Judgment Call

“Let’s hope they’re able to find her,” the anchor said, “but it turns out Ms. Highsmith’s disappearance isn’t the only news from Bisbee today. What else is going on?”

“As many of our viewers realize, we’ve been doing daily coverage of the trial of Alma DeLong, a Tucson-area businesswoman who owned Caring Friends, a now-defunct organization that operated inpatient care for Alzheimer’s patients all over southern Arizona. Second-degree homicide charges were lodged against Ms. DeLong in the deaths of three people who died while being housed at the Caring Friends Palominas facility. After a weeklong trial in Cochise County Superior Court and after almost two days of deliberation, the jury returned their verdict late this afternoon. Ms. DeLong was found guilty on all three homicide charges and on the charge of resisting arrest. She was found innocent on a related charge of assaulting a police officer.

“Here’s what the son of one of the victims had to say after the verdict was rendered.”

The screen switched over to a view of Bobby Fletcher standing outside the courtroom door, flanked on one side by Arlee Jones and on the other by Joanna.

“Hey, why didn’t you tell us you were going to be on TV tonight?” Butch wanted to know.

“Because I didn’t know for sure that I was. Besides, it was a walk-on appearance only. No spoken lines.”

“And the case Jenny’s annoyed about is the one involving the missing principal?”

Joanna nodded. “That would be it, since Debra Highsmith happens to be Jenny’s principal.”

“Was that a live feed just now?” Butch asked.

“I think so. Why?”

“That means they still haven’t found her.”

“Evidently.”

“If it’s not your case, what’s the problem with talking to Jenny about it?”

“What if she ended up carrying tales to school about it? That could cause trouble down the road, especially if what happened to Debra Highsmith turns out to be something more serious than her just going out for a solitary evening drive.”

“The reporter made it sound like she might have landed in a hospital somewhere.”

“Let’s hope that’s all it is,” Joanna said. “Debra Highsmith has never been one of my favorite people, but I’d hate to see something bad happen to her.”

A few minutes later, when the weather came on, Butch switched off the television set. “This is Arizona. The weather tomorrow is going to be just like the weather today. What say we go to bed?”

They did. Their bedroom door had a lock on it, and they made good use of same. Afterward, Joanna slept like a baby. When the rooster-crowing ring of her cell phone jarred her awake the next morning, it was full daylight and the clock on the nightstand said 6:47. When she saw Jenny’s number on the caller ID readout, Joanna assumed Butch had forgotten to unlock the bedroom door before they went to sleep.

“Mom, Mom,” Jenny sobbed into the phone. “You have to come quick. I just found Ms. Highsmith.”

Joanna sat up in bed, trying to get her head around what was going on. “You found her here?” she demanded. “At the house?”

“I’m not at the house!” Jenny replied indignantly. “I woke up early and decided to take Kiddo out for a ride before breakfast. I found Ms. Highsmith here, beside the road.”

“That’s a relief,” Joanna said. “Is she all right?”

“She’s not all right!” Jenny declared. “She’s dead. I think someone shot her.”

By the time Jenny finished that last sentence, Joanna was out of bed and scrambling into her clothes.

“You’re sure it’s her?” Joanna demanded.

“She’s still wearing her name badge. I can read, you know.”

“Where are you?” Joanna asked urgently, switching her phone to speaker. “Tell me exactly.”

“When Kiddo and I go out for an early-morning gallop, we always head up High Lonesome. We’re just this side of the third wash north of our house.”

High Lonesome Road runs north and south along the base of the Mule Mountains. On those rare occasions when it rains, rushing water comes flooding down out of the mountains to drain into the Sulphur Springs Valley. Wash beds that are only a few feet apart up on the mountainsides spread out like the spokes of a wheel at lower elevations. During those periodic deluges the gullies run wall to wall with roiling water, sometimes ten to fifteen feet deep. Once the floods are over and the water drains away, the sandy beds are often left littered with man-size boulders.

Faced with budget cuts, the county had finally quit blading the rocks out of the way, which left High Lonesome Road north of the High Lonesome Ranch impassable for through traffic. The washouts may have been hazardous to most vehicular traffic, but Joanna realized they presented no barrier for someone traveling on a speeding quarter horse.

“I’m getting dressed,” Joanna said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. You’re sure she’s dead?”

“Yes, Mom,” Jenny said. “I’m sure.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Joanna cautioned. “Especially don’t touch the body.”

Jenny’s earlier panic morphed into indignation. “Mom,” she said, “do you think I’m stupid or something? Besides, why would I touch it? It’s gross. There are flies and bugs. It smells awful.”

“All right,” Joanna said. “How’s the road?”

“Pretty bad. Her car is stuck in the first wash. At least I’m pretty sure it’s Ms. Highsmith’s car, and it’s blocking the road.”

“Don’t worry,” Joanna said. “I have four-wheel drive. That shouldn’t be a problem, but if it is and I can’t make it to where you are in the Yukon, I may have to walk. That could take a while.”

By then Joanna was on her way through the kitchen where Butch was overseeing Dennis’s breakfast.

“What’s up?” Butch asked as Joanna hurried past him.

“Jenny and Kiddo went out for a ride and found a body,” Joanna said. “I’ve got to go.”

“A body? Whose? Where?”

“She says it looks like Debra Highsmith. They’re up the road,” Joanna said. “Up High Lonesome.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Joanna said. “You stay with Dennis. I’ll get some deputies out here. We’ll be fine.”

In the garage, Joanna put the Yukon in gear, backed out, and sped away up the driveway. At first she intended to get on the radio and call out the troops. Ultimately she changed her mind. She wanted to be on the scene in person and see the lay of the land before she ran up the flag for help. With Jenny involved, she wanted to have a clear idea of the challenges her people and the medical examiner’s crew would encounter in trying to reach the body.

As she approached the first wash, the road narrowed from two lanes to one. As she crested the hill, the Passat was completely hidden from view until she started down into the dip. The moment she saw the stranded vehicle, Joanna understood that Jenny was right. The vehicle had plowed into the sand and then had turned sideways where it had high-centered on an invisible boulder hidden under a thin layer of sand. The driver’s fruitless attempt to free it had torn up the surrounding sand, making a bad situation worse. Stopping short of the wash, Joanna climbed out of her SUV to survey the scene. She realized that if she attempted to drive around the Passat at low speed, even with four-wheel drive, there was a good chance the Yukon would end up stuck as well.

“I told you,” Jenny said.

Joanna looked up in time to see Jenny pull Kiddo out of a trot on the far side of the wash. “Come on,” she said. “We can ride double. It’ll be faster than walking.”

Avoiding the churned-up sand, Joanna crossed the wash. With Jenny’s help, Joanna managed to get a foot in the stirrup and clamber up onto Kiddo’s back, where she clung to Jenny’s waist. As soon as Joanna was onboard, Jenny urged Kiddo into a fast canter. Jenny was a capable rider; Joanna was not. As Kiddo raced along in the rocky roadway, Joanna clung to her daughter for dear life.

Joanna estimated that they covered the better part of a mile between the first wash and the next. After that, when the road became even rougher, Jenny slowed Kiddo to a walk. A mile later, Jenny pulled Kiddo to a halt and nodded toward something beside the road. It resembled a fully clothed rag doll lying in an awkward heap. Only on closer inspection did the heap resolve itself into a woman’s body.