Dead Wrong

“But-” Joa

“Look,” he said. “Just because someone gives birth doesn’t make her a decent mother-present company excepted, of course. Now tell me about this stalking business. You say the guy was taking pictures. Do you have any idea who it is?”

Joa

“His name is Evans,” Joa

She glanced in Tazewell’s direction to see if there was any visible reaction to this revelation, but there was nothing-no sign of recognition or even interest.

“And he is?”

“An ex-con,” Joa

“A friend of Rory’s?” Tazewell asked.

“No,” Joa

“Me?” Tazewell asked. “How would I know the man?”

“You’re the one who sent him to prison.”

“What’s the man’s name again?”

“Bradley Evans. He went to prison in 1978 for the murder of his pregnant wife. You were the judge who accepted his plea agreement and imposed the prison sentence.”

“Wait a minute. I think I do remember now. The guy was an ex-soldier from Fort Huachuca, right? He copped a plea even though no one ever found his wife’s body.”

Joa

“And you’re right. I’m the one who imposed his sentence. It wasn’t a good time for me, though. I barely remember the proceedings. But what would he have against Leslie?”

By then Joa

“All this is new?” Tazewell asked.

Joa

“When I was here everything was still located in the courthouse up in Old Bisbee-the jail, the sheriff’s department, the courts.”

“Times change,” Joa

Tazewell smiled. “I understand,” he said. “Take your time.”

Leaving him alone in her office, Joa

“He’s in my office. Do you have anything for me?”

“Not yet,” Frank answered. “Nothing on the blood work, if that’s what you mean. Trying to get the crime lab moving on this is like pulling teeth.”

“Having a supreme court justice sitting in my office may be our secret weapon on that score,” Joa

Nodding, Frank followed Joa

“What friends?” Lawrence Tazewell asked with a snort of derision. “Rory was the only one I knew of, and he was a chum of hers from grade school on. Rory earned money by working on the Triple H during the summers and on weekends. Aileen was totally preoccupied with her parents and her horses. In that order. Her father came first, her mother second, the horses third.”

“What about Leslie?”

“A distant fourth. They hired the wife of one of the Triple H ranch hands to look after her.”

“Did you sue for custody?” Joa

Lawrence Tazewell said nothing for a very long time. Instead of answering, he stared out the window at the gray limestone cliffs rising in the distance. “No,” he said finally. “I wasn’t tough enough. I took the easy way out. Aileen said she wanted a divorce, so I gave it to her. And Max made it worth my while to get out and not to rock the boat.”

“Max?” Frank Montoya asked.

“Maxfield Houlihan,” Tazewell answered. “Aileen’s father. Once she made it clear she wanted to be rid of me, Max did whatever he could to make it happen. And I have to hand it to the man. Max Houlihan may have looked like a rube, but he was surprisingly well co

“You’re saying that it’s because of your ex-father-in-law’s string pulling that you’re a supreme court justice?”

“He didn’t get me the appointment,” Tazewell said. “I got that on my own, but that first job he obtained for me was certainly a springboard to bigger and better things. It put me on a fast track in a way being a superior court judge in Cochise County never would have. But, yes, that is what happened. I’ve felt guilty about it for years. I paid my child support every month, but other than that, I stayed out of Aileen’s and Leslie’s lives. I didn’t want to be involved. I had already lost them once, and I didn’t want to face losing them again. Over the years I’ve tried to make up for my shortcomings with Leslie by doing my level best to be a good father to my present wife Sharon’s two daughters.”

There was something in Tazewell’s demeanor that made Joa

“HD,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Huntington’s disease,” Tazewell answered.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Joa

“It’s a degenerative disease,” he said. “It’s hereditary and incurable. They used to call it Huntington’s chorea because it causes chorea-violent, uncontrollable spasms. It progresses over a period of time-ten to fifteen years, rendering its victims more and more helpless. Ruth, Aileen’s mother, had it, and so did two of her brothers. HD would have killed Ruth eventually, but she committed suicide before things progressed that far. Since Aileen’s mother had HD, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that she’ll develop it too. The same goes for Leslie. God forgive me, but I wasn’t tough enough to stay around and watch it happen.”

“Leslie told us last night that her mother was ill with some kind of degenerative disorder. She didn’t say what kind.”

Lawrence Tazewell’s eyes blinked with tears. “Sorry to hear it,” he said gruffly. “I always hoped she’d dodge that bullet. I think they do genetic testing now. I hope Leslie has it done before she has kids. If she doesn’t have the HD gene, she can’t pass it along to her children.”

“Genetic testing may not be necessary,” Joa

She struggled up out of the chair, went over to her desk, opened her briefcase, and removed the envelope containing the photos of Leslie Markham and Lisa Marie Evans.

Ignoring Frank’s warning look, Joa

“Eighteen years or so,” Tazewell answered. “The last time I saw her was at her grandmother’s funeral. She must have been seven then. I haven’t contacted her since. Why?”

Wordlessly Joa

Joa

“No,” Tazewell said at last. “Not since she was in grade school. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t look like anybody-not her mother’s side of the family or mine.”

“There could be a reason for that,” Joa