The prospect of talking to the coroner threw Joanna off center. Officially, Doc Winfield was the coroner, but he was also Joanna’s new stepfather. Picking up the handset, she wasn’t mire how to speak to him on the phone. Winfield settled the whole issue by handling the entire transaction on a strictly professional basis.
“I still have some toxicology tests to do, and those take time-weeks even,” he told her. “But the preliminary results are these. The victim was struck on the head, repeatedly. The weapon was a heavy blunt object of some kind, but what actually killed her was drowning.”
“Drowning?” Joanna asked.
“In her own blood. Her rib cage was completely crushed. Both lungs filled with blood. That’s what killed her.”
Joanna shivered. Drowning in your own blood seemed like an appalling way to die. She forced herself to sound dispassionate. “Any signs of defensive wounds?” she asked.
“None,” George Winfield returned. “It looks to me as though she was naked when the attack came and as though her assailant came at her from behind. There are contusions and abrasions that look as though they happened prior to death.”
“Like she was running, maybe?” Joanna asked. “As though she was trying to get away?”
“Maybe.”
Joanna didn’t want to ask the next question, but she had to. “Was she sexually assaulted?”
“No,” George Winfield answered. “Given the circumstances of a naked victim, that’s something I would have suspected. But there’s no sign of sexual violation at all.”
“What about pregnancy?” Joanna asked.
“Negative on that, too. Her birth control pills must have been working.”
“Good,” Joanna said. Those things seemed like insignificant details, but Joanna was glad that they were blows David and Katherine O’Brien would be spared.
“Anything else?” Joanna asked.
“That’s all so far. This should be typed up by noon in case you want someone to come get it.”
“Thanks, George,” Joanna said. “I appreciate the advance notice.”
She had no more than put down the phone when it rang again. “We’ve got it,” Ernie said.
“Got what?” Joanna asked.
“The pearl.”
“Yon found it, then?”
“Looks like. With the rainstorm and all I didn’t think we’d ever find it, but we got lucky. It was right where Ignacio said II would be. Maybe he was telling the truth after all.”
Having already talked to Dr. Lee, Joanna didn’t need any more convincing, but she was happy to have Ernie Carpenter’s concurrence.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“While I was sitting here waiting, I’ve been reading up on Alf Hastings’s background,” Joanna said quietly. “He sounds like a hell of a nice guy. You’ll never guess what he liked to do to undocumented aliens besides kicking the crap out of them.”
“What?”
“He liked to burn them,” Joanna answered. “With the lit end of a cigar. Either between the shoulder blades or else on the genitals. On one of those four kids, he did both.”
The phone line went so silent that for a moment Joanna thought Ernie Carpenter had hung up on her. “Ernie?” she asked. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m here.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m thinking about Ignacio Ybarra,” Ernie Carpenter said. “I guess he’s one lucky guy.”
“Lucky? How do you figure? He just lost a girl he cared about very much. He-”
“Right, but he only got the shoulder blade treatment,” Ernie interjected. “From my point of view, that’s luck.”
As soon as Sheriff Brady stopped long enough to think about it, she had to agree.
“I guess I’d better go on over to the ranch and have a chat with Mr. Hastings,” Ernie said a moment later.
“Alone? Where’s Detective Carbajal?”
“He left a few minutes ago. I had him take Nacio back over to the hospital. He was here with us when we found the pearl. I had planned to take him out to the Peloncillos this afternoon and have him show us where he and Brianna usually camped. Considering yesterday’s storm, there’s probably not much to find, but I wanted to give it a try. The problem is, as soon as he saw the pearl, the guy fell to pieces. He even blacked out for a while. It may have just been the heat, but with his ribs the way they are, I didn’t want to take any chances. I told Jaime to take him over to the hospital and to stay with him there. If he comes around later on, Jaime will take his statement.”
“If Detective Carbajal’s not there with you,” Joanna said, “who’s going to be your backup when you go see A l l Hastings?”
“I’ll call in and have Dispatch send me out a deputy,” Ernie replied.
“No,” Joanna said, standing up and reaching for her purse. “Don’t do that. I can be there in ten minutes flat. Alf Hastings is a worm. There’s nothing that’ll give me greater pleasure than seeing his face when he realizes we’ve dug him out of the dirt.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to fix it?” Angie Kellogg’s lower lip trembled as she asked the question. Hurt by Dennis Hacker’s derisive laughter, Angie had come back to Bisbee intent on simply packing up and leaving town. That plan had been derailed twice over. For one thing, Angie’s Omega had been washed down Brewery Gulch, drowned and smashed almost beyond recognition. But that misfortune had brought into focus the other thing that made the thought of leaving town almost impossible. For the first time in her life Angie Kellogg had friends, real friends-Jeff Daniels and Marianne Maculyea, for example.
Al the moment, Jeff-with the twin girls strapped into car seats in the backseat of the VW-was giving Angie a ride to work after viewing the crushed remains of the Omega in the fenced backyard of Jeff’s new business venture, Jeff’s Auto Rehab.
For years Jeff Daniels had played the role of stay-at-home spouse, backstopping his minister wife’s career. Their recent adoption of twins, Ruth and Esther, had thrown a severe financial wrench into the works, especially in view of the fact limit Esther had a heart condition that would eventually require surgical correction.
With money perpetually tight, Jeff had always kept the family’s two aging vehicles-a ‘63 VW and an even older International-in pristine driving condition. Over time, his reputation for taking meticulous care in restoring vintage automobiles had spread. Working more as a hobbyist than anything else, he had restored several antique autos. The twins’ arrival from China, complicated by Esther’s ongoing medical difficulties, hail brought home the necessity for Jeff Daniels to give up his house-husband status and look for work outside the home. Torn between the need for an additional paycheck and the difficulty of finding and paying for child care, Jeff had opted for opening a business of his own.
Within days of making that decision, the opportunity to rent a defunct gas station had fallen into his lap. Its location, hall a mile up Tombstone Canyon from the parsonage, was ideal, and the bargain basement rent had seemed an answer to a prayer.
Jeff had begun the process by remodeling the office area into a combination nursery/playroom for the girls. Only then had he turned his hand toward the actual work space. Now, several months later, having found a number of clients with, as Jeff said, more money than sense, he was hard at work restoring several old cars, including a venerable Reo that belonged to a retired three-star general from Fort Huachuca.
Angie Kellogg’s battered Omega had been towed to the fenced lot behind Jeff’s garage, where it was parked next to the ‘52 DeSoto that was scheduled for Jeff’s ministrations once he finished work on the Reo.
“Yes, we will,” Jeff told Angie reassuringly. “I’ve already made a list of the parts we’ll need. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to find most of them in wrecking yards up in Tucson or Phoenix. Once we get the parts assembled, it’s just a matter of putting the pieces together, priming, and painting.”