toward Joanna and her department and out of Joanna’s greatly reduced ability to tolerate same.
“And what would that be?” she asked, leaning back in her own chair and wishing she were wearing something more businesslike and tidy than yesterday’s somewhat grubby clothing.
“Please don’t be coy, Sheriff Brady,” Jerry Reed said. “It doesn’t suit you. I’m talking about the diskette Sandra Ridder promised to give us. I understand from Catherine Yates that it has somehow come to be in your department’s possession. My department wants it back.”
“I’ve been given to believe the diskette contains top-secret military command and control information,” Joanna said. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”
Reed seemed stunned to hear that Joanna knew that much about the diskette’s top-secret contents. “How do you know what’s on the disk?” he growled.
“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Joanna returned smoothly. “The point is, I do. Currently, that disk is evidence in one of our ongoing homicide investigations, and I’m certainly not handing it over.”
Reed reached into another inside pocket and pulled out a document. “Before you paint yourself into a corner, Sheriff Brady, you may want to take a look at this. It’s a properly drafted subpoena, signed by a Federal judge, requiring you to produce the diskette and hand it over to me at once.”
He passed
the subpoena across the table. Joanna examined it and handed it back. As far as she could tell, it seemed to be in order. “Are you the one that offered Sandra Ridder a ticket into the witness-protection program?” she asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“And wasn’t there supposed to be a cash bonus if Sandra Ridder turned the diskette over to you?”
“Really, Sheriff Brady. Our negotiations with Ms. Ridder were and are entirely confidential. They have nothing at all to do with the situation here.”
“That’s not true, Mr. Reed,” Joanna said. “Sandra Ridder is dead, but her daughter-her only heir, Lucy Ridder-is very much alive. If a cash bonus was due Sandra Ridder for turning this mysterious diskette over to you, then the money should be due her daughter as well.”
“Sheriff Brady,” he said, looking somewhat agitated that Joanna was unwilling to capitulate. “Sandra’s daughter isn’t handing it over to me. You are. And I didn’t come here to play ”Let’s Make a Deal.“ This is a serious matter, and I’m not leaving your office without taking that disk with me.”
Instinct told Joanna something was amiss, but she couldn’t tell what. “Very well,” she said. “Wait here, and I’ll go get it. Since it’s down in the evidence room, that may take some time. Please make yourself comfortable.”
Outside her private office, Joanna pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 4-1-1.
“U.S. West,” a disembodied voice said. “How can I help you?”
“I want to be connected to the office of the Attorney General of the United States in Washington, D.C. My name is Sheriff Joanna Brady. Please tell whoever answers that this is extremely urgent-a matter of life and death.”
While Joanna waited impatiently for the connection to be made, she poked her head into Frank Montoya’s office and waved frantically for him to follow her. Then she hurried down the long hallway and out toward the public lobby, with her chief deputy padding along behind. She stopped at a locked supply-room door and opened it with her key.
“What’s up?” Frank demanded, following her into the supply room. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a man in my office who says his name is Jerry Reed. He claims he’s a special investigator for the U.S. Attorney General. He comes to us armed with a subpoena and demanding that we hand over Sandra Ridder’s diskette.”
With that, Joanna passed Frank the phone. “I’ve placed a call to the Attorney General’s office in D.C. You talk to whoever answers, and don’t put down the phone until you find out whether or not Special Agent Jerry Reed is legitimate.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“Give him the disk.” Joanna reached up to a top shelf and pulled down a single computer disk-a blue one-from a box of blanks.
Frank’s eyes widened. “You’re going to give him a phony?”
Joanna nodded. “Why not? What’s he going to do, pop it into my computer to check it out before he ever leaves my office? If it turns out Reed is for real, we’ll tell him I made a mistake, and that our evidence clerk gave me the wrong disk. If he isn’t-”
“Hello,” Frank was saying into the phone. “No, this isn’t Sheriff Brady. I’m her chief deputy, Frank Montoya. We have a serious incident unfolding here that may involve one of your investigators. I probably need to speak to someone in Operations.”
Leaving Frank to sort through the layers of Federal officialdom, Joanna started back toward her office. Outside the door, Kristin flagged Joanna down and handed over the receiver from Kristin’s desk phone. “I know you’re in a hurry, but I think you’re going to want to take this.”
“Hello.”
“Sheriff Brady,” Larry Kendrick said. “Deputy Pakin just arrived at the Yates’ place out in the Dragoons. He says Deputy Galloway’s patrol car is there, but he’s not. Neither is Catherine Yates, although her vehicle is there as well. He says her house looks as though it’s been ransacked, and there are signs of a struggle.”
Like a zoom photo lens shifting into focus, Joanna suddenly felt as though she knew what was going on. “Listen, Larry,” she said urgently. “Call down to Motor Pool. Tell Danny Garner someone’s going to be leaving the department in the next few minutes. I have no idea what kind of a vehicle he’s driving, but before he goes, I want at least one and preferably two sets of spike strips laid down across the entrance to the Justice Complex. If I’m wrong about this and we’ve got the wrong guy, we’ll owe the Feds a new set of tires. If I’m right, we may save several lives.”
“How do we know the guy you want is the only one who’ll run over the strips?”
“We don’t,” Joanna replied. “Depending on how long he takes to leave, we may be buying a whole bunch of people new sets of tires. Just do it.”
Glancing down at the diskette in her hand, Joanna realized something was missing. Returning to her office with a naked computer disk and trying to pass that off as the real one wasn’t going to cut it. She hurried across to the conference-room door, poked her head into the room, and motioned Ernie Carpenter away from the interview.
“What the hell do you want?” the detective demanded irritably once he was outside and had shut the door. “Sheriff Brady, you know better than to interrupt-”
“Shut up and give me an evidence bag,” Joanna said. “And a label, too. Date it yesterday, and sign Frank’s name to it.”
“Me sign Frank’s name? Are you crazy?”
“Hurry, Ernie. There’s not much time. A man’s going to be leaving my office any minute. I want you and Jaime Carbajal out in the parking lot in a car and ready to follow him. Whatever you do, don’t drive out the front entrance. Danny Garner is laying down two sets of tire spikes. When the guy gets out of his vehicle, nab him.”
“On what charges?”
“How about impersonating an officer, for openers?”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying Jaime and I are supposed to quit right in the middle of the interview and go chase after this other guy?” Ernie asked. “Who the hell is he?”
“It’s possible he may be a Federal agent,” Joanna said. “But I don’t think so. Now please, Ernie, just do as I say.”
Exasperated and shaking his head in disapproval, Ernie Carpenter handed over the doctored evidence bag and then headed back into the conference room for Jaime. Joanna dropped the disk into the bag and then hurried back to her office. Inside, after closing the door behind her, she found Jerry Reed standing next to the window studying the birds milling around the outdoor feeder that had been a gift from Angie Kellogg.
“It took you long enough,” Reed said testily.
“Sorry about that. We’re breaking in a new evidence clerk,” Joanna said with what she hoped was a convincing sigh. She handed him the evidence bag with the disk clearly visible. “Our old guy retired,” she continued. “He could find stuff with his eyes shut. This new one is taking her own sweet time to get acclimated.”
Reed seemed greatly relieved once the bag was in his hand. “I’d better be going then,” he said, sidling toward the door.
Wanting a few more minutes for her assets to get in position, Joanna stalled for time. “As I told you earlier, the disk you’re holding is part of one of our homicide investigations. I’m sure you know that procedures are everything these days. I’d appreciate it if you’d sign and date this receipt which shows you’re taking charge of the disk. I also need to know where and how to contact you if and when our case comes to trial.”
“I already told you, Sheriff Brady,” Reed objected. “The contents of this disk are top secret. I couldn’t possibly testify about them in open court.”
“Please don’t misunderstand,” Joanna said with a smile. “We’d merely want you to testify as to the existence of the disk. We certainly wouldn’t require you to divulge the actual contents.”
Reed sighed. “Very well,” he said.
Making a huge show of it, he took the receipt Joanna offered him. Then he pulled out a fountain pen and scribbled his
name, the date, and a telephone number across the receipt. “Thank you so much,” Joanna said. “Believe me, my department and I are always happy to be of service.”
She walked Jerry Reed to the door and then escorted him all the way to the public lobby. Halfway down the hall, Lucy Ridder was emerging from the women’s rest room. Reed rushed past her without a sideways glance, but Joanna caught the look of utter terror that passed across the girl’s face. She gasped and started to say something, but Joanna silenced her with a shake of her head and a finger to her own lips.
“We’ll see you then, Mr. Reed,” she said, once he was safely out of the hall and beyond the locking security door. “Drive carefully.”
Closing the door behind him and making sure it was properly latched, Joanna turned back to Lucy. “That was him, wasn’t it?”
Lucy Ridder nodded. “That’s the man who killed my mother,” she said.
Just then Frank Montoya came racing down the hall. “Where is he?” he demanded. “You didn’t let him get away, did you? I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s phony as a three-dollar bill.”
“He won’t get away,” Joanna returned. “Right about now, he should be driving over the tire spikes I had Danny Garner put down just inside the gates to the Justice Complex. Ernie Carpenter and Jaime Carbajal should be Johnny-on-the-spot to pick him up.”
Frank stopped and looked at her. “How’d you do that?” he asked.
Joanna tapped the side of her head. “Kidneys,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind,” Joanna said with a laugh. “It’s the punch line to an old shaggy-dog story Marianne Maculyea taught me when we were in sixth grade.”