'You gotta wake up, Clyde,' Belle Philips was sobbing am she shook the body back and forth. 'Don't joke with me now. It's not funny.'
Fighting to control her gag reflexes, Joanna ventured far enough into the room to lay a restraining hand on the distraught woman's shoulder. 'It's too late,' she said gently. 'Leave him be now, Belle. You'll have to leave him be.'
Still holding her dead husband in a sitting position, Belle Philips swung around and glared at Joanna. The look on her face was one of such baleful rage that for an instant Joanna thought the other woman was about to take a swing at her. Warily trying to move out of range, she stepped back. And it was that one full step that saved her.
After a second or two, Belle seemed to lose interest in Joanna. Instead, she let go of the body. As the dead weight of Clyde Philips sank back onto the bed, she threw herself on top of it.
Watching from a few feet away, Joanna was mystified by the gesture. There was no sense to it. There was no way to tell if Belle hoped her smothering, all-enveloping embrace might warm the chilled body or somehow force breath back into the lifeless corpse. Suddenly, under the combined weight of both bodies, the frail old bedstead could bear no more. With a creak and a groan, it gave a lurch. Next, the two ends-head and foot alike-seemed to fold together like someone trying unsuccessfully to shuffle a gigantic deck of cards. Then the whole thing listed to one side, crashed to the floor, and disappeared as the wooden floor disintegrated beneath it.
Almost a minute went by before the dust cleared enough for Joanna to see what had happened. Coughing and squinting through tear-filled eyes, she found herself standing on the edge of a jagged wooden cliff. The aged floor, weakened by generations of hardworking termites, had simply collapsed into the earthen crawl space under the house.
Gingerly, Joanna edged over to the musty abyss and looked down. As the dust cleared, she could see a rough dirt surface five or six feet below. In the dim, dusty gloaming she could see Clyde -at least she caught a glimpse of one naked leg. She could also see the glowing end of the cigarette. Belle, however, was nowhere in sight.
'Belle?' Joanna called. 'Are you there? Are you all right?'
No answer.
Joanna knew that the cool, moist earth underneath the house could very well be a haven for any number of unwelcome critters from black widow spiders to scorpions, centipedes, and worse. In her old life, Joanna Brady wouldn't have ventured into that crawl space on a bet. But now it was her job. Her duty. Belle Philips was down there, possibly badly hurt and most likely unconscious.
Looking around, Joanna located a bedside table that had been far enough from the hole that it hadn't tumbled in. Finding a floor joist that still seemed sturdy enough to hold her weight, Joanna lowered the table down as far as she could reach into the crawl space. She had to drop it the last foot or so, but fortunately, it landed upright and stayed that way. Thankful that her skirt and blazer were permanent press, she lowered herself onto the table and climbed down. Once in the crawl space, she spent a few minutes adjusting to the dim light so she could find Belle.
When the bed crashed through the floor, it had spilled Belle off and sent her rolling away from the hole. Fighting an attack of claustrophobia, Joanna finally located the unconscious woman lying with her head against the foundation. By then, Clyde Philips' ex-wife seemed to be coming around.
'Where am I?' she mumbled dazedly. 'What happened?'
At the sound of Belle's voice, Joanna went limp with relief. She was grateful, too, for the woman's forgetfulness.
'You fell,' Joanna said. 'Don't move, because you may he hurt. I'm going for help.'
Unfortunately, Belle Philips' blessed forgetfulness didn't last. 'What about Clyde?' she demanded, reaching out and clutching at Joanna's arm before she managed to make her escape. 'Where is he?'
“You can't help him, Belle,' Joanna said firmly. 'It's too late for him. I've got to get help for you. Promise me that you'll stay right here. That you won't move. Promise?'
There was a long moment of silence. 'I promise,' Belle wild finally, and then she began to cry.
CHAPTER THREE
Two separate fire departments responded to the 9-1-1 call Joanna placed from a creaky rotary-dial phone on the wall in Clyde Philips' kitchen. One truck arrived from the Pomerene Volunteer Fire Department, as did another engine and ambulance from Benson. One by one, Belle Philips' would-be rescuers disappeared into the house. Meanwhile, Sheriff Joanna Brady went out to the Blazer and radioed back the department. Larry Kendrick, head of the department’s dispatch unit, happened to be on duty.
'Put me through to Detective Carpenter,' she said. Ernie Carpenter was her department's lead homicide investigator. 'When I'm done speaking to him, I'll need to talk to Dick Voland as well.'
''This isn't exactly your lucky day,' Larry told her 'Ernie just went home with a migraine headache, and Deputy Voland is locked up in the conference room with the guys from the MJF '
The Multi-Jurisdiction Force was a group of officers from various jurisdictions that had handed together to deal with crime along or near the U.S./Mexican border. Cochise County 's eighty-mile stretch of international line made Joanna's department the natural headquarters for such a group working what law enforcement had dubbed Cocaine Alley.
'What about Detective Carbajal?' Joanna asked. 'Is he in?' Jaime Carbajal was Cochise County 's newly minted homicide detective. His promotion from deputy to detective had happened on Sheriff Brady's watch.
'Jaime's in,' Larry said. 'I can patch you through to him.'
'Good. By the time I finish with him, maybe you can pry Dick free from the MJF long enough for me to talk to him. We have a situation up here in Pomerene that could be either a homicide or a suicide.'
'But I thought…'
'You thought what?'
'I understood the nine-one-one call to say that the incident in Pomerene involved a woman with injuries. Something about a bed falling through the floor.'
'Right,' Joanna said grimly, 'but that's only half of it. She and the bed fell, all right, but so did a body. The dead man happened to be on the bed at the time.'
'Oh, boy,' Larry said. 'Okay, then, here's Detective Carbajal.'
Jaime came on the line. 'What gives, Sheriff Brady?'
'I need you up here in Pomerene,' Joanna told him. 'ASAP. We've got a dead man with a garbage bag on his head and cinched tight around his neck.' Looking down at her tan suit, Joanna caught a glimpse of the grime running down the front of her skirt, blouse, and blazer. 'Not only is he dead,' she added, 'the bed he was on fell into the crawl space under his house. It's a mess down there, so whatever you do, don't show up wearing good clothes.'
'Whereabouts in Pomerene?' Jaime asked.
'Four-two-six Rimrock. Do you know where that is?'
'Not exactly,' Jaime said, 'but I'll find it. Pomerene isn't that big, and Dispatch has the new county emergency map. Larry Kendrick can give me directions over the radio while I'm on my way. Will you still be on the scene when I get there, or do I need to get the details from you now?'
Joanna glanced first at her watch and then at the waiting ambulance. It was now almost twenty minutes since the six firemen and two EMTs had disappeared through Clyde Philips' front door. It seemed likely that they were having some difficulty strapping Belle's oversized body to a stretcher and then hauling her up out of the crawl space.
'Believe me,' Joanna said, 'I'll be here.'
'Okay,' Jaime said. 'I'm on my way. You want me to send you back to Dispatch?'
'Please.'
'I called Chief Deputy Voland out of his meeting. He's right here,' Larry told her. 'Hang on while I put him on the line.'
'I understand you've got a homicide up there?' Dick Voland demanded at once. 'Where? Who?'
