already gone.
Pulling into the parking lot at Daisy’s Cafe, Joanna was surprised to see several familiar cars there as well as Marianne’s antique VW bug. Joanna’s mother’s blue Buick was parked next to the VW and her former in-laws’ Camry was parked next to that. She recognized Angie Hacker’s husband’s Hummer as well. It was only when she saw Kristin’s little red Geo tucked in behind the Hummer and the pink and blue balloon bouquets on either side of the door that Joanna finally tumbled to what was going on. This wasn’t just her usual weekday lunch with Marianne. It was a baby shower.
Grinning from ear to ear, Junior Dowdle, Daisy and Moe Maxwell’s adopted developmentally disabled son, greeted Joanna at the door. “It’s a party,” he said, pointing at Joanna’s belly.
And “everything” was exactly what they had. Half of the restaurant had been cordoned off with strips of pink and blue crepe paper to accommodate the party Much to Joanna’s surprise, Jenny was seated at the makeshift flower-festooned head table.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Joanna asked. “Who sprung you?”
“Grandma,” Jenny said, nodding in Eva Lou’s direction. Taking that as a signal, Joanna’s former mother-in-law came over and gave her a hug.
“It’s a big occasion,” Eva Lou Brady declared. “I didn’t think she should miss it. And I wouldn’t miss it, either, not for the world.”
Andrew Roy Brady, Joanna’s first husband, had been gunned down years earlier. Nevertheless, his parents, Jim Bob and Eva Lou, continued to be unfailingly supportive and loving to their former daughter-in-law. Joanna didn’t have the slightest doubt that they would treat this new grandchild, Butch and Joanna’s baby, with the same love and attention that they had always lavished on Andy and Joanna’s Jenny.
“Thank you,” Joanna whispered, fighting back tears of gratitude.
Eleanor stepped in the moment Eva Lou moved away. “Don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” she warned. “It’s only a baby shower, for Pete’s sake. No reason to burst into tears.”
Joanna’s mother’s reaction was in such stark contrast to Eva Lou’s that it helped Joanna pull herself back together. “Right,” she said, wiping her eyes. “No reason at all.”
During lunch, Joanna sat between Marianne Maculyea and Angie Hacker. Eleanor still managed to look disapproving whenever Angie was around, but Joanna’s and Marianne’s unflinching acceptance of Angie had made it easy for most of Bisbee to forget about the woman’s less-than-stellar past. The fact that she had once made her living as a prostitute had faded into the background. She was now recognized as the prime reason one of Bisbee’s favorite watering holes, Brewery Gulch’s famed Blue Moon Saloon and Lounge, remained open for business.
Marianne couldn’t help gloating. “So we really did surprise you?”
“You certainly did,” Joanna agreed. “Nobody breathed a word.”
The whole thing was great fun and about as diametrically opposed to the grim way Joanna’s day had started as humanly possible. When she finally returned to the Cochise County Justice Center, it was mid-afternoon and much later than she had anticipated. She drove there with the backseat of her Crown Victoria loaded down with a collection of baby gear-most of it in suitably impartial shades of pastel green and yellow. Eleanor’s gifts, however, were all unabashedly blue-clearly announcing her preference for a boy. It surprised Joanna more than a little to realize that for some reason her mother was openly lobbying for a grandson.
Kristin was already back at her desk by the time Joanna got there. “Hope you didn’t mind my little fib about what I was doing at lunch,” she said.
Joanna’s initial dealings with Kristin had been difficult. Over time, however, they had become much more cordial. “No,” Joanna said. “I didn’t mind it at all. It was a fun shower, and I’m glad you were there.”
Chief Deputy Montoya emerged from his office and joined the conversation. “Did you pick up a lot of good loot?” he asked.
“You mean you knew about the shower, too?”
“Of course I did,” he said. “The only person who didn’t was you. So how was it?”
“The party was great,” Joanna said. “How about the board of supervisors meeting?”
“Dull,” Frank said. “Thank God for small favors. We weren’t in the hot seat for a change. Today’s meeting mostly concerned sanitary landfill issues, so we lucked out.”
“I’ll say,” Joanna agreed. “Time for the briefing?”
Frank nodded. “Coming right up. Ernie just got back from that autopsy. We can have the Double Cs sit in on the briefing as well.”
When Joanna entered the conference room a few minutes later, Frank and the two detectives were already there. Ernie, sitting with his arms crossed, looked more somber than usual.
“Do we have a cause of death?” Joanna asked.
Ernie nodded. “Blunt-force trauma to the head from a single blow. But the cause of death isn’t what makes this such an interesting case, Sheriff Brady. I’ve been in Homicide a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Like what?” Joanna asked.
“All ten of the guy’s fingers have been whacked off,” Ernie said, letting his breath out slowly. “All ten of ‘em! And not with a knife, either. Whoever did it probably used kitchen shears or maybe garden pruning shears of some kind. The only good thing about it is at least the guy was dead when they did that part.”
Ernie’s chilling words washed across Joanna like a bucket of icy water. It was a mind-bending shock to move from the carefree atmosphere of the baby shower to a recitation of murder and mayhem in the space of less than an hour. For a moment the room was totally silent. Gathering herself, Joanna was the first to speak.
“What actually killed him, then, and when?”
“The doc says he’d been dead for a good twenty-four hours and maybe more before he was found, and that he was killed somewhere else and brought to the dump site much later. There are some signs of defensive wounds- bruising and that kind of thing-that would indicate some kind of struggle.”
“Any trace evidence from the perpetrator?”
“Doc Winthrop collected some hair and fiber from the body. I brought that and the bloody tarp back here to the lab. Dave is starting to go over it now-looking for prints, blood smears, and so forth. The bloodstains we saw on the tarp were due to leakage from the wounds to his fingers.”
“Any ID found on the body?” Joanna asked.
“None at all,” Ernie said. “Doc estimates John Doe to be in his mid- to late fifties. Lots of dental work, done on the cheap, that would help identify him if we end up having to use dental records. Other than that, the only distinguishing mark is a tattoo-a homegrown, do-it-yourself job-that says ‘One day at a time.”“
“What does removal of the fingers tell us?” Joanna asked.
“My guess would be that the victim’s prints must be in the system somewhere,” Jaime offered. “The killer is betting that if we don’t have fingerprints, we won’t be able to identify him.”
Joanna considered that suggestion. “So it’s possible we’re talking about a guy who has been in jail at least once at some time in the past, and he’s also been involved in AA.”
“Doesn’t narrow the field much,” Frank said. “Lots of ex-cons have issues with drugs and alcohol. The big problem with Alcoholics Anonymous is just that-they’re anonymous. We’re not going to get any help from them in making our ID.”
“But that’s exactly what we have to do-figure out who he is,” Joanna said. “Until we take that first step, there’s no way to trace his movements leading up to the homicide. Have we checked out missing-persons reports?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime Carbajal replied. “Already done. I’ve got MP info from Arizona, New Mexico, California, and Nevada. So far there’s nothing that’s even close.”
“What are the chances,” Joanna asked, “that we’re dealing with someone who was locked up for a long time? Maybe he decided to make trouble for someone-maybe someone who helped put him away-as soon as he got out. Let’s check and see if we have any recent parolees who have suddenly dropped off their probation officers’ radar.”
“Don’t expect me to work overtime on this one,” Ernie grumbled sourly.
Joanna studied her detective. Ernie had a tendency to be grumpy on occasion, but throughout the briefing his attitude had been one notch under surly.
“What do you mean, Detective Carpenter?” she asked. “Do you have a problem with this case?”
“Damn right I’ve got a problem with it!” Ernie growled. “We’ve got no crime scene. No suspects. So with
