Exit Wounds (30 page)

“Oh, no. Are you kidding? Eddie Mossman never had an office job in his life. He didn’t have the education for a desk job, to say nothing of the mind-set.”

“What about your daughter-in-law?”

“Cynthia? The poor girl was a mousy little thing who never worked outside the home. If she had—if she’d had a job and money of her own—maybe she could have left Eddie just like some of those other women are doing, but back then, there wouldn’t have been anyone like God’s Angels to help her. As far as Cynthia was concerned, Eddie was the head of the family, and his word was law. She did as she was told. If I’d had any idea about what was really going on, I would have tried to do something, but I didn’t know. Not at the time. Not until it was too late to do any good. But why are you asking about Eddie’s job? What does his job with PD have to do with any of this?”

Joanna wasn’t prepared to reveal details about the unusual weapon information that had telegraphed the connection between Carol Mossman’s death and the murders in New Mexico.

“Just wondering,” she said. A moment later she added, “When did you first hear that your son was in town?”

“Yesterday,” Edith said. “Yesterday afternoon. He phoned and ordered me to call the mortuary and tell them that Carol’s body should be released to him rather than to me. I told him to go fly a kite, that I’d already made the arrangements. He said I couldn’t do that, that she was his daughter and he’d have the final say. I told him to go ahead and try.”

“Did he happen to mention how he found out about Carol’s murder?”

“No.”

“Or when he came to town?”

“No. He didn’t tell me that, either. You have to understand, Sheriff Brady, it wasn’t a pleasant phone call. He was yelling at me the whole time, and I was yelling right back.”

It was time for Joanna to ask the critical question straight out. “Mrs. Mossman,” Joanna said, “do you think it’s possible that your son murdered his own daughter?”

“You mean, do I think Eddie killed Carol?” Edith shook her head. “No, I doubt that’s possible, but I almost wish he had. At least that way, I’d have the satisfaction of seeing him shipped off to prison for the rest of his life, the way he deserves. You see, Sheriff Brady, I wrestled with that same question myself all last night. If Eddie was the one who murdered Carol, why on earth would he come back here to try and claim her body? Why not just go straight back to Mexico and stay there? Nobody’s going to bother going all the way down to Obregón to bring him back. Eddie’s stupid, but surely he’s not
that
stupid. Besides, what would be his motive to kill her?”

“Maybe he didn’t want Carol to go public with her story,” Joanna suggested.

“Why would he object to that?” Edith asked. “Eddie’s proud of the way he lives. He doesn’t think he has anything to be ashamed of. As far as he’s concerned, he’s right and everybody else is wrong. And since the people he hangs around with all hold the same beliefs, why would he care?”

“Maybe some of them care,” Joanna said. “There are other Brethren, aren’t there? Maybe some of the ones who live in this country aren’t interested in being quite so blatant about it. Maybe one of them wanted to keep the interview from taking place.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Edith said, pushing her plate away.

“Wasn’t the enchilada any good?” Daisy asked when she came to pick up their dirty dishes. “I’d be glad to get you something else.”

Edith shook her head. “The food was fine,” she said. “For some reason, I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Daisy looked at Joanna’s plate. “You, too?” she asked.

“Me, too,” Joanna said.

She paid for their virtually uneaten lunches and was helping Edith Mossman into the Civvie when her cell phone rang. Joanna answered the call while stowing Edith’s walker in the backseat. “Just a minute, Jaime,” she told Detective Carbajal. “Let me start the engine. As hot as it is, I can’t leave Edith Mossman sitting there with no air-conditioning.”

“Okay, boss,” Jaime said when she returned to the phone.

“Here’s the deal. We’ve turned Mr. Mossman over to Deputy Howell. She’ll keep an eye on him. He wasn’t thrilled about having a bodyguard hanging around, but when we told him his life had been threatened, he warmed up to the idea. Just exactly how serious is this threat?”

Joanna glanced at Edith Mossman sitting quietly in the front seat of the idling Civvie. She probably wasn’t particularly dangerous at that point.

“Let’s just say I consider it serious,” she said. “And credible. Tell Debbie not to let him out of her sight.”

“Good enough.”

“Did you learn anything useful?” Joanna asked.

“Other than Eddie Mossman’s a total creep? He came up from Mexico because his daughter’s about to become engaged to some guy from up near Kingman.”

“But I thought Kelly Mossman was already married,” Joanna objected.

“Kelly?” Jaime said. “I don’t know anything about Kelly. I’m sure Mossman said his daughter’s name was Cecilia.”

Joanna’s stomach tightened. Knowing that Eddie Mossman had yet another at-risk daughter made what little roast beef Joanna had managed to swallow threaten to stage a rebellion.

“Did you find out how he learned about Carol’s death?” she asked.

“Sure did. He said that another daughter, Stella, called to let him know.”

“Called how?”

“On his cell phone,” Jaime answered.

“Did you get the number?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Tell Frank I want incoming and outgoing call records for that phone.”

“But the phone is from Mexico.”

“That’s all right. All that means is that Frank Montoya will have to work a little harder than he usually does to retrieve the information. He may have to pay a little
mordida
to get it. What are you doing next?”

“Heading into the office to get organized and to see what Frank may have for us.”

“Good enough. Tell him I’m taking Mrs. Mossman back to Sierra Vista. We’ll have to have our morning briefing when I get back.”

Joanna stowed her phone and clambered into the driver’s seat, grateful to be out of the heat and the rising humidity.

“Anything important?” Edith asked.

“No,” Joanna said. “Just touching base with some of my people.”

They drove through town in relative silence. It was only when they emerged from the other side of Mule Mountain Tunnel that Joanna resumed her questioning. “You’ve told me about Carol,” she said. “And a little about Andrea, but you’ve barely mentioned Stella.”

“I don’t like her much,” Edith said abruptly. “Of all the girls, she’s the one who’s most like her father. I was surprised that she offered to come get me the other day and bring me to town when your detectives needed to talk to me. She doesn’t usually come across all sweetness and light.”

“Considering her history, I’d be surprised if she did,” Joanna said.

“Yes,” Edith agreed. “That’s why, with Stella—with all the girls, really—I’ve always been willing to let things slide.”

“So what’s her story?” Joanna asked.

“She came along with Carol, but once she got here, she wouldn’t do a thing I told her. She was just as wild as she could be, but she grew out of it. She married herself a nice young man, and she seems to be doing all right now.”

“I met her son,” Joanna said.

Edith shot Joanna a questioning glance.

“He’s nice, too,” Joanna said.

“Yes.” Edith Mossman sighed. “I suppose he is.”

“And who’s Cecilia?” Joanna asked.

“Cecilia who?” Edith asked.

Right that moment, Joanna wasn’t prepared to tell Edith Mossman that she had yet another granddaughter, a possible half sister of Carol, Stella, Andrea, and Kelly, who was now also in jeopardy.

“Never mind,” Joanna said at last. “I’m probably mistaken.”

After that, Edith Mossman settled back in her seat. Seconds later she was snoring softly. In the relative silence that followed, Joanna thought about Carol Mossman and her three victimized sisters. It was one thing for a ten-year-old child to take over the household responsibilities—the care and feeding—of three younger siblings, but for Carol to be unable to protect any of them, herself included, from their own father…That was, as Edith Mossman had said, unthinkable! No wonder that, as an adult, Carol had turned to animals for comfort and companionship. Compared to what the human race had dished out to her, dogs must have seemed amazingly uncomplicated.

Joanna’s phone crowed. She reached for it quickly, afraid the sound might disturb Edith, but the snores continued unabated.

“Yes,” Joanna said quietly.

“Where are you right now?” Frank Montoya asked.

“On my way to Sierra Vista to take Edith Mossman back to her place. Why?”

“And that’s at the Ferndale Retirement Center?”

“That’s right.”

“You’ve hit the jackpot then,” he said. “So far, nobody at PD up in Phoenix has been able to come up with a list of General Office employees, but according to the guy I talked to, we’ve got something just as good. Does the name Bob Mahilich ring a bell?”

“Sure,” Joanna said. “He’s the Bisbee boy who made good and went on to become some bigwig for Phelps Dodge up in Phoenix.”

“That’s right,” Frank Montoya agreed. “Went to college on a full-ride PD scholarship and went to work for them as soon as he graduated from the Colorado School of Mines. Now he’s their VP for Operations.”

“What about him?” Joanna asked.

“When the person I was talking to found out what I wanted, she referred me to Bob, since she knew he was from Bisbee originally. I figured it was going to be another dead end, but I called him anyway and got lucky. His grandmother, Irma Mahilich, worked in the General Office here in Bisbee from the time she graduated from high school until she retired in 1975. According to Bob, Irma’s memory isn’t so sharp when it comes to telling you what she had for breakfast, but as far as what she did during her working years, she’s an encyclopedia.”

“He thinks she’d remember who worked in the General Office way back then?”

“Right, since she hired most of them. And you’ll never guess where she lives.”

“Where?”

“At the Ferndale Retirement Center. For all I know, she may live right next door to Edith Mossman.”

“You want me to talk to her?” Joanna asked.

“Either that or I can send Jaime and Ernie.”

“No. They have enough to do. When it comes to dealing with LOLs, I’m every bit as good as they are.”

“That’s what I thought,” Frank agreed.

Joanna glanced at Edith Mossman, who hadn’t stirred. “Any other news?”

“Yes. Ernie’s been in touch with Fandango Productions. They’re checking with their attorney to see whether or not they can give us access to the two victims’ company e-mail files. Otherwise, we’ll have to go through the pain of sending someone over there and serving them with a warrant.”

“Let me know what happens on that score.”

Joanna’s phone buzzed in her ear. “I’ve got another call, Frank. I have to go.”

“Joey?” Butch Dixon asked. “Where are you?”

“On my way to Sierra Vista. I’m just crossing the San Pedro. What’s up?”

“You’ll never guess who just called.”

Joanna was too tired to want to play games. “Who?” she asked.

“Drew,” Butch replied excitedly.

Drew Mabrey was the literary agent who, for the last year, had been trying to sell Butch’s first manuscript,
Serve and Protect
. In the intervening months, Butch had worked on the second book in the series, and he had also done a good deal of physical labor on their new house. But as time had passed with no word of acceptance on the manuscript, Butch had become more and more discouraged.

“And?”

“Remember that editor, the one who had expressed interest in the book and then ended up turning it down? Something to do with Marketing not liking it?”

“Yes. Didn’t she move to another publishing house or something?” Joanna asked.

“That’s right,” Butch said. “And this morning she called Drew to see if
Serve and Protect
is still available. Drew is pretty sure she’s going to make an offer after all.”

“Butch, that’s wonderful!” Joanna exclaimed. “When will you know?”

“Probably sometime later this week.”

Edith stirred. “What’s wonderful?” she asked.

“I have to go, Butch,” Joanna said. “Congratulations. We’ll talk more later. That was my husband calling,” Joanna explained to Edith, once she was off the phone “He just had some very good news. He’s written a book, and someone may be interested in buying it.”

“I’m glad,” Edith said. “It’s nice to hear that someone has good news.”

Looking at Edith Mossman’s weary, grief-ravaged face, Joanna was immediately awash in guilt and resolve as well. Carol Mossman had been murdered, taking with her huge chunks of her grandmother’s heart.

We’ll find out who did it,
Joanna vowed silently.
I promise you that
.

Fifteen

T wenty minutes later, having escorted Edith Mossman to her Ferndale Retirement Center apartment, Joanna presented herself at the reception desk in the lobby. “Can you tell me the room number for Irma Mahilich?” she asked.

“One forty-one,” the receptionist answered without looking up. “But Irma’s not in her room. She’s over there, working a jigsaw puzzle.”

Joanna glanced around the lobby. The attractively furnished and brightly carpeted room resembled an upscale hotel lobby rather than what Joanna would have expected in an assisted-living facility. Several seating areas were ranged around the reception desk. A large-screen television blared unwatched in one of them. Two women, both in wheelchairs, sat reading newspapers in another. In a third—one lined with book-laden shelves—a solitary woman sat hunched over the bare outline of a round jigsaw puzzle so large that, once completed, it would cover much of the massive table. It wasn’t until Joanna approached the table that she realized the woman was studying the pieces with absolute intensity and with the aid of a handheld magnifying glass.

“Mrs. Mahilich?” Joanna asked.

Irma Mahilich’s shoulders were stooped. Thinning white hair stood on end in a flyaway drift. She wore dentures, but the lower plate was missing. The bottom left-hand portion of her mouth turned down, betraying the lingering effects of a stroke.