I had a rooster that sounded like that,” she said, “he’d be looking to get turned into Sunday dinner.”
Excusing herself, Joanna went into the living room to take the call. “Joanna,” Ernie Carpenter said, “I think we have a problem.”
“Gunny-bags? What does that mean?”
“I think she’s coming off drugs,” Ernie said. “We found a bag of white powder in her purse that may be heroin. If she’s an addict, we don’t want her going through detox while she’s locked in a cell in the Cochise County jail. What do you suggest?”
Joanna was still haunted by the mentally disturbed woman who had taken her own life in a county jail cell several months earlier. If Dena Hogan was crashing after months of heroin use, she might well be a danger to herself and others. Joanna didn’t know the medical ramifications of heroin detox, and she didn’t want to find out, either-not firsthand.
“We put her in a hospital under guard.”
“Which one?” Ernie asked. “County? The Copper Queen?”
This was one of those situations where Dick Voland would have known exactly what to do, but Dick wasn’t around to ask anymore. This time Joanna Brady was on her own.
“If it’s going to be on the department’s nickel, it better be County,” she decided. “No matter what, it’s going to be expensive. I guess we’d better see if they have a bed available.”
“And what about transportation?” Ernie asked. “Do we send her there by ambulance or have a deputy drive her in a patrol car?”
“Do you want Jaime or me to stay on it?”
“No. You’ve already put in a full day. Did Arlee and Dena strike a deal?”
“Yes. Murder two, immunity from everything else, and she agrees to testify against Ross Jenkins in the Alice Rogers case.”
“What everything else?”
“It sounds like we’ve landed smack in the middle of a whole slew of recreational drug users. Dena says she can give us dealer info, provided she serves her time under an assumed name at an out-of-state facility.”
“I don’t understand,” Joanna said. “She’s a lawyer. Why is she so willing to cop a plea? Why’s she turning state’s evidence?”
“She’s broke,” Ernie said.
“Broke!” Joanna echoed. “How can she be? She drives a Lexus.”
“It’s leased and she’s behind in the payments. Same goes for her house and the rent for her office.”
“What about her husband?”
“I don’t think he has a clue, at least he didn’t before today. She says he’s always turned his paycheck over to her and left her to handle the bills. Sounds like she’s been handling them all right. Her drug habit has been eating up every penny they both made, and then some. The same is true for Ross Jenkins. He’s broke, too. He was looking for a quick influx of cash from Alice’s estate to bail him out of the hole. Then, presumably, he and Dena would have ridden off into the sunset.”
“Nice guy. What about Mark Childers and Karen Brainard? Did Dena tell you anything about them? Were they in a financial bind as well?”
“Same deal.”
“And Monica Foster?”
“Apparently she’s not in on it. Dena referred to Monica as Miss Goody Two-shoes. Monica doesn’t do drugs. Paul Brainard and Rex Hogan don’t either. What I can’t figure out is how come straight-shooters end up getting stuck with people who aren’t? What is it, wishful thinking?”
“That, or out-and-out stupidity.”
Jenny tiptoed into the living room. “Mom,” she whispered, “are you going to come have your pie or not?”
“I have to go, Ernie,” she told him. “You go on home. I’ll come by in a little while and handle the Dena Hogan paperwork. You don’t need to worry about it. And tomorrow-”
“Tomorrow Jaime and I will both go straight to Tombstone,” Ernie told her. “In the morning we’ll finish interviewing Clete Rogers’ neighbors. Since Dena Hogan denies any involvement in that case, we need to find something that will link Ross Jenkins to Clete’s death. Then, in the afternoon, we’ll attend Alice’s funeral. That’ll take place at the Episcopal church in Tombstone at two tomorrow afternoon. Visitation is tonight at Garrity’s, down in Douglas. One of us had planned to make an appearance there as well, but there are only two of us, and Jamie and I can only be in so many places at once.”
“Mom!” Jenny insisted.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ernie. I’ve got to go.” Joanna ended the call while Jenny skewered her with an accusing stare. “Are you going back to work?”
“Yes. I have to.”
“Well, can I stay here then? I know the Gs will let me,”
“I suppose,” Joanna said. “1 don’t want to wear out your welcome, but we’ll ask.”
“Well,” Eleanor sniffed as Joanna resumed her seat. “What is it now? Another crisis, I suppose?”
Joanna looked around the table. Everyone else was finished with dessert. Hers was the only piece of pie left on the table. She took a bite. It was delicious, but she felt self-conscious eating after everyone else had finished.
“Mom has to go back to work,” Jenny announced. “So can I-may I stay here again? Please?”
“It’s fine with us,” Eva Lou said.
“Thanks,” Joanna said, then she turned to Butch. “Do you mind giving me a ride over to the department? I need to pick up a car. Both the Crown Victoria and the Blazer are out of commission at the moment.”
“Sure,” Butch said. “Finish your pie and we’ll go right away. Maybe Junior can stay here until I get back.” “That’ll be fine, too,” Eva Lou said.
Butch and Joanna left the Bradys’ house a few minutes later. At the stop sign at Cole Avenue and Arizona Street, Butch Dixon stopped, reached over, pulled Joanna as close as the seat belt would allow, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sure I look awful, but really, I’m fine.”
“You were amazingly quiet during dinner. You barely said a word. I was afraid you were upset about something.”
“I am upset,” she admitted. “I’ve spent a week dealing with people who are liars and cheats at best; druggies and murderers at worst. George gave me a little buck-up talk in the car, but it didn’t help very much. I still feel like the world is full of dirtbags, and they’re winning. People like Eva Lou and Jim Bob Brady never lied or broke a promise in their lives, but they’re the exception, Butch. They’re not the rule. The problem is, how do I bring Jenny up in a world where people like Dena Hogan and Ross Jenkins may end up running things?”
“We already live in that kind of world,” Butch said. “And the only thing you can do to change it is to keep on doing what you’re doing.”
“Even if it keeps me out late at night? Even if it makes me feel betrayed?”
“Even if it means you have to keep on taking chances. I don’t want to lose you, Joanna. And the idea that you had to go toe-to-toe with those creeps today drives me crazy. But I also know what’ll happen if you quit. You’ll be in exactly the same kind of fix as Marianne Maculyea. So where are you going now?”
“Down to Douglas to make arrangements to check a prisoner into the mental ward at County Hospital. She’s coming off drugs of some kind, and I don’t want her detoxing in one of my jail cells.”
“Can’t somebody else handle that?” Butch asked. “What about Frank Montoya or Dick Voland? Isn’t that what they get paid to do?”
“Frank has gone home, and Dick Voland doesn’t work for me anymore,” Joanna said quietly.
“He doesn’t? Since when?”
“Yesterday.”
