Dead Wrong

“Back hurts,” Joa

“The back part will get better soon,” George observed, “but lack of sleep is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”

“Thanks,” Joa

Ernie Carpenter had evidently spotted their arrival. He came marching purposefully down the long line of vehicles parked on the shoulder of the narrow road. Ernie was a stout bear of a man. His broad face included a line of thick black eyebrows that seemed to meet in the middle whenever he frowned.

“What have we got?” Joa

“Not much,” Ernie grumbled. Effortlessly he picked up George’s gurney and carried it as easily as if it were a kiddie tricycle. “This is a dumping scene, not a crime scene. Most likely the body’s been here for a matter of hours. Looks to me like somebody dropped him out of the back of a vehicle-a minivan or a truck-and then rolled him over the edge of the berm of rocks that runs along the side of the road.”

“In other words, no usable tire tracks or footprints.”

“You’ve got it,” Ernie agreed. “Border Patrol is up and down this road all night long, so any tracks that had been left would have been obliterated long ago. The body’s wrapped in a brown canvas painter’s tarp. It blended in with the rocks well enough overnight that no one actually spotted it until after the sun came up this morning. Dave has been scouring the area, but there’s nothing to see. No cigarette butts, no soda cans, no garbage, nothing.”

“Any sign of what killed him?” George asked.

“Like I said, he’s all wrapped up in that tarp. We can see the top of his head and that’s about it. Some blood seems to have leaked through the tarp. I’m guessing he’s either been shot or stabbed, one or the other. We were waiting for Doc Winfield to get here before we did anything more.”

George stopped walking long enough to remove a thermometer from his kit and check the air temperature. A chill brisk wind was blowing down off the Mule Mountains. “If this isn’t the crime scene, then whatever we find inside that tarp is all we’re going to have to go on. I’ll remove enough of the tarp to check the body temp, but with the wind blowing like this it could easily blow away hair or fiber evidence without us even noticing. Let’s unwrap him at the morgue, inside and out of the wind.”

“You’ve got it, Doc,” Ernie said. “All we needed was for you to give the word.”

Joa

One of the officers had surrounded the scene with a hopeful border of bright yellow crime scene tape. Inside the tape Joa

Joa

Watching the process, she was struck by the total lack of dignity. She was glad none of the unidentified victim’s relatives were present to see him hefted around like a hunk of unwieldy trash. He had been dumped out along the road with no more ceremony than someone would use when discarding a cigarette butt or an empty beer can.

And that very lack of dignity-the awfulness of it-was exactly why Joa

With the cold wind blowing through her still-damp hair, she realized she had changed. Being sheriff was no longer an empty title she had wanted to achieve. Somehow it had become what she was. Finding out who the victim was and why he was now dead and encased in a body bag was what she had been summoned to do with her life. The good guy/bad guy game she had once discussed with her father had somehow seeped into her blood. Or maybe, as with D. H. Lathrop, the compulsion to be a cop had been there all along.

Oh my God! she thought with a start. / really am turning into my father!

“Are you all right?” George asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

“I’m fine,” she said at once.

“You looked a little fu

“No, really. I’m fine.”

“Nothing much is on my agenda for today,” George continued, “so I’ll try to get this autopsy out of the way first thing. Ernie Carpenter and Jaime Carbajal drew straws. Ernie lost, so he’s coming along for the ride. What about you?”

Joa

“Since Ernie’s going,” she said, “I think I’ll take a pass.”

George Winfield gave her a fond grin. “Good girl,” he agreed. “I thought you might.”

Chapter 2

Joa

She radioed into the office on the way. “Any missing-persons reports come in this morning?” she asked. “None so far,” Tica Romero answered. “You’ll let me know if there is one?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tica said.

When Joa

Better him than me.

Entering the building through her private back entrance, she dropped her briefcase off on her desk and then poked her head out into the reception area outside her office. “How are things?” she asked.

Kristin Gregovich, Joa

“Not so hot,” Kristin said. “Shaundra’s teething. She didn’t get any sleep last night, which means I didn’t either.”

“I’m in the same boat,” Joa

Kristin laughed. “They say that parents of new babies lose bunches of IQ points. It’s no wonder. They never get any sleep. How’d it go down by Paul’s Spur?”

“Unidentified homicide victim,” Joa