needed help. I was at her house the next morning when she reported Tom Ridder’s death, and I was there with her when she surrendered to the police.”
“And to suggest the plea agreement?” Joanna asked.
“Sandy came up with that brilliant idea all on her own. In fact, she insisted on it. And that’s where my guilty conscience comes from. If I had been more experienced or tougher, I never would have let her do that. She was a victim, Sheriff Brady. Her husband had beaten her to a bloody pulp. I should have taken the case to court and used a domestic-abuse defense. If I had played the cards right, even if she’d been found guilty, she would have been locked up for three to five years at most. As it stands, I figure my inexperience cost Sandra Ridder a good five years of her life. My fault, Sheriff Brady. Don’t you think I owed the poor woman a ride home? It’s the least I could do.”
“So why didn’t you take her straight home?” Joanna asked. “On the one hand you said she was eager to get back to her daughter. Why, then, did she stay over, or
“They let women out of the Manzanita unit in Perryville wearing whatever they happen to have on hand. Sandy showed up wearing a pair of used jeans, a pair of old tennis shoes, and somebody else’s used sweatshirt. She told me she had some money. She wanted to go shopping on Saturday and get herself some decent clothes to wear home. She wanted to buy some makeup, have her hair cut and fixed. I think she wanted to go home looking like a human being instead of some kind of street person.”
“And where was the money coming from to enable this combination makeover and shopping spree?” Joanna asked. “From you?”
“No, although I did offer. Sandy said that wasn’t necessary, that she had enough money to get what she needed. I assumed her mother must have sent it to her, or she earned it and saved it. Prisoners do have jobs, you know.”
Joanna considered Melanie’s answer. In view of the fact that Catherine Yates claimed to have known nothing at all about her daughter’s impending release until the very day it happened, it seemed unlikely that she had been the source of Sandra Ridder’s cache of cash.
“Why do you think she stole your car?” Joanna asked.
“You’re asking me? I have no idea. I suppose she wanted to go someplace and she didn’t want me to know about it. When I went to bed around ten-thirty, she was tucked away snug as a bug in my guest room. When I woke up the next morning, she and the car were both gone. No note, no explanation, no nothing.”
“Do you have a phone in your bedroom?” Joanna asked.
“Yes, why?”
“So do you turn off the ringer overnight?”
Melanie Goodson paused. “Well, no.”
“If you went to bed at ten-thirty, you must have heard the phone ring at three a.m. So why didn’t you answer? Why did you let the call go to the machine pickup, even though the caller might have been a well-heeled client in need of middle-of-the-night hand-holding over his latest DUI?”
“Come on, Sheriff Brady,” Melanie said. “Why are you doing this? Are you trying to make out that I’m a suspect in stealing my own car?”
For no reason Joanna could put a finger on, she had the sudden sense that Melanie Goodson was lying. But why? What was she covering up? For the first time the thought crossed Joanna’s mind that despite Melanie’s claim of long-term friendship, the defense attorney might well have had some connection to Sandra Ridder’s death. The problem was, Joanna understood that if she even hinted at Melanie’s complicity, the entire tenor of the interview would change, with all the potential of what had been said and learned being ruled inadmissible and thrown out. Not wanting to jeopardize something critical to the investigation, Joanna backed off.
“I’m just trying to get a handle on what happened the night Sandra Ridder was killed,” she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You say you went to bed at ten-thirty. I have a witness who places Sandra Ridder and your Lexus at the entrance to Cochise Stronghold, seventy miles or so away, at midnight. How did she get there so soon?”
“I always keep my car keys in a drawer in the kitchen,” Melanie replied. “Sandra probably saw me put them away after we came home and knew where to go looking for them. So it’s not like she had to hot-wire the damned thing in order to steal it. And now that the Eastern do-gooder fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit is history, anybody can make seventy miles in an hour and a half. In fact, most people can do it in a lot less than that.”
Joanna glanced at her watch and was astonished to see how much time had passed. There were other nonthreatening questions she might have asked, but it was already after four. Her mother’s command-performance dinner deadline was fast approaching.
“Speaking of speed limits,” she said, rising to her feet, “I need to head out. I have a meeting in Bisbee at six- thirty, and I can’t afford to be late. You’ve been very cooperative, Ms. Goodson. I appreciate it.”
“Glad to help,” Melanie Goodson said.
“And you have a lovely office, but then, I’m sure you hear that all the time.”
“My partner and I like it.”
“Partner?” Joanna asked. “I didn’t know this was a joint practice. There’s only one name stenciled on the front door.”
“My partner’s not an attorney,” Melanie said with a ready smile. “Ed’s a contractor who’s into buying and rehabilitating old houses. He does the heavy stuff-the grunt labor. He gets all the permits, handles all the structural problems, and makes arrangements to bring the plumbing and electrical systems up to code. I oversee all the interior design work. It’s a hobby of mine. In another life or if I hadn’t been able to make it in law school, I might have become an interior designer instead. Once the places are rehabbed, we lease them out. This one happens to be the pick of the litter, which is why I’m here. As you can imagine, the lease rates are quite favorable.”
“Nice workmanship,” Joanna said admiringly as she made her way back to the outside office.
“Thanks,” Melanie Goodson said. “I’m glad you like it.”
Once back in her oven-hot Blazer, Joanna turned the air conditioner on high and rolled down the windows to let some of the heat blow out. While the hot air drained out and even though the clock was ticking, she wrote herself a note: “Have Jaime check with Melanie Goodson’s neighbors to see if we can find out whether or not she really was home and asleep when Sandra Ridder took off in the Lexus.”
Then, having done what she could do, Joanna headed out of town. Traffic wasn’t all that bad getting to and on the freeway, and once she passed the exit to I-19, most of the local commuters disappeared as well. Out in the desert with mostly eighteen-wheelers for company, she dialed into the office. Despite the fact that she had called Kristin’s number directly, the phone was answered by the switchboard operator.
“This is Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “Where’s Kristin?”
“She went home sick at noon,” the operator said. “Is there anyone else you’d like to speak with?”
“How about Chief Deputy Montoya?”
“One moment.”
“How’s it going, Frank?” she asked when he came on the line.
“We’re not having a real good day around here.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, our canine unit seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I finally broke down and called out Search and Rescue after all. I dispatched a crew out to Texas Canyon. I was afraid if we waited any longer-until however long it takes for Deputy Gregovich to resurface-there wouldn’t be much chance of picking up Lucy Ridder’s trail at the rest area.”
“So with me out and with Kristin home sick…” Joanna began.
“Sick!” Frank snorted. “If she’s sick, she’s sure as hell not home. I went by her folks’ place and checked. Her car wasn’t there. And then, because I have a suspicious mind, I went by Terry’s apartment, too. Guess what? His patrol vehicle is parked out front, and so’s Kristin’s Geo, but Terry’s little four-by-four is nowhere to be seen. So wherever they are, they’re together.”
“What about Terry’s pager?” Joanna asked.
“Turned off.”
“Damn,” Joanna muttered. “I had a feeling this morning that I needed to talk to her about this-to both of them, really-but I was in a hurry and I let it go.”
