Joanna said. “I’ll come get you. Maybe we can have our girls’ night out and eat some Mexican food.”
Joanna stopped by Dr. Ross’s on the way to her office since the veterinary clinic was between the traffic circle and the Justice Center. Jeannine Phillips’s truck was still in the parking lot when Joanna arrived.
Jeannine was sitting in the waiting room thumbing her way through a worn magazine when Joanna entered. “Where’s the patient?” she asked.
Jeannine Phillips was a tough customer who looked as though she could have been comfortable working as a bouncer in a bar. But when Joanna asked the question, she looked down at her feet and blushed to the roots of her hair. “In surgery,” she said.
“In surgery!” Joanna repeated. “I thought I told you to have Dr. Ross call me before she did anything.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Brady,” Jeannine muttered. “There wasn’t time. I was afraid we were going to lose him. Besides, I told Dr. Ross that if the department wouldn’t pay, I would.”
Well, Joanna thought, taking a nearby seat. At least I’m not the only softheaded one around here. “So what’s the prognosis?” she asked after a pause.
Jeannine shrugged. “She said we’d know more after she got him stitched back up. She’s been working on him for over an hour now.”
For some time the only sound was the small click of an oversize electric clock that hung on the wall behind the reception desk. Jeannine was the one who broke the silence. “I think I know who’s behind the fights,” she said quietly.
“Who?”
“The O’Dwyers.”
Joanna’s heart sank. If Cochise County had a natural, homegrown pair of troublemakers, the O’Dwyer brothers, Clarence and Billy, were it. Grandsons of one of Arizona’s pioneer families, they had taken over their parents’ ancestral home. The vast Roostercomb Ranch, established before statehood, had once stretched from Arizona’s San Simon Valley across the northern Peloncillo Mountains and on into New Mexico.
Years of drought and a series of disastrous business decisions had caused the family to sell off huge tracts of land. Several years earlier, the death of their elderly mother had thrown her cantankerous sons into a pitched battle with the Internal Revenue Service over estate taxes. By the time the feds had collected what was due, the sons were left with a much smaller ranch and a permanent antipathy toward anyone in law enforcement. Their runin with government officials had also left them with a fondness for high-powered firearms.
“How do you know that?” Joanna asked.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on them,” Jeannine said.
“On your own?” Joanna asked.
Jeannine nodded.
The thought of one of Joanna’s unarmed Animal Control officers facing down a pair of gun-toting conspiracy nuts wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate. And she didn’t want the actions of her ACO inadvertently to provoke a Cochise County version of Waco’s Branch Davidian shoot-out.
“Leave them alone,” she said.
“But, Sheriff…” Jeannine began. “If we ignore them, we’re just letting them get away with it.”
“No buts,” Joanna snapped. “I’m ordering you to stay away from them, Jeannine, and I mean that’s a direct order. Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer are dangerous men. The two of them would make mincemeat out of you.”
“What are we supposed to do? Turn our backs? Let them keep on doing what they’re doing?”
“What you think they’re doing,” Joanna corrected. “Look, Jeannine. I understand how you feel. Don’t forget, I’m every bit as much of an animal lover as you are, but the sheriff’s department is a law enforcement agency. What you suspect the O’Dwyers of doing is very much against the law, but in order to catch them at it, we have to have more than unsubstantiated suspicions. We have to put a team of people on this and conduct a real investigation. Not only that, we’re going to have to follow the rule of
Joanna stopped by Dr. Ross’s on the way to her office since the veterinary clinic was between the traffic circle and the Justice Center. Jeannine Phillips’s truck was still in the parking lot when Joanna arrived.
Jeannine was sitting in the waiting room thumbing her way through a worn magazine when Joanna entered. “Where’s the patient?” she asked.
Jeannine Phillips was a tough customer who looked as though she could have been comfortable working as a bouncer in a bar. But when Joanna asked the question, she looked down at her feet and blushed to the roots of her hair. “In surgery,” she said.
“In surgery!” Joanna repeated. “I thought I told you to have Dr. Ross call me before she did anything.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Brady,” Jeannine muttered. “There wasn’t time. I was afraid we were going to lose him. Besides, I told Dr. Ross that if the department wouldn’t pay, I would.”
Well, Joanna thought, taking a nearby seat. At least I’m not the only softheaded one around here. “So what’s the prognosis?” she asked after a pause.
Jeannine shrugged. “She said we’d know more after she got him stitched back up. She’s been working on him for over an hour now.”
For some time the only sound was the small click of an oversize electric clock that hung on the wall behind the reception desk. Jeannine was the one who broke the silence. “I think I know who’s behind the fights,” she said quietly.
“Who?”
“The O’Dwyers.”
Joanna’s heart sank. If Cochise County had a natural, homegrown pair of troublemakers, the O’Dwyer brothers, Clarence and Billy, were it. Grandsons of one of Arizona’s pioneer families, they had taken over their parents’ ancestral home. The vast Roostercomb Ranch, established before statehood, had once stretched from Arizona’s San Simon Valley across the northern Peloncillo Mountains and on into New Mexico.
Years of drought and a series of disastrous business decisions had caused the family to sell off huge tracts of land. Several years earlier, the death of their elderly mother had thrown her cantankerous sons into a pitched battle with the Internal Revenue Service over estate taxes. By the time the feds had collected what was due, the sons were left with a much smaller ranch and a permanent antipathy toward anyone in law enforcement. Their runin with government officials had also left them with a fondness for high-powered firearms.
“How do you know that?” Joanna asked.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on them,” Jeannine said.
“On your own?” Joanna asked.
Jeannine nodded.
The thought of one of Joanna’s unarmed Animal Control officers facing down a pair of gun-toting conspiracy nuts wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate. And she didn’t want the actions of her ACO inadvertently to provoke a Cochise County version of Waco’s Branch Davidian shoot-out.
“Leave them alone,” she said.
“But, Sheriff…” Jeannine began. “If we ignore them, we’re just letting them get away with it.”
“No buts,” Joanna snapped. “I’m ordering you to stay away from them, Jeannine, and I mean that’s a direct order. Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer are dangerous men. The two of them would make mincemeat out of you.”
“What are we supposed to do? Turn our backs? Let them keep on doing what they’re doing?”
“What you think they’re doing,” Joanna corrected. “Look, Jeannine. I understand how you feel. Don’t forget, I’m every bit as much of an animal lover as you are, but the sheriff’s department is a law enforcement agency. What you suspect the O’Dwyers of doing is very much against the law, but in order to catch them at it, we have to have more than unsubstantiated suspicions. We have to put a team of people on this and conduct a real investigation. Not only that, we’re going to have to follow the rule of
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