J. Jance - Dead to Rights

“According to Ernie, Hal Morgan’s still in the Copper Queen Hospital. They’re treating him for smoke inhalation and a skull fracture. I’ve posted round-the-clock guards out-side his room.”

“Why?” Joanna asked. “He doesn’t sound like a flight risk. He’s a retired cop with a home and a job in Wickenburg. All the people Ernie talked to in California yesterday, guys who knew him when he was still a police officer, said Hal Morgan was a great guy, one who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Try telling that to Bucky Buckwalter,” Dick said, leaning back and drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. “Once a cop goes haywire, there’s no telling what he might do.”

Joanna looked to Frank. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Voland what I think all morning. I’ve been attempting to explain to him the grim realities of our budget meeting with the board of supervisors yesterday. Any overtime we pay in January is going to have a direct bearing on our ability to cover shifts come the end of the year.”

“Budgets, smudgets,” Voland sneered. “I know those guys. They’re always dishing out this belt-tightening crap, but when push comes to shove-when public safety is on the line-they always cave. One way or another, they manage to find the money.”

“Let’s not get off on the budget problems right this minute,” Joanna said, holding up her hand to stifle the debate. “First let’s deal with the Hal Morgan issue. What does Ernie say? Why don’t we have him come in and give us his take on the situation?”

“Because he’s already up at the coroner’s office,” Voland answered. “Winfield has another autopsy scheduled for today-the stiff from Sunizona that we found yesterday.” Voland paused long enough to consult his notes. “The dead guy’s name is Reed Carruthers, by the way. According to Ernie, unless Winfield finds something unforeseen in the autopsy, it’s not a case to concern us. Natural causes rather than a homicide. But at ninety-three, when a guy takes off walking in the middle of a January night with no coat or jacket, you’ve gotta say it’s old age plain and simple.”

Voland looked up. When no comments were forthcoming from either Joanna or Frank, he continued. “According to Ernie’s report, Carruthers’ daughter, Hannah Green, has been looking alter him for years. She claims he’s been sleeping so little of late that she’s all worn out. Two nights ago, he evidently waited until she was asleep and then took off.”

“Wait a minute,” Joanna said. “Isn’t this the same guy who had a bloody wound on his head? Wasn’t that why Ernie was called out to Sunizona in the first place?”

“That’s right. The initial police report said that Carruthers tell off a fence and hit his head on a rock. According to Ernie, that’s pretty much what happened. I’m sure once Dr. Winfield finishes the autopsy, he’ll be able to give us a more definitive answer. As soon as he’s done with Carruthers, he’ll be moving right on to Bucky Buckwalter.”

“Which brings us right back to the Hal Morgan problem,” Joanna put in. “Has Ernie talked to the man?”

“To Morgan? Not that I know of,” Voland replied. “At least he hadn’t the last time I heard from him. My understanding is that Morgan’s doctor still won’t let anyone in the room.”

“If the man’s physical condition is that serious,” Frank Montoya offered, “then it strikes me he’s in no shape to take off under his own steam.”

“In other words,” Joanna said, addressing Frank, “you don’t think the guard is necessary.”

“Not at this time. At least not until he’s either well enough to be released or until we’ve made a decision to charge him. On the other hand, if Dick here insists on having a guard, then he needs to pull someone in off patrol to do that duty. This morning I took a look at Deputy Pakin’s time sheet from yesterday. He pulled an eighteen-hour shift. That’s ridiculous. I hate to think how much we paid per hour to have somebody guarding a bedridden patient who was too sick to move.”

Joanna looked to Dick Voland. “You still have a guard on duty there this morning?”

Voland nodded.

“And it’s someone who was off duty rather than pulling a deputy off patrol?”

The chief deputy squirmed. “Well, yes, but-”

“No buts, Mr. Voland,” Joanna snapped, cutting him off in mid-excuse. “Enough of this. I’m going to go track down Ernie Carpenter. Once I talk to him, I’ll make the call on whether or not the guard is necessary. From now on, who-ever stands guard duty comes from the regular patrol-duty roster. Overtime is out. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Voland responded with just a trace too much emphasis on the “ma’am” part. “You’re the boss,” he added, standing up. “Is that all?”

Joanna glanced at Frank. “I don’t have anything else,” he said.

“That’s all then,” Joanna answered.

A steamed Richard Voland marched out of the office. “He’s not a very good loser, is he,” Frank Montoya observed as the door swung shut.

“It’s not a matter of winning or losing, Frank,” Joanna said, a little dismayed to find herself defending Dick Voland. “Since you’re still here, there must be something on your mind. Tell me.”

“I’ve been hearing some grousing out there among the troops.”

“That’s hardly news. What kind of grousing?”

“Some of the deputies are saying that if you hadn’t sent Deputy Pakin on his way early yesterday morning, Bucky Buckwalter wouldn’t be dead.”

Joanna felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks, but there was no point in denying; the charge. She herself had reached much the same conclusion. “Maybe it’s true,” she ventured quietly

Frank shook his head. “No way. If killing Bucky was Morgan’s whole purpose in coming to town, he would have waited until Pakin left regardless of how long it took. You ordering Pakin to leave had nothing to do with it.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Joanna said. “I appreciate your saying that, but if it turns out that the investigation shows I’m partially responsible for what happened, then I’m prepared to live with the consequences. In the meantime, my deputies are entitled to their opinions.”

“If they’re looking to lay blame,” Frank said, “there’s more than enough to go around.” With that, he opened a fib folder and dropped a sheaf of papers onto Joanna’s already cluttered desk.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Just for the hell of it, I went surfing the net last night. I called up all the press coverage I could find on the Bonnie Morgan case from last year. I also talked to some of the Phoenix P.D. guys who handled the case. You might want to take a look at all this before you make a final decision about stationing a guard at the hospital. Rather than taking a hike, think it’s far more likely that Morgan is going to use this whole thing as a forum for focusing attention on what happened to him and his wife.”

“All this time I thought you were lobbying against posting the guard because you thought Hal Morgan was innocent.”

Frank Montoya shook his head. “I’m a good Catholic boy,” he said. “Anybody who’s been raised Catholic knows, that martyrs always get the best press. So why should we spend money to guard him when he’s going to make far more of a splash by going to jail than he will it we just let him go?”

Joanna smiled. “I’ll try to bear that in mind, but I’ll read through this all the same.” She glanced down at the top artiicle, the headline of which said: “Wrong-Way Driver Kills Pedestrian.” Joanna looked back over at Frank. “Thanks for gathering all this together. Is that all?”