J. Jance - Rattlesnake Crossing

Joanna closed her eyes. In her mind's eye she tried to replay the past few hours-the confrontation with Eddy Sandoval, the time spent thumbing through the yearbooks, the time it took rebooting the computer, the few minutes spent arguing with Sarah Holcomb and making sure she was safely out of town. All those moments and minutes had added up into too many. For Jake Hosfield, those seemingly inconsequential decisions had made all the difference-the difference between life and death.

Squeezing her eyes shut to squelch the tears of rage that were forming and then holstering her weapon, Joanna wheeled and sprang back across the room, almost without touching the bare wooden floor. Outside, Frank stood just in front of the single wooden step with his fingers buried deep in the flesh of Sonja Hosfield's upper arm. For a second, Joanna thought he was physically restraining her, when in fact he was simply holding her upright. As soon as he let go of her arm, she sank down on the rough plank step like a lifeless doll.

"Not Jake," Sonja sobbed. "It can't be. Please, not my Jake."

Joanna saw the woman's mouth move, but she heard nothing. Something had happened to her in that darkened, bloody room. In those few seconds standing at Jake Hosfield's deathbed, she had confronted her own culpability. As sheriff, Joanna had sworn to save people like Jake from people like his half brother. That was her duty, her responsibility. She had failed, and that failure made her deaf to Sonja Hosfield's scream, inured her to the poor woman's pain, and galvanized her to action. If she paused for even a moment to give comfort, she wouldn't be doing what had to be done.

"Frank!" Joanna barked. "Give me the phone!"

Removing it from his jacket pocket, Frank tossed the phone to her. She caught it in midair and was dialing almost before it ever settled into her hand.

"Mrs. Hosfield, how long ago did Ryan leave?" she asked as her fingers raced across the keypad.

"I don't know. Ten minutes? Not much more than that."

"And did you see which way he turned when he reached the road?"

"No."

Frank said, "We didn't meet him along the road between here and Pomerene, so he must have gone the other way." Joanna nodded her acknowledgment as the emergency dispatcher answered the phone.

"Cochise County nine-one-one. What are you reporting?"

"This is Sheriff Brady. Put me through to Pima County nine-one-one. We've got a mutual-aid situation here. I've got to have help. Stay on the line so you'll know exactly what's going on. That way I won't have to repeat it."

"Yes, ma'am."

The connection was made within seconds, although it seemed much longer than that. A moment or two later, another voice came on the line. "This is the Pima County Sheriff's Department watch commander, Captain Leland White. What do you need, Sheriff Brady?"

"I'm out at Cascabel," she said. "I'm on the Triple C with a homicide that's happened within the last half hour. We've got a multiple-homicide suspect fleeing north on, Pomerene Road heading for Redington. Once there, he may turn west and shoot through the pass between the Rincons and the Catalinas. Or he might go straight on north toward Oracle. The third option is that he may hole up someplace to fight it out. I'm sure he thought he had several hours' head start on us. I'm betting he's making a run for it."

"What's his name?"

"Ryan Merritt."

"Age?"

"Twenty-two. But you can get all the specifics off his rap sheet. He's listed."

"You want us to post an APB on this guy?" Captain White asked.

"Yes, but when you do, remember, the suspect is armed and extremely dangerous. He may be in possession of one or more fifty-caliber sniper rifles with a kill range of a mile or more. But what I really need from you is a helicopter. Does your department have one?"

"No, we don't, but the City of Tucson does. When we need it, they charge us an hourly rate. I forget how much."

"It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, we'll pay it. We've got to have one."

"All right," Leland White said. "But we'll have to move fast. It won't be long before we lose the light. What kind of vehicle is he driving?"

"Blue Ford panel truck. Nineteen-sixties vintage with an ATV loaded into the back. Can't tell you the exact model." Joanna held the phone away from her mouth. "Mrs. Hosfield, is the truck licensed to your husband?" Sonja nodded dumbly.

"Captain White? Okay, the truck is licensed to Alton Hosfield of the Triple C Ranch in Cascabel. You should be able to find the details from the DMV. I have one officer with me. We're going to leave the Triple C and head north as far as Redington. If we don't catch up to the suspect before then, we'll wait at the junction there in hopes the helicopter will be able to point us in the right direction. And that's all I want from the chopper-directions. Tell the pilot he is not to make contact. If possible, I don't want Merritt to know we're after him. We'll be better off if he keeps moving. If he stops, he'll have time to deploy those rifles and tripods. If he does that, we could have wholesale slaughter on our hands." As if we don't already.

"But going after him with only one officer…" White began.

"One is all I have right now," Joanna said. "And one is a hell of a lot better than none."

"What about roadblocks?"

"I've got reinforcements coming from Bisbee, but it'll take time to put them in place. They'll establish a roadblock on Cascabel Road between here and Pomerene, but if you could set some up on your end, that would be great."

"Okay. You've got it. I'll get Tucson on the horn right now. How do I get back to you after I talk to them?"

"By radio," she said. "I'm using my cell phone at the moment, but I don't know how much farther into the mountains we'll still have a signal. Cochise County Dispatch, were you listening to this whole thing?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Pass all that information along to Dick Voland. And contact Fran Daly at the Pima County Medical Examiner's office. Tell her we're going to need her services down here one last time. Have her come out to the Triple C, to the little combination toolshed/apartment out behind the house. That's where the latest victim is."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Not now. We're heading out."

All the while she was talking, Joanna and Frank had both been moving back toward the Blazer. Now, with the call finished, Joanna started to climb into the driver's seat.

"Take me along," Sonja Hosfield said from two steps behind her. "I want to go, too."

"No," Joanna replied. "That's impossible."

"Please."

"Absolutely not. Out of the question. This is a potentially lethal situation, Mrs. Hosfield. We can't possibly have civilians along-"

"Sheriff Brady, what if Ryan comes back?" Frank interjected. "What if we're wrong and he isn't heading out of Dodge? We can't just leave Mrs. Hosfield here alone with no way of defending herself."

"You have a car," Joanna said to Sonja. "Drive into Benson. Find your husband and tell him what's happened."

"But she's unarmed," Frank pointed out. "Ryan may have taken a position somewhere between here and there. If so, he could ambush her along the way."

Joanna thought about that-about the possibility of adding yet another victim to Ryan Merritt's terrible death count. "All right," she said, relenting. "No more arguing. Get in back, Mrs. Hosfield. When I give an order, you follow it. Understood?"

Sonja nodded mutely and reached for the door handle. "There's a milk crate in the backseat with a Kevlar vest in it," Joanna continued. "Take that out and put it on." Not that a Kevlar vest is going to do anybody much good, she thought. Fifty-caliber bullets will go through bullet-resistant vests like they're made of paper.

Once in the Blazer, Joanna fastened her seat belt, switched on the ignition, and slammed the vehicle into gear. "Frank, there's an Arizona atlas in the pocket behind my seat. Get it out and let's see how many places he could turn off between here and there."