J. Jance - Desert Heat

“Yes, but…”

“We have the ballistics tests back,” Carpenter continued. “We’ve confirmed that Lefty shot with bullets fired from Andy’s.357. We’re estimating time of death as some time the weekend before last. That’s only a best-guess estimate, nothing definitive.”

“That’s when Andy was in Payson,” Joanna supplied.

Ernie Carpenter raised his eyes and met Joanna’s. “He wasn’t,” the detective said. “Somebody else told us he was supposed to be there, so we did some checking. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Demaris. Andy called and canceled the trip late Thursday afternoon, He said something important had come up here at home and he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“But…” Joanna began.

Detective Carpenter silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “When he left here on Friday afternoon, did Andy say anything to you to the effect that he had changed his mind and was going somewhere else?”

“No.”

“And he stayed away the whole weekend just as he would have if he really had mad the trip to Payson?”

Joanna’s stomach muscles tightened. Before, what she had heard about the investigation had been so much hearsay. Now there could be no doubt that Detective Ernie Carpenter was trying to implicate Andy in Lefty O’Toole’s death. As the questions droned, the investigator continued to show absolutely no sign of interest in Dr. Sanders’ allegations. Hadn’t he listened to her? Maybe she hadn’t said it clearly enough.

“How much do you know about your husband’s business dealings?” Carpenter went on. His questions were professional and gratingly dispassionate.

“I know everything,” Joanna maintained. “I keep the books. We sell a few head of cattle now and then. I can show you in black and white that what we make doesn’t amount to t much money.”

“Do you own any property other than your place here, something Andy might have liquidated without your knowledge?”

“No. None at all.”

“Did a relative of his die recently?”

“No. Why?”

“Mrs. Brady,” Ernie Carpenter said slowly, “Andy was a colleague of mine. I’d like to find some legitimate source for the nine-thousand five-hundred-dollar cash deposit he made into your joint checking account on Monday of this week. Do you have any idea where that money might have come from?”

Joanna was astonished. “How much?”

“Nine-thousand-five-hundred even,” Carpenter repeated. “Sandy, down at the bank, said he brought it all into the branch in a stack of cash on Monday afternoon. He showed up it just before closing time.”

Shaken, Joanna found it difficult to speak. “But that’s almost ten thousand dollars. I can’t imagine where Andy would lay hands on that kind of money.”

“Could he have borrowed it from his parents?”

“No. The Bradys don’t have it, and he wouldn’t have borrowed it from them even they did.”

“So you have no idea where this money came from?”

“None at all.”

“Have there been other occasions when unexplained money has turned up in your account?

“No. Absolutely not.” Joanna turned to Dick Voland who had maintained a strict silence during the entire interview process.

“How can you sit here and let him ask questions like this?” she stormed. “You worked with Andy, Dick. He wasn’t like this, and you know it. He never did anything crooked in his life.”

Voland shook his head but without offering any consolation. “Let him go on, Joanna. It’s the only way we’re ever going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Did Andy ever mention Lefty O’Toole’s name to you?” Ernie asked. “Were you aware of any ongoing relationship?”

“No!” Joanna answered.

“Had you two suffered any financial reverses lately?” he continued. “Were you behind in your mortgage payments?”

“No, not at all. We were doing fine.”

“How did he act the past few weeks? Was he depressed for instance, anxious or upset?”

“No. Exactly the opposite. If anything, he was excited. He enjoyed campaigning, and that surprised him. It surprised us both. He wasn’t depressed at all.”

“Did he leave anything here that might have explained what happened? Any kind of note, a message?”

“There was a note with the flowers and ring, but that wasn’t a suicide note if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Could I see it?”

For the first time, Joanna remembered that Andy’s forgotten roses had been left in the ICU waiting room, but she had stuffed the note in a pocket of the dress where she had discovered it when she finally slipped off her soiled clothing.

“It’s in the bedroom,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

Joanna retrieved the note, handing it over to Ernie Carpenter who studied it for some time. “What ’s this about ten years?” he asked.

“We couldn’t afford a ring when we got married,” she answered.

“You didn’t mind him spending three thousand bucks on one now?”

For the first time that morning, Joanna looked down at the glittering diamond on her finger. “He didn’t ask me Ernie,” Joanna told him. “It was a surprise.

Carpenter nodded. “All right. According to Hiram Young, Andy paid for it on Tuesday afternoon with a personal check written on your joint account.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Joanna asked. “If it were dishonest money, wouldn’t he have hidden it from me, put it somewhere else rather than in our joint account?”

“That’s one interpretation, I suppose,” Carpenter admitted.

“Give me another one,” Joanna retorted, her temper rising. Up to now, she had been patient, but now she was fast losing it as the questions moved away from mere intrusion to violation. She understood full well what another possible interpretation might be.

Carpenter was busily closing his notebook and putting it back in his pocket. “I’d rather not say at this time,” he said.

“You don’t have to mince words with me, Detective Carpenter,” Joanna said coldly. “Adam York of the DEA already spilled the beans .Whatever it is, all of you seem to think I’m in on it, don’t you.”

“Joanna,” Dick Voland put in, “nobody said anything like that.”

“But everybody’s hinting, and I’m damned sick of it.”

Ernie Carpenter was studying her face with undisguised interest. “One more thing, Joanna. This may be painful for you, but I have to ask. Has there been any prior difficulty with other women in Andy’s life?”

Joanna stared hard at the detective’s impassive face, and her eyes narrowed when she finally understood the full implication behind the question. Her voice lowered.

“Whatever makes you think there’s one now, Detective Carpenter? Get the hell out of here ,both of you, and don’t come back. I’ve had enough.”

They stood up, headed for the door, and let themselves out. Joanna had planned on asking Dick Voland to be a pallbearer at Andy’s funeral, but right then, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Still outraged at Detective Carpenter ’s blunt insinuation of infidelity, Joanna churned gravel in the yard as she headed for town. Navigating as if on rails, the Eagle followed its usual route straight to her office with Joanna so engrossed in inner turmoil that she barely glanced at the now-empty wash as she sped along High Lonesome Road.

The Davis Insurance Agency, originally a father-and-son operation, had been a fixture on Arizona Street for thirty years, and the latest in Milo Davis’ long succession of Buicks al-ways occupied the front corner parking place. As office manager, Joanna usually parked in the spot next to his, but today that place was taken by a silver Taurus with government plates.