Page 57 of The Girl from Devil’s Lake (Joanna Brady Mysteries #21)
Bisbee, Arizona
Settled at her desk, Joanna was reaching for her phone to call Anna Rae Green when it rang. “Sheriff Brady,” she answered.
“Craig Witherspoon here. I hear you’ve been busy, and apparently you didn’t need that arrest warrant.
I understand Stephen Roper is in custody, so if I’m going to be in court for an arraignment hearing bright and early on Monday morning, I’m going to need to do some catching up, and not just on the cases here in Cochise County.
I’ll need some insight into all those other cases as well. ”
“You’re right,” Joanna said. “A lot has happened, and some of those other cases aren’t just suspected. They may not yet be proved, but they’re confirmed.”
“What do you mean ‘confirmed’?” Craig asked.
She quickly brought him up-to-date as far as Roper’s confession was concerned as well as the fact that he had most likely fired his defense attorney.
“All right,” Craig said when she finished. “I’m going to need to talk to all your investigators to see where we are. After that, I intend to watch every minute of that interview.”
“How soon will you be here,” Joanna asked.
“Twenty minutes to half an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll put everybody on notice.”
As she set down the phone, Joanna heard Tom Hadlock’s voice, coming from the office next to hers.
She went to his door and poked her head inside, waiting while he finished a phone call.
Clearly he was finalizing arrangements for shipping the next batch of jail inmates to Saguaro Hills.
With everything else going on, that detail had completely slipped her mind.
“When do they leave?” she asked when Tom ended the call.
“Bright and early Monday morning,” he said. “I was making sure we’ve got the Chain Gang in place. How are things with you?”
“You mean other than the fact Stephen Roper called me in and gave me a full confession earlier this morning?”
“Really?” Tom asked with a frown. “I thought he lawyered up.”
“So did I,” Joanna replied, “but he evidently changed his mind. So here’s what I need. The county attorney is on his way. He wants to touch bases with all the investigators, then he’ll view the interview. Is everybody here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tom replied, “all present and accounted for and with their noses to the grindstone.”
“Tell them I want everyone in the conference room half an hour from now, ready to give the county attorney a complete briefing on our progress.”
“Will do,” Tom said.
With that, Joanna went back to her office and dialed Anna Rae Green’s home number.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“A lot,” Joanna told her. “Roper’s in custody.”
“Thank God,” Anna Rae murmured. “On the arrest warrant from North Dakota? Philip Dark Moon told me they were sending it.”
“I know it’s here, but we didn’t actually need it,” Joanna said. “Stephen Roper is locked up on suspicion of committing two separate homicides, including our original one, the little kid from Mexico.”
“Who’s number two?” Anna Rae asked.
“A local reporter made the mistake of stopping by his place to ask if he was aware that he was under investigation. While attempting to flee, he shoved her through a trapdoor into his crawl space and broke her neck.”
“Yikes,” Anna Rae said.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. Roper raised all kinds of hell last night, demanding that I come in so he could give me a complete confession.”
“And did he?”
“He certainly did—for the next three and a half hours. In the process he cleared six separate cases, three of which happen to be MMIV-related.”
Joanna went on to give Anna Rae a detailed description of what had gone on.
“Do you think he was deliberately targeting Indigenous victims,” Anna Rae asked when Joanna finished, “or were they simply crimes of opportunity?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” Joanna replied. “From the number of items we found in what we believe to be his trophy case, those six cases barely scratch the surface. We’re going to need to identify a lot more victims. We might even consider sending out a second BOLO.”
“All right,” Anna Rae said. “I’ll let Philip and Nadia know what’s going on. Does someone need to call Luke Running Deer?”
“Nope,” Joanna answered. “I already let him know.”
Off the phone, she sat there and considered her next step. With Craig due in a little over twenty minutes, she decided there was probably enough time for her to make one more phone call. Having made that decision, she reached for her stack of missed-call messages.
She plucked the topmost message off the pile—Sheriff Augie Nesbitt, Lauderdale County, Tennessee.
The only number listed was for work. Since it was Saturday, Joanna wasn’t at all surprised when it was answered by voicemail, but she didn’t bother leaving a message.
Searching the department’s website, she finally located a nonemergency number that was answered by a human being.
“I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady from Bisbee, Arizona,” she announced. “Yesterday Sheriff Nesbitt responded to a BOLO we sent out concerning a serial killer. I just tried calling him, but since it’s Saturday, he’s not answering. Can you help me?”
“I can’t give out his number,” came the reply, “but if you’ll give me yours, I’ll pass it along.”
Joanna’s first instinct was to immediately dial the next number, but she decided to give it five minutes. In case Nesbitt did call back, she didn’t want to have to hang up on someone else in order to take his call, and that strategy paid off. Nesbitt called back in three minutes flat.
“Sheriff Brady?” he asked. “Nesbitt here. What’s going on?”
“We have a suspected serial killer in custody in our jail.”
“The guy from the BOLO?”
“Yes,” Joanna said. “So do you have a case that might match up?”
“We do,” Nesbitt said, “but it’s from so long ago that I doubt there’s a connection.”
“Humor me,” Joanna said. “Tell me about it.”
“Happened right here in Ripley back in 1986. A seven-year-old Black kid named Jimmy Gibson disappeared from the Tomato Festival.”
“What time of year?” Joanna asked.
“Summer—July 13, 1986,” he answered. “I don’t know that off the top of my head. I pulled the file and went through it.”
Crimes committed in the summer , Joanna thought. That’s another commonality.
“What happened?” she asked aloud.
“Jimmy’s mother, Gail, was a recently divorced single mom.
She came to the festival to perform with a gospel choir.
She left Jimmy sitting alone in the audience and told him to stay there, but when the performance was over, he was gone.
Days later his body washed up on the banks of Forked Deer Island in the Mississippi.
The body was so decomposed it had to be identified by dental records.
He’d had his first-ever cavity filled only the week before.
“Gail immediately pointed the finger at her ex-husband, John. The two of them were involved in a fierce custody battle. He was really the only suspect, and he didn’t have an alibi.
According to him, he was home alone, watching TV.
But there was no physical evidence to tie him to the scene.
He was never arrested or charged, but as far as the town was concerned, he did it.
When he committed suicide five years ago, that pretty much clinched his guilt as far as public opinion was concerned. ”
“What was missing?” Joanna asked.
“Gail was First Baptist all the way, and Jimmy had just attended Daily Vacation Bible School. All the kids who had perfect attendance at that got a cross.”
Joanna’s heart skipped a beat. “A glow-in-the-dark cross by any chance?”
“How the hell did you know that?” Nesbitt demanded.
“Because I’ve got one of those in an evidence bag here at my office right this minute,” Joanna answered. “Jimmy Gibson’s father didn’t kill him.”
“Who did?”
“The guy in my jail,” Joanna told him. “His name is Stephen Roper. Last night he confessed to six murders. This morning I confirmed one more. Jimmy Gibson makes eight.”
“Poor Gail,” Nesbitt said. “She’s remarried, but she still lives here in town. As soon as we get off the phone, I’ll go tell her. She’ll be relieved to finally have some answers, but it’ll be hard on her to have to reopen this can of worms. Can’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman.”
The call ended. Sitting there alone in her office, Joanna felt sorry for Gail Gibson, too, but she felt even sorrier for Jimmy’s dad.
After years of being hounded and blamed for something he hadn’t done, the man had eventually committed suicide.
But in Joanna’s heart, although Stephen Roper would never be charged in John Gibson’s death, she knew without a doubt that he was responsible.