Rattlesnake Crossing (21 page)

"But I thought you said she'd been mutilated. What does that mean?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Berridge. There's no easy or kind way to tell you this. Whoever murdered your wife also scalped her."

"Scalped," he whispered hoarsely. "You're kidding! This is the twentieth century, for God's sake. This has to be some kind of sick joke. You're making it up."

"No," Joanna said. "I wish I were."

Stumbling backward Daniel Berridge collapsed on a low, rolling stool. He buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. Several minutes passed before he was once again capable of speech.

"What kind of a monster would do such a thing?" he croaked. "It's awful. It's insane."

"Yes," Joanna said. "I couldn't agree more. It is insane and whoever did it is indeed a monster."

For a time the room was silent except for the ticking of an immense grandfather clock. Finally Berridge seemed to pull himself together. "Who did it?" he asked. "What kind of a person could do such a thing? And why?"

"We don't know," Joanna said. "We were hoping you might be able to help us answer some of those questions. Did your wife quarrel with anyone recently? Did she have any disagreements with some of the guests here, or maybe with one of the other employees?"

Daniel Berridge's teary eyes met Joanna's. "Only me," he said bleakly. "The only person Tina ever quarreled with was me."

"When?"

"Just before she went out Monday afternoon. She told me then that she was going to leave me for good. She insisted she wanted a divorce, and it I wouldn't give her one, she'd gel one anyway. When she disappeared right after that, I thought that was what had happened. Even though she didn't take anything with her—no clothes, no luggage I still thought that the next time I heard from her would be through a lawyer. I never thought she'd turn up dead. I still can't believe it. I can't."

"What was the quarrel about, Mr. Berridge?"

"Money," he said. "Money and racing."

Just then a door on the far side of the lobby opened, and Crow Woman swept in. She was dressed much as she had been the day before, except this time her hair was pulled back into a hair net and she wore a long white cook's apron over her almost floor-length squaw dress.

"Danny?" she called. "Are you in here? Somebody said there were cars out front—" Crow Woman stopped short when she saw Joanna and Ernie. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"They found Trina," Daniel Berridge said.

"Good. I'm ready to have her come home to the kitchen, where she belongs. That substitute cook we hired from Sierra Vista doesn't know up from down."

"Trina isn't coming home," Daniel Berridge said softly. "She's dead, Carol. Somebody shot her."

Now it was Crow Woman's turn to stumble in search of a place to sit. "Shot?" she echoed. "No. Are you sure?"

"It's Trina, all right. They found her watch."

Crow Woman stood up and went over to the man who was supposedly her brother, although the two of them were as different as day and night. "Oh, Danny," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. Who did it? Do they know yet?"

"No . . ." Joanna began.

"And she wasn't just shot, Carol. Sheriff Brady here says she was scalped." Daniel Berridge’s voice broke over the word. "Whoever killed her scalped her."

"My God. I can't imagine ..."

"I can," he said fiercely. "It's probably one of the guests. I've been telling you all along, Carol. Some of these people are nutcases. Just because they've got enough money to come here and stay for two weeks doesn't mean they aren't crazy."

"Oh, no," Crow Woman gasped. "A few of them may be a little strange, but I'm sure they're not killers. That's utterly out of the question."

"What do you mean, strange?" Joanna asked.

"Strange?" Daniel Berridge repeated. "I'll tell you about strange. Most of the people who come here have been playing at being Indians for years. It's a big deal over in Europe, in Germany especially. Sort of like Boy Scouts, but for grown-ups. For adults. People have little bands that go on camp-outs together. They give themselves Indian names and dress in Indian costumes. Some of them learn to make baskets or do beadwork.

"They believe Indians still live close to nature, and they think that by coming here, they're getting the real thing. It's bullshit, of course. They'd be astonished if they saw 'real' Indians, if they went out to Sells or over to San Carlos or into one of the reservation gambling casinos. Our guests don't want to know that the Indians in this country aren't any better off than, say, Turkish immigrants are in Germany. And here at Rattlesnake Crossing, they don't have to. They're in no more danger of meeting a genuine Indian here than they are a genuine Turk—"

"We give them what they want," Crow Woman interjected. "We give them what they
expect
to find here."

"We make money and we give them a crock of horse-shit," Danny Berridge countered. "We let them sleep on Posturepedic mattresses in air-conditioned cabins or spend the night cooking their brains out in a stupid sweat lodge. And when they go hick home after this 'native' experience—when they go hack to Düsseldorf or Frankfurt or Kempten—they're convinced that they've been touched by the Great Spirit. Give me a break!"

"Danny, please. What if one of them were to hear ..."

"Let 'em," Daniel Berridge said fiercely. "Because when I find the son of a bitch who did that to Tina, I swear to God I'm going to return the favor!" With that he stood up, strode across the lobby and disappeared outside, slamming the heavy wooden plank door behind him.

Crow Woman gazed after him wonderingly. "I've never seen Danny like this," she said. "And he doesn't mean it, of course. He's the kindest, most gentle man I know. He wouldn't hurt anyone, but still ..."

"Your brother told us that he and Trina quarreled before she left," Joanna said. "Is that true?"

Crow Woman looked at her. "I suppose so," she said. "I mean, I didn't hear them fighting myself, but Danny told me about it later. And I guess I knew it was coming."

"Knew what was coming?"

"That she'd leave."

"Why?"

Crow Woman shrugged. "She was tired. Tired of working so hard and getting nowhere. Struggling along with an operation like this is a lot different from being an Indy driver's wife. Cooking three meals a day for twenty-five or so fussy people isn't exactly glamorous, and I'm sure she thought she deserved better. She had this unrealistic idea that Danny could go back to racing any time he wanted; that he could pick up where he left off with cars and sponsors and all, and things would go back to being the way they used to be." Crow Woman stopped. "I don't suppose you know about any of that."

"We know your brother is a retired Indy driver," Joanna said.

"That news is out, then?" Crow Woman shook her head. "That means people around here are going to know who he is."

"People all over the country are going to know who and where he is," Joanna replied. "As soon as the wire services pick up on the murders, you can bet it'll go national."

Crow Woman stared questioningly into Joanna's face. "Did you say murders?"

Joanna nodded. "Your sister-in-law and at least two others. One of the other two victims was found here in the immediate area. The other one was a fourteen-year-old run-away from Yuma. Her body was found up near Phoenix."

"Then the killer couldn't possibly be one of our guests," Crow Woman said with what sounded like genuine relief.

"Why do you say that?" the sheriff asked.

"Our guests are booked in for two weeks at a time with a tour operator out of Munich. When they leave here, they get on a bus and go straight to the Grand Canyon. Do not pass Go; do not collect two hundred dollars. Between here and there one of them wouldn't be able to stop off in Phoenix long enough for visiting a Burger King, to say nothing of killing someone."

"If your sister-in-law worked here for you as a cook, what's your brother's function?" Ernie put in.

"Danny's my handyman extraordinaire," Crow Woman answered. "From the time he could walk he was taking things apart and putting them back together. It used to drive our parents nuts. He keeps the air-conditioning units running, fixes the pool filter when it conks out, looks after the grounds. But you're wrong about one thing. Danny doesn't work fin me, and Trina didn't, either."

"But I thought ..."

"We're all equal partners in this," Crow Woman said. "If it weren't for the money and effort the two of them sank into this place, I never would have made it. You see, the ranch belonged to my husband originally," she explained. "To my ex-husband, that is. You may have heard of him—Dr. Lamphere, Dr. Carlton Lamphere."

Joanna remembered the story well enough. The scandal surrounding Dr. Lamphere and the sexual exploitation of his patients had been big news in Cochise County. But she, along with everyone else, had been under the impression that the people who had taken over the place and renamed it Rattlesnake Crossing were unrelated to the previous owner. And Crow Woman had done nothing to disspell that notion.
No wonder she changed her name,
Joanna thought.
Under the circumstances, I would have changed mine, too.

"I'm familiar with some of what went on," Joanna said.

"Some but not all," Crow Woman returned with more than a trace of bitterness. "After one paternity suit was followed by several additional malpractice suits, there wasn't much left for anybody, especially an ex-wife. By the time the attorneys finished picking the bones, the ranch here was all that was left to be divvied up by the divorce decree. The only reason I got this was that none of Carlton's creditors wanted it or could figure out what to do with it. Bottom line, I came out of a twenty-year marriage with nothing to show for my trouble but a relatively worthless chunk of Arizona real estate. But I was sitting around thinking one day and I came up with this crazy idea that maybe I could turn it into a moneymaking proposition after all. And I have. Not by myself, mind you, but with Danny and Trina's help. After Danny left racing, he wanted to find a place to disappear out of the public eye. This was as good a spot as any to do just that."

"Let me get this straight," Ernie said. "Your sister-in-law has been gone for two days now, but you've already hired a replacement cook. Is that right?"

"Danny and I had to do that," Crow Woman said. "I can boil water occasionally. I can even peel a potato or two, but I can't cook. I've never been able to cook. So of course we hired a cook—early yesterday morning. Too late for her to help with lunch, but time enough for her to cook dinner."

"How did you manage that so fast?" Ernie asked. "This doesn't seem like the kind of place where people would be lined up looking for work."

"Oh, that." Crow Woman waved a hand dismissively. "We already had a list of potential applicants. Danny told me weeks ago that it might come to this. That Trina might leave."

"If he expected her to go, why did he report her missing, then?"

"Because she didn't take anything with her. Trina wasn't a woman who traveled light. She wouldn't have left here without taking her stuff. So when she did go, it was more or less what Danny expected, but she didn't do it the
way
he expected. Besides, if the police brought her back, maybe he could talk her out of leaving. Does that make sense?"

The outside door opened and Danny Berridge slammed his way back inside. Earlier, he had been dressed in work clothes—a short-sleeved khaki shirt, shorts, and work boots. Now he wore a light blue sport shirt, a pair of nice slacks, and dress-up boots.

"Where is she, Sheriff Brady?" he demanded. "Don't you need someone to identify the body?"

"Yes, we do, but it might be better if you waited until we got her into the morgue in Tucson."

"No," he said. "I want to do it now."

"Danny," Crow Woman said, "you don't have to do that. I'll handle it for you if you want me to."

"No," Daniel Berridge insisted. "She was my wife. It's my responsibility. Let's go," he said to Joanna. "I want to get this over with."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

With Daniel Berridge in the front seat and Ernie Carpenter in the back, Joanna drove the Blazer back to the crime scene. She could see as they drove up that they were just in time. Fran Daly and her two helpers were within bare minutes of loading the body into a waiting Pima County van.

Daniel and Ernie stepped out of the Blazer. Joanna was about to follow when her phone rang. "Go on, you guys," she said, wrestling the phone out of her purse. "I'll take this call and then catch up in a minute. Hello?"

"Mom?" Jenny's voice was bright and chipper. "How are you? Are you at home or are you still at work?"

The sudden shift between crime scene and domestic scene—between being a cop and being a mother—did its usual mind-bending trick.

"I'm still at work," Joanna told her.

"But you sound funny. Strange. Like you're in a well." The cheeriness drained out of Jenny's voice and was replaced by a certain wariness. "Maybe your phone is weak or something. Maybe the battery is tired."

"I'm out in the middle of nowhere," Joanna said. "East of Benson. The signal is probably weak. I tried to call you earlier this afternoon, but no one was home."

"That's what I wanted to tell you about. This afternoon."

Up ahead of the Blazer, a small procession moved toward the waiting van. The two technicians from the Pima County ME's office carried a loaded stretcher. Behind them walked Fran Daly. Not surprisingly, she was sucking on the smoldering stub of a cigarette.

When Ernie and Daniel Berridge met up with them, the little procession came to a sudden halt. Fran Daly stepped forward and nudged the lead technician out of the way. After a brief conference with Detective Carpenter, she unzipped the top of the body bag, then stood aside to give Daniel Berridge an unobstructed view.

"Mom," Jenny said insistently, "are you listening to me or not?"

"I'm sorry, Jenny. There's lots going on right now. What were you saying again? I must have missed some of it."

"We were out picking rocks in the field today, and Melvin let me drive the tractor. My very own self. Can you believe it? He let Rodney and Brian do it, too. I didn't think he was going to let me because . . . well, you know. Because I'm a girl. That's what Rodney said, anyway. But Grandpa talked to him—to Melvin, not Rodney—and the next thing I knew, there I was driving the tractor. It was great. Aren't you proud of me?"