Outlaw Mountain : A Joanna Brady Mystery (9780061748806)

by Jance, Judith A.

  Carmen laughed. “Lewis is good at that. I’ll have him give you a call.”

  Joanna hung up. She finished sorting through her papers and straightened her desk until it looked half civilized. Then she packed her briefcase—including her copy of Alice Rogers’ autobiography—and walked out the door promptly at five o’clock.

  She drove into town and stopped at Butch’s house. While Jenny finished gathering up her things, Butch came outside and motioned for her to roll down the window. “What’s up?” he asked. “Jenny was a little upset that Junior and I weren’t invited to dinner.”

  “I need to talk to her,” Joanna said. “Alone.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “If I don’t, you-know-who will, and Mother will put her own particular spin on the story when she does. I’d like to give Jenny my side of the story—our side—minus Eleanor’s editorializing. In the meantime, how’s Junior doing?”

  “We’re fine. Jenny’s really great with him. She did her homework as soon as she came home, and the two of them have been playing video games ever since. If anything, I think Junior’s a little overstimulated. I thought later on this evening, after dinner, we’d go for a ride and stop by the café to pick up Daisy’s book.”

  Jenny darted out of the house, followed by Junior. “Me go, too,” he said, following Jenny around to the passenger side of the Blazer.

  “No,” Butch said. “We have to stay here.”

  “Go with Jenny,” Junior said as his face screwed up. “Go too. Go too. Go too.”

  He was so heartbroken and forlorn that Joanna started to relent. “No, you don’t,” Butch said with a smile. “If Eleanor sends the message to Garcia first, you’ll be mad as hell, and my life won’t be worth living. You and Jenny go have your pizza. Junior and I will manage just fine. Come on, Junior. Jenny and Joanna have to leave now. Let’s you and I go into the house.”

  “No. Won’t.”

  “Come on. I have something to show you.”

  Junior stood rooted to the ground, balefully shaking his head. “No! No! No!”

  “Do you like videos?” Butch asked. Junior continued to shake his head.

  “Movies, then?”

  The head-shaking stopped. “Movies?” Junior asked.

  “Yes. I have movies. Lots of them. Have you ever seen The Lion King?”

  Junior brightened a little. “Lions,” he said. “Grrrrr.”

  “That’s right,” Butch said. “That’s how lions sound when they growl. Come on. Let me show you.”

  Taking a now uncomplaining Junior by the hand, Butch led him into the house while Joanna backed out of the driveway.

  “Butch is really good with Junior, isn’t he,” Jenny observed.

  “Yes, he is,” Joanna agreed.

  “Did you already know that when you brought Junior here?”

  “No,” Joanna said. “It turns out it was just a lucky guess.”

  That should have been her opening. A discussion of Butch’s strong points could have led naturally and easily to the topic she needed to bring forward, but at that moment, Joanna’s considerable courage failed her. It seemed as though it might be better to wait until they were safely ensconced in the Pizza Palace and downing slices of pepperoni-dotted pizza before she ventured into that emotional minefield.

  And it almost worked. They ordered root beers and ate salad while they waited for the pizza to cook. Jenny’s chatter was all about school and her homework while, for a change, Joanna did nothing but listen. Their freshly baked pizza was out of the oven and being sliced by the Pizza Palace owner, Vince Coleman, when Joanna’s cell phone crowed its distinctive ring.

  Jenny made a face. “Not again,” she grumbled.

  “You go get the pizza,” Joanna told her. “This will only take a minute.”

  “Joanna?” her caller said. “This is Carmen Flores.”

  The undisguised anxiety in Carmen’s voice put Joanna on edge. “It’s me, Carmen. What’s wrong?”

  “I just found out Lewis never went to work today. And he still isn’t home.”

  Joanna felt a stab of guilt. She had already known that. Should she have told Carmen about her husband’s absence immediately, or had Joanna been right in letting the woman find out the truth in her own good time?

  “He didn’t?” Joanna stammered.

  “No. I just drove down to Melody Lane to check.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

  “No. Not really. But when I came home from his office, I checked the gun cabinet. His guns are both missing, Sheriff Brady. One’s a hunting rifle—a Remington thirty-ought-six. The other’s a shotgun, a twelve-gauge Browning pump action.”

  Jenny, having secured the pizza, had slid one slice onto her plate and was gingerly chewing the first piping-hot bite.

  Carmen Flores continued. “I knew he was upset about what happened at the board of supervisors meeting yesterday, but I didn’t think he was that upset. I’m scared, Joanna. He’s never done anything like this before. What am I going to do?”

  “What kind of car is he driving?” Joanna asked.

  “Our old station wagon—a Taurus, a silver-gray Taurus. He left me the Escort today. I drove that to school. Joanna,” Carmen added after a pause. Her voice sounded as if she was close to tears. “What if he’s done something awful?”

  That was Joanna’s fear as well, but she couldn’t say so. “Don’t panic, Carmen,” she said reassuringly. “You stay right there at the house. Call me immediately if you hear from him. In the meantime, I’ll get someone to go to work on this right away.”

  Jenny was already on her way to the counter. “Mr. Coleman,” she said. “My mom has a problem. We’ll need to have this boxed up to go.”

  Thirteen

  ON THE way back to Butch’s house and at Jenny’s insistence, Joanna ate a single piece of pizza. Butch came out to the carport to greet them as Jenny scrambled out of the Blazer and darted into the house, calling Junior’s name as she went.

  “What’s going on?” Butch asked.

  Joanna told him. “See there,” he said when she finished. “You don’t want a husband; you just want a baby-sitter.”

  The phone call from Carmen Flores had erased all Joanna’s playfulness. “If it’s a problem, Butch, I can take her to Jim Bob and Eva Lou’s.”

  “Come on, Joanna. I was teasing. You know Jenny’s welcome to stay here. How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Since tomorrow’s a school day, why don’t Junior and I give Jenny a ride out to the ranch a little later. That way, he can meet the animals, and Jenny can get to bed at a halfway decent hour.”

  “It might be late,” Joanna hedged. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. It’s fine. Junior and I don’t have school tomorrow. It won’t matter if we get in late.”

  “All right then,” Joanna said. “I’ll see you out at High Lonesome later on.” She put the Blazer in gear and started to back away.

  “Did you tell her?” Butch asked, pacing beside the Blazer down the driveway.

  “I didn’t have time. The call came in and—”

  “It’s okay. You’ll have another chance. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep her out of your mother’s clutches.”

  “Thanks,” Joanna said.

  On the way uptown from Butch’s Saginaw neighborhood, Joanna used her cell phone in an attempt to call both Mark Childers and Karen Brainard. When there was no answer at either place, Joanna’s sense of unease heightened. Her next call was to Dispatch, where Tica Romero was on duty. Joanna gave the dispatcher both names and phone numbers. “I don’t have the addresses, but I’m sure you can get them. I want officers sent to each address to check things out.”

  “Any idea of what they should be looking for?” Tica asked.

  Joanna was afraid she did know—a possible kidnapping and/or homicide. Maybe even two. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Signs of s
truggle, maybe. Warn the investigating officers to be careful. Have them keep a lookout for a silver Taurus station wagon that belongs to Lewis Flores. Run a DMV check and broadcast the license. Flores is to be considered armed and dangerous.”

  Tica seemed stunned. “Are we talking about the same Lewis Flores I know?” she asked. “The one from O.K. Street up in Old Bisbee?”

  “That’s him,” Joanna said. “He’s been caught in the middle of this Oak Vista controversy. After the board of supervisors took him to task yesterday, I’m afraid he may have gone off the deep end. He may be out to get Childers or Brainard, or he may end up taking his frustrations out on himself.”

  “Armed and dangerous,” Tica repeated. “And maybe suicidal to boot.”

  “That just about covers it,” Joanna said.

  Parking on O.K. Street and setting the emergency brake against the steep incline, Joanna climbed out of the Blazer. Next to a narrow concrete stairway marked “116” was a sturdy wooden lean-to that passed as a garage. Inside was a blue Ford Escort, but a silver Taurus station wagon was nowhere in sight.

  Climbing the flight of thirty-two steep stairs took stamina. Joanna was breathless by the time she reached the top and found herself standing in a postage-stamp-sized yard perched on the flank of the mountain. Inside the yard stood a small frame house. Carmen Flores came to the door before Joanna raised her hand to knock.

  “Come in,” she said. “Lewis still isn’t here.”

  “Have you found a note or anything that might give us a clue about what he’s up to or where he went?”

  Carmen shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.

  “Can you tell what he was wearing?”

  “His work clothes are all in the closet. I checked.”

  “He goes hunting, doesn’t he?” Joanna asked.

  Carmen’s face suddenly brightened. “Maybe that’s it,” she offered eagerly. “It’s whitetail season right now, isn’t it? That’s probably what happened. Lewis went hunting and just forgot to tell me about it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that on my own.”

  The woman seemed to be grasping at straws, but Joanna didn’t want to be responsible for snatching away Carmen Flores’ last vestige of hope. “Where does he keep his hunting gear?” Joanna asked.

  “In a little shed out back,” Carmen said. “He keeps everything out there in a trunk except for his guns. Not as much clutter that way. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  The shed out back had an open padlock hanging from a hasp. Inside was an empty steamer trunk. “See there?” Carmen said triumphantly. “It’s all gone—his vest, boots, cap, everything. I’m sure one of his buddies must have called to invite him on a hunting trip, and he didn’t have time to let me know.”

  “Doesn’t he carry a cell phone?” Joanna asked.

  “He left it home or else he forgot it,” Carmen said. “He does that sometimes. I found it just a little while ago, still on the kitchen counter, sitting in its charger.”

  Joanna was sure the phone had been left behind deliberately, and she was equally convinced that the hunting trip Lewis Flores was on had nothing to do with whitetail deer. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Carmen Flores what she feared to be the truth. Not just yet. She also knew she couldn’t afford to wait around the Floreses’ house to find out if she was right. Too many lives were at stake.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Joanna said as she watched Carmen carefully replace the lid on Lewis’ empty steamer trunk. “Why don’t I leave you to handle things here. I have one or two other matters to clear up. Is there anyone who could come stay here with you tonight—your folks, maybe?”

  Carmen shook her head. “Mother can’t get up and down the stairs anymore. That’s why she and Daddy moved out of the house to begin with. I might call my sister, though. Rose could probably come over. But really, there’s no need. I’m sure Lewis is out hunting. Just wait. He’ll turn up around midnight with a big buck strapped to the luggage rack. I’ll spend the whole weekend making tamales.”

  “All the same,” Joanna insisted, “I think you’d better have someone here with you.”

  “Okay,” Carmen agreed. “I’ll call Rose and see if she can stop by.”

  Mulling over what to do next, Joanna made her way down the long stairway. As soon as she was back in the Blazer, she called Tica on the radio. “What’s the word?”

  “I got those two addresses and dispatched deputies to both. They reported that no one answered the door at either place. There were no lights on and no sign of struggle, but the afternoon papers were still in the driveways.”

  “Afternoon but not morning,” Joanna observed.

  “Right.”

  “That probably means both Brainard and Childers were home this morning, but they haven’t come back tonight. Are the deputies still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have them check with neighbors and see what time Childers and Brainard usually arrive home. Also have them ask if there have been any unusual goings-on around either address earlier today.”

  “Where will you be?” Tica asked.

  “In the car. I’m going to head on out to Sierra Vista myself. I have a bad feeling about this one, Tica. Flores went out dressed to go hunting, but I’m afraid he isn’t looking for whitetail deer. Where’s Dick Voland, by the way?”

  “He called in a little while ago after he and the other deputies left Oak Vista. He said he was going home and to call him only in case of a crisis.”

  “Nothing happened out there today?” Joanna asked.

  “Nothing at all,” Tica responded. “The monkey wrenchers didn’t show. Once Chief Deputy Voland told me he was taking the rest of the evening off, I put Frank Montoya on notice that he’s on call. He’s standing by his radio.”

  “Can you patch me through to him?”

  “Sure. Hang on.”

  Seconds later, Frank Montoya’s voice came through the radio. “Glad to hear from you,” he said. “I was just going to give you a call. It took me most of the afternoon, but I finally managed to track down that Becker stuff. Want to hear it now or later?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Jonathan Becker was a police officer in North Las Vegas. It’s a separate entity from Las Vegas proper, sort of like the city of Tucson and South Tucson. Becker had put in eighteen years when his son signed on as a rookie. The son and some of the other North Vegas cops got caught up in some bad stuff. What the son thought was a sting turned out to be the real thing. The kid went to his dad and told Becker what he was into. There was a big internal-affairs investigation and supposedly the kid was going to break blue and testify. Before that happened, though, he was found dead, floating face-down along the shores of Lake Mead. After that the IA investigation went nowhere, and the other dirty cops skated.

  “Sometime after that, Becker quit the force and went after the other guys on a freelance basis. He finally found out enough that he was able to blow the whistle on them. They fought fire with fire and tried to frame him for attempted murder. That’s where the conspiracy-to-commit deal came from. He was picked up, arrested, printed, but never charged. The next thing anybody knew, the Internal Affairs investigation was reinstated. Four officers in all left the force. Two of the dirty cops went to prison for murdering Becker’s son after Jonathan Becker testified against them in court. Shortly after their guilty verdicts, Becker reportedly died in that one-car roll-over. According to the obituaries, his remains were cremated. There was a memorial service for him in Kingman, his hometown.”

  Frank paused. “That’s it?” Joanna asked.

  “That’s it. What does it sound like to you?”

  “Phony as a three-dollar bill,” Joanna replied. “My guess is he disappeared into the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

  “Bingo,” Frank agreed. “And that’s what I’ve been doing all evening—pulling strings to find out whether or not that’s what happened. It turns out we’re right. Becker went into the program and stayed for the better pa
rt of a year. Then he let himself right back out again—a little over a year ago.”

  “Which is about the tune Parley Adams showed up in Tombstone. That means he’s pulled two disappearing acts instead of just one.”

  “If you take what happened Sunday into consideration,” Frank said, “it sounds more like three.”

  “Let’s go back to the Witness Protection Program. Don’t they pull prints once someone goes undercover?”

  “Usually. At least, they’re supposed to. I’m guessing, though, that some wise-ass up in North Las Vegas—one of the dirty cops’ pals—figured things the same way we did—that the Feds were hiding him. Whoever it was had enough pull to put Becker’s prints back into circulation on the off-chance that one day Becker’s prints would show back up in the system.”

  “And now they have,” Joanna mused. “When Alice Rogers turned up missing, he must have realized that we’d come to him looking for answers. He also knew that if we did even the most limited of background checks, it would lead to more and more questions. And straight back to North Las Vegas, where someone is still harboring a grudge and looking to kill him. Which brings us right back to the mysterious Detective Garfield.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So here we have someone who was once suspected of conspiracy to commit murder. That might make him prime-suspect material in this case, but the problem is, he didn’t take off until after you and Susan Jenkins came to see him. Which means that until you both showed up, he probably didn’t have an idea that anything was wrong.”

  “Which would mean that he isn’t our killer after all.”

  “May not be our killer,” Joanna corrected. “But even if he himself didn’t kill Alice Rogers, he may know something that would help lead us to whoever did. And we have to find him before someone else gets to him first. Or else we have to find Detective Garfield.”

  “Did the call to Casey come in through the regular switchboard?”