CHAPTER TWENTY
After the danger was over, Joanna felt weak and half sick to her stomach. While the EMTs loaded Ross Jenkins into an ambulance and Dena Hogan was hustled into the backseat of a Sierra Vista patrol car, Joanna made her way to the front step of the house and weakly sank down on it. That’s where she was when Frank Montoya arrived. He had been in Palominas supervising the automobile accident and had arrived at the scene only minutes behind the officers from Sierra Vista.
He came over long enough to check on her and then went to confer with the other officers. After a few quiet moments, Joanna heard voices that seemed to be coming from inside her body rather than outside it. For a scary moment or two, she was afraid that the blow to her head when she crashed into Dena’s chin had caused a concussion or some other kind of head injury. Then, finally, Tica Romero’s voice came into audio focus.
“Can you hear me, Sheriff Brady? Are you all right?”
Feeling foolish, Joanna extracted her cell phone from the cup of her brassiere. “Sorry, Tica,” she said into it. “In all the excitement I forgot about the phone. And yes, I’m fine.”
“I heard most of it. It’s awful to listen when something like that is going down and not be able to help.”
“You helped, all right, Tica,” Joanna said gratefully. “Believe me, you helped. Those backup units got here without a moment to spare.”
“What’s the situation with the two suspects?”
“Ross Jenkins is being airlifted to Tucson for abdominal surgery. Frank Montoya is taking charge of Dena Hogan. He’ll bring her back to Bisbee. We’ll question her there and then book her into the jail.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tica asked. “You still sound a little shaky.”
“I’m fine. I’ve got a cut on my leg. It’s not bad enough that I’ll need stitches or anything, but since I got it from a grass shears, one of the medics told me I should have a tetanus shot. Which reminds me. I need to go find Andrew Styles.”
“Who’s he?” Tica asked. “One of the Sierra Vista cops?”
“No, he’s the little kid who put the hole in my leg. He’s also the one who cut me loose. I need to let his parents know what a brave, quick-thinking son they’ve got.”
Joanna stood up and looked at herself. As usual, her new pantyhose were wrecked. In addition to the cut from the shears, her knees and shoulders were scraped and bleeding from scrambling along the cement. Another perfectly good set of work clothes-a two-piece suit and matching blouse-were done for.
Still, not wanting to delay talking to Andrew Styles, Joanna patted her hair into place as best she could, pressed on a new layer of lipstick, and started down the street to the Styles’ house. A woman answered the door.
“Mrs. Styles?” Joanna asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Joanna Brady-Sheriff Joanna Brady. I had to come by and tell you
“Andrew’s in his room,” Mrs. Styles said. “He’s grounded, but I suppose you can talk to him if you like.”
“Grounded? How come?”
“For riding his bike without permission, that’s how come,” Mrs. Styles returned. “Last Saturday he came home an hour and a half later than he was supposed to, and he lost his biking privileges for the whole week. But he’s home from school before his dad and I get off work, and-grounded or not-he went bike riding today anyway. One of the reporters came here wanting an interview. Having her show up blew the whistle on him and Andrew decided to come clean. That’s why I sent him to his room, and I expect him to stay there.”
“I don’t want to get in the way of family discipline, Mrs. Styles,” Joanna said. “But please don’t be too hard on him. Andrew’s a hero. I was between a rock and a hard place. There wasn’t a soul around to help me until he rode up on his bike.”
Reluctantly, Andrew Styles’ mother opened the door. “Come on in,” she said. “I don’t suppose your talking to him will make that much difference.”
She pointed the way across a narrow living room. “I!is room’s down that hall, first door on the left.”
Joanna went to the closed door and knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time. Finally, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Everything about the room screamed little boy. The walls were plastered with posters of cars and athletes. A squadron of model airplanes dangled from the ceiling on strings. In front of the window sat a low bookshelf that was covered with model cars. Andrew himself lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to music. Even though he was wearing earphones, Joanna could still hear the pulsing bass.
“Andrew?” Joanna said. She had to speak to him twice before he finally turned in her direction. He slipped off the earphones.
“Whaddya want?” he asked.
“First, I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady.” She extended her hand. Gravely, Andrew Styles reached out and shook it. “I also wanted to say thank you once again,” she continued. “Maybe a little less hurriedly this time. Staying around long enough to help me was really brave, Andrew. That man had a gun, and you could have been badly hurt. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
“I got in trouble for it,” Andrew Styles said. “I wasn’t supposed to be riding my bike. I didn’t think Mom would find out, but when that reporter came to talk to me, I knew she would, so I decided I’d better tell the truth.”
“That’s always the best idea,” Joanna said.
“What about those people up the street? Are they really bad guys?”
“Yes. Really bad.”
“What did they do?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“Did they kill somebody?”
“We think so, although they’re not considered guilty until after a judge and jury say they are. What I can tell you for sure is that they’re not the kind of people who tell the truth. They’re not like you, Andrew. If they had been out riding their bikes when they weren’t supposed to, they wouldn’t have admitted it, especially not if it was going to get them into trouble.”
Andrew rolled over onto his side, planted one bony elbow in his pillow, and cushioned his chin in the palm of his hand. “Are you really the sheriff?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“Because the people elected me. I ran for office and I won.”
“I wouldn’t mind being sheriff,” he said. “But I don’t think I’d like it if people tied me up with duct tape.”
Joanna smiled. “Fortunately that doesn’t happen very often. Thanks again, Andrew, and remember, if there’s ever anything I can do for you-”
“Would you come speak to my social studies class sometimes?” Andrew asked. “The DARE officer is at school all the time, but I think it would be cool to have the real sheriff come talk to us.”
Joanna reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “I’ll be glad to. Have your teacher call me to set up a time.”
She started toward the door. “One other thing,” Andrew said.
“What’s that?”
“Are you going to get in trouble for shooting a hole in those tires?”
“I could, but I doubt it,” Joanna said. “I had to make a choice, Andrew, between public property and public safety. If the crooks had made it to the cars, it would have been a lot harder for them to get away in a vehicle with one flat tire than it would have been in one with four good tires. My deputies sometimes have to make those kinds of choices as well. As long as what they do is justified, no one gets in trouble.”
“Who decides whether or not they get in trouble?”
