Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [50]
“All right, Sheriff,” Dave said dubiously, “but I don’t know how much good it’s going to do. The killer never gained access to Carol Mossman’s residence. We have some tire casts and a couple of footprints, too, and Casey picked up one set of prints from the doorknob on Carol Mossman’s front door, but that’s about it. Other than the things I just mentioned, the brass, and the bullets I dug out of the wall paneling, our crime scene stuff is pretty thin.”
“Ours may not be worth much,” Joanna pointed out, “but it’s possible Trotter’s people picked up something important. We’ll be better off sending everything we have, usable or not, in hopes of getting something good back from them.”
“Okay, Sheriff Brady. I’ll get right on it.”
As Dave walked out the door, Joanna’s private line rang. “Did you eat lunch?” Butch said.
“Yes.” Joanna was glad to hear his voice. Glad to have something bringing her back from a world in which serial killers traveled the countryside murdering whatever unfortunate women happened to cross their paths. “I had chicken noodle soup. Marianne had a burger and fries.”
“Did the soup stay put?” Butch asked.
“So far, so good. What’s up?”
“I’m calling to let you know you’re on your own for dinner.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Jenny and I are on our way to Tucson,” Butch said.
“We’re hoping to make it to Western Warehouse before it closes.”
“How come? I don’t remember anybody saying anything about going to Tucson today.”
“That’s because it isn’t exactly a pre-planned trip,” Butch replied. “In fact, it came up just a couple of minutes ago, when I found Lucky under Jenny’s bed chewing up one of her cowboy boots.”
“It’s wrecked?” Joanna asked. “Totaled. She’s got to have boots for the barrel race tomorrow, and her old pair is so small she can’t squeeze into them anymore. So we’re leaving right now. I’m going to put Lucky in the garage—in your garage—where there’s nothing else for him to chew up.” Butch paused. “How about that Marliss,” he said finally.
“You saw the article?”
“No, but I heard about it. One of Jenny’s friends called her.”
“Great,” Joanna said. “Couldn’t be better. Mother and I already had words about it.”
“How come?”
“I suggested maybe the leak came from her.”
“I doubt it,” Butch said. “Even if Eleanor had called Marliss the moment she left our house, I don’t see how she could have beaten the Bee’s press deadline.”
“You could be right,” Joanna agreed. “So someone else besides my mother might be the culprit.”
“You should probably apologize then,” Butch suggested.
“I will,” Joanna said. “When I get around to it. Now drive carefully,” she added.
“I will,” Butch returned, “but I have one more very important thing to say.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever you do, don’t bring home any more animals.”
“Right,” Joanna agreed with a laugh. “I promise.”
“And you be safe, too,” he told her.
Joanna let Butch hang up without mentioning that there were now two possibly related murder victims across the border in New Mexico. It was a glaring omission, and she wasn’t sure exactly whom it was she was trying to protect—Butch Dixon or Joanna Brady.
After the call ended, Joanna forced herself to turn her attention to her desk. Wanting to leave it in some kind of reasonable order, Joanna tackled her daily grind of paperwork. Dealing with the constant barrage was much like the thankless task of doing housework—it could be completed on a temporary basis but it was never actually finished.
In the course of the late afternoon, she tried several times to check with the Double Cs. Unfortunately, her detectives remained in the conference room conducting back-to-back interviews. She was still sorting papers when Kristin called to say Deputy Roy Valentine of the Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department was waiting outside.
“Send him in,” Joanna said. “Tell Dave Hollicker that Deputy Valentine is here and ask him to come to