“Joaquin is dead?” Dolores Mattias said uncomprehendingly.
“Please come with us,” Joanna begged. “It may be too late to help your husband, but it’s not too late to keep his killer from getting away.”
Wordlessly, as her body convulsed into heaving sobs, Dolores Mattias allowed herself to be helped into the Yukon and buckled into her seat.
Tica Romero’s voice, distorted by static, hissed through the radio. “We have two units within sight of the ranch house now. They report there’s a horse tethered to a post on the front porch. Please advise how many people, besides the suspect, are likely to be inside and what you want our guys to do.”
“In addition to the suspect three people are most likely inside,” Joanna answered. “Aileen Houlihan, who’s bedridden; a nurse; and the suspect’s wife, Leslie Markham. Tell our officers to wait,” she added. “We’re coming there as fast as we can.”
At the gate, Ernie Carpenter bailed from the Yukon in order to drive Joanna’s Crown Victoria back down to the scene of the action. In the backseat, Dolores’s sobs had quieted.
“Why?” she asked finally. “Why would Mr. Markham shoot my husband?”
“It’s a very long story Mrs. Mattias,” Joanna said gently. “But I believe it’s because your husband knew too much.”
Chapter 21
Once they arrived within sight of the ranch house, for what seemed an interminable length of time no one came or went. The house remained dead still. The only visible movement was the occasional switch of the tethered horse’s tail. As Joanna’s deputies took up defensive positions, she called in to Dispatch.
“Tica,” she said. “See if you can find a listed phone number for Aileen Houlihan.”
“I have an A. Houlihan,” Tica replied. “On Triple H Ranch Road.”
“That’s the one,” Joanna replied. “Give me the number.” When Joanna dialed it, Leslie Markham answered the phone. She sounded unhurried and completely calm.
“This is Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “Is your husband there with you?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Who else is there?”
“Just the three of us-Rory, my mother, and me. Fortunately, I sent the daytime nurse home. The nighttime one hasn’t come on duty yet.”
“Are you all right?” Joanna asked.
“I’m fine,” Leslie returned with amazing coolness. “Rory has a gun, though, and he’s threatening to use it. I told him to go ahead. As far as I’m concerned, dying of a bullet wound is infinitely preferable to dying of HD.”
“Put him on the phone,” she said.
“He won’t touch it,” Leslie said half a minute or so later. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“But I want to talk to him. Does your phone have a speaker option? If so, turn it on.”
“It’s on,” Leslie said. “He can hear you now.”
“Put down your weapon and come out of the house, Rory,” Joanna said. “It’s over. An ambulance is on its way to pick up Mr. Mattias and take him to the hospital, but he told us everything. We know all about you and Ruth and about Lisa Evans and Aileen’s dead baby. He even told us about Bradley Evans.”
That was all a calculated lie. Joaquin Mattias was dead. He hadn’t come close to telling them everything. But D. H. Lathrop had taught his daughter the fine art of bluffing at the same time he was teaching her how to play poker. Joanna Brady was definitely her father’s daughter in that regard.
At first the only thing coming through the phone was silence. Finally Leslie Markham spoke. “What baby?” she asked.
Joanna didn’t allow herself to be diverted into that conversation any more than she could allow herself to look at Dolores.
The discussion of Aileen Houlihan’s murdered baby would have to wait until Leslie’s life was no longer in danger.
“Let your wife go,” Joanna said without responding to Leslie’s question. “If you harm her in any way, Arizona state law will never allow you to inherit, Mr. Markham. You’re already looking at three separate homicide charges. Don’t make it worse.”
Another period of tense silence followed. Again, Leslie was the one who spoke.
“I’m going then,” she announced. “I’m going to walk out.”
“You can’t,” Rory said. “Don’t do it.”
“Why not? Because you’re going to shoot me? Don’t make me laugh. You can’t hurt me any worse than you already have.”
A moment later the screen door opened. As Joanna and the assembled deputies held their collective breaths, Leslie Markham walked to the edge of the porch, where she leaped off, past the startled horse, and then sprinted away from the house. She didn’t stop until she reached Deputy Raymond’s Yukon parked at the far end of the driveway. As she neared the vehicle, Raymond reached around and opened the door behind him, allowing her to dive inside.
“All right, Mr. Markham,” Joanna continued into the phone. “Leslie is here now. She’s safe. Toss down your weapon and come out with your hands up.”
Rory Markham’s wordless reply consisted of a single small click as he disconnected the speakerphone, followed by the chilling sound of a solitary gunshot. They all knew he was dead long before the deputy who had let himself in through the back door sounded out the all clear. When Joanna finally gave herself permission to turn around and look at the women in the backseat, Leslie Markham, sobbing, was being comforted by Dolores Mattias. Seeing them together, Joanna wanted to gather both women into her arms and tell them what she knew-to explain how this series of calamities had befallen them, but there wasn’t time. Not then.
Joanna got out of the Yukon and caught up with Ernie. “We’ll need to curtain off whatever part of the room Markham used to blow his brains out,” she told him. “I know it’s a crime scene, but Leslie and the nurses will have to have access to Aileen.”
Ernie nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll see what we can do.”
As he walked away, Joanna reached back inside and plucked the radio out of its holder. She needed to call Dispatch and let them know what had happened-that they’d need crime scene people and Dr. Winfield and search warrants and all those other necessary things. But as she pushed the button down to speak, she felt the sudden gush of water running down her legs.
“Is everyone all right?” Tica was saying. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“No,” Joanna began. Just then the first contraction hit and hit her hard, taking her breath away. “On second thought,” she said when it ended, “maybe an ambulance is a good idea.”
“I thought the two gunshot victims were both dead,” Tica responded.
“They are dead,” Joanna said. “But I believe I’m going to have this baby, and it could be soon.”
“Ambulance is on its way, Sheriff Brady,” Tica reported back a moment later. “Do you want me to call your husband and have him meet you at the hospital?”
“No,” Joanna replied, “that won’t be necessary. Calling him will give me something to do while I wait.”
While Dennis Lee Dixon lay sleeping in his bassinet, Joanna plucked the clicker off her bedside table and searched through the channels until she located
The orderly came in bringing her breakfast-ghastly oatmeal, cold toast, and something that was supposed to pass for coffee. It made Joanna long for one of Butch’s perfectly cooked over-easy eggs and a side of his crisp bacon. But Dr. Lee had said his policy was that new mothers needed to rest and that he wanted her in the hospital for a full twenty-four hours, so twenty-four hours it would be.
