J.A. Jance - Dead Wrong

“Good,” Jaime said. “I’m glad you agree, because that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

They were still in Sierra Vista when Joanna’s phone rang. “It’s Maggie,” the Records clerk said. She sounded annoyed and out of breath. “I’m still up here at the courthouse pawing through boxes. This place is a mess. I’m sure the file must be here somewhere, but I don’t know where. It’s like the movers just jammed things in wherever there was room with absolutely no rhyme or reason. I know you wanted it by tonight, but I’m due to get off at eleven…”

“It’s fine, Maggie,” Joanna said at once. “Who’s working graveyard?”

“I think it’s Cindy Hall. The problem is, there’s only one clerk on that shift. If she comes up here to take over where I leave off, there won’t be anyone in Records to support the guys in the cars.”

“Never mind,” Joanna said. “You’ve done the best you can, Maggie. It’ll have to wait until morning.”

When they got back to the Justice Center, it was after eleven. Joanna didn’t even bother stepping inside the office to retrieve her briefcase. Instead, she transferred directly to her Crown Victoria and headed for High Lonesome Ranch. With all the dogs closeted inside the house with Jenny, it was unnaturally quiet when she drove up the road to the U-shaped ranch house with its two separate wings and parked in her designated garage at the end of the far wing. When she let herself into the family room, however, Lady was at the door waiting to greet her.

After kicking off her shoes and giving her grateful toes a relaxing wiggle, Joanna did a barefoot inspection of the house. Jenny was asleep in her room with the television set booming away and with both Tigger and Lucky curled up on the bed with her, one dog per side. In the kitchen Joanna found a collection of dirty dishes, along with evidence both of the noodle soup Jenny had eaten for dinner as well as the microwave popcorn she had snacked on later. There were two popcorn bags in the trash. One was empty. The other, clearly overcooked, was full of black cinders. Why the bag hadn’t set the microwave on fire was nothing short of a miracle. Out in the laundry room Joanna found that the dogs had been well taken care of. The water dishes were full of water. The food dishes were empty. In other words, everything was fine.

For a moment, Joanna considered making herself a late-night cup of cocoa, but then she changed her mind. She was too tired. What she needed was rest instead of a late-night snack. She went into the bedroom, undressed, and tumbled into bed.

The phone awakened her at 6:07 a.m. “Sheriff Brady?” a hesitant voice said. “Sorry if I’m calling too early.”

It took Joanna a moment to sort out who was calling. Finally she recognized her caller’s voice. Jeannine Phillips was one of Joanna’s two Animal Control officers. A year earlier, during a series of budgetary cuts, Animal Control had been added to Joanna’s area of responsibility. At first she’d been told it was only a temporary measure, but so far nothing had changed.

“What is it, Jeannine?” Joanna asked groggily.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” Jeannine apologized.

“It doesn’t matter. What is it?”

“I found another one.”

Joanna didn’t need to ask another what. She knew. Three times in the last month, people had reported finding the badly mauled bodies of dead dogs-all of them pit bulls-along roads in the far northeast corner of the county. At first, Joanna’s Animal Control officers had thought they had tangled with something wild-a coyote or a mountain lion or even one of the far rarer jaguars which had, of late, strayed into southern Arizona from the wilds of northern Mexico. When the third dead animal was found, a microchip dog ID had traced it back to Tucson, where it had once belonged to the nephew of a known drug dealer, a man who had twice before been arrested for running a dog-fighting ring. It seemed likely that a similar operation was now up and running somewhere in Cochise County.

“Where?” Joanna asked.

“San Simon,” Jeannine said. “On 1-10 behind the port of entry. A long-haul truck driver parked his rig and went to take a leak. Found the dog in a trash can, except this one isn’t dead,” Jeannine said. “He was chewed all to hell and bloody all over, but he was still breathing. I was going to put him out of his misery. But when I started to lift him out of the garbage can, he tried to lick my hand, and I just couldn’t do it. Then I thought, If he’s made it this far, what if we could pull him through? Maybe we could use him as evidence when we finally nail these bastards.”

Joanna heard the break in Jeannine Phillips’s voice as she spoke-the hurt, along with an underlying streak of steely determination. “Where is he now?” Joanna asked.

“In my truck.”

“Do you really think he can make it?”

“I don’t know,” Jeannine said. “Like I said, he’s torn up pretty bad, but…”

“Take him to Dr. Ross,” Joanna said after a moment. “Have her call me and let me know whether or not she thinks she can save him and how much it’s going to cost.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeannine Phillips said. “I’m on my way.”

With Lady on her heels, Joanna went to the kitchen to start water for tea. Then she called Frank Montoya. “What’s going on and why so early?” Frank asked. “Are you on your way to the hospital?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But I have an assignment for you. I just got off the phone with Jeannine Phillips. She thinks we’ve got a dogfight ring operating somewhere around Bowie or San Simon. I want a bunch of enforcement up there this weekend. I want you to pull deputies from Patrol-however many we can spare- and have them look for any kind of suspicious activity.”

“What happened?” Frank asked. “Did she find another dead dog?”

“No,” Joanna answered. “She found a live one for a change- if Dr. Ross can work some of her magic, that is. Jeannine is taking him to the vet’s office even as we speak.”

“Who’s paying?” As chief deputy, one of Frank’s areas of responsibility and expertise was keeping the lid on budgetary considerations.

“The department is paying,” Joanna said. “The dog is evidence, Frank. Once we arrest the guy, seeing a live dog will make a much bigger impression with a judge or jury than seeing pictures of dead ones.”

“But that could end up costing a fortune,” Frank objected.

“I told Jeannine to have Dr. Ross check with me before she begins any course of treatment.”

“With the budget the way it is, you can’t afford to be soft in the head about every stray dog that happens to wander into harm’s way.”

“We’ll find a way to pay for it, Frank,” Joanna said, cutting him off in mid-objection. “Now did you hear from Jaime after our trip to Sierra Vista last night?”

“He called me after he got home.”

“So you know what we came up with last night?”

“That you identified the John Doe?” Frank returned. “Yes, I heard the whole story. I told him I’d send someone up to the old courthouse first thing this morning to see if they can find Bradley Evans’s missing file. And Jaime said he and Ernie would head out to Sierra Vista to see if the dead guy’s ex-mother-in-law has an alibi for the time in question. What about you? Are you coming into the office?”

“For a little while,” Joanna answered. “Jenny’s Girl Scout troop is scheduled to do a car wash up at the traffic circle. Once I drop her off for that, I thought I’d stop by the office and stay until she’s ready to come back home. I just want to be sure everything is in good order before…”

Frank chuckled. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a control freak?”