Paradise Lost

Frank shook his head. “I doubt it. The UDAs who were picked up in the other hijacked cars sure weren’t heading for any airport.”

Joanna considered his answer for a moment. “All right then,” she said. “Let’s assume for the moment that whoever’s doing the carjackings isn’t involved with this. What do we know about Connie Haskell’s husband? Are we sure Ron Haskell is actually in residence at Pathway to Heaven? Or, if he was there, do we know if he still is?”

“It’s called Pathway to Paradise,” Frank corrected. “And we think he’s there. The guy who runs the general store in Portal says one of the residents came in on Thursday morning and hit him tip for some telephone change.”

“That could have been Haskell, all right,” Joanna said.

Frank nodded. “But when Jaime and Ernie tried to gain admittance to Pathway, there was an armed guard who wouldn’t let them inside. He also refused to verify whether or not Haskell was there. He said all patient records are confidential and that only authorized visitors are allowed on the grounds. In the process he made it abundantly clear that police officers aren’t authorized under any circumstances.”

“Unless they have a court order,” Joanna added.

“Right.”

“What about checking with the airlines to see if somebody named Ron Haskell flew out of Tucson between Thursday night and the time the car was found?”

“I’m sure we can check on that tomorrow,” Frank said.

Joanna thought for a minute, then made up her mind. “Let’s go then,” she said. “You’re with me, Frank. There’s no sense in our standing around second-guessing Jaime and Ernie. They both know what they’re doing.”

“What about the press?” Frank asked. “They’re going to want a statement.” Frank Montoya’s duties included serving as the depart­ment’s media-relations officer.

“For right now, forget them,” Joanna told him. “Until we locate Sally Matthews and notify her of her daughter’s death, you’ve got nothing to tell the media. Besides, the longer we keep Dora’s death quiet, the better.”

“Where are we going then?” Frank asked.

“To Paradise,” Joanna said.

“But why?” Frank asked. “We still don’t have a court order. Judge Moore won’t be back until tomorrow”

“We don’t need a court order,” Joanna said. “We’re not going there to question Ron Haskell. This is a humanitarian gesture—a matter of courtesy. We’re going there to notify the poor man of his wife’s death—assuming, of course, that he isn’t already well aware of it.”

“What makes you think we’ll be able to get inside Pathway to Paradise when Ernie and Jaime couldn’t?” Frank asked.

“For one thing, they weren’t wearing heels and hose,” Joanna said.

Frank Montoya glanced dubiously at Joanna’s grubby crime scene tennis shoes. “You aren’t either,” he ventured.

“No,” Joanna Brady agreed. “I may not be right now, but my good shoes are in the car. By the time we get to Paradise, I will be. Now how do we get there?”

Pointing at the map, Frank showed her the three possibilities. Portal and Paradise were located on the eastern side and near the southern end of the Chiricahua Mountains. One route meant tak­ing their Arizona law enforcement vehicles over the border and into New Mexico before crossing back into Arizona’s Cochise County in the far southeastern corner of the state. Potential jurisdictional conflicts made that a less than attractive alternative. Two choices allowed them to stay inside both Arizona and Cochise County for the entire distance. One meant traveling all the way to the southern end of the mountain range before making a lung U-turn and heading back north. The other called for crossing directly through the Chiricahua Mountains at Onion Saddle.

“It’s getting late,” Joanna said. “Which way is shorter?”

Frank shrugged. “Onion