Jaime was staring into the rearview mirror. “Not that I could tell,” he said. “So what’s the deal?”
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “It’s damaged, all right. It hit something hard enough to dent in the front end and shatter the headlight cover.”
“Where to now?” Jaime asked.
“Drive out of the yard, pull over into that next cul-de-sac, and stop there.”
Having said that, Joanna took her cell phone out of her purse and switched it on. She dialed Frank’s number and breathed a relieved sigh when he answered on the second ring.
“Irma’s not booked yet, but she will be,” he told her. “I suggested she call Burton Kimball.”
“Good,” Joanna said. “If anybody needs Burton Kimball’s services, it’s Irma Sorenson. Now I have a job for you, Frank. Did Ernie ever get any response on those telephone-company inquiries he made yesterday? If not, maybe you can hurry them up. We’re looking for calls going back and forth between the Bernards’ number in Tucson and Sierra Vista.”
“I’ll have to check with Ernie. Between him and Ma Bell, that may take a while. Can I get back to you?”
“Sure. If the line’s busy, leave a message. I have a couple of other calls to make.”
By then, Jaime had parked in a neighboring cul-de-sac as directed. He had put the vehicle in neutral but left the engine running. “What now?” he asked.
“We wait,” Joanna answered. “If anyone conies through the Bernards’ Irons gate driving that damaged Lexus, I want you to follow them. But first, give me your notebook with the names and numbers you wrote down. I’m going to check out Dr. Bernard’s alibi.”
It took several minutes for Joanna to get through to Dr. Daniel Howard. Since it was Wednesday afternoon, she ended up reaching him at home.
“Who’s this again?” he asked, after Joanna had explained what she wanted.
“I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said. “From Cochise County.”
“Maybe I should check with Dick before I answer,” Dr. Howard hedged.
“It would really be better if you answered my question without checking with anybody,” she told him.
“Well, it’s true then,” he said after a pause. “We were up at the cabin—Andy Kingsley’s cabin. There were six of us—my son, Rick, and me; Dick Bernard and his son, Chris; and Andy Kingsley and his son, Lonnie. We got there up about noon on Sunday. Barbecued some hamburgers, played some cards, drank a few beers. The kids played games and watched videos. We all came back early Monday afternoon. How come? What’s this all about?”
“Never mind,” Joanna told him. “It’s nothing. Thanks for your help.”
Next she tried the number for Andrew Kingsley. A young male voice answered. “Dad’s not home,” he said. “Wanna leave a message?”
“Is this Lonnie, by any chance?” Joanna asked.
“Yeah. That’s me.” “My name’s Joanna Brady. I was just wondering did you go camping with Christopher Bernard last weekend?”
“That weirdo? Yeah, why?”
“And he was with you all Sunday night?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Lonnie said. “It was my dad’s bright idea. It’s not something I’m proud of.”
“Right,” Joanna said. “I know just what you mean.”
She ended the call. As soon as she did, the phone rang again. “Hello, Frank. That was quick.”
“You were right. Ernie’s request had gone nowhere, but I know the right person to call,” he said. “Her name’s Denise, and she’s a jewel. She told me there’s a collect call from a pay phone in Sierra Vista at four twenty-seven in the afternoon. It’s a pay phone located in a Walgreens store. The call lasted for more than ten minutes. What does it mean?”
“It means probable cause,” Joanna said.
“So Chris Bernard did kill her then?”
“No, surprisingly enough, I believe Chris Bernard is a stand-up guy. He was out of the house when that call came in from the Walgreens pay phone. So was Dr. Bernard. It sounds to me as though both the father and the son could be in the clear on this. I’m beginning to believe that the mother did this job all by her little lonesome. Somehow Amy must have convinced Dora that she was on the kids’ side and that she was coming to help her. I want a search warrant for the Bernards’ house and for all their vehicles as well.”
“You’re saying the kid’s mother is our killer?”
“May be,” Joanna corrected. “Setting out to save her precious son from a fate worse than death. According to my scorecard, Frank, it’s been a bad day for mothers all around.”
‘‘Oops, Sheriff Brady,” Jaime Carbajal said. “Trouble. That Lexus is just now coming through the gate. It looks like the mother’s alone in the vehicle. Want me to pull her over?”
“No,” Joanna said. “Let her go, Jaime. Just follow her. Let’s see where she’s going. Gotta hang up, Frank. We’re on the move here. Get cracking on that search warrant, will you? We may need it sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was anything but a high-speed chase. With Amy Bernard obeying every posted speed limit, Jaime and Joanna followed at a distance of several car lengths. The van was so much taller than the surrounding vehicles that it was possible for Jaime to let other traffic merge in front of them and yet still maintain visual contact with the gleaming white Lexus.
“If anyone saw you looking at that vehicle in the yard, it could cause problems,” Jaime said.
“We’ll just have to hope they didn’t. In the meantime, don’t let that woman out of our sight.”
“Where do you think she’s going?” Jaime asked as Amy Bernard turned off Tanque Verde onto Grant Road.
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “But the fact that she left right after we did makes me think we’d better find out. Our showing up at the house might have spooked her.” Joanna was quiet for several seconds. “You’re the one who dropped Dora Matthews’s clothing at the crime lab, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you happen to have the name and number of the criminalist here in Tucson who’s handling it?”
Jaime reached in his pocket, took out his small spiral notebook, and tossed it to her. “The guy’s name is Tom Burgess,” he said. “His phone number is in there somewhere.”
Joanna thumbed through the pages until she found the one that contained Tom Burgess’s name and number. As soon as she located it, she phoned him. “This is Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said, once he was on the line. “I’m calling about the clothing my investigators brought in yesterday—clothing from a homicide victim named Dora Matthews. Have you had a chance to start on it yet?”
“No, why?”
“We’re currently following a damaged vehicle that may be implicated in that homicide. The medical examiner saw what he thought were flakes of paint on the victim’s clothing. We’re hoping you’ll be able to give us a match.”
“I’ll try to move it up on the list,” Tom Burgess said without much enthusiasm, “but I doubt if I’ll be able to get to it before the first of next week. We’re underbudgeted and understaffed.”
Join the club, Joanna thought. She said, “Please try, Mr. Burgess. I’d be most grateful.”
Joanna hung up and sighed. “Burgess didn’t strike me as much of a go-getter,” Jaime said.
Joanna allowed herself a hollow chuckle. “That makes two of us,” she said.
They continued to follow Amy Bernard, mile after mile, all the way down Grant to Oracle and then north on Oracle until she turned left into Auto Row.
“Now I know what she’s doing,” Joanna groaned. “She’s going to the dealer to have her car fixed.”
Grabbing up her phone, she dialed Frank’s number. “How’s it going on that search warrant? The one we need right this minute is for the Bernards’ Lexus.”