by J. A. Jance
“But no other close friends?”
“No,” Jason said, “not that I know of.”
That was the moment when Joanna saw what Matt Keller had seen. Jason Radner was lying about something. Ernie must have seen it, too.
The door to the viewing room opened behind Joanna. Deb Howell stepped inside and sat down. “How’s it going?” she asked.
Joanna put her finger to her lips.
“You never saw him hanging out with anyone else from the neighborhood?” Ernie continued. “It sounds like you were his only friend.”
“I guess,” Jason conceded.
“Were you ever inside Junior’s room?” Ernie asked.
“Sure,” Jason said, “lots of times. We went there to play with his Xbox.”
“In that case, before you go home, we’ll need a set of prints from you.”
Jason’s father, Jack, rose to his feet. “Fingerprints!” he roared. “You want to fingerprint my boy? Are you accusing him of murdering Junior? You told me we were coming in here for a routine interview, and now you want to take his prints?”
Burton Kimball held up a calming hand, and Jack Radner subsided back into his chair. “Is that really necessary, Detective Carpenter?”
“Yes, it is,” Ernie answered. “Casey Ledford, our latent fingerprint tech, just finished dusting Junior’s room. That means we’ll need elimination prints from anyone who has been inside his room. That’s the only way we’ll be able to sort known visitors from unknown ones. We’ll be taking Moe’s and Daisy’s prints as well.”
“Asking for elimination prints isn’t the same as making an accusation, Jack,” Kimball assured Jason’s parents. “It’s standard procedure.”
“Let’s go back to last night for a moment,” Ernie continued, turning back to Jason. “I understand your bedroom is directly opposite Junior’s on the far side of a narrow passageway that runs between your house and his. Is that correct?”
Jason nodded.
“Is your bedroom window usually open or closed?”
“It was open last night,” Jason volunteered. “It was hot. The window was open and the fan was on, so I wouldn’t have heard anyone talking.”
“Are you saying there were people talking?” Ernie asked.
“No,” Jason said a bit too forcefully. “I said if there had been people talking, I wouldn’t have been able to hear them.”
“Look at his face,” Deb observed. “He’s lying about that or he’s lying about something else. Maybe there were people outside, and he heard them. That might mean we have a witness who doesn’t want to talk.”
Joanna nodded. “Sounds like a possibility,” she said.
“What time did you go to sleep?” Ernie asked.
Jason shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Sometime after Mom and Dad went to bed.”
“We usually go to bed once the news is over,” Lois Radner said, speaking for the first time. “So right around ten thirty or so.”
“I’m assuming you and Mr. Radner didn’t hear anything, either?” Ernie inquired.
“No, we didn’t. Jason has a fan in his room, and we have one in ours. They’re noisy, but they work. We have an AC unit up on the roof, but it’s so expensive to operate that we don’t use it unless we absolutely have to.”
“You didn’t participate in the search this morning?” Ernie asked.
“No, we commute together to Fort Huachuca,” Jack said. “We both work on post and have to leave the house by seven.”
“What happened to Junior?” Jason asked.
In Joanna’s experience, guilty parties didn’t have to ask about what happened to a homicide victim because they already knew. Jason Radner was lying about something, but the fact that he’d asked the question was a mark in his favor. On the other hand, there was a chance that Jason might be smarter than they thought.
“He fell,” Ernie answered. “Fell far enough and hard enough that he died.”
Jason swallowed hard and blinked as though trying to stem some tears. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I mean, I’m sorry for him and for Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, too.”
If Ernie read anything into Jason’s sudden apology, he didn’t let on. “Let me ask you this,” Ernie said. “What was Junior like when it came to animals?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you ever see him doing anything inappropriate as far as animals are concerned?”
“You mean like messing with them or hurting them or something?”
“Exactly,” Ernie said.
Jason shook his head, but he looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“See there?” Deb whispered excitedly. “He does know something.”
That was Joanna’s take, too.
“So you never saw him mistreating animals?”
“No,” Jason said quickly. “I never saw anything like that.”
The defense attorney suddenly seemed to have seen and heard enough. Burton Kimball held up his hand. “I think that’s about it, Detective Carpenter. If you have no intention of holding my client, I believe we’ll be on our way.”
“Of course,” Ernie said agreeably. “But do remember to stop by the front desk on your way out. I still need those prints.”
The Radners rose to leave. Ernie waited until they left the room before shutting off the recorder and joining Joanna and Detective Howell in the adjacent room.
“The kid is hiding something,” Ernie said. “And we need to figure out a way to get him to tell us what it is.”
When Joanna returned to her office, Detective Jaime Carbajal was in the lobby just outside her door. Seated on a chair near Kristin’s desk, he was leaning back with his eyes closed and his head resting against the wall. He wasn’t asleep, however, because he got to his feet as soon as Joanna walked by and followed her into his office.
“Sometimes I hate people,” he said quietly.
“The vet’s office was that bad?” she asked.
“It was bad.”
“Is the kitten going to make it?”
“Dr. Ross thinks so. She has a couple of broken ribs along with everything else. The doc used Super Glue to try to put the poor thing’s ears back together. If it doesn’t take, the ears may have to be amputated. By the way, did you know that’s why they invented Super Glue—to use in surgical procedures?”
“I had no idea,” Joanna said, “but here’s what I want to know—did Dr. Ross find anything we can use?”
“Maybe,” Jaime said. “There were bloodstains all over the poor thing, but some of them look more promising than others because they don’t appear to be connected to any of the existing wounds. Dr. Ross collected dozens of samples. I already handed the samples over to the evidence clerk and asked him to put them in the fridge. You want me to take them to the crime lab in Tucson in the morning?”
“Yes, please.”
“You don’t think Junior is responsible for what happened to the cat, do you?” Jaime asked.
“No, I don’t,” Joanna said, “and I’m beginning to think he didn’t kill himself, either, accidentally or otherwise.” She paused and then asked, “What kind of people start their journey to the dark side by torturing animals?”
“Serial killers,” Jaime answered at once.
“Right.”
“So maybe Junior was a serial-killer wannabe?”
“No,” Joanna said. “I don’t think so. For one thing, that kitten is tough. She didn’t go down without a fight. I took the crime scene photos. There weren’t any bite marks or scratches on Junior’s arms and hands. In addition, Moe and Daisy claim Junior was scared of the dark, and he was especially scared of caves. I believe someone enticed him out of the house and into the cave. Think about it. What if the killer convinced Junior that the kitten was in trouble and needed his help? He would have gone there in an instant, middle of the night or not, no questions asked.”
Even as she said the words, Joanna knew she was right, as a lightbulb switched on inside her brain. The injured k
itten may not have been Junior’s victim, but she could still be the reason he was dead.
“DNA testing on that much material is going to cost money,” Jaime observed.
Joanna looked at him and nodded. “Yes, it is,” she said, “and we’re going to pay the piper, whatever the price may turn out to be. I believe we’ve got a budding serial killer on our hands, and I’m hoping Junior Dowdle was the first victim. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep from having a second.”
Jaime walked as far as the doorway, then he stopped and turned back. “By the way,” he said. “I almost forgot. Dr. Ross makes sure that every animal that comes into her office gets chipped, whether the owners can afford it or not.”
“Does our kitten have a chip?”
Jaime nodded. “Sure does. Her name’s Star. She belonged to a family named Jalisco. They live in one of the apartment buildings up by the old high school.”
“Belonged?” Joanna asked. “As in past tense?”
“Dr. Ross’s secretary called to let them know Star had been injured and was undergoing treatment. The mother, Roseanne, is a clerk out at Safeway. She’s also newly divorced. She said she already told her daughter that Star ran away and probably got run over. Roseanne says that at the time the kitten disappeared, she was wearing a pink ribbon and no tag. She also said that whatever the vet bill is, she can’t afford it. Her suggestion was that Dr. Ross go ahead and put Star down.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Joanna declared.
“No, it’s not,” Jaime agreed. “I told Dr. Ross that if nobody else will take Star, Delcia and I will, and that whatever the bill is, we’re good for that, too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Joanna said. “That cat is evidence. The department will pay for her care.”
“All right then,” Jaime said, “but there’s one more thing I should mention.”
“What’s that?”
“The next time you have a case like this, it’s Ernie’s turn to go to the vet’s office.”
“Fair enough,” Joanna replied. “Are you going to interview Roseanne Jalisco directly?”
Jaime nodded. “Her kids are out of school this afternoon and tomorrow, too. I thought I’d track her down at work tomorrow, rather than questioning her at home in front of the little ones. She told Dr. Ross’s receptionist that Star has been missing for about three days. Dr. Ross estimates that’s how old some of the wounds are.”
“Whoever did it is going to jail,” Joanna declared forcefully.
“I know,” Jaime replied with a grim nod. “That’s what I told Star, too.”
With that, Detective Carbajal walked out of Joanna’s office. Watching him go, Sheriff Joanna Brady couldn’t help but smile. On the surface Jaime was a big, tough guy. What Joanna had learned about him was that under that gruff, scary exterior lurked a real softie. Joanna liked him all the better for knowing that.
It was almost nine o’clock that night before she finished doing what needed to be done. She had written up an official report about the crime scene and printed out the collection of photos she had taken down in the mine shaft. She had pulled Tom Hadlock in and briefed him on everything that was going on. She had spoken to Dave Hollicker and confirmed that his ankle was badly sprained, but that he’d be in to work on crutches as long as someone would agree to drive him. She also had managed to reach Guy Machett, had a firm schedule for the Dowdle autopsy, and had notified Deb, the lead detective, of same. Joanna ended her long day by knocking off the remainder of her paperwork. Only when her desk was clear did she gather up her purse, turn off the lights, and head out the door.
Dennis was in bed and Jenny incommunicado in her room by the time Joanna got home. She reheated the plate of green chili casserole Butch had left for her in the fridge, slathered on some sour cream, and then went looking for him, taking her plate of food along with her. She found her husband in his office, hunched over his computer, working on his third book. He looked up at her when she came in and then glanced at his watch. “Another fifteen-hour day,” he observed. “How are you doing?”
“Better than Moe and Daisy Maxwell,” she said.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Butch asked.
Joanna had touched base with Butch earlier in the evening and briefed him on some of it, but after living the case all day, she was done. “Not really,” she said. “What time do we need to leave in the morning?”
Butch seemed genuinely surprised. “You still want to go?”
A couple of years earlier, Joanna might have used the Dowdle investigation as an excuse for canceling the Silver City excursion, but she was older now, and, she hoped, a little wiser, too. Life had taught her a few lessons. For one, she now understood that her father wasn’t nearly as perfect as she’d always thought him to be. Sheriff D. H. Lathrop had often used involvement in the job as a way to dodge his responsibilities as a husband and father. Joanna was determined that she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“Homicide investigation or no,” she said, “I promised Jenny I was going, and I will. What time do we leave?”
Butch grinned at her. “Wonders will never cease,” he said. “Let’s say wheels up at ten. It’s a four-hour drive, hauling that trailer, and I’d like to be there before everybody else gets off work. We can caravan over. Jenny and I will be in the truck pulling the horses; you and Denny can follow in my car. Jenny, Desi, and the horses will stay at Katy Beltran’s place outside of town. There’s a dance tomorrow night and Jenny and Katy plan on going to that together. You, Denny, and I have hotel reservations in town. The three of us will go someplace nice for dinner both nights.”
Katy was someone Jenny had met on the rodeo circuit. The girls had become friends as well as friendly competitors. If the horses had been boarded at the rodeo grounds, Jenny would have had to stay there, too, sleeping in the camper shell on the truck. As far as Joanna was concerned, having everybody stay at the Beltrans’ ranch was far preferable, as was having Jenny go to an out-of-town rodeo dance with a girlfriend rather than alone.
“You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you,” Joanna said.
Butch nodded and grinned. “I do my best,” he said.
CHAPTER 9
LIZA MACHETT STOLE A GLANCE AT HER WATCH AND RUBBED HER eyes. It was after midnight. She was alone in an interview room at the Great Barrington Police Department, where she had spent the better part of the last five hours. Some of the time she had been left alone, waiting, but most of the time Detective Amos Franklin, a homicide cop, had been with her, asking questions.
He had assured her that this was just a routine interview and that he was trying to get a handle on everything that had happened, but Liza wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t read her her rights, so she assumed that meant that she hadn’t been declared a suspect, at least not so far. She also hadn’t asked for an attorney, although she was beginning to wonder if she should have.
The door opened. Franklin came back into the room, carrying a cup of foul-smelling coffee—brackish, ugly stuff that had been at the bottom of a coffeepot and should have been thrown out hours ago.
Liza didn’t want coffee. She wanted to go to bed, but she didn’t know where. Her apartment was an active crime scene. Her landlady’s home was an active crime scene. And whatever was left of her mother’s house, the one she had labored so hard to make livable, was also an active crime scene. She didn’t want to answer any more questions; she wanted to quit for the night—to tell the detective that she’d come back and tackle all this tomorrow. The problem was, she worried how Detective Franklin might interpret that. Would her pleading to be let out of the interview room cause him to assume she was a guilty party rather than an innocent one?
“Okay,” Franklin said, resuming the chair opposite her that he had abandoned fifteen minutes earlier. “I know this has been a terribly difficult day for you, Ms. Machett, and I won’t keep you much longer. Let’s just go over a couple of things again to make sure I have it all down.”
&nbs
p; He made a show of opening a notebook and spreading it out in front of him. Then he took out a pen and sat with it poised over a perfectly clean page. Liza knew that was all for appearance’s sake. She had already spotted the video camera in the far corner of the room, up near the ceiling. Each time the interview was interrupted or resumed, Detective Franklin made a production of turning his high-tech equipment off and on.
“What things?” Liza asked.
“We’ve already verified your alibi any number of times. You were at the funeral with at least forty people when the fire broke out at your mother’s place. We don’t have an official time of death on Ms. Dexter just yet, but unofficially it looks like you were either still at the reception or else at the arson scene when her homicide took place. The location of her body would suggest that she overheard something happening in your apartment and was murdered when she went to investigate. Although she was the homicide victim, her part of the house hadn’t been disturbed in any way. Your apartment, on the other hand, was ransacked. Your car was broken into. That leads me to think that you’re the real target here, and yet you sit here claiming to have no enemies and no idea why someone might have it in for you?”
“That’s right,” Liza said. “I don’t.”
“What about your brother—your half brother?”
“Guy? What about him? What does he have to do with this?”
“I was just on the phone to the attorney who’s handling your mother’s estate. He tells me that, according to the terms of Selma Machett’s will, her home—or whatever is left of it—goes to you and you alone. Even though the property was originally owned by your father’s family—Guy’s father’s family—your brother isn’t named as a beneficiary under your mother’s will.”
That wasn’t exactly news to Liza. Selma and Guy had been estranged for years. Liza said nothing.
“As to your mother’s house—the house you’ve spent a small fortune on rehabbing during the last few weeks—it’s been burned to the ground,” Franklin continued. “Maybe your brother took exception to the will. It wouldn’t be the first time a disgruntled heir who was written out of a will decided to go after the person who made out like a bandit.”