Downfall (11 page)

“The Copper Queen.”

“The hotel is in a part of town known as Upper Bisbee—where the community actually started. Where we're going now is a neighborhood called Warren. In the old days, most of the businesses were located in Upper Bisbee, while Warren was designed primarily for residential use.”

Robin nodded. “I liked the photo, by the way,” she said.

For a moment Joanna was lost. “Photo?” she asked. “What photo?”

“The one of you back there at the Justice Center.”

“You mean the one in the display case out in the main lobby?”

Robin nodded. “I noticed that, to the man—all of your predecessors looked like so many tough guys, especially the ones posing with their handlebar mustaches, guns, and horses. They were all doing their best to look, if not fierce, then at least deadly serious. And then there you are, cute as a button—a little girl in pigtails dragging around a wagon loaded to the brim with Girl Scout cookies. By the way, I'm still a sucker for Thin Mints.”

“That makes two of us,” Joanna said. “Too bad it isn't Girl Scout cookie season right now. I'd break out a couple of those just for the heck of it.”

JOANNA FOLLOWED THE SAME ROUTE TOM HADLOCK HAD TAKEN
the night before to get from the Justice Center into town, first up Highway 80 and then turning left onto the Warren Cutoff. As they approached town, an intervening scrub-oak-covered hill kept Geronimo hidden from view. Only when they had entered the town itself and reached the top of Yuma Trail was the mountain completely visible.

“There it is,” Joanna said, pointing. “That's Geronimo.”

“The funny-looking one with the two bumps on the top?” Robin asked.

“That's the one.”

“It looks steep.”

“It
is
steep.”

Joanna turned off the street onto the ranch road and then rumbled across the cattle guard. Last night, the dirt on the road
had been topped by a layer of slick caliche-like mud. Today the crust had been broken, revealing red dirt underneath, which was marred by multiple tire tracks leading back and forth.

“We had a big storm late yesterday afternoon, and this was all covered with a kind of slippery muck we call caliche,” Joanna explained. “Last night, too, the wash up ahead was running bank to bank. We had to park on this side of it and walk in and out, carrying the bodies by hand.”

“That must have been fun,” Robin said.

“Not so much,” Joanna replied. “The hiking boots I wore still aren't dry.”

As they approached the spot where the collection of vehicles had been parked the night before, Joanna looked around for signs of Terry's K9 Tahoe and didn't see it. Driving as far as the edge of the wash, she saw that enough sand had settled out of the water to make the entrances into and out of the wash gradual enough to be passable. Since there were already several other sets of tracks leading the way, her Yukon bounced into and out of the wash with no difficulty.

“I hope you've been here long enough to know that when you see a sign that says ‘Do Not Enter When Flooded,' they mean it, and you need to pay attention,” Joanna said, by way of conversation.

“Yes, ma'am,” Robin replied. “I hear you loud and clear. I made that mistake last summer shortly after I got to town. I tried crossing Tucson Boulevard on Elm when water in the street was running curb to curb. It was a lot deeper than I expected, and the car almost floated away. I finally washed up on a sandbar that was solid enough for me to be able to get the wheels turning again.”

“Company car?” Joanna asked.

“Yup,” Robin said. “Another Taurus.”

“I'll bet you got hauled on the carpet for that one.”

“I did. According to the motor-pool guy, the water completely screwed up the ignition system.”

“I'm sure it did,” Joanna agreed.

Up a short rise, Joanna parked next to Terry's Tahoe. “Here we are,” she said. “Desirée Wilburton's actual campsite was here inside this grove of scrub oak. There's a water hole nearby, on the far side of the grove. The bodies landed on the far side of the water hole and partway up the mountain.”

Leading the way, Joanna held up the crime-scene tape to let Agent Watkins pass underneath it.

“Here?” Agent Watkins asked, looking around. “I don't see anything resembling a camp.”

“That's because one of my CSIs, Dave Hollicker, came out here this morning, packed up everything he could find, and took it back to the lab.”

When they approached the water hole, Robin looked into the brownish murk and frowned. “Those two kids you were telling me about planned to swim in this?”

“If you're a kid growing up in the desert,” Joanna said, “water is water, muddy or not, and swimming in the water hole is all part of the whole rite-of-passage deal. First you climb the mountain, then you go skinny-dipping. By the way, it's a lot muddier this morning because of the storm. It's actually fed by an underground spring halfway up the mountain, so there's usually some water here year round. It's only during the rainy season, however, when there's enough to actually swim. Otherwise, it's little more than a wading pool.”

Walking side by side, Joanna and Agent Watkins made their way around the water hole and then climbed to the point where forward progress was blocked by a sheer wall of rock. The rocky bank at the base of the perpendicular cliff was littered with a number of bright yellow evidence markers.

“This is where they landed?” Robin asked.

Joanna nodded. “That's where we found them, one on top of the other.”

For the better part of a minute, Robin examined the surrounding dirt and rock. “I don't see any blood spatter,” she observed. “Both victims had extensive injuries. Shouldn't there be blood?”

“There was,” Joanna answered, “but the runoff from last night's storm was pretty fierce—enough so that it washed away most of the visible stains. However, with the help of luminol, we found evidence of blood stains scattered on the rocks down here and on the ones just above where they first landed. Those are what the other evidence markers designate.”

Just then, a dog barked somewhere nearby but farther up the mountain, out of sight beyond the looming cliff. Joanna realized this wasn't just any dog, and it wasn't just any bark, either. It was the sound of Spike, alerting his partner to the fact that he'd found something.

“Hey, Terry,” Joanna shouted, up the hill. “Sheriff Brady and FBI agent Robin Watkins are down here below where you are. What did Spike find?”

“Wait a minute,” Terry called back. “I'll go check, but stand back from the side of the mountain. The footing up here is really uncertain. I don't want to send a rockslide raining down on your heads.”

Joanna and Robin retreated back down the way they had come. Moments later, a scatter of rocks and gravel tumbled down the face of the cliff and came to rest precisely where they had been standing earlier.

“Spike found a shoe,” Terry shouted. “Looks like Susan Nelson's missing tennis shoe. Remember, we only found one of them last night. Hang tight. There's a rock outcropping up ahead. Let me check that out.”

“Is there any way for us to get up there?” Robin asked Joanna.

“I know how, but I'm not attempting it without my own hiking boots. I've got an extra pair still in the Yukon. Wait here.”

Joanna hurried back to the SUV, switched into her extra hiking boots, and then went back, bringing along three bottles of water. “This way,” she said, passing one of the bottles to Robin and heading toward the peak's northern flank. “The ascent there is a little more gradual.”

“This is supposedly gradual?” Robin panted as they started up the vestigial trail. “It doesn't seem gradual to me.” Eventually they passed a spot where a faded and decaying wooden cross stood semi-upright in a cairn.

“What's that?” Robin asked, huffing to catch her breath.

“It's a memorial to a kid named Michael Grady. He fell and died here in the early 1940s. His parents erected the cross here, hoping it would deter other kids from making the same mistake. I can tell you from personal experience that it didn't work.”

“The early forties?” Robin remarked. “That's a long time ago, but the cross is still here? How's that even possible?”

“It's not the original cross,” Joanna said. “It's sort of like George Washington's ax. It has a new handle and a new head, but everyone still claims it's George Washington's ax. When the
cross gets too bad, someone comes along and replaces it, but nobody ever forgets Michael's name, because it's right here, chiseled on some of the rocks.”

She paused and examined the rocks, then moved some of them around until they were arranged like puzzle pieces in proper order and read
MICHAEL GRADY
,
B
. 3/29/29,
DIED
7/4/41.
RIP
.

“Even walking past this wasn't enough to keep kids from coming here?” Robin asked.

“Nope,” Joanna answered. “We all climbed the mountain anyway, but seeing that cross as we passed meant that we were thinking about poor Michael Grady all the way up and all the way down.”

Walking carefully, with Joanna in the lead, they slowed as the climb turned steeper. It wasn't until after they topped the first rise, something that had seemed like little more than a foothill from a distance, that they finally caught sight of the other officers. The two men and the dog were scrambling southward, slowly negotiating their way across the mountain's front face toward what looked like a crease at the very center. Terry and Spike seemed to be doing fine in the rough terrain, while a less fit Dave Hollicker was clearly struggling.

“I'm pretty sure we've found it,” Terry called again. “They must have gone off right here. Judging by the evidence markers, it's almost a straight shot from here down to where they landed.”

“Hold on,” Joanna said. “We're coming.”

“What do you mean ‘we'?”

“I tried to tell you earlier. The FBI has joined the investigation,” she told him. “Agent Watkins is here with me.”

There was no reply to that, not from Terry Gregovich and not
from Dave Hollicker, either. Joanna suspected their lack of response indicated a certain lack of enthusiasm. Local cops are often less than happy when federal officers horn in on cases where help isn't necessarily needed or wanted.

For the next few minutes, Joanna and Robin climbed steadily before finally drawing even with the others. The two men as well as the dog were huddled together, positioned on a small flat outcrop that seemed no larger than a regular-sized mattress. A double, yes, but not a queen and definitely not a king!

To reach the spot, Joanna realized that she and Robin would have to do the same thing—work their way across the steep face of the mountain in a place where, without a path, they would be risking life and limb at every step. The direct approach might have been shorter, but it was littered with treacherous loose hunks of limestone and low-growing scrub brush that offered no guarantee of solid footing or even a handhold should one be needed.

“We can try to make it over there,” Joanna said, “or we can wait until they come to us.”

“I say wait,” Robin said, sounding relieved. “But while we do, what say we go on up to the top. It doesn't look very far from here.”

Agent Watkins was most likely a year or two younger than Joanna, and she certainly wasn't pregnant, but if she was game, Joanna had to be, too. With a shrug of her shoulders, she led the way. Nearing the top, she reached out to use a rock ledge to pull herself up and startled a dozing horned toad in the process. It scooted downhill in a hurry, shooting past both Joanna and Robin.

“What the hell was that?” Robin demanded, dodging out of the way and almost falling backward in the process.

“A horned toad.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“To flies and bugs maybe.”

“I thought they were poisonous.”

“You're probably confusing horned toads with Gila monsters. Those are poisonous, but they're totally different creatures. You should pay a visit to the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum and learn the difference.”

“I'll do that,” Robin said. “As soon as I have a chance, and assuming I can get down from here without breaking my neck.”

By then, Joanna had already resumed her upward climb. Once they topped out onto relatively flat ground at the top of the knoll, both women were panting and sweating. It was midafternoon by then, well into the nineties with very low humidity. There was a slight breeze blowing across the mountaintop, and they reveled in it as they paused long enough to drink some water and look around.

“I have to admit you were right,” Robin observed, turning a full 360 degrees to take in the entire panorama. “It's a pretty spectacular view.”

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “And that's why generations of kids from Bisbee have climbed this mountain, dangerous or not. They do it because it's here and to savor a view that can't be had anywhere else.”

After that, they stood in silence for a few moments. Robin might have been enjoying the view, but Joanna was remembering the last time she had stood in this place. She had come with Andy, shortly after the doctor—one who also happened to be her mother's doctor—had given her the bad news: Joanna Lee Lathrop was pregnant. She had opted for going to the doctor's office
rather than getting a test kit for the drugstore where everyone knew exactly who she was.

She and Andy had been standing together in almost this exact place when she had shared the daunting news about her unexpected pregnancy. She had told him about it, not knowing what he would think or how he would react. Andy had stood there for a long quiet moment, looking out across the valley toward town. Then he had turned to her with one of his most engaging grins and said, “Well, then, Carrot Top, I guess you and me had better get hitched, and we'd better do it sooner than later.”

She'd usually hated it when he had called her Carrot Top, but she hadn't hated it that time.

Joanna had looked down the mountain. She was standing in a small depression between the two rounded bumps that formed the peak's pinnacle. There was a natural cleft between them formed by a rocky wash that dropped straight down the front of the mountain and seemed to come to an end in a small grove of scrub oak halfway down.

“I'll marry you,” she had called to Andy over her shoulder, “but you'll have to catch me first.” With that she had dropped onto her butt and slid down the wash, using it like a gigantic amusement-park slide. Naturally Andy had followed her. Their downhill movement came to an end in the grove of oak, where an on-again/off-again spring provided much-needed moisture.

That was where Andy had finally caught up with her—in the grove of trees. Laughing, he had grabbed her and kissed her. Later they'd gone skinny-dipping in the water hole. Then, under the sheltering oak, they'd made love, with Joanna's body cushioned by nothing more than layers of dried leaves and a pile of their abandoned clothing.