Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [39]
Joanna nodded. “Sounds good,” she said as the hulking Ernie strode away.
“As for me,” George Winfield said when he and Joanna were left alone, “since I’m taking a pass on this case, I believe I’ll go on home. I’ll have a word with your mother—or, rather, I’ll let her have a word with me on the other major topic of the evening.” He gave Joanna an understanding smile. “But again,” he added, “congratulations. Ellie’s comments notwithstanding, you and Butch and the baby will be just fine.”
By the time Joanna had walked back across the parking lot and let herself into the Justice Center conference room, Frank Montoya had shown up as well.
“This isn’t good,” he said. “I’ve already had two calls—one from The Bee and another from The Tribune out in Sierra Vista. The reporters heard about it before I did. How’s that possible?”
“It’s all politics,” Joanna said. “And in politics, anything goes. What did you tell them?”
“That I’d check things out and let them know.”
Briefly Joanna brought him up to speed. By the time she finished, Tom Hadlock was leading a handcuffed man down the hall toward the interview room, where Ernie Carpenter was already waiting. Joanna and Frank followed them into the room. “This is Brad Calhoun,” Tom said, shoving the man into a chair. “He’s one of Richard Osmond’s roomies.”
“Look,” Calhoun said, “I have no idea what happened to Richard, but whatever it was, I had nothing to do with it. I swear to God.”
“Go ahead and remove the cuffs,” Joanna told Tom Hadlock. “We’re just talking here. I’m Sheriff Brady, Mr. Calhoun. This is Chief Deputy Montoya, and this is Homicide Detective Ernie Carpenter.”
Calhoun was holding out his hands so Tom Hadlock could unlock the cuffs. When he heard Ernie’s name and title, his jaw dropped. He waited until Tom Hadlock had taken the cuffs and left the room.
“Did you say homicide?” Calhoun asked. “You mean somebody’s dead? I thought Richard just took off somehow. That he’d figured out a way to go over the fence—that he’d waited until everybody else went back inside and then away he went, know what I mean?”
“Mr. Osmond didn’t go over the fence,” Ernie told him somberly. “He’s dead, and we’re wondering what, if anything, you might know about that.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” Calhoun asked.
“You tell us,” Ernie returned. “When’s the last time you talked to Mr. Osmond?”
“Right after dinner,” Calhoun answered hurriedly. “Right after we finished up the watermelon.”
“What was said?”
“Richard said he was tired, that he thought he’d take a nap. Didn’t surprise me none. We were all wore out. The heat really takes it out of you. The AC in the jail went out last night, you see, and it was too hot to sleep—for me, anyway. It was just plain miserable.”
“So you didn’t think it was odd when Richard Osmond said he needed a nap.”
“Naw. It was so ungodly hot that we were all beat. I was a little surprised, though, when he nailed that whole bench for himself. I didn’t see him again after that, and I didn’t think about it either—not until John and me got back to the cell and Richard wasn’t there. We figured out he was missing about the same time the guards did, and then all hell broke loose. They figured he’d escaped somehow, and they put the whole place on lockdown.”
“Did Mr. Osmond do drugs?” Ernie asked.
Calhoun grinned. “Around our cell, alcohol is the drug of choice, ma’am. I’d have to say Richard had been…well…maybe not sober, but dry at least, ever since they locked him up. Same goes for me and John Braxton, too.”
“You don’t think it’s possible Osmond might have gotten himself some contraband drugs?”
“Not that I know of,” Calhoun said, “but we weren’t like, you know, best buddies. He wouldn’t have told me if he had.”
There was a knock on the door. Tom Hadlock pushed his head inside the room. “I’ve got the girlfriend’s parents’ address down in Douglas—Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Gomez. Should somebody from the jail handle this?”
“No, Tom,” Joanna said. “We will.” She looked at Frank Montoya, who nodded, stood up, and headed