“We found one, all right. The trail from the house led up to the highway above town at milepost 337,” he said. “We’re there now. Spike may be able to follow the trail on the pavement or across the pavement, whichever it turns out to be, but we won’t be able to do either one until we have someone up here to direct traffic.”
“Two patrol deputies just arrived,” Joanna told him. “I’ll send them right up. You said milepost 337?”
“That’s right,” Terry confirmed.
“If somebody up on the highway gave Junior a ride, he could be miles away by now.”
“I know,” Terry said. “If the trail ends in the middle of the pavement, we’ll know that’s probably what happened.”
Joanna hustled over to the two cars just as Deputies Ruiz and Stock stepped out of their vehicles. Deputy Stock’s usual patrol area was on Highway 80 between Tombstone and Benson, while Deputy Ruiz spent most of his time on the stretch of Highway 92, west of Don Luis and out as far as the base of the Huachuca Mountains.
Joanna turned to Deputy Stock. “Did you see anyone walking on the highway as you came over the Divide?” she asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “Not a soul,” he said. “Do we have any idea how long Junior’s been gone?”
“Less than ten hours,” Joanna said. “He took off sometime during the night. Right now, I need both of you up on the highway at milepost 337 to assist the K-9 unit. Spike picked up Junior’s scent and followed it there. Before they can venture onto the pavement, they need someone directing traffic.”
“On our way,” Jeremy said. He turned to head out, but Joanna stopped him.
“No lights or sirens until you get there,” she cautioned. “I don’t want a hundred civilians milling around on the highway. One of them might get killed.”
As the deputies hurried to do her bidding, Joanna went in search of Alvin Bernard. She wanted to tell him she had just heard from Terry Gregovich. To do so, she had to get in line behind one of her least favorite people, Marliss Shackleford, the Bisbee Bee’s intrepid reporter. Marliss may have been Joanna’s mother’s closest chum, but she was also a gossipy busybody and the bane of Joanna’s existence. Knowing that Marliss dished out the same kind of torment to Alvin Bernard made it only slightly less irksome to Joanna.
As soon as the reporter caught sight of Joanna, she registered her surprise. “How come you and your people are here, Sheriff Brady?” Marliss demanded abruptly. “My understanding is that Junior disappeared from the Maxwells’ place on O’Hara. That’s well inside the city limits and outside your jurisdiction. Isn’t this whole circus a bit of an overreaction to someone simply wandering off?” She waved dismissively at the crowd of people milling in and out of the parking lot.
“Most of these folks are volunteers,” Joanna told her. “My people are here because Chief Bernard requested my department’s assistance, and we’re happy to oblige. As for its being an overreaction? I doubt that’s how Daisy Maxwell would characterize it. In fact, Daisy is right over there chatting with Marianne. Why don’t you ask her?”
Marliss scurried off in search of Daisy Maxwell. “Thanks for getting rid of her,” Alvin Bernard muttered once the reporter was safely out of earshot. “I was afraid she was going to be on my case all morning long.”
Quickly Joanna briefed him on the situation with Terry and Spike.
“Should I call off the street search, then?” Chief Bernard asked.
“Not yet,” Joanna replied. “Just because Junior wandered up to the highway doesn’t mean he didn’t come back down into town somewhere else. I sent a pair of uniformed deputies up there to direct traffic. What we don’t need on the scene is a mob of civilians.”
“You’re right about that,” Bernard agreed.
“Why don’t I go see if I can assist my guys?” Joanna told him. “I’ll call you directly if we find any sign of Junior.”
When their conversation was interrupted by questions from someone else, Joanna took the opportunity to slip away. Once in her Yukon, she exited the parking lot, drove back down to Tombstone Canyon, and then headed north to the junction with Highway 80. Merging into the southbound lane, she turned on her light bar and flashers and drove slowly down the highway, scanning the shoulders on both sides of the road as she went. When she reached mileage marker 337, she pulled over to the side of the road and tucked in behind Deputy Stock’s Ford Explorer.
“Where’s Terry?” she asked.
“Up there,” he said, pointing up the steep hillside above the highway. “He and Spike took off up that gully.”