Doe autopsy. According to him, the woman was beaten to a pulp, tortured, raped, and had her head bashed in—not necessarily in that order.”
Joanna cringed at the litany of violence. “Sounds like the carjacker is out of the picture.”
“I’d have to agree there,” Frank said. “‘This perp is a whole other breed of cat. Or, if he is the carjacker, the rules of engagement just changed for the worse.”
“Even if the Apache Pass murder isn’t connected to the carjackings, both incidents have happened at almost the same time, and they pose a serious threat to public safety. Can we schedule extra patrols along I-10?” Joanna asked.
“I don’t know,” Frank said. “Our resources are already stretched pretty thin.”
“What about moving units away from the southern sector and putting them up north?”
“Considering the situation along the border, is that wise?” Frank asked.
Joanna knew what he meant. For months now, Cochise County’s eighty miles of international border had been deluged with an unprecedented flood of illegal immigrants. Increased INS enforcement in Texas and California had led to an influx of illegals throughout Joanna’s jurisdiction. Even with additional help from the U.S. Border Patrol and INS, things along the border were still out of control. All the extra enforcement made her county resemble an armed camp.
“What about the guys who were picked up driving the Saturn?”
“UDAs again. The guy driving it was an illegal with no license and no insurance. He may have known the vehicle was stolen, but I doubt it. Lots of fingerprints, but so far, Casey Ledford’s found nothing useful.”
“Tell you what, Frank,” she said. “Let’s beef up patrols in the northern sector of the county and along our portion of I-10 . Since the feds have brought all those extra Border Patrol agents, we’ll let theist take up some of our slack for a change. God knows we’ve been doing plenty of their work.”
Moments later, Frank was giving Joanna computer-generated driving directions that would take her from the Conquistador Hotel in Peoria to Southeast Encanto Drive near downtown Phoenix. By the time she finished up with her phone call, Butch was coming back across the driveway carrying a pair of room keys, one of which he handed to her.
“We’re in room twelve fourteen,” he said. Looking at her closely, he frowned. “You’re upset. What’s wrong?”
“The autopsy’s in on the Apache Pass victim,” Joanna said. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Does that mean you want to head home and go to work on it?” Butch asked. “If that’s the case, I can rent a car to do what I need to do here.”
“No,” Joanna assured him. “As they told us in one of the sessions up in Page, we sheriffs need to learn to delegate. From what Frank and Ernie have both told me, I think they have things under control. Besides, I have a part of the job that needs doing right here in Phoenix, remember?”
Up in the room, Joanna changed into a skirt, blouse, and lightweight microfiber jacket. At home in Bisbee and in order to save wear and tear on her own newly recreated wardrobe, she had often taken to wearing a uniform to work. For the Sheriffs’ Association Conference, she had brought along mostly business attire, and for next-of-kin notifications, that was the kind of clothing she preferred. Out of respect for the victim, she always felt she needed to show up for those heart-rending occasions wearing her Sunday best—along with her small-of-back holster.
“Be careful,” Butch told her, giving her a good-bye hug. “And, case you’re interested, I think changing clothes was the right thing to do.”
Even though the car had been parked in the shade, the Crown Victoria felt like an oven. The route Frank had outlined took her down the Black Canyon Freeway as far as the exit at Thomas. On Thomas she drove east past Encanto Municipal Golf Course to Seventh Avenue. There she turned south. Southeast Encanto
Joanna cringed at the litany of violence. “Sounds like the carjacker is out of the picture.”
“I’d have to agree there,” Frank said. “‘This perp is a whole other breed of cat. Or, if he is the carjacker, the rules of engagement just changed for the worse.”
“Even if the Apache Pass murder isn’t connected to the carjackings, both incidents have happened at almost the same time, and they pose a serious threat to public safety. Can we schedule extra patrols along I-10?” Joanna asked.
“I don’t know,” Frank said. “Our resources are already stretched pretty thin.”
“What about moving units away from the southern sector and putting them up north?”
“Considering the situation along the border, is that wise?” Frank asked.
Joanna knew what he meant. For months now, Cochise County’s eighty miles of international border had been deluged with an unprecedented flood of illegal immigrants. Increased INS enforcement in Texas and California had led to an influx of illegals throughout Joanna’s jurisdiction. Even with additional help from the U.S. Border Patrol and INS, things along the border were still out of control. All the extra enforcement made her county resemble an armed camp.
“What about the guys who were picked up driving the Saturn?”
“UDAs again. The guy driving it was an illegal with no license and no insurance. He may have known the vehicle was stolen, but I doubt it. Lots of fingerprints, but so far, Casey Ledford’s found nothing useful.”
“Tell you what, Frank,” she said. “Let’s beef up patrols in the northern sector of the county and along our portion of I-10 . Since the feds have brought all those extra Border Patrol agents, we’ll let theist take up some of our slack for a change. God knows we’ve been doing plenty of their work.”
Moments later, Frank was giving Joanna computer-generated driving directions that would take her from the Conquistador Hotel in Peoria to Southeast Encanto Drive near downtown Phoenix. By the time she finished up with her phone call, Butch was coming back across the driveway carrying a pair of room keys, one of which he handed to her.
“We’re in room twelve fourteen,” he said. Looking at her closely, he frowned. “You’re upset. What’s wrong?”
“The autopsy’s in on the Apache Pass victim,” Joanna said. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Does that mean you want to head home and go to work on it?” Butch asked. “If that’s the case, I can rent a car to do what I need to do here.”
“No,” Joanna assured him. “As they told us in one of the sessions up in Page, we sheriffs need to learn to delegate. From what Frank and Ernie have both told me, I think they have things under control. Besides, I have a part of the job that needs doing right here in Phoenix, remember?”
Up in the room, Joanna changed into a skirt, blouse, and lightweight microfiber jacket. At home in Bisbee and in order to save wear and tear on her own newly recreated wardrobe, she had often taken to wearing a uniform to work. For the Sheriffs’ Association Conference, she had brought along mostly business attire, and for next-of-kin notifications, that was the kind of clothing she preferred. Out of respect for the victim, she always felt she needed to show up for those heart-rending occasions wearing her Sunday best—along with her small-of-back holster.
“Be careful,” Butch told her, giving her a good-bye hug. “And, case you’re interested, I think changing clothes was the right thing to do.”
Even though the car had been parked in the shade, the Crown Victoria felt like an oven. The route Frank had outlined took her down the Black Canyon Freeway as far as the exit at Thomas. On Thomas she drove east past Encanto Municipal Golf Course to Seventh Avenue. There she turned south. Southeast Encanto
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