Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [11]
The puppy, cradled in Joanna’s arm, was still fast asleep. Stuffing the sleeping animal inside her shirt, Joanna fumbled the Blazer keys out of her pocket and handed them over. “Manny found him out in the shed,” she explained. “There’s a trouble light in the back of the Blazer. Doc Winfield is welcome to it, but what’s the matter with the electricity? Can’t you replace a fuse or pull a breaker and get the cooler running again?”
Dave shook his head. “We’ve placed a call to the power company. They told us the juice is turned off due to lack of payment. We’ve requested that they switch it back on as soon as possible, but they don’t seem to be in any particular hurry.”
Two more patrol cars and a second Animal Control vehicle drove up. “That’ll be Deputies Raymond and Howell,” Dave said. “What do you want them to do?”
“The shots came through the back door, right?”
Hollicker nodded.
“And you’ve done all the footprints?”
“All I could find.”
“While it’s still light enough, then, have Raymond and Howell start a preliminary foreign-object search,” Joanna said.
“Will do.”
Jeannine Phillips walked into the yard lugging a large box.
Dave started away, then turned back to the two Animal Control officers. “Doc Winfield also said that he’d like you to remove those dead dogs as soon as possible. There are dog dishes and dead dogs everywhere. The ME needs them out of the way. Since there’s so little room to work in, maybe one of you could go inside and ferry the dogs as far as the door. Remember, though, this is a crime scene. Whoever goes inside needs to wear booties and sign in on the crime scene diary.”
“I’ll go,” Manny offered. Wordlessly Jeannine handed him the box with its load of large plastic bags.
During the next half hour, Joanna watched as Manny carted one heavily laden bag after another to the door, where he passed the burden along to Jeannine, who then hauled it out to the waiting trucks. It offended the dog lover in Joanna to see all those dead animals carted off like so much unwanted garbage. Mentally keeping track of the number of trips, Joanna was doubly conscious of the tiny heart of the contentedly sleeping puppy beating a feather-light tattoo against her lower ribs.
Which one of those black bags holds Lucky’s mother? she wondered. And how come he’s still alive when all the other dogs are dead?
Jeannine Phillips was a strapping young woman who had once, as a junior in high school, gone out for boys’ football. Bisbee High School’s football coach had let her try out for the Pumas’ JV team, but a broken leg during a pre-season workout session had put an end to her football-playing ambitions. It had also left her with a slight but permanent limp. After only a year or so of junior college, she had started working Animal Control on a part-time basis and had never left. Now the situation was reversed, however. She worked full-time for Animal Control and was a part-time student at the University of Arizona’s satellite campus in Sierra Vista, where she was within twenty or so units of completing her bachelor’s degree.
Clearly the situation that afternoon offended Jeannine Phillips every bit as much as it did Joanna Brady.
“This never should have happened,” Jeannine grumbled as she returned to collect yet another bag. “If we weren’t so damn shorthanded, maybe one of us could have gotten back out here earlier to check on things. Maybe all these dogs wouldn’t be dead now.”
On her best days Jeannine Phillips was a naturally taciturn loner. On occasion she was downright surly. This time, as far as Joanna was concerned, the woman’s complaint and attitude were both entirely understandable, and although Joanna tried not to take the criticism personally, she knew some of it was justified. With all the other demands on her time, Sheriff Brady was too busy to give Animal Control the kind of attention it deserved. It was hardly surprising that they viewed themselves as unwelcome stepchildren inside Joanna’s department.
As for Jeannine Phillips, she had more grounds for dissatisfaction on that