Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [7]
“Karen. Sheriff Brady here. There’s been a possible homicide out near the San Pedro. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make our appointment this evening. Please call my office tomorrow and reschedule.”
Ducking into the coat closet just inside her back door, Joanna ditched her heels and changed into jeans, a T-shirt, white socks, and tennis shoes. She was finishing tying the second shoelace when the phone rang again.
“She’s dead,” Manuel Ruiz announced flatly when Joanna answered. “Shot in the belly.”
“And the dogs?”
“They’re all dead, too,” he replied. “I counted seventeen in all. The place was like a goddamned oven. No air-conditioning. The windows were open, but the mobile was sitting in direct sun most of the day. Must be at least a hundred and twenty inside. I’m sure that’s what killed the dogs. Heat prostration. Dogs can’t take it, you know. Coop ’em up inside a hot building like that or in a car, and it kills ’em every time.”
The dead woman may have been Joanna’s problem, but the dead dogs were Manny Ruiz’s primary concern.
“Are you back in your vehicle?” Joanna asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Wait right there,” Joanna told him. “I’m on my way.”
After putting the phone down, Joanna stared at it for an indecisive moment, then picked it back up and dialed Tica’s number.
“Officer Ruiz told you what’s up?” Joanna asked.
“Yes.”
“So who all’s heading to the scene?”
“Detective Carpenter’s on call tonight,” Tica replied, naming Joanna’s lead homicide detective. “Dave Hollicker’s on his way. So is Casey Ledford.”
With her investigative team—a detective, her crime scene investigator, and her latent fingerprint tech—all en route, Joanna nodded. “What about Doc Winfield?” she asked.
“The ME will be heading out in a couple of minutes,” Tica replied.
“Good,” Sheriff Brady said. “So am I.”
Grabbing her purse, Joanna hurried outside. As she stepped through the door, late-afternoon heat hit her like a physical blow. Her shiny Crown Victoria was parked in a shaded spot right outside her private back-door entrance, but knowing she was headed for a less than perfect road, Joanna bypassed that vehicle. Instead, she vaulted into her much dented but entirely trustworthy four-wheel-drive Blazer. As soon as she started the engine, she turned on the air-conditioning as well, although for the first several minutes the only thing blowing through the vents was nothing but more overheated air.
Pausing for traffic at the entrance to the Justice Center, Joanna searched the sky for some sign of the few stray clouds that had poked their puny tops over the edge of the horizon earlier in the day. Now those wisps of cloud had disappeared entirely, leaving behind not so much as a single drop of moisture. Cochise County old-timers swore the rainy season always started on the Fourth of July, usually just in time to drown out the municipal fireworks display. If that was going to be the case this year, weather conditions would have to change drastically in the course of the next few days. Joanna Brady didn’t hold out much hope. The summer monsoon rains would come when they were damned good and ready and not a day before.
Convinced she’d encounter less traffic by going through Tombstone, Joanna headed in that direction. As she drove, her mind began sifting through the officers at her disposal and considered what additional assets she’d need at the crime scene. She clicked on her radio.
“Which deputies from Patrol are en route to the crime scene?”
“Raymond and Howell,” Tica Romero replied.
“According to Manny, we’ve got seventeen dead dogs to handle,” Joanna said. “That being the case, we’d better call out Jeannine Phillips, too.”
Jeannine Phillips was Joanna’s second full-time Animal Control officer. “We’re going to need another pair of hands. Tell her to bring along the Animal Control equivalent of body bags. We’ll need a bunch of those.”
Joanna dreaded what would happen when word of the canine fatalities leaked out. Arizona was a state where it was legal for unrestrained children to ride as