Judgment Call (16 page)

“First things first,” Joanna said. “I have to get through Friday before I can think about Saturday. Have you heard anything from Jaime?”

“Yes, he's on his way down the canyon now.”

“Good. Tell him to ring the bell on my back door and come in that way. I need to talk to him before I talk to the press.”

“She's back, isn't she.”

Joanna heard her mother's voice in the background. Putting Kristin on the spot wasn't fair, either. Eleanor Lathrop was Joanna's problem. “Go ahead and send her in,” Joanna said with a sigh. “Let's get this over with.”

Eleanor waltzed into her daughter's office as if she owned the place. Unable to help herself, she paused long enough to run a finger across Joanna's small conference table, looking for dust. Thanks to Kristin, there wasn't any.

Way to go, Kristin,
Joanna thought. Aloud and as brightly as she could manage she said, “Hi, Mom. What brings you here?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn't stop by to see my darling daughter?”

There were plenty of reasons, not the least of which being that said daughter was busy working. There had been a homicide on her watch, and she needed to keep after it.

“No reason,” Joanna said, hoping that her voice remained even and that her face was unreadable. “What's up?”

“Milo and Fanny Davis's daughter-in-law had an emergency cesarean up in Phoenix last night,” Eleanor said. “They just left to go help their son look after the other two kids. Three kids under the age of five. If that isn't a family-planning nightmare, I don't know what is.”

Joanna still held her former boss in high esteem. “Milo is great with kids,” she said. “I'm sure they'll be able to handle it.”

“That's neither here nor there,” Eleanor sniffed. “The problem is, they were supposed to sit at our table tomorrow night. Since I'm on the committee, Maggie will be beside herself if there are empty places at my table. I'm hoping you and Butch will agree to come in their place. The food should be excellent. Prime rib at the Rob Roy is always top drawer. As an elected official, it's always good to be seen out and about and doing your civic duty.”

Joanna was getting ready to decline when Eleanor added the knockout punch. “I called Butch first. He says he'll be glad to dust off his tux for the evening, but that it's up to you.”

This wasn't the first time Eleanor had played divide and conquer by going to Butch behind Joanna's back, and it wouldn't be the last.

“We'd have to get a sitter,” Joanna said, making the most obvious objection.

“Handled,” Eleanor said. “I already talked to Jenny. She'll be glad to take care of her brother to earn some extra spending money. I'll order pizza for them, and I'll pay the bill for that, too.”

“In other words, you really want us to come,” Joanna said.

“Well, yes,” Eleanor said. “You do hold a certain position in the community, and it would be a good idea to be seen in public when you're wearing something besides a uniform and a handgun.”

Joanna got it. Eleanor was proud of her, but she probably would have been happier with Joanna in a more traditional “women's work” job. As for Butch, since his mother was more of a case than Joanna's was, he always capitulated when Eleanor showed up as a paragon of sweetness and light. If he hadn't meant what he'd said about going to the gala, he wouldn't have said it. He wasn't in the habit of leaving Joanna to be the bad guy.

“Okay,” Joanna said. “If it's okay with Butch, it's okay with me.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said. “Maggie Oliphant is having a conniption fit about this particular dinner. She needs it to be a huge success, and she's worried that it won't be. Having empty places at the tables when she's already given the final head count would make it that much worse.”

Joanna didn't know Maggie Oliphant well, but she'd clearly been able to rope Eleanor into the process and make her feel personally responsible for a successful outcome. That meant Maggie had to be some kind of organizing genius.

“I can see why Maggie's worn out,” Eleanor said. “Dealing with this particular group of artistic types has been especially challenging—a lot like herding cats. It's almost impossible to get them to move from place to place and show up on time. They had a guest speaker for this afternoon's workshop session, and they were all late getting back from lunch. Maggie was frantic.”

Joanna knew that Junior Dowdle's meltdown had a lot to do with the Plein Air group's late lunch, but she didn't tell Eleanor that. For as long as Junior had worked at Daisy's, Eleanor had sniffed her disapproval on more than one occasion. Her opinions about the developmentally disabled were similar to her opinions about small children—they should be seen but not heard, and not seen too much, either. And there was no way Joanna was going to pass along what Daisy had said about Junior's possible Alzheimer's diagnosis.

Having accomplished her goal, Eleanor stood up to leave. “Marliss was just telling me about the situation with Mrs. Highsmith.”

Joanna knew that the word “Ms.” had never made its way into her mother's vocabulary, but Eleanor's comment reminded Joanna that no one knew Debra Highsmith's exact marital status, either. Single? Married? Divorced? Who knew?

“Yes,” Joanna said. “It's terribly unfortunate, but we haven't released her name yet.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost time.

Eleanor frowned. “Oddly enough, Marliss seemed to think I knew all about it. Surely she doesn't think you would blab sheriff's department business to me, does she? Why would she jump to that kind of conclusion?”

Joanna understood all too well. Marliss didn't suspect Joanna of being the leak. The reporter was convinced Jenny would have confided in her grandmother, except Eleanor and Jenny didn't have that kind of relationship.

“Maybe I should talk to Marliss about it,” Joanna suggested.

“I didn't mean to get her in any kind of trouble.”

“Of course not,” Joanna said confidently, “but leaking information about a homicide victim before the family has been notified can cause difficulties later on.”

Kristin tapped on the door. “Detective Carbajal is back from the autopsy,” she said.

“Mom,” Joanna said. “I'm going to have to chase you out of here. I need to meet with Jaime before the press conference.”

“I'm going, I'm going,” Eleanor said. She walked as far as the office door and then turned to look back at Joanna. “It's days like this when I'm really grateful George is retired. Whenever there was a homicide to worry about, it seemed like that was all he could think about.”

Joanna knew that feeling from the inside out.

“You won't let this get in the way of your coming tomorrow night, now will you?” Eleanor asked.

“No,” Joanna told her mother. “I gave you my word. I said Butch and I will be there, and we will.”

Eleanor marched out of Joanna's office, and Jaime Carbajal sidled inside. “What's the news?” Joanna asked.

“What we already knew. Machett says she was shot four times with a thirty-eight,” Jaime said. “She didn't die instantly. Probably bled out over fifteen minutes or so.”

“Time of death?”

“Somewhere between one
A.M
. and three
A.M
. There was no undigested food in her stomach.”

“So she probably hadn't eaten since noon?” Joanna asked.

Jaime nodded. “So that would be consistent with what the Bisbee cops told us. That the killer surprised her when she came home from work, where she was taken down before she had time to take off her ID badge or change clothes. From the injuries to her arms and legs, it appears she was restrained for some time prior to the murder. She evidently struggled against the restraints, but they were removed either before or after she was shot. She also has a single puncture wound in her right shoulder. It'll be a while to get the tox screen back, but Machett thinks she may have been hit with some kind of tranquilizer.”

“Sexual assault?” Joanna asked.

Jaime shook his head. “No sign of that, but Dr. Machett says she's had at least one child, probably carried to term, and delivered by C-section.”

Abby Holder hadn't mentioned Debra Highsmith's having a child, a spouse, or a former spouse. Neither had William Farraday. Joanna suspected that Mr. Farraday would draw the line when it came to hiring an unwed mother to serve as a school principal in a town where people expected their educators to double as role models.

Kristin knocked on the door. “Tom Hadlock is wondering if you're ready. The reporters are getting impatient out there.”

Joanna nodded and then looked back at Jaime. “Anything else I should know?”

“There was some bruising on her upper arms, like somebody grabbed her from behind. There's also some bruising to her forehead, like maybe she fell to the floor. The head injury happened several hours before she died.”

Joanna paused long enough to open her purse, take out her compact, and check her hair and makeup. Eleanor Lathrop Winfield probably didn't approve of her daughter's line of work, but her years of exhortations that Joanna “always look your best” hadn't fallen on deaf ears. Joanna had no idea what she was going to say in her press conference, but nobody would be able to say that she hadn't dressed for the part.

JOANNA HAD LEARNED OVER THE YEARS THAT PRESS
conferences are a kind of stylized form of performance art, not unlike Kabuki. The idea is to be there, to act as though you're fully prepared to tell all, while at the same time divulging as little as possible. A certain amount of earnestness was always helpful. During the conference a few nuggets of information would be parceled out, but only enough to leave the attendees wanting more. That way, when the reporters went back to their respective computers to write their articles, they would do so with only the barest outline of what had happened.

Joanna went outside and back to the same shaded breezeway where she had stood side by side with Arlee Jones the previous day. Tom Hadlock still wasn't up to Frank Montoya standards, and neither was she, but she made it through this one with no difficulty.

She started by making a series of remarks before opening up to questions. The body found earlier that morning on High Lonesome Road had been identified as Debra Jean Highsmith, Bisbee High School's principal, who had been reported missing on Thursday morning. She had died as the result of multiple gunshot wounds. The incident was being investigated as a suspected homicide.

Joanna had to resist the urge to smile slightly when she said that. Suicides hardly ever die of multiple gunshots, and multiple gunshot wounds generally ruled out death by natural causes. However, declaring death by multiple gunshot wounds as a definite homicide went beyond the stylized dance of accepted press conference protocol.

Toward the end of her remarks she delivered what she considered the red meat of her presentation. “As of this time, my officers have been unable to locate any of Ms. Highsmith's next of kin. If anyone hearing this announcement can offer any assistance in this regard, you are urged to contact the Cochise County Sheriff's Department.”

When she finished and called for questions, most of them turned out to be questions she had already answered, but she answered them again anyway. That was another part of the press conference process.

During the Q and A, Joanna noticed that Marliss, prominently positioned in the first row, was busily taking notes, but she didn't raise her head or her hand. When one of the other reporters asked about the source of that unauthorized crime scene photo that was reportedly making its way around the Internet, Joanna replied with a firm “No comment.” At that point Joanna more than half expected Marliss to jump in with a related question or to at least mention Jenny's possible involvement in the crime photo flap, but she did not. That seemed odd. It wasn't like Marliss to exercise that kind of restraint. Not at all.

It seemed to take forever. When the news conference finally ended, however, Joanna's phone rang before she could leave for home.

“I've got your dog,” Jeannine Philips announced.

Jeannine was head of Joanna's Animal Control division. Animal Control had landed in Joanna's department several years earlier, on a supposedly temporary basis that was now regarded as permanent by all concerned.

“My dog,” Joanna repeated. She was mystified. Lady was generally a quiet, stay-at-home kind of dog, and Lucky was deaf. Joanna found it difficult to believe that either of them had wandered away from High Lonesome Ranch.

“Which one?” Joanna asked. “Lady or Lucky?”

“Not
your
dog,” Jeannine said. “Your murder victim's dog. His name is Giles. He's properly licensed and chipped and up to date on all his shots. A woman who lives just outside Huachuca City and works at the PX on Fort Huachuca came home this afternoon and found the dog cowering on her back porch. She's scared of dogs. Terrified of dogs. She dialed 911 and refused to get out of her vehicle until an ACO could be dispatched to the scene. Fortunately, one of my officers was already over in the Huachuca City area picking up a batch of kittens that had been abandoned beside the road. She ended up getting both the kittens and the dog.”