J.A. Jance - Dead Wrong

A few minutes later, when Kristin came into her office carrying a faxed copy of Bradley Evans’s ID photo, Joanna made up her mind. She rummaged through the mess on her desk until she located an interoffice envelope containing her copies of the prints from the camera found in Bradley Evans’s vehicle. The same envelope also contained a mug shot of Bradley Evans that dated from his original arrest back in 1978. There was some resemblance between the young man in the mug shot and the guy in the ID photo, but clearly the years spent in prison hadn’t been kind to him.

With all the photos now collected in the same envelope, Joanna stuffed it into her briefcase. Then she jotted down the address of Rory Markham Real Estate Group, told Kristin she was on her way to Sierra Vista, and left the office. As she drove, she was honest enough to realize that the main reason she was going was to get away from the paper jungle on her desk, even though she knew that leaving it for another day would only make matters worse.

Something’s got to give, she told herself sternly. And then, as if she had heard it yesterday, she remembered the advice her boss, Milo Davis, had given her years ago when she was working in his insurance agency. “You’ve got to stop majoring in the minors,” he had told her. “Don’t get sidetracked by the little stuff. Do the important stuff first.”

That was good advice then, and it’s good advice now, she told herself. Tomorrow’s the day you start running the paperwork instead of letting the paperwork run you.

When Joanna had first arrived at the department as its duly elected sheriff, Kristin had been more than a little hostile. She had also been very young. Joanna had been accustomed to managing an insurance office. In the beginning it had been easier for her simply to do the work herself than to give Kristin more responsibility while, at the same time, making sure things were done right. But now she was on a much better footing with Kristin, and it was time to teach her the difference between what really needed to land on Joanna’s desk and what didn’t.

When it comes time to sort tomorrow morning’s mail, Joanna vowed, Kristin and I will do it together. We’ll sort the new stuff as well as what’s already on my desk. Once we finish…

Her reverie was interrupted by the baby suddenly launching a drop kick into her lowest rib hard enough to make her Kevlar vest rise and fall. The kicks came along sporadically when she was in the office or out in public, where she mostly managed to ignore them. This time, though, she was alone in a vehicle, and the baby’s movements made her feel incredibly happy. He or she was alive and kicking in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe that meant the child would arrive with an inborn knowledge of the difference between day and night. Having a baby that slept through the night from the beginning would be an incredible blessing. Of course, the opposite was always possible.

Joanna was still thinking about the baby when she arrived at Rory Markham Real Estate Group on Fry Boulevard just west of Highway 92. The building had once housed a local fast-food establishment before it succumbed to the competition from too many nationally owned franchises. Someone had spent time and money trying to take away the distinctive Tacos to Go aura, but somehow the lowbrow image still lingered. The website had made the place sound far more upscale than the company’s physical presence warranted.

Trying to brush off this negative first impression, Joanna went inside. “I’d like to see Mrs. Markham,” Joanna said, handing her card to the receptionist.

The receptionist studied the card for a long moment. “Can I tell her what this is about?” she asked.

Joanna smiled. “It’s personal,” she said.

The clerk went away and returned a few moments later followed by Leslie Markham. Joanna’s first impression was that she was familiar; that Joanna had met her somewhere before- perhaps at one of the many campaign functions she had attended prior to the election.

The photos Joanna had seen of Leslie Tazewell Markham- Bradley Evans’s stealthily captured images or the promotional ones downloaded from the Internet-had not done the woman justice. Leslie was an attractive brunette with lush wavy hair that surrounded a fine-boned face. Her complexion was flawless, and the blue eyes she turned on Joanna were disarmingly direct. Still, there was an air of sadness about her, something that her upscale business attitude and attire didn’t quite conceal.

“Sheriff Brady?” she asked, holding out her hand. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did,” Joanna said. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”

Leslie turned back to the receptionist. “Is anyone in the conference room, Fran?”

“No, it’s free,” Fran said, casting a suspicious glance in Joanna’s direction.

Leslie led the way into a small conference room. “What’s this all about?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”

Joanna reached into her briefcase, pulled out Bradley Evans’s ID photo, and slid it across the table. “Does this man look familiar?”

Leslie picked up the picture, studied it closely, and then handed it back. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Who is he?”

“Maybe he came through your office here looking to buy a house,” Joanna suggested.

“Then he must have spoken to someone besides me,” Leslie replied. “I remember all my clients. I don’t recognize him.”

Listening as Leslie spoke and watching her reactions, Joanna believed she was telling the truth.

“What about these?” Joanna asked. She held the envelope over the table and let the photos spill out.

Leslie studied several of them. When she looked back at Joanna there could be no doubt about her dismay. “Where did you get these?” she demanded. “Who took them? Am I under surveillance for something?”

“These aren’t police photos,” Joanna said. “We believe you were being stalked.”

“Stalked,” Leslie echoed faintly.

“Do you have any idea when they were taken?” Joanna asked.

Leslie studied the photos more closely. “It must have been sometime last week,” she said. “I bought that outfit on my last trip to Tucson two weeks ago. Last week was the first time I wore it to work.”

“Do you know what day that was?” Joanna asked.

“Wednesday or Thursday. I guess it must have been Wednesday, but tell me, who took these pictures?” Leslie demanded. “And how were they taken without my knowledge? Whoever did it must have followed me for hours-from the post office to the mall to the grocery store. This is too creepy.” She paused and then shivered slightly as a look of understanding crossed her face. “Wait a minute. It’s him, isn’t it,” she said. “The guy whose picture you just showed me is the one who was following me around. Who is he? What does he want?”

“His name is Bradley Evans,” Joanna said. “I was hoping you could tell me what he wanted.”

“How can I? I’ve never met the man or even heard his name.”

“Is it possible you might have met him somewhere? Maybe he went by another name.”

“No. I already told you. I’ve never seen him before.”

“And you have no idea why this complete stranger would have wanted to take your photograph?” Joanna asked.

“None whatsoever,” Leslie said defiantly. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you ask him?”

“We can’t because he’s dead,” Joanna answered. “Because somebody murdered him. We found the camera with the photos still in it hidden in his vehicle.”

Leslie Markham’s eyes widened. Then she stood up. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I think I need to go get my husband.”