Exit Wounds (38 page)

“Watch yourself,” Ernie muttered in Joanna’s ear. “Sounds like she’s maybe gonna take herself out.”

Joanna nodded. “I think so, too,” she agreed. “How many people will she try to take with her?”

Suddenly the night was blacker. It took a moment for Joanna to realize that the softball game was over. There was a flicker as if someone had thrown a switch. Then the moonlight gleamed that much brighter. Off to the right she spied movement. As her eyes adjusted to the changed light, she was able to make out three figures—two human and one canine—moving back toward town as Deputy Gregovich and Spike hustled Nathan Adams to safety.

They disappeared from view behind a small rise, leaving the desert in an eerie nighttime silence that was broken only by the muted chatter of distant police radios.

“Stella?” Joanna asked finally.

“What?”

“Are you okay? We know you’re hurt.”

“I’m all right.”

The woman’s voice was definitely changed now, as though the effort of dealing with her son’s unexpected appearance had weakened her somehow and left her exhausted.

“Four people are dead,” Joanna said quietly. “Isn’t that enough bloodshed?”

“No, it’s not enough—not nearly.”

Joanna Brady thought about the officers ranged around the buildings now, awaiting her order to move forward. They were young men and women—dedicated law enforcement officers—with wives and husbands and children at home. She was one of those, too, with a husband and a teenager at home and with an unborn child sheltered inside her body. Joanna and the people who worked for and with her had everything to lose. On the other hand, Stella Adams, far beyond the possibility of hope, had nothing whatsoever left to lose.

Sheriff Brady turned to Ernie. “We’re going to wait,” she said.

“Wait?” he demanded. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

The next two hours, waiting for a gunshot that never came, were the longest ones Joanna could remember, including the three hours she had spent in the delivery room when Jenny was born. She crouched next to the wall with Ernie Carpenter beside her. Sharp rocks poked into her knees. Occasionally some night-walking creature scrambled across her skin. Meanwhile, the unconcerned desert, oblivious to the human drama playing out nearby, resumed its natural nighttime rhythms. Meandering coyotes sent their mournful songs skyward. An hour into the process, Joanna was startled by a single long-eared jackrabbit who loped past within a few feet of where she was lying.

But throughout that long, long time, there was no response from Stella Adams—no further word. Joanna called out to the woman again and again without receiving any reply.

Eventually Deputy Gregovich and Spike returned.

“You took Nathan home?” Joanna asked.

Terry nodded. “His dad was pissed. Denny thought the kid was locked in his room. He had no idea Nathan had let himself out through a window. What’s happening here?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want me to send Spike in?”

Joanna shook her head. She wasn’t willing to risk Spike’s life either. “Not yet,” she said. “We’ll wait a while longer.”

Finally, just after midnight, she gave the word, and the K-9 unit moved forward. As Terry Gregovich and Spike disappeared from view, time slowed to an even more glacial crawl. Barely daring to breathe, Joanna listened to every sound. Finally Terry shouted out the words she had been waiting to hear.

“It’s all clear,” Deputy Gregovich called. “She’s cut her wrists. She’s dead.”

Joanna gave the order to stand down, then she and Ernie Carpenter helped each other to their feet. They limped stiffly around the protecting wall, guided by the glow of Terry’s flashlight. Stella Adams sat slumped against the wall just inside the empty doorway of a crumbling concrete building. She still wore a single tennis shoe on one foot. The other foot had been scraped raw in her desperate flight across the nighttime desert.

Stella’s hands lay her in her bloodied lap, cradling the Colt .45 and a bloodstained Swiss Army knife. Joanna looked from Stella Adams to Ernie.

“Maybe you’ll be able to keep your promise to Denny Adams after all,” Joanna said softly. “At least Stella had the good sense to spare her son the shame of a trial.”

Nineteen

J oanna was home by two o’clock in the morning. At three she was still sitting on the couch in the family room with Lady cuddled in her lap, considering the mind-numbing series of tragedies that had befallen the entire Mossman clan. The seeds for that human disaster had been planted by Ed Mossman himself, and Joanna Brady had no sympathy for him. A fatal gunshot wound to the chest was actually far better than he deserved. But her heart ached for the others—for the unwilling victims of Ed Mossman’s abuse, his own children—from Carol right on down to Nathan and Cecilia.

Jaime Carbajal had described the film of Cecilia Mossman’s supposed wedding. Joanna had yet to see it, but she could well imagine the frightened and reluctant child bride forced by her father into a situation she could neither handle nor stop.

“Well, I’ll stop it,” she told Lady aloud. “Tomorrow morning I’m calling Sheriff Drake and telling him to go get her. With any kind of luck, Harold Lassiter will go to jail for child rape. If she’s only twelve, that should work. Otherwise, they can nail him for involuntary servitude, if nothing else. Slavery’s illegal in this country, even out on the Arizona Strip.”

Butch, barefoot and clad only in a pair of shorts, came into the family room. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“The dog,” Joanna said. “I’m telling Lady all about it.”

“It’s late,” Butch said. “Shouldn’t you come to bed?”

“I can’t sleep.”

He settled down on the couch beside her. Lady opened one eye and looked at him, but made no effort to move away. He put one arm around Joanna’s shoulders and the other on Lady’s hip. “Then maybe you’d better tell me about it, too,” he said.

And so she did.

“Will it come out in public?” Butch asked when she finished. “The part about who Nathan’s father really was?”

“Not if I can help it,” Joanna said. “It’ll be tough enough living down the fact that his mother was a murderer who committed suicide. As far as Nathan is concerned, Denny Adams
is
his only father. They’ll both be better off if we can leave it that way.”

Butch nodded thoughtfully. “What about the other little girl?”

“Cecilia?”

Butch nodded again.

“I’ve been thinking about her. For one thing, we’ve got Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega’s film. I’m hoping that’ll be enough to get the Mojave County sheriff off the dime. And Andrea Mossman told me she has at least one undercover contact inside the Lassiter compound. One way or another, we’ll get that little girl out of there and pack Harold Lassiter off to the slammer. Cecilia’s only twelve, for God’s sake, Butch. She’s a whole year younger than Jenny.”

“Supposing you do rescue her from that situation, what will happen to her then?”

Joanna sighed. “I’m not sure. Child Protective Services will have to be called into play. I would imagine her mother is still in Mexico. The problem is, her mother is also hooked in with The Brethren.”

“If you send her back home, she might be going from the frying pan into the fire.”

“Exactly,” Joanna said.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Talk to Andrea Mossman, and to Edith. Cecilia is Edith’s granddaughter. And she’s Andrea’s half sister. They may be able to work with CPS and establish some kind of custody arrangement. That’s probably about the best we can hope for.”

Butch yawned and looked at his watch. “Wrong,” he said. “The best we can hope for is an hour or two of sleep. Come on. We’ve got to go to bed now. You’ve done all you can for one day.”

Joanna persuaded Lady out of her lap, then the two of them followed Butch into the bedroom. Butch was asleep again within minutes. So was Joanna. It seemed like only minutes later when he was shaking her awake. “Rise and shine or rise and barf,” he said. “It’s late. We’re due at Dr. Lee’s office in half an hour.”

Joanna looked at the clock and was astonished to see that it said nine-thirty. “I’m late for work,” she objected.

“No, you’re not. I called Frank and told him you’d be in after your doctor’s appointment. I know you. If I let you go into the office for even a minute, you’ll forget.”

Joanna would have argued with him about that, but there wasn’t time. She had to race for the bathroom.

An hour later, with the physical part of the prenatal exam behind her, Joanna—now fully dressed—and Butch sat in Dr. Thomas Lee’s office in the clinic portion of the Copper Queen Hospital. Dr. Lee frowned in concentration as he consulted a calendar.

“From the date of your last period, I’d estimate your due date to be March 7. Of course, human pregnancy isn’t an exact science,” he added. “I can tell you the due date but the baby will arrive when it’s ready—before or after, depending. Are you going to want to know in advance whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Yes,” Butch said at the same time Joanna was shaking her head no.

Dr. Lee laughed. “Welcome to parenthood,” he said. “This is only the first of many things the two of you will need to discuss and decide on. Let me know next month, when you come in for your next appointment.”

“What about morning sickness?” Butch asked.

“What about it?” Dr. Lee replied.

“Is there something she can take…?”

“Never mind,” Joanna put in quickly. “It’s not
that
bad, and it’ll probably go away in a few more weeks. It did last time.”

Dr. Lee nodded. “If you can tough it out without taking medication, it’s usually better for the baby. There can be side effects, you see…”

“I know,” Joanna said. “I’ll be fine.”

For the next several minutes, Dr. Lee went over a list of general dos and don’ts. Finally he looked at Butch. “This is your first?”

Butch nodded.

“If you plan to be in the delivery room with her, you’ll both need to sign up for a Lamaze class.”

Butch looked at Joanna. “Is that what you want?”

“Of course it’s what I want, silly. If you think I’m going through that all on my own, you’re nuts.”

“All right, then,” Butch said. “Tell me where and when to sign up and I’m there.”

It was close to noon by the time they finished up with Dr. Lee, so they stopped by Daisy’s for lunch. Wednesday was Cornish pasty day, and Butch and Joanna split one of Daisy’s massive, plate-sized meat pies.

“You’re sure you don’t want to know the sex in advance?” Butch asked.

“I’m sure.”

“But that means we have to come up with two names—one for a boy and one for a girl.”

“That’s right,” Joanna agreed. “So start thinking.”

They had driven into town in separate cars. When lunch was over, Joanna kissed Butch good-bye in the parking lot. While he returned to High Lonesome Ranch, Joanna headed for the department. She felt slightly guilty about showing up late on a day when there was bound to be so much catch-up paperwork to do, but then again, she didn’t feel
that
guilty.

She was at her desk and surveying the damage when Andrea Mossman called. “I heard about it on the news,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Denny.”

“How’s Nathan?” Joanna asked.

“About how you’d expect. He’s pretty broken up.”

“And your grandmother?”

“She’s a tough old bird,” Andrea said. “She’s doing remarkably well.”

“I have a note here from my chief deputy,” Joanna said. “Police officers in Obregón have been dispatched to the ranch to notify Kelly and…”

“…and Dad’s other wives,” Andrea supplied.

“Do you have any idea what kind of arrangements will need to be made as far as your father’s remains are concerned, once the autopsy is done and the body is released?”

“I don’t care what happens to him,” Andrea said. “And I doubt Grandma does, either. Talk to his other families. If they want him, they can have him—as long as they pay for shipping. I already discussed this with Grandma. She’s not paying a dime, and I’m not either.”

“What about Cecilia?” Joanna asked.

“Grandma and I have an appointment with a CPS caseworker later on this afternoon. I wanted to talk to them
before
somebody brings Cecilia out of the Lassiter compound. Cecilia hasn’t ever met me, and she probably has no idea her grandmother even exists. But if Grandma and I can help her, we will. I do have some experience with this kind of thing.”

“What about the boy?” Joanna asked.

“What boy?” Andrea returned.

“Josiah. The one in the Lassiter compound who helped Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega film the wedding.”

“We’ll try to get him out at the same time,” Andrea said. “If old man Lassiter figures out who was responsible, he’ll make his life hell.”

As if it wasn’t already,
Joanna thought.

After she got off the phone, the day turned into a marathon of paperwork. In addition to the usual day-to-day e-mail and correspondence, there were reports to be read—reports from Jaime Carbajal and Ernie Carpenter. And there were case-clearing phone calls and faxes back and forth between the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department and Sheriff Trotter’s office over in Hidalgo County. Joanna should have felt triumphant, but she didn’t. Too many people were dead—too many lives ruined. Clearing cases under those circumstances made for hollow victories.

It was almost three o’clock when Kristin came into the office. “Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff Brady,” she said. “But there are some people here to see you.”

“Who?”

“They wouldn’t give their names.”

They would have if you’d tried a little harder,
Joanna thought wearily.

Sighing, she rose and followed Kristin back out into the lobby. Outside her office, she found two Hispanic women—a young one and one much older—seated side by side on the love seat facing Kristin’s desk. They were both dressed in black. The younger woman’s hair was loose. The older one’s hair was in a long gray braid that was wrapped around the top of her head like a silver crown. Over her head and shoulders she wore an old-fashioned mantilla.