J. Jance - Devil’s Claw

“Probably from a well in Old Mexico or from somebody’s stock tank somewhere between Pearce and the border.”

“But how many towns in Mexico chlorinate and fluoridate their water?” Casey asked back.

“Not many,” Joanna said. And then, seeing where Casey’s line of thought was leading, she added, “Same goes for ranchers and stock tanks between here and the border. Is it possible to get a match on where the water came from?”

“Maybe,” Casey said. “Ernesto’s making some follow-up phone calls on that right now.”

“Good work, Casey. Have him call me with his results. In the meantime, give Dick Voland whatever assistance he needs.”

“Will do,” Casey replied.

Sitting on the far side of Joanna’s desk, Frank Montoya had followed enough of the conversation to know what was going on. “That Casey Ledford has a good head on her shoulders,” he said. “It’s a shame we have to keep her locked up in the print lab.”

“Casey likes the print lab,” Joanna reminded him. “She’s good at what she does, and as long as she’s not afraid to think outside the box from time to time, we have the benefit of her smarts in more than one direction.”

“Sheriff Brady?” Once again Kristin’s disembodied voice came over the intercom. “Is Chief Deputy Montoya still in there?”

“Yes.”

“Would you tell him that Marliss Shackleford is out in the public lobby waiting to speak to him?”

Frank stood up. “Time to go earn my keep,” he said. “Why do you suppose she wants to talk to me?”

“The last I heard, you were still our Media Relations officer,” Joanna said.

“Media Relations!” Frank snorted, heading for the door. “For this I ought to qualify for hazardous-duty pay.”

The bell on Joanna’s private phone line jangled before the door finished closing behind Frank Montoya. Hoping the caller was Butch and wanting to compose herself and not sound too eager, she let the phone ring twice more before she answered. “Hello.”

“So how is my partner in crime this morning?” George Winfield asked. “According to Reba Singleton, you and I are schemers of the first water-conflict of interest, collusion. The woman seems to have a whole laundry list of grievances. Is there anything you and I aren’t guilty of?”

“How’s it going, George?” Joanna said, swallowing her disappointment.

She felt more than a little guilty about talking to him. Despite his having left two separate messages on Saturday, all of Sunday had passed without Joanna actually speaking to the medical examiner. She had attempted to call him-once each at home and at the office-but when he hadn’t answered after several rings, she hadn’t left messages and she hadn’t attempted to reach him again, either. She might have tried harder, if she had known exactly what to say.

Sheriff Joanna Brady cringed at the idea that the mere existence of a relationship between the two of them had caused the medical examiner’s professional integrity to be called into question. It made her feel responsible and more than a little embarrassed. She was also cautious. Eleanor Lathrop hadn’t mentioned a word about the situation to Joanna during their ride out to the High Lonesome after the Sunday-afternoon wedding shower. Joanna had taken her mother’s lack of comment to mean that Eleanor Lathrop Winfield was still in the dark about Reba Singleton’s allegations. And, since George hadn’t had nerve enough to broach such a touchy subject with his wife, Joanna thought it wise to follow suit. Still, given the seriousness of the situation, she hardly expected George to be joking around about it.

“Does Mother know what Reba Singleton is up to?” Joanna asked.

“Not exactly,” George admitted. “At least not yet. I didn’t want to discuss it with her and get her all wound up until you and I had a chance to talk. However, I just left Madame Singleton in the courthouse lobby in what can best be described as a state of high dudgeon. The way the grapevine works around here, it’s probably only a matter of hours before Ellie hears about it and the you-know-what hits the fan. What’s this about the FBI’s being expected to ride to Reba’s rescue at any moment?”

“As far as I know,” Joanna told him, “all that’s happened so far is that she’s hired Dick Voland to investigate. His task assignment is to dig up enough evidence of wrongdoing to bring in the Feds.”

“Dick Voland?” George Winfield asked. “Your ex-chief deputy?”

“That’s the one.”

“What is he now, a PI?”

“Right again. He was here at the department just a few minutes ago picking up fingerprints records on me. You see, since I’m the one who found the body, my prints are on Clayton’s ignition key.”

“Why, that ungrateful son of a bitch!”

“George,” Joanna interjected. “Dick Voland is only doing the job he was hired to do. And give the man some credit. He did me the common courtesy of stopping by yesterday afternoon to clue me in about what was going on. Giving me that advance warning wasn’t something he had to do. In fact, if Reba Singleton knew about it, I’m sure she’d be pissed as hell. Which reminds me, what was she doing in court?”

“Seeking a court order to require me to have another autopsy done by an outside medical examiner-with the county paying the tab, of course. She lost. Superior Court Judge Cameron Moore told her to take a hike. Then, once the hearing was over, she demanded that I release her father’s body immediately, along with my results and tissue samples so she can hot-foot it up to Tucson for a second-opinion autopsy which she’ll pay for.”

“What did you tell her?”

“ ”No dice, lady. You can’t have it both ways.“ If she wants a second opinion, fine. She’s more than welcome to one. But I’m not sending my results out of town. And I’m not releasing tissue samples, either. That means Clayton Rhodes’ body stays in my morgue until Ms. Singleton’s second-opinion autopsy is complete. She wanted to know what she’s supposed to do about a funeral. I told her that depends on how soon she can find some circuit-riding ME to come down here to Bisbee to do it. If Reba Singleton wants accountability, I’ll show her accountability. In spades.”

George Winfield wasn’t joking now. He was hot. Joanna recognized that his earlier attempts at humor had been entirely for her benefit-to make her feel better. Clearly he was as disturbed by Reba’s unfounded allegations as she was. And, far more than his earlier joking, knowing that did make Joanna feel better.

“I’m sorry I got you into all this, George,” she murmured.

“You?” he demanded. “How did you get me into anything? Did you have any idea you were a beneficiary under Clayton Rhodes’ will?”

“No.”

“The man died of a cerebral hemorrhage, Joanna. You didn’t cause that either. You could have turned that ignition key on and off a hundred times, and it wouldn’t have made a speck of difference. There isn’t an ME on the planet who isn’t going to rule on Clayton’s death the same way I did.”

“It’s still a hassle.”

“So’s having Dick Voland show up at your office asking for copies of your prints,” George countered. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she replied without enthusiasm. “We’re trying to get a handle on that case that turned up over by Pearce.”

“Sandra Ridder?”

“That’s the one.”

“I had planned to start the autopsy on her first thing this morning, but I ended up having to go to court instead. Thank God Judge Moore doesn’t believe in wasting a man’s time. But now both Detective Carbajal and Detective Carpenter have been called out of town. I won’t be able to start the autopsy until one or the other of them gets back.”