she waited, Joanna tried to imagine what had been going on when Debra Highsmith was gunned down. There was no way to tell where the victim had been standing in relation to her killer. As far as addresses were concerned, High Lonesome Road was a fine place to live—Joanna had lived there with Andy and she lived there now with Butch—but it struck Joanna as a hard place to die. It had been true for Andrew Roy Brady and it was equally true for Debra Highsmith.
“Who’s calling?” Guy Machett asked when he came on the line.
Madge Livingston knew very well who was on the phone. Not telling her boss who was calling was his secretary’s way of getting a little of her own back.
“Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “We’ve located a body on High Lonesome Road.”
“Where the hell is High Lonesome Road?” he demanded. “Sounds like it’s out in the sticks somewhere.”
“It is. It’s just down the road from where I live,” Joanna told him, “also on High Lonesome Road. Take Highway 80 east from Bisbee and take the turnoff to Elfrida. Turn left almost immediately. That’s High Lonesome Road. Come north three miles. You’ll probably need four-wheel drive to get here.”
“Is that how you got there?” Machett asked.
“No,” Joanna said quite truthfully while at the same time trying not to betray the grin that had suddenly tweaked her face. “I came on horseback.”
JOANNA’S NEXT call was to Bisbee’s chief of police. “We found Debra Highsmith’s body,” she said without preamble.
“You’re sure it’s her?” Alvin Bernard asked.
Joanna sighed. “Yes, I am.”
“Where?” Chief Bernard wanted to know. “When?”
“My daughter went out for an early-morning ride and found the body on High Lonesome Road, about three miles north of our place. I’m no medical examiner, but I’d say she’s been dead for more than a day.”
“How?” Alvin asked.
He seemed to be stuck in the world of one-word questions.
“I counted at least three gunshot entrance wounds in her back and one in her leg. I’d say he used the leg shot to bring her down and then finished her off execution style.”
“Ugly,” Alvin said.
“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “Very, but since this looks like a joint case, I’m calling to see if you want to send out a detective.”
“Due to budget cuts, I’ve got only one investigator to my name, Matt Keller. He does the whole nine yards—property, homicide, whatever. I’ll be glad to send him along.”
“Does he have a four-wheel-drive vehicle?”
“Are you kidding? This is Bisbee,” Chief Bernard said. “We don’t have four-wheel-drive anything.”
“The road out here is rough. You might want to send Keller down to the Justice Center so he can hitch a ride out to the crime scene with Jaime Carbajal. I’ll tell him to wait until Matt shows up.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Bernard said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
After calling Larry Kendrick back with a request that Jaime wait for Detective Keller, Joanna turned to her daughter. Jenny and Kiddo were standing on the far side of the wash, where Kiddo was contentedly munching on several carrots Jenny had brought along in her pocket.
“Are you okay?” Joanna asked.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Jenny said. “I mean, I’ve seen something dead before.”
“Someone,” Joanna corrected, “and so have I. But to see someone shot like this? It’s still upsetting.”
“Even for you?”
“Even for me.”
Jenny took a bite out of a carrot and passed the remainder to Kiddo. Joanna managed to keep from asking if Jenny had washed the carrots before sticking them in her pocket.
“How did the bad guy leave?” Jenny asked. “If his getaway car was stuck in the wash, where did he go?”
“He must have left on foot,” Joanna said.
That made it possible that the killer had walked right past High Lonesome Ranch. Not a comforting thought, but Joanna needed to know for sure.
“That’s why I called for the K-9 unit,” Joanna continued. “Terry and Spike might be able to pick up his trail and at least give us an idea of which direction he went.”
“What if he walked by our house?”
Not for the first time, Joanna was forced to consider the mysterious workings of DNA. Jenny seemed to have a mental GPS that was following her mother’s every thought, spoken or unspoken.
“If he had come anywhere near the house, I’m sure Lady would have raised a fuss, and just because Lucky happens to be deaf doesn’t mean he isn’t up to the job. If someone posed a threat to you or anyone else in the family, I have a feeling that big black lug of yours would tear the bad guy limb from limb.”
Jenny nodded. “Probably,” she said.
“Speaking of dogs,” Joanna said. “Did you see any dog prints around here?”
Jenny shook her head. “Why?”
“I understand Ms. Highsmith had a dog.”
“Giles,” Jenny said. “That’s the name of her dog.”
“You knew Ms. Highsmith’s dog?”
“I only saw him one time. His first owner, a guy out at Fort Huachuca, was being deployed and had to get rid of him—free to a good home. Ms. Highsmith brought him to the clinic for a checkup, to update his shots, and to have him chipped. He’s a Doberman. He looks fierce, but he’s a good dog.”
Joanna spent a few minutes looking but could find no visible dog prints. She had the sick feeling that if Debra Highsmith was dead, so was her dog.
Finally, Joanna turned back to Jenny. “You and Kiddo should probably head home,” Joanna said. “The crime scene team will be here soon.”
“Won’t somebody need to interview me?” Jenny asked. “I mean, on TV the cops always interview the person who finds the body. The person calling it in usually turns out to be some kind of suspect or something.”
“The person who finds the body usually isn’t my daughter,” Joanna responded. “If anyone
