“Who took the call?”
“Tica Romero.”
“And who called it in?”
“Let me check.” There was a slight delay before he answered. “Ivy Patterson. I believe she’s one of Harold’s daughters.”
“And who responded?”
“Deputy Dave Hollicker. His car was closest to the scene at the time. As far as I know, he’s still there. After Hollicker’s initial survey, he called for backup. Dick Voland and Ernie Carpenter both headed out there on the double.”
Ernie Carpenter was Cochise County’s lead homicide investigator, but his being called in didn’t necessarily mean murder. He was usually summoned to the site of any unexplained death, where the first order of business was to determine whether the person had died of natural or unnatural causes. As acting sheriff, Dick Voland naturally would have responded as well. The problem was, Dick Voland was no longer acting sheriff. And no one had bothered to call the real one. The new one.
“I see,” Joanna said, keeping her voice free of any trace of rancor.
It was highly possible that Tica Romero and Larry Kendrick were doing things exactly as they had been told. Joanna’s swearing-in, the official changing of the guard, should have been top priority at all duty briefings as officers came on shift, but clearly few, if any, had been told. Joanna suspected that fault for that oversight lay fairly high up in the chain of command. If Joanna was going to make an issue of it, she had to make sure she was dealing with the responsible party.
“Kristin Marsten isn’t in yet, is she?”
“No, ma’am. She doesn’t come in until eight or so.
“Leave word with her that I’m out at the Rocking P and won’t be in until later. And from now on, Larry, things are going to be different. If there’s a dead body found anywhere in this county, I want to know about it. Any time of the day or night. Once you dispatch duty officers and emergency personnel to a scene, I’m to be called next. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”
“Good.”
“And Sheriff Brady?”
“Yes?”
“Is it okay if I say congratulations?”
“It’s fine.”
Once off the phone, Joanna hurried into the bed room to grab a quick shower and get ready herself. Standing under the steaming water, she felt dumb washing her hair just to go out and tramp around a crime scene, but she did it anyway. The shower was fine, but she didn’t hassle with makeup. Her shiner would just have to shine.
Once again, the real question was what to wear. Did men have this problem? Certainly not in the same way women did. No matter what she wore, it made a statement one way or the other. And given that Joanna was operating in what was perceived as a male venue, she was subject to intense scrutiny every time she poked her head outside the house.
By the time she was standing in front of the closet in her underwear, Joanna had nixed the idea of either a dress or a skirt. For working in Milo’s office, the choices had been relatively simple, heels, panty hose, skirts, blouses, and blazers. But none of those made sense for a glory hole on Juniper Flats.
Finally, she settled on the much-used jeans and hiking boots she had worn for target practice earlier that morning, but she passed on the shirt. Her worn plaid flannel shirt, the comfortable one with patches on both elbows, would never do. Over coming her natural reluctance, she turned at last to Andy’s end of the closet.
All through the campaign, she had put off sorting Andy’s things, telling herself that painful job, along with designating possible guardians, could wait until after the election, until she felt stronger.
The Ladies’ Auxiliary at Canyon Methodist had started a clothing bank, and Joanna had planned to take most of Andy’s clothes there.
She rummaged around on the top shelf until she located the extra Kevlar vest Andy had kept there, the one he had insisted was too small and uncomfortable to wear.
As soon as she tried strapping it on over her bra, she could certainly believe the lack of comfort. Nothing about the bulletproof vest took the specifics of female anatomy into consideration. The vest was surprisingly heavy, and it chafed the skin under her arms.
For a moment, she considered not wearing it at all But then she thought about Adam York and the wise counsel he had been kind enough to offer-lifesaving advice it didn’t make sense to disregard. Joanna was sure that in Adam York’s book, even an ill-fitting vest would be preferable to none at all.
With a sigh, she undid the vest and added one of Andy’s undershirts to the mix before trying again. The extra layer of material did seem to help.
Next she buttoned on one of Andy’s khaki uniform shirts, rolling the sleeves up far enough so her hands showed beneath the cuffs. Over the breast pocket where Andy had worn his badge, Joanna pinned the one her mother had given her.
Hank Lathrop’s badge. Hers now.
Once the badge was in place, she paused and studied it for a moment before pulling on jeans and boots. Next she belted the holstered semi automatic into position and was relieved to know that at least one thing she wore actually belonged to her. She finished off the outfit with Andy’s heavy denim jacket-the fleece-lined one with the single.44 caliber bullet hole in the pocket. From the inside out. She herself had pulled the trigger of that pocketed gun. She had pulled it with the intent to kill and she had done exactly that.
