Missing and Endangered (Joanna Brady #19)(39)
“Thanks, Tom,” Joanna said. “Now, what’s going on? Any word on the DPS investigation?”
The chief deputy shook his head. “Not a whisper,” he said, “and I take that as good news. If Dave Newton had something to brag about, you can bet your bippy he’d be doing just that—shouting it to the high heavens. The evidence all seems to line up with what Armando’s told us. The CSIs found a total of nine shell casings at the scene that were fired from the Glock—one inside the mobile home and eight outside it. There was an additional casing located next to Armando’s patrol car. That one was apparently fired by his service weapon, and it says a lot about hitting the practice range. Leon fired nine times and nailed Armando once. Armando was a one-and-done.”
Joanna was grateful there were no civilians within earshot of Tom’s politically incorrect but valid evaluation of the shooting scores.
“Tell me again about the shot fired inside the mobile home.”
“Dave Hollicker dug the bullet out of a ceiling tile. It looks to him like that shot was aimed straight up into the air rather than at any kind of angle.”
“Suggesting that the shot could have occurred in the course of some kind of struggle?”
Tom nodded. “Possibly.”
“What else went on?” she asked.
“Not a whole lot,” Tom responded. “Jaime finished up his preliminary investigation on that wreck over by Willcox. We were going on the assumption that it was a DUI-related fatality. The driver had imbibed in a cocktail or two, but according to Doc Baldwin he had a heart attack. That’s what caused the wreck in the first place. It’s also what killed him.
“Other than that we handed out a few DUIs here and there, including a guy who hit a steer in that patch of open range on Highway 181 just north of Five Mile Creek. Killed the steer and totaled the car, but the driver’s lucky. Between his seat belt and air bags, he walked away with only minor injuries. Nonetheless, he’s currently cooling his heels in our jail for the time being—driving drunk with no insurance and driving on a suspended license.
“The only other thing of note, also alcohol-related, was a little donnybrook out on Robbs Road just north of the LeRoy Airport. Several members of a visiting motorcycle gang were partying at one of the mobile homes parked out there. Two of the guys at the party, who happen to be a pair of brothers, got into a knock-down, drag-out fight. They were busy tearing up the place when the lady of the house—using the term loosely—clocked one of them over the head with a frying pan.”
“A frying pan?” Joanna asked. “A real frying pan?”
“Yup,” Tom replied, “one of those no-kidding, heavy-as-hell, cast-iron skillets. The guy was still out cold when Deputy Raymond showed up. EMTs hauled him off to the hospital in Willcox with a possible concussion. His sparring partner was arrested at the scene, charged with disturbing the peace and resisting, and is currently being held in our lockup. Once the guy in the hospital is released, he’ll end up in jail as well.”
“What about the lady wielding the frying pan?”
“Deputies Creighton and Raymond were at the scene. They were considering arresting her on a domestic-violence charge, since concussion guy happens to be her husband. The other partygoers raised hell about that—said the two drunks probably would have killed each other had she not intervened—so they let it go.”
“Probably a good decision on their part,” Joanna offered.
“Outnumbered by a motorcycle gang?” Tom said. “You’d better believe it was a good decision. I’da done the same thing in a heartbeat.”
Once Tom left her office, Joanna turned to her Monday-morning paperwork. She did so with a happy heart, because she was reasonably sure that Tom’s assessment of the Dave Newton situation was correct. If he and Jackson had come up with any discrepancies in Armando Ruiz’s story, Newton would be broadcasting them far and wide.
She spent the better part of two hours refining and polishing her budget request before loading it into e-mails and sending it off to members of the board of supervisors and copying Tom Hadlock in the process.
It was getting on toward lunch when Casey Ledford came into her office. “Did you hear?” she asked.
“Hear what?” Joanna asked.
“Ernie’s pulling the plug,” Casey replied. “He just drove into the parking lot in an enormous RV. It has signs on both sides that say ‘Gone Fishing.’”
“Sounds like he’s made up his mind, then,” Joanna observed, but the RV ploy told her how the game would be played. Ernie would retire, making no mention that his cancer was back. That was his call and fair enough, but at least he’d done what Joanna had asked. He was notifying people in the department that he was out of there. There was no need for him to say how come.
“Did you know?” Casey asked.
“I might’ve had a clue,” Joanna admitted.
“He’s a good guy,” Casey said, “and I’m sorry to see him go, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Is this about the GSR?”
Casey nodded. “I found traces on the robe inside the sleeves down by the wrists, most prominently on the right-hand side and to a lesser degree on the left. I also found traces higher up in the sleeves, again with measurably more residue present on the right-hand side than on the left. We know from the crime scene that Leon was left-handed. What about Madison?”