“No, to Senora Aileen’s house. I was there. It was late in the afternoon some day the week before last, maybe Wednesday or Thursday. A man drove up to the house in a red pickup truck.
When he knocked on the door, I thought maybe he was one of those missionaries that are always coming around, but he wasn’t a missionary at all. Instead, it was some crazy man who came storming up onto the porch and started pounding on the door. I was getting ready to give Aileen her bath. When I came to the door, the man told me he was there to see his wife, Lisa somebody. I don’t remember the last name. He said he wanted to talk to her.
“I told him he was mistaken-that the only person living there was named Aileen Houlihan and that she was very ill, too ill to see anyone. Then he said, ”Is she Leslie Markham’s mother?“ I said, yes, of course she was. At that point he pulled out this picture-maybe not this exact one, but one just like it. He waved it at me and said, ”Isn’t this Aileen?“ And I told him no, it wasn’t. Not even close. Then he just went nuts. He pounded his fist on one of the posts so hard that it made the whole porch shake. It scared me to death. I was afraid he was going to force his way into the house no matter what I said. I don’t know what would have happened if Mr. Markham hadn’t driven up right then. He had come to deliver a prescription he had picked up in town. He came up on the porch and asked what was going on. I told him. He said I should go inside and that he’d handle it. And he did.”
“What do you mean, he handled it?” Joanna asked.
“I don’t know exactly. I went back inside to take care of Aileen. When I came back out, the man was gone along with his truck. So was Mr. Markham.”
Once again Joanna reached into the envelope. This time she pulled out the enlargement of Bradley Evans’s ID photo. “Is this the man who came to the door?”
Using her reading glasses again, Dolores Mattias studied the photo. “Yes,” she said finally. “This is the man from the porch. Who is he?”
“His name is Bradley Evans,” Joanna said. “He’s the man we told you about when we first got here, the man who was murdered. His body was found on Friday morning out near Paul’s Spur. A few days later his pickup was found with a For Sale sign on it in a vacant lot in Huachuca City. The truck was red at one time, Mrs. Mattias, but it had been painted over with gray primer.”
Dolores Mattias sucked in her breath. “And so, because I bought primer, you think I had something to do with this?” she demanded. “Or that my husband did? You tricked me into talking to you, Sheriff Brady. I think you should leave now.” Then suddenly she stopped speaking. After a long pause, her face seemed to collapse on itself as she reached some appalling conclusion.
“No,” she said.
“No what?” Joanna asked.
“Joaquin is involved, isn’t he!”
“Why would you say that?”
“He must be. That’s why he was so upset this morning when he dropped me off. When we drove up and he saw the cop car there in front of the house, he almost drove right past. When I asked him what he was doing, he said…”
Sobbing uncontrollably now and too overcome to continue, Dolores Mattias paused again.
“What did he say?”
“It wasn’t just what he said. It was how he looked. His face went pale; his hands shook. I was afraid he might be having a heart attack or something. I asked him if he was okay and he said, ”No matter what happens, I love you.“ I thought it was odd- strange even. Joaquin isn’t sentimental. My husband says he loves me sometimes-on my birthday or our anniversary or on Valentine’s Day, but not out of the blue like that, for no reason. He was really telling me good-bye, wasn’t he! Joaquin saw the cops were there and he was afraid because he was involved in whatever happened to that man. What if Joaquin’s dead now, too?”
“Please, Mrs. Mattias,” Joanna said. “You mustn’t jump to conclusions. Your husband is probably fine. He’s just gone off somewhere and we have to find him, that’s all. But what makes you think Joaquin may be involved?”
“He was gone Thursday night,” Dolores admitted softly.
“What do you mean, gone?” Joanna asked.
“I mean, he left the house. He was away for several hours- for most of the night. We turned off the TV after the news and went to bed. He waited for a long time-until after he thought I was asleep, then he got up and snuck out of the room. The next thing I heard was him driving out of the yard. He didn’t come back until almost sunup. I was still awake, but I kept my eyes shut when he came in. He snuck back into bed and pretended to be asleep when I got up a little while later.”
“Did you say anything to him about it?” Joanna asked. “Did you ask him where he’d been or what he’d been doing?”
Dolores shook her head. “Joaquin’s a cowboy. He’s always been a handsome man,” she said. “Years ago he had a girlfriend. When I found out about it, he broke it off, but I was afraid it might be happening again-that he had a new girlfriend.”
“And what do you think now?”
“I no longer believe he was using the primer to help a friend paint his car,” she said slowly. “I think Joaquin may have done something far worse than having a girlfriend.” It was a painful admission for Dolores to make. Joanna’s heart went out to her.
“I’m sorry to put you through all this, Mrs. Mattias. Maybe we’re all wrong. Maybe when we find Joaquin, he’ll be able to give us a reasonable explanation for all this. But for right now, we should probably be going. Here’s my card. Please call me if he comes home or if you hear from him. We need to talk to him.”
Dolores Mattias stared blindly at the card without benefit of her reading glasses. Then she dropped it on the table beside her. “Will he go to prison?” she asked.
If Joaquin Mattias was convicted of being involved in a murder, he would certainly go to prison. It was possible Joaquin’s involvement was limited to helping move the body, but these days even that was considered a felony.
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “That depends on what, if anything, he’s done.”
“Yes,” Dolores Mattias said softly. “I understand.”
As they walked toward the Crown Victoria, Frank made his feelings clear. “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded. “We want to
“I didn’t want to scare the poor woman any more than necessary, but what she told us was important. If we play her right, she may tell us even more.”
“For instance.”
“We know from her that Bradley Evans came to Aileen’s house. Given Bradley Evans’s frame of mind at the time, I think it’s fair to assume that he and Rory Markham would have had some kind of altercation. Yet, when I showed Bradley’s photo to the Markhams, Rory categorically denied ever having seen the man.”
“So Rory’s a liar.”
“He’s a liar, all right,” Joanna said. “He lied to me, and I believe he’s also lying to his wife. If we were to ask Leslie about it, I bet we’d learn that she’s entirely in the dark about her husband’s grand plan to subdivide the Triple H. Leslie is young, relatively inexperienced, and susceptible to Rory’s bullying. I’ve seen him do it firsthand. He’s under the impression that the moment Aileen dies, the coast will be clear for him to do whatever he wants.”
“If Hospice is coming in on the case, it probably won’t be long before that happens,” Frank added. “Days or even weeks. What are the chances he’s already greased the skids as far as Planning and Zoning is concerned?”
“Can you check on that?” Joanna asked.
“Will do.”
“So here’s Rory, about to make a killing with this real estate deal. Everything is going swimmingly, then Bradley Evans shows up. Next thing you know, Evans is dead, and Rory Markham seems to be the last person who saw the victim alive. Given the lies he told us about not knowing Evans, that turns him into our prime suspect.”
“But why would Markham do it?” Frank asked. “What’s his motive?”
“Somehow Bradley Evans posed a threat to Rory Markham’s grand design.”
“What kind of threat?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
