Page 11 of The Girl from Devil’s Lake (Joanna Brady Mysteries #21)

Bisbee, Arizona

On Monday morning, Joanna arrived at work a few minutes late and a little bleary-eyed.

She had spent a good part of the night worrying about Jenny’s working the graveyard shift.

Obviously nothing out of the ordinary had happened or Joanna would have heard about it by now.

She headed straight to Tom Hadlock’s office.

Her chief deputy was already at his desk.

“How are things?” she asked.

Tom checked his watch. “Everybody’s packed and ready to go.” His phone rang. He picked it up, listened for a moment, and then said. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Standing up he told Joanna, “Gotta go. Chain Gang’s waiting in the sally port.”

With that he hustled out of his office, and Joanna returned to her own.

Chain Gang was Arizona law enforcement’s moniker for a network of fifteen-passenger vans that traveled the state, transporting incarcerated individuals from one location to another.

Today ten of Joanna’s nonviolent long-term inmates would be traveling from the Cochise County Jail to Saguaro Hills, a recently opened but privately operated medium-security penal facility north of Phoenix.

Joanna wouldn’t have known that was even an option had she not attended Jenny’s graduation.

During the reception following the ceremony, Joanna had spotted Sheriff Fellows with his wheelchair parked at a table.

She had met him before—and had actually played poker with him at a couple of the statewide Sheriff’s Association gatherings, but those events had been strictly professional.

Now he was Jenny’s boss, so as Joanna had approached his table, she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation.

“Hey, there, Sheriff Brady,” Fellows said when he saw her. “How are things down in Cochise County?”

Joanna set her coffee down on the table.

“Let’s see,” she said. “My jail inmates are on the warpath because the place is jammed to the gills. Turns out I’m short on space for solitary confinement.

The only way to get more of that involves doing a major remodel of the jail.

The plans are drawn up, but the planning and zoning folks are driving me nuts. ”

Much to Joanna’s surprise, Sheriff Fellows had broken into a burst of hearty laughter. “Tell me about it,” he said, “and just you wait. Once you’ve finished doing battle with planning and zoning, you’ll have to deal with building inspectors out the kazoo.”

“Sounds like you’ve been there and done that,” Joanna observed.

“Actually I have,” Fellows replied with a nod.

“Nobody in Pima County ever expected a newly elected sheriff to be someone stuck in a wheelchair. The sheriff’s restroom facilities were anything but handicapped friendly.

Supposedly it was reserved for my use only, but I couldn’t get my wheelchair inside it, much less turn it around.

Just because the building inspectors work for the same county I do doesn’t mean they gave us any breaks.

The bathroom remodel took for damned ever! ”

“I’m not alone then?” Joanna asked.

“Hardly,” Fellows said, but by then the laughter had gone out of his voice. “About your overcrowding situation, though, have you heard of a place called Saguaro Hills?”

“Never. What is it?”

“A privately operated medium-security facility that just opened north of Phoenix. Right now they’ve got lots of bed availability and not enough takers.”

“So?”

“You know about all those twofer deals at Safeway—buy one get one free?”

Joanna nodded.

“Right now, Saguaro Hills has a similar deal—sort of a grand-opening special. You can send five inmates and only pay for four. You’re not the only one dealing with too many inmates and not enough room.

I penciled it out. Even after paying to have some of my inmates transported there, with this special deal, the cost’s not much more than housing them at home. ”

Joanna had known instantly that shipping out ten of her inmates would go a long way toward solving the problem. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll look into it.”

She had started to get to her feet at that point, but Fellows had motioned her back into her chair.

“There wasn’t any favoritism, you know,” he said. “I didn’t hire Jenny because you and I know each other. Believe me, after that year of working for the MMIV, she was miles ahead of all the other applicants. She’s top-drawer.”

“I did wonder,” Joanna admitted, “so thank you for saying that.”

“You’re welcome,” Fellows said, “and don’t worry, Sheriff Brady. I’m pretty sure my brand-new Deputy Brady will do just fine.”

Settled at her desk, Joanna went to work on her usual Monday morning agenda. Two hours later Detectives Howell and Raymond showed up in her office.

“Autopsy’s over?”

Both detectives nodded.

“And?”

“Hyoid bone’s broken,” Deb answered. “The victim also had a perimortem contusion to the side of his head that might well have rendered him unconscious.”

“But the actual cause of death is asphyxia?”

“Yes,” Deb replied. “There’s no sign of any dental work, so using dental charts to make an identification is a nonstarter. Dr. Baldwin will be hoping for a DNA match, but that’s going to take time.”

“Any physical evidence?” Joanna asked.

“Some, and not in a good way,” Deb told her. “His fingernails had been trimmed down to the quick, so there’s no chance of finding DNA under his nails, and Dr. Baldwin found traces of bleach inside his mouth and nose.”

“In his mouth?” Joanna repeated in horror. “He was forced to drink bleach?”

“The ME thinks he was bathed in bleach after he was already deceased in an effort to destroy any DNA evidence. His clothing and shoes were also dipped in bleach.”

“This sounds like a repeat offender,” Joanna observed, “someone who’s done this before and is knowledgeable enough to cover his tracks.”

Deb nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, too. We took photos of everything—the duffel bag, his clothing, his shoes—before bagging them and bringing them back here. I copied you on all the photos, so they should be in your email. Now we’ll have to wait to see what else Casey can find.”

Casey Ledford was Joanna’s lead crime scene investigator. In hopes of preserving possible evidence, the body had been transported without removing it from the duffel bag.

“Any sign of sexual assault?” Joanna asked.

Deb shook her head. “Not initially,” she said.

“Sounds like you’ve done everything by the book then,” Joanna said. “Good work.”

“Maybe so,” Deb said bleakly, “but without a crime scene or an identity, I don’t know where to start.”

Joanna thought about that comment for a moment. “I may have an idea on that score,” she said finally. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

Once Deb and Garth left, Joanna turned to her computer and opened Deb’s email.

The autopsy process would be recorded from beginning to end, but Deb’s photos provided reference shots that could be printed out and placed directly in the murder book.

The first shots were of Kendra removing the body from its duffel-bag wrap.

When she pulled the body loose, it was completely clothed with the exception of a single shoe.

The missing shoe—a high-topped sneaker that appeared to be two sizes too large for the boy’s tiny feet, was found in the bottom of the duffel.

After Kendra located the missing shoe, Deb’s photo revealed that the shoelace wasn’t just untied—it was completely missing.

The empty duffel bag had also been photographed, bagged, and tagged.

Next the boy’s clothing was removed—a faded blue plaid, long-sleeved flannel shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a pair of white skivvies.

Finally the tiny body was lain out on the morgue’s slab.

Joanna had some idea of how far decomposition would have progressed by then, and that’s when she stopped looking.

She didn’t need to see any more. At that point she picked up her cell phone and dialed Captain Arturo Pena’s cell phone.

“ Buenos días , Sheriff Brady,” he said cheerfully. “ ?Qué tal? ”

“Fine,” she answered. “How are things with you?”

“Not bad. How can I be of service?”

“What about lunch?” she asked. “My treat. Daisy’s at noon?”

“Make it twelve thirty, and I’m there.”

“Okay,” she said. “See you then.”

The fact that the two officers operating on opposite sides of the border were good friends wasn’t necessarily widely known, but with the ongoing contentious nature of border relations between the US and Mexico, their quiet friendship and mutual respect were steps in the right direction.

Joanna was already seated in a far corner booth when Arturo arrived at Daisy’s.

People in town were used to seeing uniformed US Border Patrol personnel there on a daily basis, however they weren’t accustomed to uniformed Mexican Federales.

Arturo’s progress through the room was observed with a good deal of interest and curiosity, but then again, it didn’t hurt that the guy was movie star handsome.

“Good to see you,” he said, sliding onto the bench seat across from Joanna, “but from the look on your face, I suspect this lunch is more business than pleasure.”

“Correct,” she said. “We’ve got a dead kid on our hands—an unidentified four- or five-year-old boy—and he may be one of yours.”

“Interesting,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

“I will,” she said. “But let’s order first.”

Joanna opted for the green corn tamale platter and coffee. Arturo ordered coffee, too, along with the bacon burger. Noting the waitress’s raised eyebrow, he gave her a wink and a grin.

“Look,” he explained, “I can get green corn tamales in Naco, Sonora, anytime I want. Bacon burgers? Not so much.” As the waitress walked away, he turned back to Joanna. “Okay,” he added. “What’s the deal?”

“Highway Department guys doing flood watch at the bridge on the San Pedro in St. David on Saturday pulled a blue duffel bag out of the water. The body of a little boy was inside. The hyoid bone is broken, so the ME has ruled it a homicide. He’s been dead for a while.

Our theory is that the killer buried the body in the riverbed, but the floodwaters brought it to the surface.

Given the San Pedro’s headwaters are in Mexico, I wondered. ..”

“Did he happen to be wearing a blue plaid shirt?” Arturo interrupted.

Joanna was blown away. “As a matter of fact he was.”

“Then his name is Xavier Delgado,” Arturo told her. “He’s four years old, and he’s been missing for just over a week.”

“Someone filed a missing persons report with you?”

Arturo sighed. “Not exactly,” he said. “His mother is nineteen years old—a lady of the street, so to speak, who works from home. Some of the guys in my unit are good customers of hers. Whenever she had ‘company,’ she’d always send the kid outside to wait.

My guys often brought him treats to eat while he was waiting.

They’re the ones who noticed he’s been absent. ”

Hearing that, Joanna’s heart broke a little more. “How could they know to tell you what clothes he was wearing?”

“Easy,” Arturo replied. “I’m pretty sure those were the only clothes he had.”

“Is there a chance the mother’s responsible and that’s why she didn’t make an official report?”

“I doubt it,” Arturo replied. “Her name is Elena Delgado. She came north with a group of migrants and was pregnant when she arrived in Naco. She’s been here ever since, fending for herself and the kid and doing what she can to make the best of a bad situation.

As far as kids disappearing without a trace?

It happens along the border all the time.

Human trafficking is a big problem for us.

The mother was probably afraid that if she reported him missing, we’d accuse her of trafficking him. ”

Their food came then. As it was being delivered, Joanna thought about the kind of desperation that would drive a woman into prostitution to support herself and her fatherless child.

Making Xavier wait outside while his mother was entertaining her paying visitors sounded bad, but on the other hand, maybe having him witness what was actually happening inside the house would have been worse.

Before walking away, the waitress slapped two separate checks down on the table. Arturo reached for them, but Joanna beat him to it.

“Will my investigators be able to come to your side of the border to interview her?” Joanna asked, slipping both slips of paper under her plate.

“That would be a bit dicey,” Arturo said. “How about if you set a time for an interview at your department, and I bring her there myself. Doing that will rattle fewer chains.”

“But won’t bringing an illegal across the border be a problem?” Joanna objected.

“I can make it work,” Arturo replied.

“All right then,” Joanna said. “It’s a deal. Let’s eat.”