Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [119]
Kids exist in a herd mentality. They want to fit in—want to be just like everyone else. That’s why they wear the same kinds of clothes, watch the same television programs, listen to the same music. But could you fit in if you knew that you existed because your mother had been impregnated by her own father?
It came to Joanna then in a flash of insight. “He doesn’t know!” she almost shouted, pounding the steering wheel with her fist. “Nathan Adams has no idea!”
Joanna’s hands trembled as she turned the ignition key and put the Crown Victoria in gear. Meanwhile the gears in Joanna’s head were meshing as well. And if Nathan doesn’t know, that’s because Stella’s been keeping it a secret. And if Carol was going public, the secret was about to come out.
There it was laid out before her so clearly that Joanna wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. Andrea was convinced that her father was Carol’s murderer, but this made far more sense. Here was motive—a protective mother’s motive—understandable, utterly implacable, and absolutely deadly.
Joanna headed straight for the department. Without being aware of her speed, she found herself doing seventy down the Warren Cutoff. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to pull her foot off the gas pedal and drive sensibly. She parked the Civvie behind her office and darted inside. As soon as she put her purse down, she hurried over to the door.
Kristin looked up from her desk, surprised to see her,. “What are you doing here?” she said. “I thought you’d go straight home from Tucson.”
“Something came up. Where’s Frank?”
“Still in the conference room with Ernie and those other guys,” Kristin answered. “They must be having a great time in there. A few of them have come out for pee stops, but they’re obviously still going strong.” She gave Joanna a close look. “You seem upset,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joanna said, “nothing’s wrong. But let me know as soon as Frank comes out. Tell him I need to see him. What about Jaime Carbajal? Has anyone heard from him?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Joanna returned to her office and tried calling Jaime’s cell phone. It rang several times, and she hung up without leaving a message. Frustrated, she stared at the mounds of untouched paperwork covering almost every square inch of her desk. Finally her eye settled on the last of Irma Mahilich’s General Office drawings—the one marked page 4. The paper sat directly in front of her just where she’d left it. Something drew Joanna’s eyes to the far-right corner of the paper where, although she hadn’t noticed it before, a single name stood out: Adams—Anna Wake-field Adams.
Staring at the words written in Irma Mahilich’s spidery script, a string of names tumbled through Joanna’s mind: Stella Adams. Denny Adams. Anna Wakefield Adams. Joanna had known of Denny Adams. He had been younger than Joanna by several years, so they hadn’t been in school together, but she knew the name. Now she wondered if Anna Adams and Denny were related. She looked up the number in the telephone directory and called the Ferndale Retirement Center.
“Irma Mahilich,” she said to the person who answered.
“I’ll ring her room for you.”
“No,” Joanna said. “Don’t do that. Let me speak to the receptionist. The one at the front desk.”
A moment later another voice came on the line. “May I help you?”
“This is Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said quickly. “I’m trying to reach Irma Mahilich. Is there a chance she’s sitting out in the lobby working on a jigsaw puzzle?”
“Yes,” the receptionist said. “She’s right there. If this is important, I could have her come take the call here at the desk.”
Joanna let her breath out. “Yes, it is important,” she said. “I’d really appreciate it.”
After an interminable wait, Irma’s voice rang over the phone. “I’m here,” she said irritably. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“It’s Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said.
“I can’t hear a thing. Wait while I fix my hearing aid. Now, who are you again?”
“I’m Joanna Brady. You know, D. H. Lathrop’s little girl.”
“Oh, yes. I remember you. You came to