Partner In Crime

“Is that why I keep ending up with the recording in Spanish?”

“Right,” she said. “And you’re going to keep on getting it until you’re on the other side of the Mule Mountains.”

Shaking his head, Beau pocketed his phone. “Sorry I asked,” he said.

SOMETIME LATER, THE FIRST OF THE HAZ-MAT crew members emerged from the house carrying several tightly closed stainless-steel containers. It was an hour after that when the last of them, Ron Workman, stepped out onto the porch. Divested of his moon suit, he stopped in front of Joa

“Whoever your guy is, he knows what he’s doing,” Workman told Joa

“What makes you say that?”

“If he hadn’t known something about sodium azide, he’d most likely be lying dead in there, too, since just breathing this stuff can kill you.” Dave Hollicker was standing nearby. Remembering her crime scene investigator was lucky to be alive, Joa

Workman continued. “He jury-rigged himself a laminar-flow fume hood. Attached a cooling fan from a computer to one side and cut a hole big enough for his hands in the other. With his hands inside, the two openings would be almost the same. He also cut holes into the top and made Saran Wrap windows so he could work with his hands inside the box and still see what he was doing. Then he sealed all the seams with duct tape. And – voilà. There you have it – the same kind of equipment we use when we’re working with hazardous materials in the lab, except ours sets the state back a bundle of money. What your guy used was crude but effective.”

“And portable,” Joa

“That, too,” Workman agreed. “Whenever he was working with it, he would have co

“It’s hooked to the dryer vent so he wouldn’t end up breathing it himself.”

“Right.”

“Did you dust for prints?” Joa

“Not yet,” Workman told her. “When we get back to the lab, we’ll dust the box and the food containers we took, but for the rest…”

“That’s all right,” Joa

“In the box?”

She nodded.

“Plenty,” Workman answered grimly. “More than I wanted to see. If your suspicions about the sugar and flour are correct, he had enough to do some real damage.”

“How long will it take you to find out about the sugar and flour?” she asked.

“Not long,” he said with a shrug. “A day or two. I’ll be in touch as soon as we finish the analysis.”

Joa

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll do your best.”

I GOT A KICK OUT OF WATCHING it go down. It occurred to me while Sheriff Brady was nailing Ron Workman’s feet to the floor that even though the Haz-Mat squad leader was a good twenty years younger than Harry I. Ball, the two men were cut from the same cloth.

Most people are under the mistaken impression that sexism is limited to old farts like Harry and me. They think one of these days all of the old guys will die off, sort of like the dinosaurs did, and the problem will disappear from the face of the planet. I have bad news for those folks. Since Ron Workman wasn’t a day over thirty-five, they probably shouldn’t look for it to happen anytime soon.

The Haz-Mat guys and Deputy Hollicker were packing up to leave when Joa

“I’ve got two things to tell you,” Frank Montoya reported excitedly. “Number one: I checked on that Gardendale Correctional Institute you asked me about. It’s private, not public, owned and operated by UPPI.”

“And the other?”

“I’ve finally managed to get a hold of some of the phone records we need. I started with the pay phones down by the post office, and I’ve found something very interesting. There are three long-distance calls that were placed from one of those phones to Wi

“Not to me,” I told him, jotting the information into my notebook. “Never heard of the guy or the law firm, either one.”

“It could be nothing,” Frank was saying. “Since Brampton is evidently from Illinois, it could be Maddern is a friend or a relative. But still, the timing…”

I was doing some dot-co

“This is good stuff,” I told him. “Thanks.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Frank replied.

I started to hand the phone back to Joa

“What’s that?” Frank returned.

“UPPI and the state of Washington are currently involved in some upcoming litigation. How about checking to see if a company named Maddern, Maddern, and Peek is representing in that case.”

“Sure thing,” Frank said. “I’ll see what I can do.” I heard someone speaking to Montoya in the background. When he returned to the radio mike, his voice crackled with new urgency. “Have the Haz-Mat guys left yet?” he demanded.

I looked around. The yard was empty. While we talked, Joa

“Somebody’d better grab them before they do,” Frank Montoya returned. “Casey Ledford just radioed in from Dee Dee Canfield’s house out in Huachuca Terraces. She says there are clear signs of a struggle in the living room, and there are traces of a white powder on the furniture and in the rugs. She’s evacuated the place and is awaiting Haz-Mat assistance.”

Before the call even ended, I was thundering down the stairs, looking for Joa

“Where’s this one?” he demanded.

“A few miles from here,” Joa

With that, Joa

Riding through town, I was struck by the general junkiness of the place. Homes and businesses alike seemed to have collections of old cars, washing machines, refrigerators, and other rusty equipment that defied identification moldering around them. Evidently the city of Bisbee wasn’t big on litter patrol.