Paradise Lost

“Night before yesterday. Monday, it must have been. Monday evening.”

Joanna wanted to ask more questions, but right at that moment she could no longer think of any. Shooting her son in cold blood hadn’t bothered Irma Sorenson, but she had been sure to have his seat belt buckled when she sent the Nissan over the cliff.

Shaking her head,, Joanna clicked off the recorder. The criminal mind was more or less understandable; motherhood unfathomable. In sending her son to Pathway to Paradise, Irma Sorenson had hoped to save him. Instead she had lost everything.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“We’re going to do what?” Detective Ernie Carpenter demanded. By the time the Double Cs arrived, the whole cir­cus of Irma’s RV, her son’s pickup, and the collected entourage of police vehicles had moved to the parking lot of a defunct motel east of Benson.

“You heard me,” Joanna told him. “We’re going to drive Mrs. Sorenson into Tucson. First we’re going to drop off her personal possessions at a storage unit and then have her at the dealer’s lot prior to that one o’clock deadline so she can unload her RV. After that, there’ll be plenty of time to take her back to Bisbee and book her.”

“That’s crazy.” Ernie scowled in objection. “The woman has just confessed to the murder of her own son. You’re going to let her unload her stuff at a storage unit and sell off her RV without even bothering to search it?”

“Do you happen to have a search warrant on you at the moment?” Joanna asked.

“Well, no,” he admitted.

“Who’s to say we can’t serve the search warrants later, at the RV dealer’s or even at the storage unit, for that matter?”

“But still ...”

“But nothing, Ernie,” Joanna said. “I gave Irma Sorenson my word, and I fully intend to keep it. In exchange for letting her sell her RV, what do we get? A signed confession that clears not one but two of the three murders that have happened in Cochise County in the last week. That sounds like a good deal to me.”

Ernie Carpenter recognized there was no changing Joanna’s mind. “All right,” he conceded. “What do you want me to do?”

“Can you drive this thing?” Joanna asked, indicating the motor home.

“Sure.”

“Okay, here’s the address of the storage unit, and the ignition key. You drive it there, and I’ll send along a contingent of deputies to do the unpacking. Once the boxes are out of there, come to the dealer—Tex’s RV Corral in the 5700 block of East Twenty-second Street. Frank and I will bring Irma with us and meet you there.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ernie Carpenter stalked off. Joanna went looking for Frank. Two hours later, and a good fifteen minutes before the one o’clock witching hour, a small parade con­sisting of Irma Sorenson’s RV, the towed Dodge Ram, and two police cars pulled into the parking lot at Tex’s RV Corral. A bow-legged man in boots, jeans, Western shirt, and ten-gallon hat saun­tered out of the office. He looked as though he would have been far more at home riding the range than running an RV dealership.

He held out his hand as Ernie Carpenter stepped down from the RV. “Howdy. Tex Mathers is the name,” he said wish an easy going grin. “And you are?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Ernie muttered. “The owner’s the person you need to talk to. She’s back there.”

Tex Mathers’ grin faded when he saw Irma Sorenson climbing out of the backseat of Deputy Raymond’s Bronco. As, Joanna had directed, Matt Raymond had removed Irma’s handcuffs prior to letting her out of the vehicle.

“This is Mr. Mathers,” Ernie said, as Joanna came forward, bringing Irma along. “He evidently owns the place. And this is Cochise County Sheriff Joanna Brady.”

Tex Mathers sized Joanna up and down, then he glanced in the direction of the other uniformed officers. “What’s this all about?” he asked. “And why the cops? Mrs. Sorenson didn’t tell you I’m doing anything illegal, did she? Because I’m not. Assuming the rig is in the kind of condition her son said it was in, I’m paying her a fair price. Low blue book, of course, because she wants her money up front, but it’s a good deal.”