J Jance - Queen of the Night

The sheriff’s office was only half a mile or so from where Kino intersected I-10. Brian knew that if he hurried, he might well be there before the Honda. There was a chance a Tucson PD patrol vehicle might beat him to the punch, but that was strictly a matter of luck. Brian was afraid his quota of luck for the day had already been used up in spectacular fashion.

The fact that Kath had been grocery shopping in the same place where Southard had gone looking for a victim was beyond luck. It seemed to him that there was a higher power operating somewhere behind the scenes. There was also the disturbing realization that Kath could just as easily have been the carjacking victim. That, too, was strictly a matter of chance.

Brian was too low on the departmental totem pole to merit a shaded parking place. He piled into his stifling patrol car. The overheated steering wheel scorched his hands as he shot out of his parking place and across the lot. When he reached the exit, he was relieved to see there was no traffic at all on Old Benson Highway. He made a quick right-hand turn without bothering to stop and immediately moved into the far-left lane. He was tempted to turn on his lights and siren, but then he thought better of it. Until he was sure there was backup either from the city of Tucson or from Pima County, it was probably best to maintain a low profile.

Once on Kino, Brian drove as far as the intersection with I-10, where he hit a red light. Stopping for that gave him a chance to study access ramps going in either direction. There was no sign of the Honda on I-10, but while he was looking, Brian took a moment to radio back to Dispatch to let them know that they needed to contact Jake Abernathy and tell him that his homicide suspect was now a carjacking suspect as well.

It was nothing more or less than a CYA call. Jonathan Southard’s case was now officially Jake Abernathy’s problem. If someone from Tucson PD made the collar, Jake would be pissed. If Brian made it, the man would be downright livid. In a perfect world, results should be the final judge and this would be all about catching the bad guy rather than who was catching the bad guy. But Brian Fellows had long ago realized that under Sheriff Bill Forsythe, the Pima County Sheriff’s Department never had been and never would be a “perfect world.”

His phone rang. “Okay,” Kath said. “A Tucson PD unit is headed southbound on Campbell. Where are you?”

“At the freeway and Kino and headed north,” Brian answered. “No sign of the Honda so far, but with any luck that unit from Tucson PD and I will catch it in a squeeze play.”

“Be safe,” Kathy said.

“I always am,” he told her.

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:51 p.m.

88º Fahrenheit

Jonathan watched the woman as she drove. Fortunately she had finally stopped trying to talk to him. At first he had thought she was much younger, but now he realized she had to be somewhere in her thirties. And her baby-thank God the squalling kid had finally shut up and had evidently fallen asleep-had to be somewhere between three and four years old.

Jonathan didn’t like thinking about what was going to happen to them. It was inevitable. The prospect of that finally forced him to think about what he had done to his own kids.

Esther had deserved whatever she got and more, but maybe he should have left the kids be. Someone would have looked after Timmy and Suzy, he supposed. Corrine, Esther’s busybody sister, for one. If he’d had taken the time really to think about it before he shot them, he might not have done it. But he was having time to think about what would happen to this mother and her little boy now, and it bothered him, just like shooting the stupid Indians bothered him. In this case, however, the young woman and her son were already as good as dead. They just didn’t know it. In fact, the woman was probably still hoping he’d give them a chance to get away.

As far as when he would finish them off and where that would happen? He knew that it would have to be somewhere between here and the border. He’d direct her to turn off the freeway onto a deserted road somewhere. Then, after he’d shot them both, he’d take the car. He’d park it somewhere close to the border and then walk across, using his passport to get him past the immigration people on both sides.

They had been driving south first on Campbell and then on Kino. He was glad she was sticking to the posted speed limit. So far they hadn’t encountered any law enforcement vehicles, and once they merged onto the freeway system, Jonathan figured they’d be a lot more difficult to find.

They were nearing the intersection with I-10 where Kino widened to lanes. The Honda was still in the middle lane.

“The freeway is coming up,” he told her. “You need to get over.”

“I was planning on getting on I-19 at Ajo Way,” she said. “There’s all kinds of construction on I-10 right now. That intersection might not even be open.”

“I said get on the freeway,” he insisted. “Do it now.”

He saw her check in the rearview mirror for traffic. Even so, she didn’t pull over right away, and the entrance ramp was coming up way too fast. The last thing he needed was for this dumb broad to wreck her car with him in it.

“Get over,” he ordered again. “You’re going the way I tell you. Understand?”

She nodded. At almost the last moment, she jammed on the brakes and slewed the Accord into the right-turn lane.

“You stupid bitch!” he yelled at her. “You almost took us out just then. What the hell were you thinking?”

Naturally the abrupt lane change woke up the kid, and he immediately started howling again.

Great, Jonathan thought. But at least they were entering the freeway now and could blend into traffic there. He breathed a sigh of relief. Things were finally starting to go in his favor.

It was about time.

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:52 p.m.

88º Fahrenheit

Ginny knew that each passing telephone pole and each passing bridge abutment were missed opportunities.

She understood that she needed to choose one and use it before they got on the freeway, but she just couldn’t summon the nerve. All her instincts and all her experience were screaming at her: Do not wreck your car! But in these dire circumstances, wrecking the car was exactly what she needed to do. What she had to do.

Pepe was still asleep. If she did it while he was asleep, chances were he wouldn’t be tensed up and frightened by the impending crash. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of his bare little neck with the tiny dark curls blooming around it. What would happen to that precious little neck, the one she kissed at night when Pepe was sleeping? Would it snap to pieces in the collision? Would she be dooming her child to death or, worse, to life as a quadriplegic? Pepe would never forgive her for doing that to him. Neither would Felix. Neither would her mother-in-law. In other words, Ginny needed a slow-speed crash, not a fast one.

Hoping to see a possible crash site-an appropriate crash site-Ginny wanted to stay on surface streets and at surface street speeds for as long as possible. She saw the street signs and knew the intersection with I-10 was coming up, but she didn’t want to take it. She stayed in the middle lane.

“The freeway is coming up,” he told her. “You need to get over.”

If he was from out of town-his license plates had said California-he probably wasn’t up on the latest news concerning highway construction projects around Tucson. At least she hoped he wasn’t.

“I was planning on getting on I-19 at Ajo Way,” she told him. “There’s all kinds of construction on I-10 right now. That intersection might not even be open.”

“I said get on the freeway,” he insisted. “Do it now.”