“I do.”
“How come?”
Joanna smiled. “Because I’m the boss. I’m going now, Andrew. See you later.”
As she walked back out to the crime scene, she hoped her explanation of the bullet hole in the Blazer’s right front tire would make as much sense to Danny Garner in Motor Pool as it had to Andrew Styles. Then there was the matter of the broken glass.
Out on the street, Chief Deputy Montoya was waiting for her. “What took you so long?” he asked.
“I had to see someone, Frank-the little boy who saved my neck. And I need some badges.”
“What kind of badges?”
“Some I can keep in my purse and hand out as necessary.”
“Fake ones, you mean. For little kids?”
“And grown ones.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Frank said, jotting down a note. “Anything else?”
“Remind me to look into a new gun. The Colt misfired twice this afternoon. Both times when a crook was using it instead of me, but twice is two times too many.”
She paused and looked around. “Now, where are we?”
“Deputy Pakin is just finishing changing your flat. The Blazer’s drivable, even though part of the windshield’s blown, or we can have it towed.”
“Tape the windshield,” Joanna said. “I’ll drive.”
“Meantime, we have Dena Hogan all loaded up in my Civvy and ready to go. I mirandized her, but she’s waiving her right to an attorney. She claims to be representing herself. She wants to see the prosecutor about a plea bargain, and she wants to do it right away. Now. Tonight.”
“Of course she does,” Joanna said. “She’s got to hurry and strike a deal
“You know what they say,” Frank said with a smile. “No honor among thieves.”
“Or killers,” Joanna said. “Any idea where Ross and Dena were headed when I was lucky enough to interrupt them?”
“She had two tickets to Mexico City in her purse-one for her and one for Ross Jenkins. But I’m sure Mexico City wasn’t their final destination.”
“What was?”
“Rio. Brazil doesn’t have capital punishment. Authorities there won’t extradite someone if it looks like they’re going to come back to the States and face a possible death penalty.”
“Fortunately, neither one of them made it that far. What kind of a deal do you think old Arlee will strike?” Joanna asked.
Arlee Campbell Jones, Cochise County’s aging prosecutor, had his own peculiar way of doing things-one that didn’t seem to stand in the way of his winning reelection time after time.
“Dena Hogan ‘s pretty enough,” Frank Montoya observed. “And she’s got nice legs. Nice legs always seem to count for something when it comes time for Arlee to wheel and deal.”
“Tough luck for Ross Jenkins,” Joanna said.
Just then, a car-this one a silver-gray Camry-wheeled around a blocking patrol car and surged up the street. Despite three different officers signaling for the vehicle to stop, the driver refused to slow down until he was directly behind Joanna’s Blazer, then he jammed on the brakes. A balding, paunchy, middle-aged man jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she told him. “Who are you?”
“Rex Hogan,” he said. “What are all these people doing here? Why’s the street blocked off? And what’s the meaning of all these cars parked in my driveway?”
Looking at the man, Joanna sensed that Rex had no idea what was going on. She felt a stab of empathy. His face was flushed. He looked as though he was already a candidate for a coronary even
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Hogan. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Rex Hogan’s face crumpled. “Not Dena. There’s been some kind of an accident, hasn’t there! Please, God, don’t tell me something’s happened to Dena. I couldn’t stand it. She’s not hurt, is she? Not dead?”
“Your wife’s not dead,” Joanna said quietly. “She’s under arrest.”
“Arrest? Did you say under arrest? For what? You can’t be serious. This has to be some kind of joke.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Hogan, it’s no joke. Your wife is under arrest on suspicion of murder-for the murder of a woman named Alice Rogers. There may be other charges as well, but for right now, that’s how things stand. She’s waived the right to an attorney and insists she wants to represent herself.”
Rex Hogan staggered backward and rested against the fender of Joanna’s Blazer. For the space of almost a minute he seemed to be hyperventilating, and Joanna was afraid an ambulance would have to be summoned to care for him next. Eventually, though, he settled. “This can’t be,” he gasped when he was finally able to speak. “It’s utterly impossible. Preposterous. Where is she? Let me talk to her.”
“She’s in that car over there, Mr. Hogan. If you want to, I suppose you could exchange a word or two, but once we take her away, you won’t be able to talk to her again until after she’s been questioned and booked into the Cochise County Jail. At that point, you’ll be able to speak with the jail commander and make arrangements for visitation.”
Taking Rex by the arm, Joanna led him to Frank’s Crown Victoria. Frank unlocked the front door and got inside. By then Joanna and Rex were close enough to the vehicle that they could see Dena Hogan through the Civvy’s tinted glass windows. Frank said something to the woman and was answered with a decisive shake of the head. Frank spoke again and was answered with another head shake. Finally, the chief deputy stepped back out into the street.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hogan,” he said. “Your wife refuses to speak to you.”
Rex walked up to the car, bent down, and put his face directly in front of the window. “Please,” he mouthed. His plea was answered by another adamantly negative response.
“Why?” Rex asked. He turned back to Joanna. His face screwed up and his eyes threatened to fill with tears. “What have I done? Why’s she so mad at me?”
“I don’t think she’s mad at you,” Joanna said softly. “I think she’s mad at herself.”
“But I don’t understand,” Rex Hogan said. “I don’t understand at all. You said Dena murdered someone- someone I’ve never even heard of. How can that be? Won’t someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Joanna looked at the broken hulk that was Rex Hogan and felt her heart swell with pity. If his and Dena’s marriage had been as loveless as Ross Jenkins had claimed, it had been a very one-sided lovelessness. Rex Hogan obviously adored his wife, but Joanna suspected that there was a lot he didn’t know about Dena. Joanna had done her official duty in telling Rex what legal charges were pending against his wife. She refused to tell him the rest of it. If the poor man knew nothing of his wife’s liaison with Ross Jenkins, he wasn’t going to learn about it from Joanna Brady. Dena Hogan was going to have to do that much of her own dirty work.
“You’ll have to ask your wife,” Joanna said quietly. “Maybe she can explain what’s happened to you. Now is there anyone who can come be here with you tonight, Mr. Hogan? You probably shouldn’t be here alone.”
“I can call my daughter, I suppose,” he said. “She’s married and lives up in Tucson, but I’m sure she’ll come down.”
“I hope so, Mr. Hogan. Come on, Frank,” Joanna added. “We need to get going.”
She didn’t mention that one of the reasons she needed to leave right then was that she couldn’t bear being around Rex Hogan’s pain for even a moment longer. Gratefully Joanna observed that Frank and Deputy Lance Pakin had finished fixing her flat tire and had duct-taped a piece of clear plastic sheeting over the bullet hole and the accompanying cobweb of cracks that crisscrossed the rider’s side of the Blazer’s windshield. Joanna climbed into the truck and shifted it into gear. She was barely back on Highway 92 when her cell phone rang.
“What is it now?” she asked wearily, expecting the caller to be Tica Romero.
“It’s me,” Butch said. “I came by your office a few minutes ago and found out all hell has broken loose. Are you
