Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [38]
“Right,” Joanna said. “Everybody’s as innocent as the day they were born. That’s why they’re all in the slammer. Now, what’s the story on Osmond? Who is he? What did he do?”
“He was serving ninety days for drunk and disorderly. He should have been in longer. He was up on a domestic-violence beef, but his lawyer plea-bargained it down to D and D.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-six.”
“How long’s he been in?”
“Forty-five days.”
“Did he cause any trouble?” Joanna asked.
“Not that I know of,” Hadlock answered. “At least nothing that got written up. No difficulties with his cell mates, no calls to the infirmary, nothing.”
“Who are his cell mates?”
“Brad Calhoun, a DUI from Willcox, and John Braxton, another D and D from Sierra Vista.”
“Any reports on either of them?” Joanna asked.
Hadlock shook his head. “Braxton’s only been here a couple of days, and Calhoun hasn’t been any trouble either. That’s why I try to put the drunks together. When they’re not drunk, they mostly don’t cause much trouble.” Hadlock paused. “You want to go see him?”
“Not yet,” Joanna said. “Doc Winfield and Detective Carpenter are both on their way. We should probably wait until they get here. Who found the body?”
“Lloyd did,” Hadlock replied, referring to Lloyd Rolly, the assistant jail commander. “When we turned up one prisoner short, I sent him back out looking.”
“Did he move anything?” Joanna asked.
Hadlock shook his head. “Lloyd checked for a pulse and then called me. I called the EMTs, but he was gone.”
George Winfield’s Dodge Caravan pulled into the parking lot, followed immediately by Dave Carpenter’s Econoline van.
“Good news,” George said, hurrying toward them. “I just heard from Pima County. They’re sending Fran Daly. She’s leaving Tucson right now and will be here as soon as she can. That way she can take charge of the body to begin with rather than our having to do transfers back and forth.”
Joanna had worked with Fran Daly on several other cases. Fran was a no-nonsense type who was an expert at dating long-dead corpses through the succession of bug and larvae found on the rotting flesh. Other than that, she was a fairly nice person.
“We could have done worse,” Joanna said.
“That’s what I thought,” George Winfield agreed.
With Tom Hadlock in the lead, they made their way through the remotely controlled locks of the jail complex and out into the razor-wire-lined rec yard, which was lit up as brightly as the Warren Ballpark playing fields. Richard Osmond’s body lay on the bench of a concrete picnic table. His hands were folded across his chest. Joanna was forced to agree that the dead man did indeed appear to be sleeping.
George cocked his head to one side and studied the body. “I’m guessing it’s either an OD or natural causes. Anybody want to place bets?”
“Leave me out of it,” Ernie Carpenter grumbled. “You always win.”
Joanna turned to the jail commander. “Does his rap sheet show any drug convictions?”
“Not that I noticed,” Hadlock replied.
“Does he have a wife?” Joanna asked.
“Live-in girlfriend,” Dave Hadlock said. “Her name’s Marla Gomez. We’re trying to track down an address for her. Their apartment in Bisbee was in Osmond’s name. Once he ended up in jail, Marla and the kid moved out. They may be staying with her parents, who live in Douglas.”
“They have a child?” Joanna asked.
Tom Hadlock nodded. “A boy. He’s four or five.”
“You’ll let us know as soon as you have the address?”
“Right,” Tom said.
Dave Hollicker showed up then, camera in hand, and was directed to the picnic table bench. As the CSI began snapping crime scene photos, Ernie Carpenter shook his head.
“How many people were out here this afternoon?” he asked.
“Counting prisoners, detention officers, kitchen trustees, and deputies, right around a hundred.”
“We’re not likely to find much as far as physical evidence is concerned, mostly because we’re going to find too much,” Ernie said. “Our best bet will be to talk to the people who were there—guards and prisoners both. Maybe, while we’re waiting for Fran Daly to show up, we could start interviewing