Paradise Lost (39 page)

The boy blinked back tears and took a deep breath before he answered. “Saturday,” he said.

“Saturday morning. Dora was staying at someone’s house, a friend of hers, I guess. She gave me the number Friday night. When I talked to her on Saturday, she said that she couldn’t go to a drugstore in Bisbee because all the people there would know her. So I told her we’d get the test kit after I picked her up that night.”

“In Bisbee?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go?”

Chris nodded. “I tried to. Dora had given me directions, and I went there, only there was this huge mess on her street, with all kinds of emergency vehicles and everything. I parked the car and walked back up the street. At least, I tried to. It turned out that the problem was at Dora’s house. I couldn’t tell what had happened—if someone had been hurt or if the place had caught fire or what. I tried to get close enough to see if I could find Dora, but the cops chased me away, told me to get lost. I waited and waited, but she never showed up. Finally I gave up and came back home. I thought she would call me again, but she never did. And then Sunday, Dad made me go on that stupid trip to Mount Lemmon. He probably thought if I hung around with jocks long enough, maybe I’d turn into one, like it was catching or something.”

“It sounds as though we’re finished here,” Alan Stouffer began. “Chris has been entirely cooperative. I don’t see how he can

“Do you know when Dora’s funeral is?” Chris asked Joanna.

“Christopher,” Amy said, “I know you were friends, but that isn’t—”

“Do you?” he insisted.

Joanna nodded. “I believe it’s sometime on Friday afternoon. I don’t know the time exactly, but if you call Norm Higgins at Hig-gins Funeral Chapel and Mortuary in Bisbee, I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you.”

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“What’s his name again?”

Joanna pulled out one of her cards and jotted down Norm Hig-gins’s name on the back of it.

“I’m sorry I don’t know the num-ber,” she said, handing the card to Christopher.

“That’s all right “ he sniffed. “I can get it from information.”

“Chris,” Amy said. “You really shouldn’t go. It just wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m going,” Christopher Bernard said fiercely. “And you can’t stop me!”

“And we should be going, too,” Joanna said, rising to her feet. “You’ve all been most helpful.

And, Chris,” she added, offering him her hand, “please accept my sympathy for your loss. I know you cared deeply about Dora Matthews. She was lucky to have had you in her life.”

Out in the car, Jaime Carbajal slammed the car door and turned on Joanna in exasperation.

“Why did you just quit like that?” he demanded. “I have a feeling there was a whole lot more Chris could have told us.”

“Yes,” Joanna said. “But I want it to be admissible.”

“You still think he did it?”

“No, I don’t,” Joanna replied. “When you turn around to drive out, I want you to stop as close as you can to the front of that Lexus. I want to get a peek at the front grille and see if there’s any damage.”

“But . . .” Jaime began.

“Humor me on this one, Jaime. All I want is a peek. And we’re not violating anybody’s rights here. The car isn’t locked up in the garage. It’s parked right out here in front of God and everybody.”

Hopping out of the van, Joanna made a quick pass by the vehicle. And there it was: a slight depression in both the front bumper and the hood of the LS 430; the left front headlight cover had been shattered. The Lexus had hit something and had hit it hard. Seeing the damage took Joanna’s breath away. In that moment, she knew Jenny wasn’t the target—never had been.

Uttering a prayer of thanksgiving, Joanna darted back to the open door of the van. “Anybody see me?” she asked.

Jaime was staring into the rearview mirror. “Not that I could tell,” he said. “So what’s the deal?”

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “It’s damaged, all right. It hit something hard enough to dent in the front end and shatter the headlight cover.”

“Where to now?” Jaime asked.

“Drive out of the yard, pull over into that next cul-de-sac, and stop there.”

Having said that, Joanna took her cell phone out of her purse and switched it on. She dialed
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Frank’s number and breathed a relieved sigh when he answered on the second ring.

“Irma’s not booked yet, but she will be,” he told her. “I sug-gested she call Burton Kimball.”

“Good,” Joanna said. “If anybody needs Burton Kimball’s ser-vices, it’s Irma Sorenson. Now I have a job for you, Frank. Did Ernie ever get any response on those telephone-company inquiries he made yesterday? If not, maybe you can hurry them up. We’re looking for calls going back and forth between the Bernards’ num-ber in Tucson and Sierra Vista.”

“I’ll have to check with Ernie. Between him and Ma Bell, that may take a while. Can I get back to you?”

“Sure. If the line’s busy, leave a message. I have a couple of other calls to make.”

By then, Jaime had parked in a neighboring cul-de-sac as directed. He had put the vehicle in neutral but left the engine run-ning. “What now?” he asked.

“We wait,” Joanna answered. “If anyone conies through the Bernards’ Irons gate driving that damaged Lexus, I want you to follow them. But first, give me your notebook with the names and numbers you wrote down. I’m going to check out Dr. Bernard’s alibi.”

It took several minutes for Joanna to get through to Dr. Daniel Howard. Since it was Wednesday afternoon, she ended up reaching him at home.

“Who’s this again?” he asked, after Joanna had explained what she wanted.

“I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said. “From Cochise County.”

“Maybe I should check with Dick before I answer,” Dr. Howard hedged.

“It would really be better if you answered my question without checking with anybody,” she told him.

“Well, it’s true then,” he said after a pause. “We were up at the cabin—Andy Kingsley’s cabin.

There were six of us—my son, Rick, and me; Dick Bernard and his son, Chris; and Andy Kingsley and his son, Lonnie. We got there up about noon on Sunday. Barbecued some hamburgers, played some cards, drank a few beers. The kids played games and watched videos.

We all came back early Monday afternoon. How come? What’s this all about?”

“Never mind,” Joanna told him. “It’s nothing. Thanks for your help.”

Next she tried the number for Andrew Kingsley. A young male voice answered. “Dad’s not home,” he said. “Wanna leave a message?”

“Is this Lonnie, by any chance?” Joanna asked.

“Yeah. That’s me.” “My name’s Joanna Brady. I was just wondering did you go camping with Christopher Bernard last weekend?”

“That weirdo? Yeah, why?”

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“And he was with you all Sunday night?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Lonnie said. “It was my dad’s bright idea. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Right,” Joanna said. “I know just what you mean.”

She ended the call. As soon as she did, the phone rang again. “Hello, Frank. That was quick.”

“You were right. Ernie’s request had gone nowhere, but I know the right person to call,” he said. “Her name’s Denise, and she’s a jewel. She told me there’s a collect call from a pay phone in Sierra Vista at four twenty-seven in the afternoon. It’s a pay phone located in a Walgreens store. The call lasted for more than ten min-utes. What does it mean?”

“It means probable cause,” Joanna said.

“So Chris Bernard did kill her then?”

“No, surprisingly enough, I believe Chris Bernard is a stand-up guy. He was out of the house when that call came in from the Wal-greens pay phone. So was Dr. Bernard. It sounds to me as though both the father and the son could be in the clear on this. I’m beginning to believe that the mother did this job all by her little lonesome. Somehow Amy must have convinced Dora that she was on the kids’ side and that she was coming to help her. I want a search warrant for the Bernards’ house and for all their vehicles as well.”

“You’re saying the kid’s mother is our killer?”

“Maybe,” Joanna corrected. “Setting out to save her precious son from a fate worse than death.

According to my scorecard, Frank, it’s been a bad day for mothers all around.”

‘‘Oops, Sheriff Brady,” Jaime Carbajal said. “Trouble. That Lexus is just now coming through the gate. It looks like the mother’s alone in the vehicle. Want me to pull her over?”

“No,” Joanna said. “Let her go, Jaime. Just follow her. Let’s see where she’s going. Gotta hang up, Frank. We’re on the move here. Get cracking on that search warrant, will you? We may need it sooner than you think.”

It was anything but a high-speed chase. With Amy Bernard obeying every posted speed limit, Jaime and Joanna followed at a distance of several car lengths. The van was so much taller than the surrounding vehicles that it was possible for Jaime to let other traffic merge in front of them and yet still maintain visual contact with the gleaming white Lexus.

“If anyone saw you looking at that vehicle in the yard, it could cause problems,” Jaime said.

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“We’ll just have to hope they didn’t. In the meantime, don’t let that woman out of our sight.”

“Where do you think she’s going?” Jaime asked as Amy Bernard turned off Tanque Verde onto Grant Road.

“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “But the fact that she left right after we did makes me think we’d better find out. Our showing up at the house might have spooked her.” Joanna was quiet for several seconds. “You’re the one who dropped Dora Matthews’s cloth-ing at the crime lab, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you happen to have the name and number of the criminal-ist here in Tucson who’s handling it?”

Jaime reached in his pocket, took out his small spiral notebook, and tossed it to her. “The guy’s name is Tom Burgess,” he said. “His phone number is in there somewhere.”

Joanna thumbed through the pages until she found the one that contained Tom Burgess’s name and number. As soon as she located it, she phoned him. “This is Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said, once he was on the line. “I’m calling about the clothing my investigators brought in yesterday—clothing from a homicide victim named Dora Matthews. Have you had a chance to start on it yet?”

“No, why?”

“We’re currently following a damaged vehicle that may be implicated in that homicide. The medical examiner saw what he thought were flakes of paint on the victim’s clothing. We’re hoping you’ll be able to give us a match.”

“I’ll try to move it up on the list,” Tom Burgess said without much enthusiasm, “but I doubt if I’ll be able to get to it before the first of next week. We’re underbudgeted and understaffed.”

Join the club,Joanna thought. She said, “Please try, Mr. Burgess. I’d be most grateful.”

Joanna hung up and sighed. “Burgess didn’t strike me as much of a go-getter,” Jaime said.

Joanna allowed herself a hollow chuckle. “That makes two of us,” she said.

They continued to follow Amy Bernard, mile after mile, all the way down Grant to Oracle and then north on Oracle until she turned left into Auto Row.

“Now I know what she’s doing,” Joanna groaned. “She’s going to the dealer to have her car fixed.”

Grabbing up her phone, she dialed Frank’s number. “How’s it going on that search warrant?

The one we need right this minute is for the Bernards’ Lexus.”

“I’m working on it,” Frank said. “What do you think I am, a miracle worker?”

“You’d better be,” Joanna said. “When you get it, fax a copy of it to me in care of the Lexus
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dealer in Tucson.”

“What’s the number?”

“I have no idea,” Joanna said, “but I can see the sign from here. It’s called Omega Lexus.”

As Joanna watched, Amy Bernard wheeled the white sedan off the street and up to the entrance to the service bays. Within moments a uniformed service representative came out to speak to her, clipboard in hand. “What do we do now, Boss?” Jaime asked.

“Pull up right behind her,” Joanna directed. “We wait until she gives the guy her car keys. Once they’re out of her hands and into his, we go up to her and have a little chat. You go one way, I’ll go the other, just in case she decides to make a run for it.”

As soon as the service rep took Amy Bernard’s keys, Joanna and Jaime climbed down out of the van. Amy stood with her back turned to the approaching officers, her blond hair ruffling in the wind. She had no idea they were there until Joanna spoke.

“How nice to see you again, Mrs. Bernard. Having some car trouble?”

The woman spun around. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Ignoring her, Joanna walked past both Amy Bernard and the service guy. She stopped in front of the car and made a show of studying the dent in the grille and the broken headlight. “Looks as though you’ve had a little fender bender here,” she said. “Have you reported it?”

“Of course I have,” Amy returned indignantly. “I was out driv-ing alone the other night and hit a deer out on the highway between here and Oracle. I reported the accident to both the police and to my insurance company yesterday morning. But you still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Do you happen to have a cell phone with you?” Joanna asked.

Amy Bernard’s blue eyes narrowed ominously. “Yes. Why?”

“Because I thought you might want to have Mr. Stouffer pres-ent, Mrs. Bernard. Detective Carbajal here and I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can do, Mrs. Bernard,” Joanna said quietly. “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Dora Matthews. And as for the car,” she added, turning to the astonished service rep who stood frozen in place, “I’ve requested a search warrant for that vehicle. The actual search warrant won’t be here until later, but as soon as it’s available, I’m having it faxed to me here. Until it arrives, no one is to touch that vehicle.”

“Wait just a minute!” Amy Bernard’s smoothly made-up face screwed itself into a knot of fury.

“I brought my car in here to have it fixed, and it’s going to be fixed.”

“No,” Joanna said simply. “It’s not. I believe this vehicle con-tains evidence of a homicide,” she said to the service rep, who now had the presence of mind to step away from the two women and their heated exchange of words. “It’s to be left alone. Understand?”