Partner In Crime

Quentin Branch would be in charge of the major aspects of the job. Butch was doing some of the hand excavation and finish carpentry. It was a way of passing time and keeping his hand in. Joa

Butch finished his beer, and they went to bed. Within minutes, Butch was snoring softly on his side of the bed while Joa

The last time Joa

“Hope I didn’t waken you,” George Winfield said.

“That’s all right,” Joa

“It’s about that DOA from last night,” the medical examiner said.

Joa

“The name’s Rochelle Baxter,” George returned. “Her driver’s license says she’s thirty-five. My preliminary examination says she was in good health.”

“What did she die of?”

“I don’t know. I thought you might want to have a detective on hand when I do the autopsy, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case she was poisoned.”

Joa

“I didn’t say that. But for an apparently healthy woman to become as violently ill as she was, I’m thinking she may have ingested something.”

“What about the water?” Joa

For years the local water system had been under investigation by the Arizona Department of Ecology due to sewage from across the line in Old Mexico that had been allowed to seep into the water table and possibly contaminate the wells that provided water for the entire Bisbee area. Lack of money, combined with lack of enthusiasm, had resulted in nothing much being done.

“It could be, but I doubt it,” George replied.

“What are you saying – it’s a homicide?”

“At this time I won’t say anything more than it’s a suspicious death,” George said. “But if you’re not treating the victim’s place as a crime scene, Joa

“Thanks,” Joa

“As soon as you can have one of your detectives up at my office. I’m here now. I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

“Ernie’s on vacation, so it’ll have to be Jaime,” Joa

“Just doing my job.”

Butch appeared at the bedroom door carrying a mug of coffee. “What’s up?”

“The DOA from last night just turned into what George is calling ‘a suspicious death.’ In case it turns out to be a homicide, I’ve got to get Jaime to witness the autopsy. The victim’s home down in Naco needs to be designated as a crime scene and then investigated.”

Butch glanced at the clock, which now showed twenty past seven, and shook his head ruefully. “Sounds like a full day to me. Joey, don’t you sometimes wish you had a regular nine-to-five job?” he asked, handing Joa

She shook her head.

“Okay, then. Breakfast in fifteen minutes, whether you need it or not.”

Chief Deputy Frank Montoya usually arrived at the department by seven in order to get incident reports lined up for the morning briefing at eight-thirty. Joa

“You know about the DOA from Naco?” she asked.

“I was just reading the report,” Frank replied. “The EMTs made it sound like natural causes.”

“Doc Winfield doesn’t think so,” Joa

“I’ll get right on it,” Frank told her.

“Anything earth-shattering for the morning briefing?”

“Nothing.”

“Good,” Joa

“Fair enough,” Frank said.

Once showered and dressed, Joa

“Je

“She’s all right then?” Joa

Butch shrugged. “She sounded okay to me.”

He brought a plate of toast over to the table and set it down. “I suppose this means we won’t be having lunch at Daisy’s,” he added.

“Why not?”

“Come on, Joa

Butch’s complaint sounded familiar – like something Eleanor Lathrop might have said to Joa

“We don’t know for sure it’s a homicide,” Joa

“When you call to cancel later,” Butch said, “I won’t forget to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

DR. GEORGE WINFIELD DIDN’T LIKE making next-of-kin notifications over the phone, but hours of fruitless searching for Rochelle Baxter’s relatives had left him little choice. DMV records had yielded a bogus address with a working phone number.

“Washington State Attorney General’s Office,” a businesslike voice responded.

Hearing that, Doc Winfield was convinced the phone number was wrong as well. “I’m looking for someone named Lawrence Baxter,” he said.

There was a long pause. “One moment, please,” the woman said. “Let me co

“Did you say Mr. Todd?” Doc managed before she cut him off.

“Yes.” She was gone before he could ask anything more. After an interminable wait, a man’s voice came on the line. “O.H. Todd,” he said brusquely. “To whom am I speaking?”

“My name’s Winfield. Dr. George Winfield. There’s probably been a mistake. I’m looking for someone named Lawrence Baxter, but they co

“Baxter!” O.H. Todd exclaimed. “What do you want with him?”

“You know him then?” George asked hopefully.

“Why do you need him?” Todd demanded. “Who are you again?”

“Dr. George Winfield,” he explained patiently. “I’m the medical examiner in Cochise County, Arizona. I’m calling about Mr. Baxter’s daughter, Rochelle. If you could simply tell me how to reach him-”