Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [75]
Snap out of it, she ordered herself when a blur of tears clouded her eyes. That was one job. This is another.
With intermittent radio traffic chattering in the background, Joanna forced herself to review everything she knew about the Carol Mossman case. If she could establish a definite connection between Carol’s death and the two murders in New Mexico, then perhaps there was something else at work here other than simply an opportunist killer targeting susceptible women.
She had crossed the border into New Mexico and was heading north when her cell phone rang. “Hi, Frank,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Jaime and I are on our way to University Medical Center in Tucson to do the interviews you wanted,” Frank Montoya answered. “How about you?”
“Between Rodeo and Road Forks on my way to Lordsburg. What’s up?”
“I thought you’d like to have a little of the inside scoop on the lady in charge of the Animal Welfare Experience folks. It occurred to me that it was too much of a coincidence that AWE would show up with all those sign-waving demonstrators within minutes of the time I had scheduled the press briefing.”
“Right,” Joanna agreed. “The timing was impeccable.”
“I wondered if someone had tipped them off about when the briefing was to happen, so I did some research.”
“And?”
“Tamara Haynes and Marty Galloway were roommates together at Northern Arizona University.”
“Tamara and Ken Junior’s wife were roommates?” Joanna blurted. “Are you telling me that whole demonstration thing was nothing more than an election campaign stunt?”
“That’s how it looks, although maybe that’s not entirely true,” Frank said. “AWE does exist. Nationally, it’s a legitimate organization, but the local group has surfaced just in the last few days. And there’s a good chance today’s demonstration was a put-up deal, aimed at garnering free publicity for them at your expense, to say nothing of boosting Ken Junior’s chances in the upcoming election.”
“In other words, Ken Junior isn’t above using Carol Mossman’s dogs as political fodder.”
“And neither is Tamara Haynes, who’s something else, by the way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve taken a look at her rap sheet. During the week she teaches Women’s Studies courses at the Sierra Vista campus of Cochise College. On weekends, she’s a political activist. She’s been picked up twice for demonstrating at the Nevada Test Site, twice at the Palo Verde Nuclear Plant at Gila Bend, and twice at demonstrations at the front gate at Fort Huachuca. So far, she’s got two disorderly conduct convictions and one interfering with a police officer—all of them with suspended sentences.”
“What do you think we should do about it?” Joanna asked after several moments of reflection.
“I’m not sure,” Frank began.
Suddenly her chief deputy’s voice disappeared into the ether. Then there was nothing. Frustrated, Joanna checked her phone and saw that she had crossed into a no-service zone. She tossed the phone down in disgust.
There was no sense in wondering how Tamara Haynes and AWE had hooked themselves up to Frank Montoya’s press briefing. Ken Galloway no longer worked inside the department but he still had plenty of friends there. Looking for the leak would serve no useful purpose.
Joanna was offended to think her opponent would stoop so low as to use Carol Mossman’s dead dogs to make political hay.
Which is exactly why Ken Galloway isn’t worthy of being sheriff, Joanna told herself determinedly. And it’s why, baby or no baby—Eleanor or no Eleanor—I’m staying the course, and I’m going to win!
Eleven
The Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department was located in a single-story cinder-block building in Lordsburg’s small