By the time Joanna put down the phone and grabbed her purse, Frank Montoya was parked beside her private entrance with his Crown Victoria’s engine fired up and running.
“Did you tell Kristin we’re leaving?” Frank asked as he wheeled away from the door and through the parking lot.
“I didn’t have time.” As soon as she was settled in with her seat belt fastened, Frank handed her an atlas. After opening it to the proper page, Joanna unclipped the radio. “Okay, Larry. Where do we stand?”
“I’ve notified DPS and let them know what’s happening. They’re sending units as well. Currently I’ve got a long-haul trucker named Molly who says the subject just passed her at Exit 344,” Larry returned. “Molly is convoying with another trucker. They’re going to turn on their hazard lights and stop on the freeway. That should bottle up all the traffic behind them, and it takes care of the westbound roadblock. If I can find someone else to do the same thing at J-6 Road, our people will all be free to deal with the stop itself. City of Benson is closing all exits and entrances to the freeway there. The chief of police in Benson wants to know if we’re putting down the spike strips, or are they?”
“Do we have anyone on the scene yet?”
“Not so far,” Kendrick said. “Where are you and Chief Deputy Montoya?”
Joanna looked up and was amazed to see that they were already out on the broad, flat plain between the Mule Mountains and the hills leading into Tombstone. “Not quite halfway,” she told him.
“I tried Deputy Rojas from Pomerene. He’s up at Hooker Hot Springs investigating some dead livestock. It’ll take him a while to get back down from there. Matt Raymond and Tim Lindsey are on their way from Elfrida and Sierra Vista respectively. Tim should be there first.”
“Okay,” loa4u4;4 said. “Have Matt try to catch up with the subject from behind and keep her in visual contact. Put Matt and Tim in touch directly, so Tim can lay down the strips with just enough time to get back in his car and take cover. And then, in your spare time, call the Double Cs. Tell Detectives Carpenter and Carbajal that we need them both in Benson ASAP.”
Joanna settled back in the seat and listened to the squawking radio as Larry Kendrick relayed her orders to various officers. Meanwhile Frank’s Civvie flew through Tombstone and out onto the straight stretch of newly repaved highway between Tombstone and St. David.
“Sounds like you’ve got things under control,” Frank said.
Joanna shook her head. There were too many variables; too many jurisdictions and people involved; too much opportunity for ordinary citizens to be injured or killed. “We’ll see,” she said.
They were halfway between St. David and Benson when Larry Kendrick’s voice addressed her once again. “Sheriff Brady?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got a problem. Deputy Raymond reports that the subject is pulling off on the shoulder just west of Exit 318.”
Joanna studied the map. “The Dragoon Exit?” she asked. “That’s right.”
That meant Irma Sorenson was stopping far short of Tim Lindsey and his tire strips. “Why’s she stopping?” Joanna asked.
“Matt’s not sure. No, wait. He says a lone woman has stepped out of the vehicle and is walking back toward the rear. He says it looks like maybe she’s got a flat.”
Joanna took a deep breath. It could be a trap. Irma Sorenson might have noticed the sudden reduction in traffic volume traveling in both directions on the freeway. She might also have noticed the presence of a marked patrol car following her even though Deputy Raymond had been directed to keep his distance. There was no question in Joanna’s mind that Irma Sorenson was capable of murder. What were the chances that she was taking the flat for some reason? On the other hand, it was possible that since the RV had been parked in one place for more than six months, it really did have a ruined tire.
“All right, Larry,” Joanna said, steadying her voice and trying not to think about Matt Raymond’s wife and the five-year-old twin girls who were the light of his life. “Here’s what I want you to do. Tell Matt to drive past the vehicle and see if he can tell if the woman is carrying any kind of weapon. If none is visible, have him put on his lights—the orange ones, not the red—and back up on the shoulder. Have him—”
“Deputy Raymond’s on the radio now,” Larry reported. “I lc says the subject is attempting to flag him down. He doesn’t see any weapon. I’ve directed Deputy Lindsey to leave his position i44 lien-son and back up Deputy Raymond.”
Holding the radio mike clenched tightly in her white-knuckled fist, Joanna looked entreatingly at Frank Montoya. “Can’t you drive any faster than this?” she begged.
Frank merely shook his head. “Not if you want us to get there in one piece,” he said.
Now they heard Deputy Raymond’s static-distorted voice coming through the speaker, broadcasting into his shoulder mounted radio. “Ma’am, is something the matter?” That transmission was followed by something garbled that Joanna was unable to decipher, followed by Raymond again, “Well, let me take a look.”
Holding her breath, Joanna gripped the microphone even harder and wondered why the hard plastic didn’t simply crumble to pieces in her hand. Suddenly she heard the sound of a scuffle. “Get down! Get down! Hands behind your back. Behind your back!”
Then, after what seemed an eternity, Joanna heard Deputy Raymond’s voice once more. “Got her.” He panted jubilantly. “Subject is secured. Repeat: Subject secure. She wasn’t carrying a weapon, and she really does have a flat. Lost the whole tread on her right rear tire. I just finished checking out the RV. It’s full of packing boxes, but there’s no one else inside.”
In the background of Deputy Raymond’s transmission Joanna heard the screeching of a siren announcing the arrival of Tim Lindsey’s patrol car. It was all under control and her officers were safe. Joanna’s voice shook with gratitude and relief when she spoke into the microphone again.
“Okay, Larry. Tell Deputy Raymond good work. Have him put the subject in the back of his patrol car and wait for Frank’s and my arrival. Under no circumstances is he to ask her anything until we arrive, understand?”
“Got it.”
“And tell our trucker friends who’ve been stopping traffic that they can let things start moving again. If possible, I’d like their names, company names, and addresses. I want to be able to write to their bosses and express my appreciation.”
“Will do.”
Joanna put down the microphone, leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and let out her breath.
“Way to go, Boss,” Frank said. “Running an operation like that by radio is a little like giving somebody a haircut over the phone, but you made it work. Congrats.”
A few minutes later, Frank turned the Crown Victoria onto I-10 east of Benson. With the emergency over, he had now slowed to the posted legal limit, and the Civvie dawdled along at a mere seventy-five. By the time they made a U-turn across the median, they could see that backed-up traffic from both sides of the freeway was now approaching the scene. Frank and Joanna’s Civvie was the third police vehicle in a clot of shoulder-parked vehicles lined up behind the massive RV.
As soon as Joanna stepped out of the car, she went straight to her two deputies. “Good job,” she told them.
Matt Raymond still seemed a little shaken by the experience. “It could have been a whole lot worse,” he said.
Joanna nodded. “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know.”