weekend before last?”
She answered without hesitation. “Payson. Outside of Payson, actually, visiting with a friend. Floyd Demaris is his name, but everyone calls him Pookie. He and Andy graduated from the police academy in Phoenix together, but Pookie got shot while he was still a rookie. He’s in a wheelchair and back living with his folks. He always loved the outdoors. Once each September, before it got too cold, he an Andy would go camping.”
“And, as far as you know, that’s what they did?” Detective Carpenter asked.
“As far as I know?” Joanna echoed. “You’ saying Andy didn’t go there?”
Sitting with a Cross ever-sharp pencil poised above a blank page in a meticulously kept notebook, Ernie Carpenter abruptly changed the subject. “How many guns did Andy own?”
“Two,” Joanna answered. “The.38 Chief and his.357.”
“So you’re aware he had two separate weapons?”
“Of course, I’m aware of that,” Joanna returned shortly. “Guns were the tools of Andy’s trade. Those are the kinds of things married couples usually know about each other. He carried the.357 with his uniform and wore the Chief with civilian clothes because it’s so much smaller and easier to carry.”
“So you would have expected him to take the Chief with him for the weekend rather than the.357?”
“That’s right.”
“Didn’t you find it odd that he always left one or the other of those two weapons in locker down at the department?”
“What’s odd about it?” Joanna asked.
Carpenter looked her right in the eye. “I take mine home,” he said.
“Do you have any little children at home?” she returned.
“Not anymore.”
“We do. The day Jennifer was born Andy spent most of the day in the waiting room of County Hospital with the distraught parents of a little girl who’d been playing with her father’s pistol. Remember that?”
Both officers nodded. “She died, didn’t?” Detective Carpenter asked.
“That’s right, she did. And it made quite an impression on Andy and me. He always said keeping track of one handgun was trouble enough. He didn’t want to risk having two in the house at the same time. None of this was exactly a state secret, so why all the questions about Andy’s guns? What do they have to do with the price of peanuts?”
Carpenter dropped his gaze as he made a quick notation in his notebook. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about Lefty O’Toole’s death, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
“We have the ballistics tests back,” Carpenter continued. “We’ve confirmed that Lefty shot with bullets fired from Andy’s.357. We’re estimating time of death as some time the weekend before last. That’s only a best-guess estimate, nothing definitive.”
“That’s when Andy was in Payson,” Joanna supplied.
Ernie Carpenter raised his eyes and met Joanna’s. “He wasn’t,” the detective said. “Somebody else told us he was supposed to be there, so we did some checking. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Demaris. Andy called and canceled the trip late Thursday afternoon, He said something important had come up here at home and he wouldn’t be able to make it.”
“But…” Joanna began.
Detective Carpenter silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “When he left here on Friday afternoon, did Andy say anything to you to the effect that he had changed his mind and was going somewhere else?”
“No.”
“And he stayed away the whole weekend just as he would have if he really had mad the trip to Payson?”
Joanna’s stomach muscles tightened. Before, what she had heard about the investigation had been so much hearsay. Now there could be no doubt that Detective Ernie Carpenter was trying to implicate Andy in Lefty O’Toole’s death. As the questions droned, the investigator continued to show absolutely no sign of interest in Dr. Sanders’ allegations. Hadn’t he listened to her? Maybe she hadn’t said it clearly enough.
“How much do you know about your husband’s business dealings?” Carpenter went on. His questions were professional and gratingly dispassionate.
“I know everything,” Joanna maintained. “I keep the books. We sell a few head of cattle now and then. I can show you in black and white that what we make doesn’t amount to t much money.”
“Do you own any property other than your place here, something Andy might have liquidated without your knowledge?”
“No. None at all.”
“Did a relative of his die recently?”
“No. Why?”
“Mrs. Brady,” Ernie Carpenter said slowly, “Andy was a colleague of mine. I’d like to find some legitimate source for the nine-thousand five-hundred-dollar cash deposit he made into your joint checking account on Monday of this week. Do you have any idea where that money might have come from?”
Joanna was astonished. “How much?”
“Nine-thousand-five-hundred even,” Carpenter repeated. “Sandy, down at the bank, said he brought it all into the branch in a stack of cash on Monday afternoon. He showed up it just before closing time.”
Shaken, Joanna found it difficult to speak. “But that’s almost ten thousand dollars. I can’t imagine where Andy would lay hands on that kind of money.”
“Could he have borrowed it from his parents?”
“No. The Bradys don’t have it, and he wouldn’t have borrowed it from them even they did.”
“So you have no idea where this money came from?”
“None at all.”
“Have there been other occasions when unexplained money has turned up in your account?
“No. Absolutely not.” Joanna turned to Dick Voland who had maintained a strict silence during the entire interview process.
“How can you sit here and let him ask questions like this?” she stormed. “You worked with Andy, Dick. He wasn’t like this, and you know it. He never did anything crooked in his life.”
Voland shook his head but without offering any consolation. “Let him go on, Joanna. It’s the only way we’re ever going to get to the bottom of this.”
“Did Andy ever mention Lefty O’Toole’s name to you?” Ernie asked. “Were you aware of any ongoing relationship?”
“No!” Joanna answered.
“Had you two suffered any financial reverses lately?” he continued. “Were you behind in your mortgage payments?”
“No, not at all. We were doing fine.”
“How did he act the past few weeks? Was he depressed for instance, anxious or upset?”
“No. Exactly the opposite. If anything, he was excited. He enjoyed campaigning, and that surprised him. It surprised us both. He wasn’t depressed at all.”
“Did he leave anything here that might have explained what happened? Any kind of note, a message?”
“There was a note with the flowers and ring, but that wasn’t a suicide note if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Could I see it?”
For the first time, Joanna remembered that Andy’s forgotten roses had been left in the ICU waiting room, but she had stuffed the note in a pocket of the dress where she had discovered it when she finally slipped off her soiled clothing.
“It’s in the bedroom,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”
Joanna retrieved the note, handing it over to Ernie Carpenter who studied it for some time.
