Jude Devine Mystery Series (24 page)

“Of course.”

With slight puzzlement, Jude said, “You see, I’m wondering—if that’s the case, why would your menfolk keep fertility charts for their wives? If conception is entirely in God’s hands, why are they interfering?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jude shrugged. “I can show you. It’s all over the Internet…men from your lifestyle sharing information about how to be sure they’ll impregnate their wives. Charts. Mucus. Female cycles. You’d think they were talking about cattle breeding.” Laughing, she added, “I guess they don’t trust God to make the decisions about what is right for a woman. They think they know better.”

Naoma blinked.

Deciding she had given her subject something to think about, Jude pointed to the painting again. “This woman. Fawn something…the one in the milkmaid costume.”

“Fawn Dew.” Naoma spat the name. A short, neatly manicured nail stabbed the picture. “And that’s her brat.”

No love lost there. “Downs syndrome?”

Amazingly, his condition was evident from the image. Naoma was no slouch. Out in the real world she could probably have made a decent living painting portraits.

With a short, disdainful grunt, the head wife said, “He’s not my husband’s child.”

“I see.” Jude studied the picture a moment longer, then as if she’d only just noticed the grotesque hunchback, she said, “And this guy. Is he really contorted like this or did the paint melt or something?”

“I paint as I see,” Naoma snapped, clearly affronted by the suggestion of sloppy craft.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. If he’s your son, I—”

“He’s not.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing. Does he work or is he an invalid?” When Naoma didn’t answer, she continued, “It must be a terrible burden caring for someone with such disabilities, medical treatment costing what it does. And of course there’s the stress. His mother must be very patient.”

A small sniff. “His mother is mentally handicapped. I brought him up myself.”

Jude processed that information and tried not to leap to any conclusions. Had Naoma trained an obedient and grateful “son” rejected by all but her? Anxious to please? Mommie Dearest’s hit man?

“I guess sharing the load is one of the advantages of the larger family structure,” Jude said. “It must be a relief to know you won’t be missed the way a mother would normally be. In a typical family. I mean, where she’s the one everybody depends on.”

Naoma worked her jaw.

Blithely, Jude directed a question at Tulley. “Deputy, would you say judges tend to be lenient with mothers who commit a first offense because they don’t want to punish the children?”

“I’ve seen it happen. This would be different. For a start, you’ve got all those other wives just waiting to step into her shoes.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Jude said.

“They’re probably in her bedroom right now, dividing up her stuff,” Tulley continued. “Times like this, you see what folks are made of. Anyone with a grudge—man, they’ll be dancing on her bed.”

Jude nodded sagely and leaned a little closer to Naoma, mixing a trace of sympathy with her satisfaction. “They’re going to put you inside and throw away the key, Mrs. Epperson. We don’t even need a confession. We got ourselves an eyewitness, and he can’t wait to testify that he watched you cut Darlene Huntsberger’s tongue right out of her head.”

“You think this will go before a court? You’re sadly mistaken.” Naoma dripped smug disdain.

Jude laughed and turned to Tulley. “Go find out if the sheriff’s faxed over those extradition papers yet.”

Confusion wiped the smugness from Naoma’s face. “What are you talking about? You can’t try me in Colorado for something that happened in Utah.”

“Sure we can,” Jude said cheerfully. “The thing is, we’re bringing kidnapping and conspiracy charges against you, and the kidnapping happened in Colorado.”

“I didn’t kidnap anybody.”

“Know something? I believe you. But my boss—he doesn’t care who we put away, just so long as someone pays. You know how that goes. He needs to get himself reelected, and this case has them all riled up back in Colorado. They’re looking to make an example.”

She paused as Tulley reentered the room. He gave a thumbs-up.

“I was telling Mrs. Epperson what she can expect,” Jude said. “Reckon Sheriff Pratt will go for the death penalty?”

“You bet. He wants that family values vote real bad.”

“Yeah, those pro-lifers are busting for an execution,” Jude said. “It’s been a while in Colorado. Nineteen ninety-seven, I think. Was that the gas chamber?”

“Nah. They hanged him,” Tulley lied cheerfully, playing up their Wild West credentials.

“What?” Naoma sat forward, flushed and breathing heavily.

Jude hoped she wasn’t going to have a heart attack. She contemplated backing off a little, but the clock was ticking. They needed a confession so they could get a search warrant and have a statement that implicated Nathaniel Epperson.

In a businesslike tone, she informed Naoma, “If we’d liberated Darlene alive, the death penalty wouldn’t apply. Unfortunately for you, she turned up dead.”

“But I didn’t kill her,” the denial tumbled out.

“That’s not our problem. I recommend you see a lawyer once we get to Colorado. You’ll be needing the best defense your husband can buy for you.”

“Kidnapping.” Tulley swept his black-Irish bangs away from the plaster on his brow. “That’s a class one felony. A hangin’ offense.”

“Lethal injection, nowadays,” Jude corrected.

“I heard they look quite peaceful afterward,” Tulley said. “That’s nice.”

Naoma could struggle all she liked to keep her face impassive, but fear and fury flashed from her small blue eyes. In a voice like wet gravel, she grated, “I can pay for my own lawyer.”

“Uh-huh.” Jude gave a disbelieving smile.

Like a trapped rat, Naoma insisted, “I have money.” She groped around beneath her skirts and produced a credit card. Slapping this down on the table, she said, “I want my own lawyer. Not one my husband hires.”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Jude replied like she had no idea why Naoma might not want an attorney who’d be looking after Nathaniel’s best interests instead of hers. “Your church has a ton of money. I’m sure they’ll hire a good defense team for you. I could make a call right now to Mr. Rockwell and let him know of your dire situation.”

“No!” Naoma banged her fist down next to the credit card. “I said I’ll pay.”

“Defense attorneys are expensive,” Jude continued dubiously. “How much money do you have?”

“Over a million dollars.” Naoma bristled. “More…I don’t know.”

“Don’t jerk me around. Where does a woman like you get a million bucks?”

“I manage my husband’s business activities.”

“And he pays you that kind of money? I thought most of the people working in your church earned less than minimum wage.”

“I pay myself.”

“What kind of business activities are we talking about here?”

“We sell investment shares.”

“In what—an oil well?”

“In the ranch. For the gathering. People pay twenty thousand dollars so they can witness the full glory of the Second Coming on the last day.”

Jude glanced sideways in time to see Tulley’s jaw descend. “Wait. You’re telling me Jesus Christ is coming to your ranch, and you’re selling tickets?”

She tried to imagine what kind of person would be taken in by a scam like that. Presumably the same kind who bought that shit about FLDS prophets being immortal and getting advance notice of the date for Armageddon.

Tulley said, “Tickets to the Second Coming. Wait till I tell my ma. She’ll probably want to buy one.”

Satisfied that she’d made her point, Naoma tucked her Visa card away and reiterated her demand for a fancy attorney.

Jude said, “I’ll make some calls for you. But first, because I believe you didn’t kill Darlene, I’m going to do you a big favor. I’m going to offer you a chance to help yourself.”

Naoma folded her arms as if she wasn’t interested, but her eyes were intent.

“After we’re done here, I’ll be heading back to that ranch of yours to arrest your husband. Now, I could be wrong, but I think he’ll bring in those high-price lawyers right away. Then he’ll say whatever it takes to get himself out of here.”

Naoma exhaled slowly and shakily. “My husband is above earthly trials. He is a high priest and can only be judged by God.”

“Be that as it may, he’s not going to want to go to jail in the meantime. In fact, he is going to do whatever his lawyers tell him to do. And guess what? They’re going to tell him to blame everything on you.” As Naoma turned her head away, Jude said, “C’mon, Mrs. Epperson. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying. How long have you been married to this man? You know exactly who he is.”

“My husband will not speak of these matters.”

“You think he’s going to be loyal to
you
when he’s got Fawn Dew waiting out there in her pretty dress?” Jude mocked. “You think he’s going to go to jail to save
your
ass?”

Naoma reached for her glass. Water spilled from one side as she lifted it.

“Listen to me.” Jude softened her tone. “You have one chance to tell your side of the story. If you wait, your husband is going to cut a deal and walk out of here, and you’ll be left facing murder charges. Trust me. I’ve seen it a thousand times.” Leaning on her a little harder, she said, “Once I walk out of here, your chance goes away. I’ll be talking to his lawyers and taking down his statement. If you think he’s going to protect you, then that’s your funeral. Like I said, my boss doesn’t care who gets the needle for this.”

She got to her feet and Tulley unlocked the door. As Jude began to walk away, Naoma blurted, “Wait.”

Jude stood still. “I’m listening.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. For starters, who killed Darlene?”

“Not me.”

“Do you know who did?”

Naoma nodded, tight-lipped.

Jude returned to the table. “Are you willing to give me a statement about what happened without a lawyer present?”

Naoma said she was, and Jude reminded her again of her rights, then slid a waiver form in front of her and read it aloud before handing her a pen. After mentioning again that the interview was being recorded, she said, “Mrs. Epperson, I’m showing you a photograph. Do you recognize this girl?”

“Yes. She was my husband’s twelfth wife. We called her Diantha.”

“Do you know her real name?”

“Darlene Huntsberger.”

Looking past Naoma’s shoulder, Jude met Tulley’s eyes. He was doing his best to act like he routinely extracted murder confessions. Only his strenuous gum-chewing and propensity for rocking back and forth on his heels gave him away. Jude had asked him if he wanted to sit at the interview table, but he’d elected the spot by the door, maintaining that handsome would buy them nothing with Naoma. He was right. All the head wife wanted to do was survive so she could spend some of the cash she’d looted from her husband’s ill-gotten wealth.