Desert Heat (17 page)

She nodded. Looking at the two burly men looming over her in the kitchen, Joanna knew they wouldn’t be well suited to the tight-fitting benches of the breakfast nook. “Come on into the dining room,” she said.

As they seated themselves around the table, Dick Voland seemed especially uncomfortable. “I hate to bother you at a time like this. I’m sure you’re real busy today, but since we couldn’t visit with you yesterday ...”

“It’s all right,” Joanna assured them, determined to be cooperative and do what she could to help. “I understand you’ve got your jobs to do. And after talking to Dr. Sanders, I’m ready to talk. Would anybody like coffee?”

Both men shook their heads in silent unison. Their joint refusal unnerved her a little. It wouldn’t have hurt them to observe some social niceties, and it puzzled Joanna that they both seemed to give so little credence to Dr. Sanders’ mind-boggling news.

“What’s really going on?” she asked.

“Suppose we cut directly to the chase, Joanna,” Ernie Carpenter said at once. “Can you tell us where Andy was weekend before last?”

She answered without hesitation. “Payson. Outside of Payson, actually, visiting with a friend. Floyd Demaris is his name, but everyone calls him Pookie. He and Andy graduated from the police academy in Phoenix together, but Pookie got shot while he was still a rookie. He’s in a wheelchair and back living with his folks. He always loved the outdoors. Once each September, before it got too cold, he an Andy would go camping.”

“And, as far as you know, that’s what they did?” Detective Carpenter asked.

“As far as I know?” Joanna echoed. “You’ saying Andy didn’t go there?”

Sitting with a Cross ever-sharp pencil poised above a blank page in a meticulously kept notebook, Ernie Carpenter abruptly changed the subject. “How many guns did Andy own?”

“Two,” Joanna answered. “The .38 Chief and his .357.”

“So you’re aware he had two separate weapons?”

“Of course, I’m aware of that,” Joanna returned shortly. “Guns were the tools of Andy’s trade. Those are the kinds of things married couples usually know about each other. He carried the .357 with his uniform and wore the Chief with civilian clothes because it’s so much smaller and easier to carry.”

“So you would have expected him to take the Chief with him for the weekend rather than the .357?”

“That’s right.”

“Didn’t you find it odd that he always left one or the other of those two weapons in locker down at the department?”

“What’s odd about it?” Joanna asked.

Carpenter looked her right in the eye. “I take mine home,” he said.

“Do you have any little children at home?” she returned.

“Not anymore.”

“We do. The day Jennifer was born Andy spent most of the day in the waiting room of County Hospital with the distraught parents of a little girl who’d been playing with her father’s pistol. Remember that?”

Both officers nodded. “She died, didn’t ?” Detective Carpenter asked.

“That’s right, she did. And it made quite an impression on Andy and me. He always said keeping track of one handgun was trouble enough. He didn’t want to risk having two in the house at the same time. None of this was exactly a state secret, so why all the questions about Andy’s guns? What do they have to do with the price of peanuts?”

Carpenter dropped his gaze as he made a quick notation in his notebook. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about Lefty O’Toole’s death, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“We have the ballistics tests back,” Carpenter continued. “We’ve confirmed that Lefty shot with bullets fired from Andy’s .357. We’re estimating time of death as some time the weekend before last. That’s only a best-guess estimate, nothing definitive.”

“That’s when Andy was in Payson,” Joanna supplied.

Ernie Carpenter raised his eyes and met Joanna’s. “He wasn’t,” the detective said. “Somebody else told us he was supposed to be there, so we did some checking. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Demaris. Andy called and canceled the trip late Thursday afternoon, He said something important had come up here at home and he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“But . . .” Joanna began.

Detective Carpenter silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “When he left here on Friday afternoon, did Andy say anything to you to the effect that he had changed his mind and was going somewhere else?”

“No.”

“And he stayed away the whole weekend just as he would have if he really had mad the trip to Payson?”

Joanna’s stomach muscles tightened. Before, what she had heard about the investigation had been so much hearsay. Now there could be no doubt that Detective Ernie Carpenter was trying to implicate Andy in Lefty O’Toole’s death. As the questions droned, the investigator continued to show absolutely no sign of interest in Dr. Sanders’ allegations. Hadn’t he listened to her? Maybe she hadn’t said it clearly enough.

“How much do you know about your husband’s business dealings?” Carpenter went on. His questions were professional and gratingly dispassionate.

“I know everything,” Joanna maintained. “I keep the books. We sell a few head of cattle now and then. I can show you in black and white that what we make doesn’t amount to t much money.”

“Do you own any property other than your place here, something Andy might have liquidated without your knowledge?”

*No. None at all.”

“Did a relative of his die recently?”

“No. Why?”

“Mrs. Brady,” Ernie Carpenter said slowly, “Andy was a colleague of mine. I’d like to find some legitimate source for the nine-thousand five-hundred-dollar cash deposit he made into your joint checking account on Monday of this week. Do you have any idea where that money might have come from?”

Joanna was astonished. “How much?”

“Nine-thousand-five-hundred even,” Carpenter repeated. “Sandy, down at the bank, said he brought it all into the branch in a stack of cash on Monday afternoon. He showed up it just before closing time.”

Shaken, Joanna found it difficult to speak. “But that’s almost ten thousand dollars. I can’t imagine where Andy would lay hands on that kind of money.”

“Could he have borrowed it from his parents?”

“No. The Bradys don’t have it, and he wouldn’t have borrowed it from them even they did.”

“So you have no idea where this money came from?”

“None at all.”

“Have there been other occasions when unexplained money has turned up in your account?

“No. Absolutely not.” Joanna turned to Dick Voland who had maintained a strict silence during the entire interview process.

“How can you sit here and let him ask questions like this?” she stormed. “You worked with Andy, Dick. He wasn’t like this, and you know it. He never did anything crooked in his life.”

Voland shook his head but without offering any consolation. “Let him go on, Joanna. It’s the only way we’re ever going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Did Andy ever mention Lefty O’Toole’s name to you?” Ernie asked. “Were you aware of any ongoing relationship?”

“No!” Joanna answered.

“Had you two suffered any financial reverses lately?” he continued. “Were you behind in your mortgage payments?”

“No, not at all. We were doing fine.”

“How did he act the past few weeks? Was he depressed for instance, anxious or upset?”

“No. Exactly the opposite. If anything, he was excited. He enjoyed campaigning, and that surprised him. It surprised us both. He wasn’t depressed at all.”

“Did he leave anything here that might have explained what happened? Any kind of note, a message?”

“There was a note with the flowers and ring, but that wasn’t a suicide note if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Could I see it?”

For the first time, Joanna remembered that Andy’s forgotten roses had been left in the ICU waiting room, but she had stuffed the note in a pocket of the dress where she had discovered it when she finally slipped off her soiled clothing.

“It’s in the bedroom,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

Joanna retrieved the note, handing it over to Ernie Carpenter who studied it for some time. “What
^’
s this about ten years?” he asked.

“We couldn’t afford a ring when we got married,” she answered.

“You didn’t mind him spending three thousand bucks on one now?”

For the first time that morning, Joanna looked down at the glittering diamond on her finger. “He didn’t ask me Ernie,” Joanna told him. “It was a surprise.

Carpenter nodded. “All right. According to Hiram Young, Andy paid for it on Tuesday afternoon with a personal check written on your joint account.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Joanna asked. “If it were dishonest money, wouldn’t he have hidden it from me, put it somewhere else rather than in our joint account?”

“That’s one interpretation, I suppose,” Carpenter admitted.

“Give me another one,” Joanna retorted, her temper rising. Up to now, she had been patient, but now she was fast losing it as the questions moved away from mere intrusion to violation. She understood full well what another possible interpretation might be.

Carpenter was busily closing his notebook and putting it back in his pocket. “I’d rather not say at this time,” he said.

“You don’t have to mince words with me, Detective Carpenter,” Joanna said coldly. “Adam York of the DEA already spilled the beans. Whatever it is, all of you seem to think I’m in on it, don’t you.”

“Joanna,” Dick Voland put in, “nobody said anything like that.”

“But everybody’s hinting, and I’m damned sick of it.”

Ernie Carpenter was studying her face with undisguised interest. “One more thing, Joanna. This may be painful for you, but I have to ask. Has there been any prior difficulty with other women in Andy’s life?”

Joanna stared hard at the detective’s impassive face, and her eyes narrowed when she finally understood the full implication behind the question. Her voice lowered.

“Whatever makes you think there’s one now, Detective Carpenter? Get the hell out of here, both of you, and don’t come back. I’ve had enough.”

They stood up, headed for the door, and let themselves out. Joanna had planned on asking Dick Voland to be a pallbearer at Andy’s funeral, but right then, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

TWELVE

Still outraged at Detective Carpenter
^’
s blunt insinuation of infidelity, Joanna churned gravel in the yard as she headed for town. Navigating as if on rails, the Eagle followed its usual route straight to her office with Joanna so engrossed in inner turmoil that she barely glanced at the now-empty wash as she sped along High Lonesome Road.

The Davis Insurance Agency, originally a father-and-son operation, had been a fixture on Arizona Street for thirty years, and the latest in Milo Davis’ long succession of Buicks al-ways occupied the front corner parking place. As office manager, Joanna usually parked in the spot next to his, but today that place was taken by a silver Taurus with government plates.

Adam York from the DEA. What the hell is he doing here? Joanna wondered. She pulled into the nearest parking place, several spaces away, and stormed into the office.

Lisa Connors, the receptionist, looked up in surprise when Joanna appeared at her desk. “Joanna, I’m so sorry about Andy, but I didn’t expect to see you today. What are you doing here?”

Joanna ignored the question. “Where is he?” she demanded.

“The guy from the DEA?” Joanna nodded. Lisa rolled her eyes and gestured toward Milo’s private office. “He’s been in with Mr. Davis for half an hour or so. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,” she continued. “Mr. Davis said you’d be out for at least a week.”

“I just stopped by for a few minutes,” Joanna answered. “There are at least three applications that should have gone out yesterday, and they all need special underwriting memos. I’ll be leaving again as soon as those are taken care of.”

The phone rang. While Lisa answered it, Joanna hurried to her own desk, picked up the files, and quickly began keying the necessary memos into her computer, all the while conscious of the unintelligible rumble of voices emanating from behind Milo’s closed door. She completed writing the memos and was printing the last of the three when the front door opened and Eleanor Lathrop burst into the room. She rushed past Lisa’s desk and came straight to Joanna, reproach written on her face.

“I was driving past and saw your car out-side. What in the world are you doing at work today?” Eleanor demanded. “What will people think?”

“I have a job,” Joanna returned evenly. “People will think I’m doing it.”

Through the years Joanna had learned to shrug off most of Eleanor’s constant criticism. She had trained herself to disregard her mother’s steady barrage of pointed remarks which covered everything from Joanna’s poor choice of husbands to the fact that her daughter insisted on working outside the home. Oblivious to current economic reality, Eleanor Lathrop made no bones about disapproving of working mothers—all working mothers. She maintained that God intended for families to live within their means, and “means” meant whatever the husband brought home, regardless of how much or how little that might be.

This time Joanna wasn’t quite strong enough to simply ignore the jibe, and her cool reply left Eleanor flustered. “Well, if you’re here, where’s Jenny? With the Bradys, I suppose?”

“She’s at school,” Joanna answered.

The look of aghast dismay that flashed across Eleanor’s face was almost worth the price of admission. Joanna bit back a smile while Eleanor clutched dramatically at her throat.

“No. That can’t be.”

“It is. I gave her a choice,” Joanna returned. “I told her she could either go to school or stay home, it was up to her. She chose to go.”

“Children Jenny’s age aren’t old enough to have good sense. They have no business making choices like that. How could you ...”

Just then the door to Milo’s office opened and Adam York emerged, walked briskly through the reception area and out into the street.

“Excuse me, Mother,” Joanna said. Abandoning Eleanor to her uncharacteristic shocked silence, Joanna trailed York out the door, catching up with him in the parking lot when 1w stopped to unlock the Taurus.