Downfall

by J. A. Jance

  “You’re probably right,” Joanna agreed, “but you won’t be able to get back to the phone issue until after we finish up doing the school interviews. In the meantime, I need you to let Desirée’s mother know that Dr. Baldwin is prepared to release the body tomorrow morning. Since you’re the one who spoke to her earlier, would you please handle that as soon as possible? At this point, calling her would probably be okay. It wouldn’t require another in-person visit.”

  “I’ll be glad to do a face to face,” Deb offered. “Tonight happens to be Maury’s and my anniversary. Ben has a sleepover, and I was planning to drive up to Tucson after work, have dinner with Maury, spend the night, and be in Sierra Vista tomorrow morning in time for the interviews. This way, I can mix a little business with pleasure. I’ll stop by and give Roberta Wilburton the news probably before dinner rather than after.”

  Deb Howell had met Maury Robbins years earlier during a homicide investigation at an ATV park near Bowie in the northeast corner of the county. Maury was a 911 dispatcher for Pima County as well as an ATV enthusiast. The two of them had fallen in love and eventually married. Now Maury commuted back and forth between Tucson and Bisbee, spending four nights a week in Bisbee at the newly renovated home he and Deb had purchased at the far end of Brewery Gulch. The other three nights a week he spent at a home he still maintained in Tucson.

  “Thank you,” Joanna said. “Under the circumstances, mixing business with pleasure is fine with me. And happy anniversary, by the way. Speaking of those SVSSE interviews, however, what about them? Are they all set up, Detective Waters?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ian replied. “I don’t know what kind of a kick in the butt you gave Mr. McVey, but after your phone call, he sent out notices letting all interested parties know that we’ll be conducting interviews with students, faculty, and staff all day tomorrow. I expect that will amount to speaking to close to three hundred people, give or take. I suggested that we focus first on the kids most directly involved with Ms. Nelson, starting with members of the debate team. I asked Mr. McVey to plan on having ten or so kids come through at half-hour intervals and for him to ask faculty and staff to drop by when convenient—during planning periods, breaks, or whatever. Most of the interviews will be conducted on a fairly straightforward manner. Interviewees who don’t know anything will be in and out in no time. For the ones who merit further scrutiny, we can schedule second interviews.”

  “Three hundred people sounds like a lot,” Joanna said. “How long is this going to take?”

  “School starts at eight thirty and gets out at three thirty. With five or six of us—including Chief Montoya—working the problem, I’m hoping we can get them all done in one day, but plan on packing a lunch. None of us will be getting time off for good behavior.”

  “Nobody needs to pack a lunch,” Frank Montoya interjected. “My department will spring for coffee and doughnuts in the morning and sandwiches at lunchtime.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” Joanna said. “One other thing, Detective Waters. How are you planning to handle parental involvement?”

  “The notice Mr. McVey sent out specified that parents who don’t object to their children being interviewed without their being present are advised to send signed permission slips to that effect,” Ian told her. “Parents who wish to be present are being told when, during the day, their child is scheduled to be interviewed. No sense in someone having to take a whole day off work when we really need them for half an hour or so at most.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done a great job of organizing a complex set of problems,” Joanna told him. “Thanks.”

  She called on Dave Hollicker next. “Why don’t you give everyone an idea of what you and the K9 unit found at the crime scene today?”

  He did so, telling them about the three pieces of solid evidence—the shoe and the hair as well as the blue fuzz. “Of the three,” he concluded, “the most important is likely to be the fuzz. Casey was able to enhance those SVSSE security images enough for us to see that, at the time of the abduction, the perpetrator appeared to be wearing gloves, but with any kind of luck, he may not have been wearing gloves while handling the hoodie. And even if he was, there may be some cast-off DNA still present on the fuzz.”

  “If the fuzz came from the outside of the hoodie, the chances of finding DNA aren’t all that good, are they?” Joanna asked.

  “No, they’re not,” Dave agreed, “but even if it’s a remote possibility, the fuzz and the hair, too, need to go to the crime lab in Tucson immediately. I can run both of them up there if you like.”

  “No need,” Detective Howell offered. “I’ll be glad to do that, too. Our place in Tucson is over on the far west side, only a mile or so from the crime lab. Dropping off the evidence will barely take me out of my way.”

  “Thanks, Deb,” Joanna told her. “And if you’re planning on doing all that before your anniversary dinner, you’d best grab those evidence bags from Dave and hit the road.”

  Joanna waited while Deb and Dave huddled long enough for him to hand over the evidence before resuming the meeting.

  “Okay,” Joanna said finally. “We’re mostly finished here. I’d like to reinterview Drexel Nelson first thing tomorrow morning, before the school interviews start. I told Dr. Baldwin that I’d let him know that Susan’s remains are ready to be released. Now that we’ve learned Susan Nelson was carrying a child that most likely wasn’t his, a second chat with him is definitely in order, and I’ll need someone along for the ride on that one—preferably someone who was there for the first interview.”

  “Since Deb will be coming from Tucson tomorrow morning, I’m guessing I’m your man,” Ian Waters said. “When and where?”

  “Thanks, Ian. What say we meet at the Nelson place in Sierra Vista at seven thirty or so? That should give us enough time to finish with him before the school interviews start at eight thirty. And since we have Agent Watkins at our disposal, I’ll have her come along, too.”

  “Sounds good,” Detective Waters said.

  Joanna looked out at the tired faces in the room and on the screen. Her people were pretty much done for, and so was she.

  “Okay, folks,” she said. “Enough is enough. Let’s call it quits for today. Tomorrow is going to be a bear. You, too, Dave and Casey. Let’s all head for the barn. As for everybody else? See you in Sierra Vista in the A.M.”

  People gathered up their things and filed out of the room. Agent Watkins lingered. “Do I need to change before dinner?” she asked.

  “This is Arizona,” Joanna told her. “Western attire is always appropriate.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I’d be wearing jeans too, if I had any that still fit.”

  “When are you due?”

  “December?”

  “With an election in November?”

  “Yup.”

  “You don’t believe in having a lot on your plate, do you,” Robin observed.

  “That’s exactly how I like it,” Joanna told her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  CHAPTER 13

  JOANNA’S PLAN TO USE ROBIN WATKINS AS A HUMAN SHIELD ENDED up working far better than she had intended or even wanted. It turned out that from the moment Robin and Bob Brundage were introduced, the two of them had settled into chatting as though they were long-lost buddies. During his years in the Pentagon, Bob had been in and out of the White House on numerous occasions, and he was quite sure he must have met Robin’s brother at least once.

  That initial point of connection soon evolved into a long discussion about the politics of government—not politics per se so much as the complexities of operating inside chains of command and inside governmental entities where no allowances were made for any kind of common sense. Bob and Robin might have been from entirely different agencies, but as far as dealing with inflexible command structures that seemed hell-bent on promoting waste and mismanagement, the two of them were definitely in the same corner.

  Joanna had br
ought Robin home to dinner in hopes of deflecting some of the conversation about Eleanor and George’s deaths, but she hadn’t intended to deflect all of it. She went to bed feeling frustrated and annoyed, and awakened early the next morning—long before her alarm went off—feeling the same way. She crept out of bed, dressed quietly, and was in the process of tiptoeing out of the bedroom when Butch woke up.

  “Where are you off to at the crack of dawn?” he asked, sitting up. “And what about breakfast?”

  “I have to be in Sierra Vista by seven thirty,” she said. “Since I’ll be fighting rush hour for people heading on post, I thought I’d get an early start. As for breakfast, Sierra Vista PD is springing for that.”

  “All right, then,” Butch said. “Be safe.”

  “Will,” she answered, and hurried out.

  In actual fact, leaving the house for a seven-thirty appointment at six fifteen was a clear case of overkill, but right that minute, she didn’t want to discuss with Butch what had or hadn’t gone on at dinner. One of the things that annoyed Joanna about Butch on occasion was his unfailing ability to see both sides of any given argument. There were times when she loved his penchant for playing devil’s advocate, but only when the two of them happened to land on the same side. This wasn’t one of those times.

  Joanna was annoyed that Bob seemed to be exhibiting none of the grief over their mother’s death that she herself was feeling. Of course, having outlived both his adoptive parents, Bob had already experienced this challenging process, and he had done so after becoming an adult. Joanna’s father’s death had come about while she was still a teenager. Inarguably, Bob had already been there and done that. Maybe that helped explain why he had been able to maintain dinnertime small talk in such a free and easy fashion, focusing on safe, theoretical topics and general philosophy without ever coming close to mentioning the emotionally draining reality of the upcoming funeral.

  On an intellectual level, Joanna understood that the dynamics of the relationships Bob had shared with Eleanor and George had been forged in adulthood. Her own complicated relationship with her mother dated from childhood. In that two-character family drama, Joanna was forever cast in the role of “wayward teenager”—as the irresponsible girl who had “gotten herself in trouble”—as though Andrew Roy Brady had had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

  As a consequence, even though Joanna had been right in front of Eleanor the whole time, Eleanor had never seen her daughter in the same light as, say, the voters of Cochise County, who had overwhelmingly elected her to a very responsible position twice over, and who, hopefully, would vote the same way again in a few months’ time. The fact that Eleanor had ignored the steady presence of her levelheaded daughter and chosen Bob to function as her executor was something that rankled more than Joanna could say.

  So even though she understood all those things on a logical level, it didn’t mean she wanted to stand around while Butch explained it all to her in his perfectly reasonable and patient fashion. She was still driving and fuming a few minutes later when her phone rang.

  “Hey, Mom,” Jenny greeted her. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Joanna said. Of course, things were far from fine, but she hoped Jenny wouldn’t be able to suss that out.

  “Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday,” Jenny went on. “As soon as I got out of class, I went to work out with Maggie. By the time we finished up, it was too late to call. Did you need something?”

  Yes, I needed something, Joanna thought. I needed to hear the sound of your voice. What she said aloud was, “I just wanted to say hi and see how things were going.”

  “Yesterday I went by to see the professors and instructors from my Friday classes,” Jenny said. “I told them what was going on back home and let them know that I need to miss class on Friday so I can come to the funeral. The thing is, most of the lectures are available online these days, so I’ll be able to listen to them coming and going. I’ll leave as soon as my last class gets out tomorrow afternoon. I should be home by ten or so—no later.”

  Joanna’s first instinct was to say, “No, you shouldn’t,” but she stifled it. She and Butch had decided between themselves that Jenny should ditch the funeral in favor of heading off to school on time. Now, though, Jenny was making a decision that suited her needs and was hers alone.

  “What about Maggie?” Joanna asked.

  “Mom!” Jenny exclaimed, sounding affronted. “Who do you think I am? Of course I’ve found someone to look after Maggie!”

  Properly reprimanded, Joanna did an immediate about-face. “It’ll be lovely to have you here,” she said. “Dealing with all this is harder than I thought.”

  “So I heard,” Jenny responded. “The situation with Grandma and Grandpa has to be hard enough, but adding a double homicide on top of that makes it that much worse.”

  “How do you know about the double homicide?” Joanna wondered aloud.

  “Hello? Earth to Mom. Haven’t you heard of the Internet? I read Marliss Shackleford’s column first thing this morning, as soon as it was posted online.”

  “I hate to think what she said.”

  “Don’t bother reading it,” Jenny advised. “She interviewed Don Hubble, of course, and guess what? He thinks your being involved in an active homicide investigation when you should be off on personal leave is setting a bad example for your department. He also mentioned something to the effect that you should be wise enough to recognize that it’s best for all concerned for you to stand down when you’re caught up in an emotional turmoil that might cloud your judgment and cause you to be a less than effective law enforcement officer.”

  I solved Grandma and Grandpa’s murder, didn’t I? Joanna thought the words but didn’t say them aloud.

  “That figures,” she said. “How very kind of Marliss to give Don Hubble an opportunity to spout his campaign rhetoric for free without his having to bother placing an ad.”

  “Is Marliss going to give you a chance to respond?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Bitch,” Jenny muttered fiercely.

  Joanna couldn’t help smiling. “My sentiments exactly,” she said.

  By then she had arrived in Sierra Vista, was driving down Busby Drive, and was about to turn into the parking lot at Holy Redeemer Chapel. She was early, but Ian’s sleek Interceptor and Agent Watkins’s Taurus were already parked and waiting so all three vehicles could approach the house together.

  “I’ve gotta go, Jenny,” Joanna said. “Thanks for the call. See you tomorrow.”

  “You’re not going to give me any grief about coming home?” Jenny asked.

  “Nope,” Joanna said. “Not this time. Your life, your decision. You get to make the call.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Jenny said. “I love you.”

  Twang went Joanna Brady’s emotional rubber band, one more time. Home and family versus work and murder. Maybe Don Hubble wasn’t completely wrong after all.

  CHAPTER 14

  AS THE THREE POLICE VEHICLES CARAVANNED TOWARD THE house, another vehicle, a blue Ford Fiesta, came toward them, approaching the officers from the opposite direction. When it drove by, Joanna noticed a woman behind the wheel, but there was no time to grab a phone and photograph either the driver or the vehicle’s license. Instead, she drove into the parking area in front of Drexel Nelson’s house, hopped out of her Yukon, and hurried forward to knock on the door.

  “What now?” Reverend Nelson demanded, banging open the door—which suddenly stopped moving in midswing. “Oh,” he said. “I thought you were someone else. What do you want?”

  Despite the fact that Nelson was looming over her in the same blue-and-white PJs Joanna had seen before, there was a visible trace of lipstick on his lower jaw. An unidentified female visitor had just driven away from his house at this very early hour of the morning. In other words, if the good reverend had already sought out female companionship for overnight visits, he wasn’t exactly letting grass grow when it came to dealin
g with the grieving process.

  By then the others had walked up onto the porch behind Joanna. “You’ve already met Detective Waters with Sierra Vista PD,” Joanna said. “And this is Agent Watkins of the FBI. We wanted to speak to you for a few minutes about your wife’s remains.”

  “What about them?” Reverend Nelson demanded, not opening the door any wider or showing any indication that he was about to invite his visitors inside.

  “Dr. Kendra Baldwin, the ME, says she’ll be able to release your wife’s body today. She’ll need to know which funeral home you’d like to have handle the arrangements.”

  “All right,” he said. “Fair enough. I’ll give her office a call and let her know.”

  He made as if to shut the door, but Joanna managed to insert the toe of her shoe between the door and the frame. “We’d also like to ask you a few additional questions.”

  “What about?”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we did this inside the house?”

  With a reluctant sigh, he opened the door wide enough to allow the three officers to enter. As Joanna walked past him, she realized how tall the man was—six-four at least. Either she hadn’t noticed that detail the previous night or she hadn’t remembered it. In her autopsy overview, Kendra Baldwin had mentioned that Susan Nelson had been five-six. The male figure captured in the surveillance films escorting her from the school grounds was probably only four or five inches taller than she was—so six feet or maybe six-one at the most, including the hoodie. In other words, when it came to the kidnapping, Reverend Drexel Nelson was the wrong guy. That didn’t mean, however, that he was completely off the hook.

  It took a moment for the visitors to arrange themselves in the small, overly furnished room.

  “So?” Nelson said impatiently once they were seated. “What is it you want to know?”