Cold Wind - C. J. Box [19]
Joe nodded, then turned on his heel and walked up to Sissy and Jim.
“Have you guys been briefed?” Joe asked. He knew them both well and he’d never jerked them around. He always returned their calls and spoke to them plainly. In turn, they’d never burned him.
“We’re waiting,” Jim said, checking his wristwatch. “McLanahan said he’d be out with a full statement within half an hour. It’s been forty-five minutes. I think he’s waiting on the cameras,” he said with disdain.
Sissy said, “If it’s big enough news, like if she’s arrested for murder, we might even do a special edition of the paper. I can’t remember ever doing one before.”
She checked to make sure her recorder was on, then thrust it toward Joe. “Do you think she did it? You probably know her best.”
Joe was on thin ice. No matter what he said, it could be perceived wrongly. An immediate “No Way” would make it sound like he was her advocate and guarantee he’d be banned from any aspect of the investigation. A “No Comment” might imply guilt, since it was coming from the accused’s son-in-law. After several beats, he mumbled, “You need to direct that question to the county attorney.”
“You saw the body?” Jim asked Joe. “Is it true he was hanging off the blade of a wind turbine?”
Joe nodded, grateful Jim had saved him from a follow-up from Sissy. “I did,” he said. “It wasn’t something I’ll be able to get out of my mind for a while. Deputy Mike Reed is on the scene, so you may want to call him.”
“Yuck,” Sissy said, as she reached into her bag for her cell phone. “Excuse me,” she said, “I’ve gotta make a call.”
Jim reached out and touched her hand. “If you’re calling a photographer to go out to the wind farm before they bring the body down, I’d like a copy of that shot, if you don’t mind.”
Sissy contemplated the request for a moment—Joe could tell she realized the photo and the story could get picked up nationally and likely win some awards—then relented. “I know I owe you a few,” she said to Jim.
Since Jim had said the sheriff would be out to give a full statement, Joe thought that perhaps he’d given them something. So he asked, “Did he tell you the department was tipped? That they’d been told by someone to get ready for this?”
Jim nodded. “You know who it might have been tipping them?”
Joe shook his head. “Nope. So he called you two when? This morning?”
Jim sighed. “Yeah, early. He said get ready for something big, maybe. It was bad timing, because I was going to take my kids fishing today. I had the truck all packed and everything. I was hoping he’d call back and say, ‘false alarm,’ but instead he said to meet him out here.”
“How early?” Joe asked.
“Seven, maybe,” Jim said. “I was just getting dressed.” Jim read Joe’s face, and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Joe said, shaken. So McLanahan had called Jim Parmenter before Joe himself had called in the incident? Behind him he heard several voices and he turned in time to see Missy, head down, being escorted from the front door toward a waiting sheriff’s department GMC. She looked tiny between two deputies who had roughly the same build and bulk as Sollis. Except for Mike Reed, McLanahan had staffed his department with hard men.
Missy was slim and dressed in black slacks, a starched, untucked and oversized white shirt with an open collar and rolled-up cuffs, and simple flats. She looked like she was dressed for a day of celebrity gardening, Joe thought. For her small size, she had a large head and a smooth, heart-shaped open face. She always looked great in photographs, and the camera tended to trim twenty years off her. Her close-cropped coiffed hair was not as perfect as usual and a few strays stuck out, as if she’d done it in haste. Her over-large and sensual mouth was clamped tight. As she stepped down off the porch—the deputies on both sides physically guided her—she glanced up and locked on Joe.
Missy’s eyes were rimmed with red. Without her customary makeup, she looked pale, drawn, small—and her age. They’d handcuffed her in front, and the heavy stainless steel bracelets made her wrists look