“None. That’s what I’m looking for.”
Behind her a series of vehicles alive with lights and sirens came screeching over the crest of the hill and through the still-drifting haze of dust. Two uniformed City of Bisbee patrol officers trotted off and began putting lighted flares down the middle of the road. Seconds later Ernie Carpenter appeared at Joanna’s window.
‘Are you all right?”
Joanna nodded. “I’m fine, but Stella’s gone. She got away.”
Ernie looked back at the debris field. “She can’t be far,” he said. “It’s a helluva wreck. The driver’s door is gone completely. She might have been thrown clear at the same time the door flew off. I’m guessing that when we find the door, we’ll find her, too.”
A second man appeared behind Ernie. Tall and bony, he was in his late twenties and wore an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap along with a loose-fitting T-shirt. In the eerie glow of headlights and flashers, his face was deadly pale.
“Did you find her, Detective Carpenter?” he asked.
“Not yet, Dennis,” Ernie said kindly. “We’re looking for her.”
As soon as Joanna knew who the man was, she let go of the handle on the spotlight and stepped out of the Crown Victoria. “I’m Sheriff Brady, Mr. Adams,” she told him.
“I was the first person on the scene. And, as Detective Carpenter told you, so far there’s no sign of your wife.”
Denny nodded mutely. Joanna could see that he was trembling as if from the cold and struggling to hold back tears.
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“I can’t believe any of this … It’s all so … so…” His voice faded into a croak that was half sob, half hiccup. Suddenly he blinked and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly steady.
“Do you want me to try to talk to her?”
Joanna thought about that and then shook her head. “You’d better go back to the house and be with Nathan.”
“When you find her, will you let me know?” Dennis asked.
“Yes,” Joanna said. “Of course we will.”
Adams nodded. “All right then,” he said. With that, he turned and walked away.
Another emergency vehicle showed up, this one an ambulance dispatched by the Bisbee Fire Department. Across the desert, Joanna heard a shout. “Hey,” someone yelled.
“The door is over here.”
Without a word, Ernie Carpenter loped away in that direction. Joanna reached back into the Ciwie and collected the mike. “Tica,” she ordered, “call out the K-9 unit.
Everyone else thinks Stella Adams is lying around here dead someplace, but I’m thinking she did the same thing the Silver Creek driver did and walked away.”
Fortunately, Terry and Kristin Gregovich’s rented house was on Black Knob, the last street on. the southernmost part of town. The K-9 officer and Spike were at the scene in less than ten minutes.
“What’s up, Sheriff Brady?” Terry asked, after leaping out of an idling Blazer he had parked directly behind Joanna’s Crown Victoria.
Joanna pointed toward the wrecked pickup. “The driver’s missing,” Joanna said. “I want you to find her.”
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Terry nodded. “Will do,” he said.
Taking Spike, he walked down the embankment and over to the wrecked vehicle. Joanna was relieved to see that Spike was wearing his new custom-fitted Kevlar bulletproof vest. Joanna watched while Deputy Gregovich reached inside and removed something from the tangled interior. Hurrying behind him, Joanna was astonished to see Terry was holding a single tennis shoe up to the dog’s nostrils.
“Where did that come from?” Joanna asked.
“It was wedged up under the dash. And that’s the good news,” Terry said. “If she took off with either one or both shoes missing, she’s not going to be that hard to track down.” Then, keeping a tight hold on Spike’s leash, he gave the order. “Find it!”
For the next few minutes the dog, with his nose to the ground, went round and round in ever-widening circles. Ernie Carpenter reappeared at Joanna’s side.
“Still no luck,” he said. “We’re looking on the ground, but if she was airborne, it’s possible she could have been tossed up into one of these clumps of mesquite.”
Suddenly Spike stopped circling. He stood stock-still, ears up, tail straight out behind him, sniffing the air. Then he dashed off to the west, with Terry Gregovich galloping along behind him.
“They need backup,” Joanna said.
Ernie nodded and headed for Terry’s Blazer. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive.”
Joanna was barely in the passenger seat when Ernie flung the SUV into gear and they bounced away. Fifty feet from the wreck, Terry Gregovich and Spike paused briefly at a barbed-wire fence posted with an official-looking No Trespassing sign. They delayed
