J. Jance - Outlaw Mountain

“Okay, I guess,” he replied. “We’re working the problem. Looks like a straight-out burglary-no TV, no radios, no jewelry. We’re finding lots of prints, and we’re collecting them all. Between this house and the other one, that’s a lot of ground to cover. It’s going to take time.”

The detective paused and glanced questioningly toward Junior, who clutched his arms and gazed skyward, saying nothing. “Who’s this?” Jaime asked.

“I’ve run into a little complication,” Joanna explained quickly. “Junior here got separated from his family, and we’re trying to help find them. Which means, by the way, that I’m not going to be able to go out to Gleeson to check on your other crew.”

“That’s no problem. They’re about to close up for the night anyway. Besides, you’re driving one of the Civvys today, aren’t you?”

Joanna nodded. “Be advised,” Jaime Carbajal said. “The road to Outlaw Mountain is a mess. Strictly four-wheel-drive. We’re having to ferry the crime scene guys in and out in one of the Broncos.”

“What all are you finding?” Joanna asked.

He nodded toward Alice Rogers’ glowing house. “It’s just like the daughter said. This place has been ransacked. No way to tell exactly how much is missing, since we don’t have any idea whit was in the house to begin with. Well have to get relatives to help us with an inventory. The mobile home over in Gleeson looks like somebody did a fast job of packing rather than tearing the place apart. If you’re asking for my best guess, I’d say whoever left there did so in one hell of a hurry.”

“As in on the run?”

Carbajal nodded. “Maybe.”

Joanna thought about that. Farley Adams taking off in a hurry didn’t square with Pima County’s kids-as-killers pro-gram, but it was something to check out. If Farley Adams had nothing to hide, why had he run away?

“Do we have any idea what kind of vehicle he’d be driving?” Joanna asked.

“We do have that. A vintage Jeep, a post-World War II Willys model. It belongs to Alice Rogers.”

“Why is everybody so intent on stealing Alice Rogers’ cars? And how did you find that out, Department of Transportation?”

“No,” Jaime said. “I talked to Nadine Harvey, Farley Adams’ neighbor. She runs that junkyard in Gleeson right at the turnoff to the mine. As near as I can tell, she spends most of her life standing out in her yard sweeping chinaberries out of the dirt and watching everything that goes on.”

“Did she have any idea when Farley took off?”

“She knew exactly. Said it was yesterday afternoon. She claims Adams came hauling ass down the road about an hour or so after Frank Montoya left.”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Joanna mused. “That means he has a long head start on us, over twenty-four hours. Have you done anything about finding him?”

“Not yet. I’ve had my hands full, but I will. What do you think, an APB?” he added.

“No. I think that would be premature. Besides, a Jeep that old isn’t going to be hard to find. He may have headed for the border, where he can still buy leaded gas. For now, let’s post the Jeep as a stolen vehicle and wait for somebody to spot it for us. That way, by the time we locate Farley Adams, we may know more about what we’re up against.”

Next to Joanna, Junior stirred restlessly, shifting from one foot to the other, moaning softly. “Go,” he whimpered, making his first sound in almost an hour. “Go. Go. Go.”

Glad that he was speaking to her at last, Joanna did her best to reassure him. “It’s all right, Junior,” she crooned. “We’ll be leaving soon. Just let me finish talking to Detective Carbajal.” She turned back to Jaime. “Sorry I can’t be more of a help right now,” she told him. “As you can see, I-”

“You’ve got your hands full, Sheriff Brady,” Jaime said. “Don’t worry. You take care of him. I can handle this.”

“But I’ll want you at tomorrow morning’s briefing,” Joanna said. “With everything that’s been happening today-here, in Tucson, and out at Sierra Vista-we’re going to need to start the day with firsthand information on all fronts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime said. “I’ll be there.”

By now, Junior had edged away from Joanna and was skittering down the road. He had already passed the Crown Victoria by the time she was able to dash after him, catch him by the arm, and bring him back to the vehicle.

“Go,” he said again, more urgently this time. “Junior go. Junior go now!”

“All right,” Joanna agreed. “We’re going. Come get in the car.”

He tried to shake loose of her hand. Remembering what had happened to Sister Ambrose, Joanna held firm. After a momentary struggle, he quieted. For a matter of seconds Joanna wondered if she should lock him in the backseat rather than letting him ride up front with her, but by then he was no longer fighting. She helped him into the front passenger seat and buckled the seat belt across him. Then she hurried around the car and climbed in herself.

She had started the car, backed up, and completed a U-turn when the sharp and unmistakable odor of urine flooded her nostrils. Her heart sank with the sudden realization of what Junior had really meant when he said he wanted to go. She knew instantly that Junior’s particular brand of “go” was going to play havoc with the Civvy’s cloth-covered interior.

Embarrassed for Junior and angry with herself for not understanding his urgent plea, Joanna floorboarded the gas pedal. There was no point then in stopping the car and trying to hustle him into a rest room. The damage was already done.

What are the guys in Motor Pool going to think when I bring this one in? she wondered.

On the seat beside her, Junior buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “Sorry,” he wailed over and over again. “Junior sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Joanna said, swallowing her own anger in hopes of calming him. “You tried to tell me and I didn’t understand. We’ll be home soon, Junior. We’ll take care of it.”

He raised his head hopefully. “Home?” he said.

A feeling of total helplessness washed over Joanna. She had no idea where his home was or how to take him there. In his innocence he thought she did and trusted her to make good her promise. How could she do that? And how would she deliver on what she had told Father Mulligan, that she would take care of Holy Trinity’s little lost lamb?

Where would she find something as simple as dry clothing for him to wear? There was nothing out at High Lonesome Ranch that would fit him. Joanna had long since sent Andy’s things to a local clothing bank. Even if she was able to solve the basic issue of dressing Junior, what would she do with him after that? For one thing, there was the question of bed-rooms. The house at High Lonesome Ranch was a modest two-bedroom affair with no guest room. Butch had slept fine on Joanna’s cloth-covered sofa. With Junior that wouldn’t be possible-for several obvious reasons.

On the seat beside her, an inconsolable Junior once again dissolved into tears. His despairing, muffled sobs were enough to break Joanna’s heart.

“Hush now,” she said. “Do you like to sing?”

Continuing to whimper, he didn’t answer.

They were through Tombstone now, past the airport, and coming down the long curve into the upper San Pedro Valley. Off to the right-a good twenty miles across the valley-the combined lights of Sierra Vista and Fort Huachuca glimmered along the base of the mountains. Ahead of them, in the darkened sky over the Mule Mountains, a single star-the evening star-glittered brightly. Seeing it reminded Joanna of some of the trips she had made back and forth to Tucson when Jenny was a baby. Driving by herself, there had been no way to comfort her crying child but to sing. Would that same magic work on Junior?