Partner In Crime

“Never mind,” Joa

“Who?”

“Bill Woodruff. You remember him. He used to be the Cochise County Coroner.”

“Oh, that Bill Woodruff,” Ernie said. “Sure, I remember him. That’s a long time ago. I was a brand-new detective back then. Woodruff went fishing down at Guyamas and never came back.”

“That’s what I remember, too, because Dad was sheriff,” Joa

“Sounds familiar,” Ernie allowed.

“Do you remember any of the details?”

“Like I said, it’s been a long time,” Ernie said.

“Yes,” Joa

She hurried to the office door. Sylvia Roark was still pulling envelopes out of the cart. “How are you doing?” Joa

“Okay,” Sylvia mumbled.

“Not on the mail,” Joa

“I can’t do anything on it if I’m here,” Sylvia sputtered. “I thought you said I should-”

“Not right now,” Joa

“Only the mid-eighties, I guess,” Sylvia said. “I’m working backward, and it takes time, you know. I can work on it only an hour or two a day, but I’m doing the best-”

Without waiting for Sylvia to finish, Joa

I SAT IN THE CONFERENCE room twiddling my thumbs for the next twenty minutes. Finally Frank Montoya showed up. Wordlessly he handed me back the piece of paper on which I had scribbled the unknown telephone number. “Who’s Francine Co

“The Washington State Attorney General’s wife,” I told him. “Why?”

“I’d say the man has a problem then,” Frank Montoya replied. “The cell phone in question is registered to her.”

Frank exited the room, leaving me feeling as though he had poured a bucket of cold water down my back. Ross Co

I popped my head back out of the conference room. Chief Deputy Montoya had not yet made it to his office. “Hey, Frank,” I called. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to need a log on that one, too.”

“No kidding,” he replied. “I’ve already ordered it. I’ll bring it to you as soon as I can.”

While waiting, I struggled with my conscience, wondering what to do. Under the circumstances, nothing seemed clear-cut. Was my first responsibility to my boss? Did I have an obligation to call Ross Co

Francine Co

Finally, I picked up the phone in the conference room. Pulling a battered ticket folder out of my pocket, I dialed the toll-free number for Alaska Airlines.

“When’s the next flight from Tucson to Seattle?” I asked.

“There’s one this afternoon at three-thirty,” I was told. The conference room clock said it was already ten past two. I was a good hundred miles away from the airport and without a vehicle. “That one won’t work,” I said. “When’s the next flight?”

“Tomorrow morning at seven.”

I reserved a seat on that flight. I had finished and was putting the phone down when Joa

“Did Frank tell you?” I asked.

“Tell me what?”

“He’s waiting for the next set of telephone-toll logs, but it looks as though my boss’s wife has been carrying on a clandestine affair with one of UPPI’s big-name attorneys back East. I’m guessing that’s how they learned of Latisha Wall’s whereabouts. As soon as they knew, they must have sent Jack Brampton here to rub her out.”

Joa

“Frank’s the one who did it,” I said. “I’ve never seen anybody who can work with the phone company the way he does.”

Joa

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Joa

I wished she wouldn’t keep using A

“Ralph Ames,” I supplied. “The attorney’s name is Ralph Ames.”

“That the two of you cleared all the cases,” she continued.

“That’s right.”

“But you didn’t come here,” she said. “You didn’t clear any cases here.”

It was a statement more than a question. My heart gave a lurch.

“As far as we knew there weren’t any cases here,” I said, “other than A

“You said she kept a written record?”

“Yes, in the form of a manuscript. Why?”

“Was Bill Woodruff’s name in it?” Joa

“Bill Woodruff? Not that I remember. Who’s he?”

“You mean who was he,” Joa

She spun the file folder across the table to me then. “Check the dates yourself,” she added. “Bill Woodruff disappeared within three weeks of A

Joa

I’m always accusing Maxwell Cole of editorializing. Since he writes a newspaper column, I suppose he’s entitled to put his opinions right there in print for all to see. But the truth is, cops editorialize, too. Couched in the supposedly nonemotional declaration of fact and allegation that passes for cop-talk and cop-write, I recognized what the long-ago investigator had obviously concluded. A few terse but nevertheless disparaging remarks about Bill Woodruff’s wife, Belinda, revealed the investigator’s opinion that the missing man might well have had good reason to walk away from a shrewish, carping wife – walk away and simply disappear.