Judgment Call (35 page)

“Go out to the highway and head north.”

With no further urging, Deb charged out of the Miner's Camp parking lot with her lights flashing and siren blaring. The intersection to the highway was only a block or so behind them, but at that point OK Street was a narrow one-way road, going in the wrong direction. A blind curve at the entrance to the street made going the wrong way out of the question. The last thing they needed to do was crash into someone coming up the hill.

“He's got too much of a head start,” Deb objected. “We'll never catch him.”

“Try,” Joanna urged.

As Detective Howell maneuvered up the narrow, shoulder-free street and down the hair-raising curves of Youngblood Hill, Joanna held on to the grab bar for dear life. As they started down Brewery Gulch, Tica called back. “Detective Carbajal and Deputy Ruiz are on their way to the Pit,” Tica said, “with an ETA of two minutes out.”

Joanna looked at her watch. “Good enough,” she said. “That should work.”

“Chief Deputy Hadlock is on his way in. Is there anything else you need?”

“Who's coming from Sierra Vista on Highway 90?”

“That would be Deputy Stock. He's just leaving Sierra Vista now.”

“Have him set up a roadblock east of the San Pedro River. He should be able to get that far before the carjacker does. Then call the Border Patrol. We'll use their inspection station at Davis Road as our northbound roadblock. Tell everyone concerned that the carjacker is a suspect in not one but two homicides, and that the woman in the car with him is the grandmother of one of the victims. He is definitely to be considered armed and dangerous.”

Joanna had worked hard to maintain a good rapport with the local Border Patrol guys. Whatever the head honchos in D.C. might do or say, the guys on the ground knew Sheriff Brady on an up-close and personal basis. When she asked for something, they paid attention.

“Tell Chief Deputy Hadlock to have everyone else stand by. If Chief Bernard says he needs assistance, we'll give him whatever he needs.”

“He already asked,” Tica said. “He needs people to divert traffic away from the downtown area. We've got people on their way there now.”

Approaching the tunnel, Deb slowed and pulled over to the shoulder. Joanna watched as two speeding ambulances, sirens screaming, burst onto the highway from the entrance ramp behind them and then headed north, taking injury victims to other hospitals. The most seriously affected were likely headed for the trauma center at University Medical Center in Tucson. They were not Joanna's concern. Her problem was James Gunnar Cameron. Where was he going, and how much time did they have?

Joanna was convinced that time was running out for Isadora Creswell. If her grandson had his way, Jimmy's reunion with his grandmother was destined to end the same way the reunion with his long-lost sister had ended. Debra Highsmith was already dead; soon Isadora would be, too. Unless a miracle happened, Isadora Creswell was doomed.

“I'm sure we've missed them,” Detective Howell said. “What do you want me to do now?”

“Pull over here,” Joanna said, pointing to a parking spot in a decommissioned rest area.

“He's driving a limo,” Deb said. “That should be easy to spot. He's never going to get away with this. You've got roadblocks everywhere. We're bound to catch him.”

It took a moment for Deb's words to sink in. When they did, Joanna was left feeling sick to her stomach.

“Maybe that's it,” she said. “Maybe James Cameron has zero intention of getting away. That puts every police officer who comes across this guy in mortal danger.”

Which made an already bad situation that much worse. If Cameron had made up his mind that he was on his way out, the only question was, how many people would he take with him?

JOANNA AND DEB HOWELL SAT IN THE CAR FOR A FEW MOMENTS.
Joanna appreciated the silence. It gave her time to think. Seconds later, inspiration hit. Maybe someone could get a line on the limo's GPS.

She called Tica back. “Is the limo driver still at the hotel?”

“As far as I know.”

“Give me the number of the hotel.”

Once Joanna had the number, she dialed it. After several rings someone answered.

“This is Sheriff Joanna Brady. Is the limo driver still there?”

“He's busy. He's talking to a Chief Bernard right now. I'm not sure I should interrupt.”

“Let me talk to Chief Bernard, then. It's important.”

A moment later Alvin Bernard came on the phone. “Joanna, what's up?” he asked. “Do you really think the carjacker is the killer?”

“Yes, I do. How did he pull off the carjacking?”

“He was evidently sitting on the patio having a leisurely breakfast or brunch or whatever. When the limo pulled up, he waited until the driver went inside, then he jumped over the barrier and took off.”

“So he knew she was going there. How?”

“The clerk says someone called earlier to ask if Ms. Creswell had checked in yet. When she told him no, he declined to leave a message.”

“Because he was the message,” Joanna said.

“So who is this guy? What's he up to?”

“Isadora Creswell is Debra Highsmith's grandmother. James Cameron, the carjacker, is Debra's half brother and Isadora's grandson. He signed up as one of the Plein Air artists under the name Richard Reed, but that was all a cover to get close to Debra. He killed his sister, and I believe he intends to knock off Isadora, too. Maggie Oliphant was collateral damage. She had to go when she discovered late yesterday afternoon that Richard Reed didn't exist. James Cameron registered for the conference under an assumed name.”

“In other words, if we don't find him right away, the old woman is a goner.”

“Exactly.”

“We're already working on that,” Chief Bernard said. “The limo isn't equipped with a GPS, but the driver's phone is. That was left on the front seat. We've got someone from the Department of Public Safety working with the cell phone provider to see if they can triangulate the position on the cell phone. If he didn't throw it out, that is. In the meantime, where are you?”

“On the far side of the tunnel.”

“Tica told me that you had roadblocks set up everywhere, but that so far there's no sign of him.”

“That's the problem,” Joanna said. “What if he isn't going anywhere? He took Debra out into the desert to kill her. If he's doing the same thing with Isadora, somewhere between here and the San Pedro River or this side of Tombstone, there's nothing but wide-open spaces.”

“Yes, but it's broad daylight,” Chief Bernard replied. “Most of the roads out there lead to ranches or houses. We're putting out a news bulletin to all the media for people to be on the lookout for this guy. He's bound to turn up.”

“How bad is it there?” Joanna asked.

“On the scene? One guy dead. Two critically injured are being transported by helicopter, but we have to get them down to the hospital here before that can happen. They're being transported to Tucson. Four more with serious injuries. Two are on their way to Sierra Vista. The other two are going to the hospital here.”

“How come he lost control?”

“Speed, of course,” Chief Bernard said, “but one of the witnesses reported that it looked like the old woman in the backseat was whacking him on the head with something, maybe a cane.”

Despite the terrible toll the accident had taken, Joanna felt better knowing that Isadora hadn't taken the situation lying down. She had been fighting back for everything she was worth. That counted for something, didn't it?

“All right then,” Joanna said. “If you get any information from the phone triangulation, let me know. You have my number.”

“What now?” Deb asked.

“We've missed him,” Joanna said. “We might just as well head back to town.”

It was as Deb Howell executed a U-turn that Joanna caught sight of the communications towers crowning the top of Juniper Flats, the highest readily accessible point in the Mule Mountains. There were utility access roads on top of the mountain that led to the towers, but no one lived there. Of all those wide-open spaces she had mentioned to Chief Bernard, Juniper Flats was by far the most deserted.

“Turn around again,” she ordered Deb. “When you get to the Old Divide Road, turn up that.”

Deb complied. “You think he's up there?”

This was just a hunch, after all, but Joanna felt a surprising sense of certainty. “I'd almost be willing to bet on it.”

Old Divide Road predated the tunnel, and wound along the side of the mountain with permanent no-passing zones laid down as the center line. The road was reasonably well maintained, but it was narrow and treacherous and didn't allow for any kind of speed. It took almost ten minutes for them to reach the remains of a long-deserted restaurant. A sign covered with graffiti still showed a faded shadow of the original content:
THE TOP
. Before the building of the tunnel, the Top had been an old-fashioned roadhouse and one of Bisbee's few fine-dining establishments. Now it was nothing but a burned-out hulk.

Deb turned off the road and drove past the building and onto a gravel access road. A few yards beyond the building they came to a mangled chain-link gate hanging from a bent metal post where a broken chain and a useless padlock testified that the gate had once been securely fastened.

As soon as Joanna saw the mangled remains of the gate, she knew she was right. James Gunnar Cameron had indeed come through here. With Isadora and her flailing cane loose in the backseat, he hadn't been able to risk getting out of the vehicle long enough to open the gate. Instead, he had simply used the powerful bulk of the limo to plow through the puny obstacle.

By then Joanna was on the phone to her chief deputy. “I need the Emergency Response Team now!” she ordered. “Top of the Divide. I believe the carjacker is on one of the access roads that crisscross Juniper Flats. Those roads are designed for trucks or for serious four-wheel-type vehicles. He won't get far. When he figures that out, all hell is going to break loose.”

“Deploying the ERT is going to take time,” Hadlock said. “With everything that's going on, I've got people scattered six ways to Sunday. Traffic on the highway leading in and out of Bisbee has come to a complete stop. It's a mess out there.”

“Time is the one thing we don't have,” Joanna said grimly. “Detective Howell and I are on the scene. Get people here immediately. Make that sooner than immediately!”

Joanna turned to Deb. “Stay here,” she said. “Let me take a look.” She walked through the gate. The gravel surface left no tracks for her to read, but about fifty yards beyond the gate, a crumpled black bumper with chrome-trim strips lay off to the side of the narrow dirt track. It had been torn loose by the gate but hadn't fallen off until sometime later.

Joanna went back to the Tahoe and signaled for Deb to shut it down. Then she called Tom Hadlock again. “Okay, Detective Howell and I are going in. Right now we have the element of surprise on our side. We're leaving enough room for the ERT to get past Deb's Tahoe, but be sure they know that there are four people out here—two friendlies, a victim, and a bad guy. Stay on the line. I'm turning my phone on speaker so you'll be able to hear what's going on, but maintain silence on your end. Got it?”

“Got it,” Hadlock replied.

She turned to Deb. “We may not have time to wait for the ERTs,” she said. “Lock up, turn your phone on silent, bring your shotgun, and let's go!”

They moved forward with Joanna on one side of the narrow road and Deb on the other. They walked along in dead silence, weapons drawn, taking cover under the scrub oak and low-lying juniper that gave the area its name. A hundred yards or so beyond the broken bumper, they came across the tread of a wide passenger car that had delaminated into the dirt. Joanna knew they weren't far behind it, because the smell of hot rubber still lingered in the air, and a trail of oil or water dribbled along in the middle of the dirt. If Cameron was limping along on three tires and a flat on a vehicle that was losing either oil or water, it wouldn't be long before they caught up with him.

Then they did. Joanna spied the limo when a splash of afternoon sunlight glinted off the back window. She held up her hand, signaling for Deb to stop.

“We've made visual contact with the vehicle, but not with the driver or the victim,” Joanna whispered into the phone. “Tell the ERT that we're about three-quarters of a mile beyond where we left Deb's Tahoe. The limo appears to have suffered damage. I doubt it's drivable. We're going to move closer. Keep silent until I tell you otherwise.”

Only a few years earlier cell phone reception in the Bisbee area had been spotty at best. Now, due in no small part to the towers just coming into view ahead of them, even a whispered conversation carried loud and clear.

“Good luck, Sheriff Brady,” Hadlock whispered back. “Our guys are on their way, but I'll be holding my breath.”