Rattlesnake Crossing

plaster. And when you get down off the mountain, make an appointment to see Chief Deputy Montoya.'

'What for?' Terry asked.

'To put in for a promotion,' Joanna said. 'You've earned it. You can tell him I said to find a spot for you in Patrol with the possibility of working into Investigations.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ernie Carpenter bagged the blood-spattered watch and Jaime Carbajal logged it. While they worked the actual crime scene, the S and R team continued to range over the river bottom and rising hillsides in search of evidence as well as the ugly, if unspoken, possibility of finding other victims. Within half an hour, Joanna's two detectives were joined by investigators from Pima County, Detectives Lazier and Hemming.

Hot, bored, and unable to make any real contribution to the task at hand, Joanna finally took Ernie aside. 'I think somebody should go to Rattlesnake Crossing and let them know what we've found. I'd hate for either Crow Woman or Danny Berridge to hear the news on the radio or from some enterprising reporter before we deliver the notification in person.'

'We've got three detectives working here now,' Ernie said. 'So if you'd like me to go along with you…'

Next-of-kin notifications always left Joanna with a hole in the pit of her stomach. Telling someone of the death of a loved one, regardless of whether that news was expected or not, often took as much of a toll on the messenger as it did on the recipient. Whoever brought the word was automatically lowed into the role of front-row spectator as someone else's entire existence imploded around him. Still, it had to be done, and this one would be worse than most.

'I'd appreciate that, Ernie,' she told him gratefully. 'I'd appreciate it more than you know.'

Leaving the on-going crime-scene investigations under the overall direction of Dick Voland, Joanna took Ernie Carpenter along with her in the Blazer for the drive to Rattle-snake Crossing. Bumping up the rough, dusty road toward the main ranch buildings, Joanna had the sense that she was traveling through some kind of deserted movie set. No people were visible, anywhere, but she did notice for the first time that all the ersatz tepees and hogans had air-conditioning units attached to discreetly camouflaged platforms placed at the rear of each pseudo-Indian dwelling.

'If these guys want to pay good money to turn themselves into real Indians for two weeks at a time, you'd think they'd be tough enough to put up with real Arizona weather.'

Ernie ignored the wry humor in her comment. 'The scalping's real enough,' he said grimly. 'Whoever's doing this made damned sure he got that part right.'

Joanna glanced in Ernie's direction. 'Have you ever seen anything like this?' she asked.

'No,' he admitted. 'I never have.'

'Since it's likely the killer's using a sniper rifle, is it possible all of this is connected to what happened to Clyde Philips?'

Ernie thought about that for a moment. 'It could be, I suppose,' he said finally. 'The fact that a fifty-caliber may have been used in this latest case does point in that direct ion. We know from what Frank told us that Clyde was trying to demo a fifty caliber, so he must have had one or more in stock.”

'Frank told me this morning that Clyde claimed to have three different models available for immediate delivery.'

'So he did have some, then,' Ernie mused. 'But which ones? And how do we know the killer's rifle is one of them? Without any serial numbers…'

'Wait a minute.' Joanna reached for the radio clip. 'Frank,' she said once she had been put through to Chief Deputy Montoya, 'how many companies manufacture fifty-calibers?'

'Not that many,' he replied. 'More than five but probably less than twenty nationwide.'

'As soon as you get back to the department, and when you're not busy dodging reporters, I want you to call all those companies. ATF should be able to help out in locating manufacturers. Once you have them on the phone, find out if any of them were doing business with Clyde Philips in Pomerene. They should be able to come up with lists of serial numbers.'

'Will do,' Frank returned. 'I'll get to it as soon as possible, although it may be a while. The first wad of reporters just drove up and they're clamoring for information. I told them to go to the Quarter Horse in Benson and wait for me there. How are you doing on the next-of-kin notification?'

'We're about to pull into the yard at Rattlesnake Crossing. We'll check in with you as soon as it's done.'

Joanna stopped the Blazer in front of a sprawling ranch house built of bulging gray river rock and gnarled, rough-hewn eight-inch timbers. She and Ernie stepped onto a spacious covered porch with flagstone flooring and a scattering of cushion-covered wooden rocking chairs. At the door, Joanna turned and took in the view. The house was built on a low rise. Anyone who had been seated on one of the porch chairs would have looked off across the San Pedro to the ridge of cliffs behind it.

'If a person had a strong enough scope,' she observed, 'he could have sat right here and seen the whole thing.'

'That's a pretty big if,' Detective Carpenter replied.

Nailed to the doorjamb was a wooden notice that said, PLEASE ENTER. Since there was no sign of either a bell or a knocker, Joanna and Ernie did as they were told. Driving from the crime scene to Rattlesnake Crossing, Joanna had used the Blazer's air-conditioning, but the two officers had been out in the unrelenting heat for so long that they were still overheated when they entered the ranch house and found it to be surprisingly cool. The room was spacious and decorated with the kind of over-stuffed furniture most often seen in old-time hotel lobbies. Directly across from the officers was what looked like an unmanned hotel check-in counter, complete with a silver bell and directions to PLEASE RING FOR ASSISTANCE.

Ernie picked up the small silver bell and gave it a shake. For a long time after that, nothing happened. While they waited, Joanna plucked an expensive-looking, all-color brochure off the counter. It was filled with tourist- grabbing photos of the ranch house, some of the tepees, and what looked like an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The pictures included one of a beautiful, raven-haired young woman wearing a squaw dress and weaving a green and white bear grass/yucca basket. Another shot showed a war-painted young man wearing little more than a loincloth and sitting bareback astride a pinto pony. Behind rider and pony was a vivid, saguaro-punctuated sunset.

Come to Apache Country, the bold-faced ad copy said. Live along the fabled San Pedro as Native American Peoples did for thousands of years before the corning of the White Man. Give your mind body the purifying cleansing that only a sweat lodge ceremony can provide. Find or renew your life's purpose by enduring your own personal Vision Quest. Return to your workaday world with the blessing and direction that can come only from the Great Spirit.

She handed the brochure to Ernie and he read it, too. 'Who dreamed this up?' he asked, handing it back to her. 'Sounds like the Apaches meet the New Agers. A two-week stay probably comes complete with frequent-flyer miles and a free pass to the Happy Hunting Ground. And the restorative value of the purification ceremony will be directly proportioned to how much lighter the poor guy's wallet is.'

Suppressing a chuckle, Joanna turned over the brochure. On the back was a paragraph that read:

THE LEGEND OF RATTLESNAKE CROSSING

Once, no rattlesnakes lived in the Land of the Apaches. They roamed the cliffs and hills on the far side of the river, but the water was so deep and swift that none could cross it. One day a great storm settled over the valley. From one full moon to the next, it rained and rained. It rained so long and so hard that some of the mountains tumbled down across the path of the river, leaving behind a wall of solid earth. Wise Old Rattlesnake took some of the younger ones and led them across the river. They have lived here ever since.

'May I help you?'

Joanna had expected Crow Woman to make an appearance. Instead, the person behind the counter was a tanned and handsome, blond haired, blue-eyed man who looked to he in his early forties. His words were touched