without going out of our way to collect lost retards and drag them home.”
Joanna sent her chief deputy a frosty glance. She was accustomed to that kind of comment from Voland. In the privacy of the morning briefing, where only she and Frank Montoya were present, she cut the man some slack. In front of her two homicide detectives, it was absolutely unacceptable.
“The proper term is developmentally disabled, Deputy Voland, not retard,” Joanna told him. “We’re not calling Junior that in this office-not to his face and not behind his back, either. And don’t think for a minute this is some kind of mindless acquiescence to political correctness. It’s called common decency. Is that clear?”
Voland backed down. “It’s clear all right,” he said.
Joanna turned back to the detectives. “You go on now. If we need your help on the Junior situation, I’ll let you know.” As soon as the two detectives let themselves out of the office, Joanna zeroed in on Voland once again. “Don’t pull that kind of stunt again, Dick. Understand?”
He nodded glumly. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“And now,” Joanna continued, “do either of you have any bright ideas about how to locate Junior’s family?”
“Not me,” Voland said.
“Frank?”
“You’ve checked his clothing for ID?”
“Right,” Joanna said, “and found nothing. It looks suspiciously as though all the labels have been deliberately removed.”
“So you’re suggesting that whoever left him in Saint David did it on purpose, that they don’t want to be found.”
“Right.”
Frank tapped a thoughtful finger on his forehead. “Maybe we should take a lesson from that television show, ‘America’s Most Wanted.’ Let’s try to spread the word on this. Maybe we could even hit the wire services. We’ll show Junior’s picture, tell where he was found, and all that. If we make a big enough splash, maybe someone will recognize him.”
“That might work,” Joanna concluded after a moment’s thought. “Any ideas about how to go about it?”
“This is human-interest stuff. I think it’s the kind of story Marliss Shackleford could really sink her teeth into.”
“Not Marliss!” Joanna objected, setting her law. “After all, she’s not even a reporter anymore. She’s a columnist.”
“Yes, but I bet she’d jump on this one, especially if it gives her a crack at national exposure.”
Of all the people involved in the local news media, Marliss was Joanna’s hands-down least favorite. However, if this really was the only way to help Junior get back home, Joanna knew she’d have to do it.
“All right,” she agreed. “When you finish up with the Oak Vista Estates press conference, see if Marliss will play ball. Speaking of Oak Vista, what do you plan to tell the press?”
During the meeting Frank had continually thumbed through the sheaf of incident reports. “My usual media soft shoe, I suppose.” He grinned. “What do you think they’ll want to know?”
“Whether or not the county is under attack by a bunch of outside environmentalists who are going to try to bring the current building boom to a screeching halt. They’re going to want to know the same things we do-where the protesters come from, what they’re doing here, and who’s behind them. Tell the reporters that when we have some answers, so will they.”
Recovered from Joanna’s reprimand, Voland took them through the other routine reports from the day before. Afterward, he pushed his chair back and heaved himself out of it. “I have
“I still think you’d better provide full documentation concerning anything and everything to do with your friend Junior since you took charge of him,” he said. “That’s the only way to go on a deal it that, otherwise you can pretty mulch count on the incident coming back and biting us in the butt.”
“Dick,” Joanna assured him. “I’ll take care of it.” Mumbling under his breath, Voland left Joanna’s office and slammed the door behind him. “He is right about that, you know,” Frank said.
“About Junior?” Joanna asked.
“About the full documentation bit. Are you sure the person Junior’s staying with is absolutely trustworthy?”
“I can tell you this,” Joanna said. “Junior’s a hell of a lot better off with somebody like Butch Dixon than he would be in a cell out back in the jail which, at the time, was my only other option.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Frank agreed.
They both fell silent. There wasn’t much more to add. “So what are you going to do now?” Joanna asked finally. “Handle the press conference here and then head back to Tombstone?”
Frank nodded. “That’s right. Back to my home away from home. What about you?”
“I plan to take a crack at the correspondence. When I finish up with that, I’m going to head out to Sierra Vista to talk with Alice Rogers’ attorney.”
“While you’re out that way,” Frank suggested, “you might consider stopping by to see Mark Childers.”
Frank Montoya may have been a latecomer to the Oak Vista crisis, but already he had some helpful suggestions for handling the situation.
“How come?” Joanna asked.
“You do know who his girlfriend is, don’t you?”
“No, who?”
“Karen Brainard.”
Joanna was stunned. “As in Karen Brainard, member of the Cochise County Board of Supervisors?” she asked.
“None other. As a matter of fact, I’ve heard rumors here and there that Childers backed her to the hilt, that he even helped bankroll her campaign.”
“And now, miraculously, he’s gotten permission from the board of supervisors for a controversial construction project lots of other people around here hate.”
“Have you looked it over?” Frank asked.
Joanna shook her head. “I haven’t had time.”
“Maybe the tree-huggers are up at arms for a good reason. I’ve never been much of an environmentalist myself, but I hate to see another section of the Huachucas get chewed up by uncontrolled development.”
“Your opinion and mine notwithstanding,” Joanna said, “if the supervisors have already given Childers the go- ahead, what’s the point of my going to see him?”
“If he’s somebody who can make or break a member of the board of supervisors, he could also make or break a sheriff-if he sets his mind to it, that is.”
Joanna thought about that for a moment. “So you’re advising me to do a little political fence-mending.”
Frank nodded. “It couldn’t hurt.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it, but I’m not making any promises.”
After Frank left, Joanna sat alone in her office staring at the pile of mail on her desk. From the moment she had been sworn into office, there seemed to have been an unending avalanche of the stuff. It drifted in mountainous heaps from Kristin’s desk to hers and back again. Joanna took the topmost sheet off the stack. Then, for the next five minutes, lost in thought, she stared uncomprehendingly at the piece of paper in her hand without the words ever sorting themselves into meaningful sentences.
What if what Frank had said was true? What if there was a far too cozy relationship between Karen Brainard and Mark Childers? She thought about what Dick Voland had said concerning the previous day’s board of supervisors meeting. She couldn’t help wondering if, besides chewing up a pristine desert landscape, Childers and his lady accomplice weren’t also destroying someone else’s life and career in the process.
“Kristin,” Joanna said, picking up her phone. “Get Lewis Flores on the phone for me, would you? He’s the head of Planning and Zoning. No, I don’t know his number.”
She put down the phone and then waited for it to ring again, which it did-a minute or so later.
“I talked to Linda, the secretary at Planning and Zoning,” Kristin said. “She told me Mr. Flores is out sick today.”
