“The immigration attorney?” Joanna asked. “You mean Richard Osmond’s girlfriend’s daddy?”
Frank nodded.
“The one who’s going to take us to court for Osmond’s wrongful death?”
“One and the same,” Frank replied. “But I think Gomez has changed his mind on that score. With an autopsy diagnosis of metastasized pancreatic cancer, it would be pretty hard to make a wrongful-death charge stick.”
Joanna allowed herself a small sigh of relief. “When’s Osmond’s funeral?” she asked.
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“Yesterday,” Frank said.
“I suppose the department should have sent flowers.”
“We did,” Frank told her.
Joanna looked at her chief deputy in absolute gratitude. “I’m not sure how I’d ever get along without you, Frank.”
“Good.” Frank grinned. “It’s nice to be indispensable. Let’s keep it that way. Now how about getting down to business?”
Most of the items up for discussion were strictly routine, including the usual fender-benders and DUIs. The fierce storm that had marched through Cochise County the night before had caused numerous power outages. Running water on the road between Double Adobe and Elfrida had once again stranded several motorists who had required rescue for both themselves and their vehicles. A divorcing couple from Sun Sites had gotten into a domestic-violence beef over who would have custody of their Old English sheepdog, Casey. The husband and wife were now both cooling their heels in the Cochise County Jail, while the dog had been taken into custody by Animal Control. In Bisbee Junction, a rancher’s herd of cattle had gotten loose and had damaged gardens and fruit trees on three separate properties.
Only at the end of the session did Joanna pass along the information she had gleaned from her long discussion with Edith Mossman.
“Jeez!” Frank exclaimed when he heard about Eddie Mossman’s long history of abusing his daughters. “And now there’s another daughter involved?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d as soon shoot the bastard and put him out of his misery.”
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“I’d rather find a way to lock him up for good,” Joanna replied. “And with any kind of luck, we will. Did Ernie come up with any information on The Brethren from Sheriff Drake?”
“Not so far,” Frank said. ‘I’ll let you know if and when he does.”
Finally she handed over copies of Irma Mahilich’s pencil drawings. “What are these?”
Frank asked as he stared down at the rectangles with their spidery handwritten labels.
“They’re road maps of the Phelps Dodge General Office in Bisbee circa 1975,” Joanna told him. “Compliments of Irma Mahilich. She verified that the Deportation weapons were handed out to whatever employees were interested in taking them home. I’ve got shorthand information on all of the people listed, except for the ones on this last page-the one that’s marked page four. I’ll transcribe my notes, so whoever goes looking for these folks to interview them will have at least that much information at their disposal.”
“I recognize some of the names,” Frank said, examining the sheet. “Some of them still live around here. Others”-he shrugged-“I’ve never heard of.”
Joanna nodded. “That’s why I think we should hand this job off to Ernie. As far as Bisbee’s concerned, he’s an old-timer, and these people will talk to him. As soon as I finish with the notes, I’ll get them to him. And later on today, if I can, I’ll talk to Irma again and find out about the people on page four. How are you doing on the phone records?” she added. “I still want to know when Eddie Mossman first heard about Carol’s death.”
“It’s not easy getting phone records from Mexico,” Frank replied. “But we know Mossman said his daughter Stella is the one who told him. So I’ve fallen back on my old pal at the phone
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company, and I’m requesting information on Stella Adams’s phones as well.”
Once Frank left her office, Joanna quickly transcribed her notes, keying them into her computer. When she had printed copies in hand, she asked Kristin to deliver a set to Ernie Carpenter. Then she began wading her way through the paperwork jungle.
She was deep into it when Jaime Carbajal called from California.
“We’ve hit pay dirt here,” he said.
“How so?” Joanna asked. “Tell me.”
“I got a look at the download of one of Carmen Ortega’s film segments. It’s dynamite.
It shows a wedding ceremony between a horny old coot named Harold Lassiter and a twelve-year-old girl.”
Joanna felt a clutch in her gut. “Cecilia Mossman?” she asked.
“You’ve got it,” Jaime returned. “Mossman married his daughter off to a guy who has to be sixty if he’s a day. Lassiter’s other four wives were all there at the ceremony with him, waiting to welcome poor little Cecilia into the family while Eddie Mossman himself was proud to give the so-called bride away. It was enough to make me want to puke. Cecilia’s there swimming in a wedding dress that must be five sizes too big for her. The poor kid looks like she’s scared to death.”
