Free Outlaw Mountain by J. A. Jance

to information.”
    Fran Daly nodded. “Fair enough,” she said. “Do you have detectives here then?”
    “Not yet, but they will be. One of my homicide guys, Detective Carpenter, is on his way from Bisbee even as we speak. For the moment Frank Montoya, my chief deputy, and I are the only ones here. Unfortunately the victim’s son, His Honor Mayor Clete Rogers of Tombstone, is also on his way.”
    “What for?”
    Joanna shrugged. “Who knows? I told him he’s got no business here, but the mayor isn’t big on taking other people’s advice. He’s also an elected official who thinks his office gives him carte blanche to do any damned thing he wants.”
    “In other words,” Fran said, “the man’s an arrogant son of a bitch.”
    “You could say that.” Joanna grinned in reply. “But please don’t let on that I’m the one who told you so.”
    “Your secret’s safe with me,” Fran said.
    Just then a uniformed Pima County deputy emerged from a thick stand of cholla, trotted across a shallow dip, and approached Fran Daly. “Howdy, Dr. Daly. Want me to give you a hand with that?” he asked, nodding toward the equipment case.
    “No, thanks, Sergeant Mallory. I’m used to lugging this crap around. I can handle it by myself. Do you happen to know Joanna Brady here? She’s the sheriff down in Cochise County.”
    Claude Mallory was tall, rangy, square-jawed, and thick-necked. He might have been good-looking had it not been for the fact that his eyes were set far too close together. He favored Joanna with an appraising glance that seemed to imply: What the hell is she doing here?
    “We’re not sure who gets this one,” Fran Daly explained in answer to Mallory’s unasked question. “It could be ours; it could be theirs. In any case, Sheriff Brady and her people will be on the scene, and they’re to be allowed the same access as officers from Pima County.”
    Mallory nodded. “It’s gonna be pretty crowded,” he said.
    Fran Daly shrugged. “The more the merrier,” she said.
    Mallory started away from them. “The body’s over this way. If you’ll both just follow me.”
    But Fran Daly was not yet done with her smoke. “How long before that detective of yours gets here, Sheriff Brady?” she asked.
    “I sent for him as I was leaving Tombstone,” Joanna re-turned. “If Detective Carpenter left the office right then, he can’t be more than twenty minutes behind me.”
    Fran nodded. “All right. I’ll go on up to the scene, get set up, and snap a few pictures. I won’t do anything critical, though, until after Carpenter gets here—just as long as he’s not too slow about it. By the time I finish taking photographs, he’ll probably be here. In the meantime, Sergeant Mallory, are you the officer in charge?”
    “At the moment. The two detectives are up with the body.”
    “According to Sheriff Brady, a man who’s the son of our suspected victim is on his way here from Tombstone. What did you say his name is again, Sheriff Brady?”
    “Rogers,” Joanna replied. “Cletus Rogers.”
    “Right. Rogers. You got that, Sergeant Mallory? When Cletus Rogers shows up here, you’re not to let him through. I don’t want any civilians blundering through my crime scene. You let Mr. Rogers know that if he’s planning on doing an identification of the body, he’ll need to come to the morgue in Tucson after it’s been transported.”
    “Gotcha, Doc,” Mallory agreed. “I’ll handle it.”
    “Good.” With that, Fran Daly ground out her cigarette butt on the pavement. Then she picked it up and dropped it into a small rectangular box of the red-and-white Altoid variety. Only when the box was closed and shoved into her hip pocket did she once again heave her equipment case off the ground.
    “Now then,” she demanded of Sergeant Mallory. “Where is it we’re going?”
    “This way. It’s not far, but the cactus grows so thick you can’t see inside it.”
    As Claude Mallory and Fran Daly walked