Exit Wounds (5 page)

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Edith announced. “I’ll wait. I can do the identification here, can’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you can. But as I told you, there’s no telling how long this will take.”

“Can you have someone take me back to Sierra Vista afterward?”

Joanna nodded. “I suppose so, but…”

“Call that cabdriver over here, then,” Edith said. “I’ll pay the man off and send him on his way. It’s already cost me a fortune.”

The cabdriver was reluctant to leave his cab in answer to Edith Mossman’s summons. His frame of mind wasn’t greatly improved by the size of the tip she placed in his hand as she dismissed him. “You said your dispatcher wanted you back, didn’t you?” Edith inquired.

“Right.”

“So get going then,” Edith told him. Shaking his head, the cabbie stalked off.

“Do you need anything else at this time, Sheriff Brady?” Manny Ruiz asked. “It’s hot. We should take care of these animals as soon as possible.”

“Did Doc Winfield say he wanted to run any further tests on them?”

“No, ma’am. It had to be more than a hundred and twenty degrees in there when I found them. He’s sure the heat is what killed them.”

“You and Jeannine go ahead then, Manny,” Joanna said.

“Thanks for all your help.”

Nodding, Manny walked away. Meanwhile, Edith Mossman had listened to this entire exchange with avid interest. “Is that what killed Carol too, then?” she asked. “The heat?”

“No,” Joanna said. “The information I have says she was shot.”

Edith took this news in silence. Moments later, the two Animal Control trucks drove away, taking their tragic loads with them. About the same time Lucky stirred restlessly inside Joanna’s shirt.

“What’s that?” Edith asked, catching sight of the movement.

Guiltily, Joanna removed the squirming puppy and placed him on the ground. He waddled around sleepily for a little while before peeing. After that, he curled up again on a clump of grass and went right back to sleep.

“One of Carol’s?”

Joanna nodded. “He’s too young to go to the pound. I decided to take him home with me instead, but of course, if you’d like to have him…”

“Oh, no,” Edith said. “Not me. I’m far too old for a puppy. I’ve always been more of a cat person than a dog person, but it doesn’t matter either way. I can’t have pets at Ferndale anyway. They don’t allow pets of any kind.”

“Ferndale?” Joanna asked.

“Yes. It’s one of those assisted-living places. On Fry Boulevard. Used to be a motel back in the old days, but they changed it a couple of years ago. Remodeled it. Now it’s where I live. Number 261. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s plenty good enough for me. The food’s nothing to write home about, but the price is right.”

Joanna removed a notebook from her pocket. “I’m sure my detectives will need to speak to you eventually, Mrs. Mossman. If you could give me the address and phone number—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Call me Edith. I can’t stand all this Mrs. Mossman stuff. And whatever happened to the water that dog-catcher lady was trying to give me? I didn’t want it then, but I do now. I’m parched.”

Joanna retrieved the bottle of water from where Jeannine Phillips had left it on the front floorboard. She handed the bottle over to Edith Mossman, who took a long, grateful drink. When she had finished, she sighed and stared long and hard at the partially empty bottle as though hoping to find answers there.

“Tell me about your granddaughter,” Joanna said quietly.

“Carol?” Edith Mossman asked, taking another drink. “What do you want to know?”

“Was she ever married? Does she have children?”

“No children,” Edith said. “Only dogs.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not that I know of. If she had one, she never mentioned him to me.”

“Did she work?”

“Oh, she worked all right. It took a while, but she finally got a job clerking at that new Shell station out on Highway 92. Didn’t make enough money to make ends meet. Barely enough to pay for gas and dog food most of the time. If she’d had to pay rent on this place, I’m sure she would have starved to death and her dogs right along with her.”

“She evidently didn’t pay the electric bill,” Joanna observed.

“That’s why the house was so hot. No electricity, so no cooler.”

“I’m not surprised,” Edith said. “She’s not the kind of person to ask for help unless things are really tough. If I’d known things were that bad, I would have helped her.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Joanna agreed. “But you’re saying she lived here rent-free?”

“That’s right.” Edith was indignant. “You don’t think I’d charge rent to my own flesh and blood, do you? What kind of a person do you think I am, Sheriff Brady? I wouldn’t do any such thing!”

“This is your place then?”

“Yes. It’s mine until I die. Then it goes to the Nature Conservancy. When Grady and I—Grady was my husband, you see. We first bought acreage and the trailer back in the mid-seventies. When we lived in it, that trailer was neat as a pin. Clean, too. Carol’s not big on cleaning. I think she worries way more about the dog runs and crates than she does the house itself. The last I saw of the inside, the place was a pigsty. That’s when I decided I wasn’t coming back. At least I stopped going inside. Couldn’t stand to see it that way. Made me want to haul out a mop and a dust rag and go to work.”

“But you did come by today,” Joanna said.

“Well, of course. Carol asked me to because she needed help.”

“What with?”

“With her dogs, what else?” Edith asked with a resigned shrug. “She never said a word about her electricity bill, but she wasn’t too proud to ask for help with the dogs. She said she needed to get them all vaccinated and licensed. The problem is, I wanted to wait until after the first of the month—until after my Social Security check was in the bank. If I had known she was really desperate, I could have done something sooner, but it would have meant cashing in one of the CDs. I didn’t want to do that if I didn’t have to. Grady wouldn’t have approved, you see. He was always warning me about that. ‘Now, Edie,’ he’d say, ‘you watch your money. Whatever you do, you don’t want to outlive your money.’ And he’s right about that. I’ve seen what happens when people do—outlive their money, that is. It’s hell. For everybody.”

“So Carol asked you for help with the Animal Control situation?”

Edith Mossman nodded. “She said she wouldn’t be able to get them all licensed and still keep her head above water. Must have been close to two weeks ago now when she dropped by my place to talk to me about it. I can see now, I should have come quicker. It makes me sick to think that just by dipping into one of my CDs I could have prevented all this. I’m sure it’s all my fault.”

For the first time, the old woman struggled to find words. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was as though, for the first time, the awfulness of the situation was finally sinking in.

“Believe me,” Joanna assured her, “it’s not your fault.”

Edith’s lower lip trembled. “Is it a suicide?” she asked softly.

Joanna shook her head. “As I understand it,” she said, “one or more shots were fired through the back door while your granddaughter was standing in front of it. All the dogs, with the exception of Lucky here, were locked inside with her.”

“When did it happen?” Edith asked.

“We don’t know,” Joanna replied. “At least not at this time. That’s one of the things the medical examiner will be working on—establishing time of death.”

“She didn’t go to work today,” Edith volunteered. “I know that much. I was planning to go by the gas station and take her my check. Since I have to hire a cab to go anywhere, seeing her at work in town would have been a lot easier than coming all the way out here. But when I called to talk to her, her boss said she had taken today off for an appointment of some kind.” Edith Mossman paused. “Remind me to call him. I need to let him know what’s happened.”

Joanna knew that any useful information she could gather now would offer a needed assist for her detectives later on. “If you’ll give me Carol’s work number and the name of her supervisor,” Joanna said, “someone from my department will be glad to take care of that for you.”

“Thank you,” Edith said. “Thanks so much. That’ll be one less thing for me to worry about anyway.”

“Would you be considered her next of kin, then?” Joanna asked, after jotting down the information. “Is there anyone else who should be notified—parents, perhaps? Brothers or sisters?”

“Carol’s mother is dead,” Edith said curtly.

“And her father?” Joanna prodded.

“I can’t tell you for sure if my son is dead or alive,” Edith Mossman said. “If Edward is still alive, I have no idea where to find the son of a bitch. And I’ll tell you this. If he is dead, I’d be first in line to piss on his grave.”

The utter fury in Edith Mossman’s voice when she spoke of her son took Joanna’s breath away. She considered asking more about him but changed her mind, contenting herself, instead, to making a note of Edith’s reaction in her notebook.

“What about siblings?” Joanna asked.

“Three sisters,” Edith answered. “You maybe know Stella Adams. She and her family live in Bisbee. Down in Warren, actually, at the far end of Arizona Street. Andrea lives in Tucson. She’s not married. She works at the U of A as a secretary in the chemistry Department. Kelly is still in Mexico, down in Obregón. I doubt you’ll be able to get in touch with her there. I’m not even sure if she has a phone, and she most likely won’t be coming home for the funeral.”

“In other words, she and Carol weren’t close.”

The rheumy eyes Edith Mossman turned on Joanna were filled with a terrible sadness. “Yes,” she said. “I guess you can say Carol and Kelly aren’t the least bit close. Besides, Carol preferred dogs to people.”

Just then Joanna caught sight of a group of people emerging from the trailer. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Edith, I’ll go see how we’re doing.”

Scooping up the puppy and stowing him back inside her shirt, Joanna hurried over to the small wooden porch that had been built outside the mobile home’s front door. The sun had long since disappeared behind the Huachuca Mountains. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but it would be soon. In the deepening twilight, the entire investigative team stood on the porch, swilling down bottled water. From the looks of the sweat-drenched crew, Joanna was grateful she’d been standing outside, in the relative cool of evening, interviewing Edith Mossman. Clearly, the tough duty was happening inside.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Hotter’n hell in there,” Ernie Carpenter muttered, echoing Dave Hollicker’s earlier sentiments. He nodded in the direction of Joanna’s Blazer. “Who’s the old lady?” he added.

“Edith Mossman,” Joanna told him. “Carol Mossman’s grandmother.”

“Good work,” George Winfield said, inserting himself into the previously two-way conversation. “At least I won’t have to knock myself out trying to locate the next of kin. But what’s she doing here? Who called her?”

“Nobody,” Joanna answered. “She came to see Carol without knowing anything was wrong. I tried to get her to go home. She says she’s waiting for you to finish up so she can do the identification.”

George frowned. “It’s really bad in there, Joanna,” he said, while Dave Hollicker nodded in somber agreement. “No way the grandmother should see the inside of that house. Can’t you talk her out of it?”

“Like I said,” Joanna told him, “I’ve tried, but I haven’t made any progress so far.”

The medical examiner glanced toward the darkening sky. “We’ll probably finish up in another fifteen or twenty minutes,” he said at last. “I still think it’s a bad idea to do this here, but we’ll put the victim in a body bag and bring her out on a gurney so Granny can take a look.”

Joanna’s cell phone rang just then. Seeing her home number in the screen, Joanna excused herself and walked a few feet away before she answered.

“Where the hell are you?” Butch Dixon demanded. “I’ve been scared to death.”

“What do you mean, where am I? I’m at a crime scene. There’s been a murder out by the San Pedro.”

“What about your interview with Karen Oldsby?” Butch responded. “She called here a few minutes ago, mad as a wet hen and wondering where you were. She’s been sitting in her office for over an hour waiting for you to show up. I told her I’d try to track you down if I could and have you call her back right away.”

“Butch, I did call Karen Oldsby,” Joanna interjected. “I called even before I left the office to come here. I said in the message that I’d been called to investigate a possible homicide and that she’d need to call tomorrow to set up another appointment.”

“The mood she’s in right now, I suspect that wouldn’t be such a good idea. If Karen Oldsby does the interview at all, she’s likely to tear you to pieces.”

“Give me her number again,” Joanna said. “I’ll call and explain.”

Karen Oldsby answered after only one ring. “Oldsby here.”

“Karen, this is Joanna Brady. I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding—”

“There wasn’t any misunderstanding. The appointment was for seven o’clock, right here in my office. I couldn’t have been more specific about that.”

Joanna could tell from the reporter’s tone of voice that Butch was right. Karen Oldsby was pissed.

“As I told you in my message,” Joanna said, “something came up. There’s been another homicide and—”

“I didn’t get any message,” Karen interrupted.

“But I called and left one,” Joanna said. “I left it on voice mail.”

“Not here, you didn’t,” the reporter replied, sounding less than mollified. “Or if you did, it isn’t here now. Where did you leave it? Was it on this number or the one at home?”

Joanna had been carrying her purse with her the whole time she’d been at the scene. Now, holding the tiny phone against her left shoulder, she struggled to reclaim her calendar from the depths of the bag. Once she’d dug it out, she had to walk all the way back to the Blazer and turn on the reading light before she could make out the numbers she had scribbled down next to Karen Oldsby’s name. She read them into the phone.

“That’s not my number,” Karen announced brusquely when she heard it. “You reversed two of the numbers.”