Fire and Ice by J. A. Jance Page B

recognition. What was left of it was rubbing up against the right front tire and would most likely have to be removed before the vehicle could be driven back to town.
    “No doubt she thought you were in a hurry,” Joanna said. Just beyond Guy Machett and outside his vision, Ernie Carpenter favored Joanna with a wink and a very small grin.
    “Now where the hell’s this damn body?” Machett continued.
    “Out there,” she said, pointing. “Dave Hollicker laid down a trail of click-together pavers to make it easier to walk out to the body while preserving the crime scene as much as possible.”
    Machett gave Dave’s plastic path a disparaging look. “You expect me to run a gurney across that?”
    As a matter of fact I do, Joanna thought, but she was done. She’d had enough of Guy Machett’s temper tantrums for one day, and she didn’t need any more.
    “You do whatever you need to do,” she said. “I’m sure you and Dave will be able to work it out. In the meantime, Detective Carpenter, how about if you give me a ride back out to my vehicle. I’ll leave the rest of you to it.”
    “That guy’s no Doc Winfield,” Ernie said, once they had climbed into the Yukon and driven out of earshot.
    The understated elegance in Ernie’s comment was enough to make Joanna smile. “No, he’s not,” she agreed.
    “And he’s not going to last,” Ernie added.
    That unequivocal statement was enough to make Joanna sit up and take notice. Maybe something was going on that she hadn’t heard about.
    “What makes you say that?” she asked.
    “Because he’s a balloon full of hot air and somebody needs to pop it—somebody who’s got his twenty years in and doesn’t have anything to lose.”
    Joanna knew Ernie wanted to be the one doing the popping, but he was now one of the grand old men of her department. Having already lost the services of Frank Montoya and the good counsel of Dr. George Winfield, she couldn’t afford to be without Ernie’s time and experience.
    “Ignore him,” she said. “I need you around far more than I need Machett to be taken down a peg.”
    When they arrived back at the gate, Natalie Wilson’s dog pound vehicle was gone and Miller was as well. A second Crown Victoria was parked next to Joanna’s. That Crown Vic, which had once been driven primarily by Frank Montoya, had now been passed down to her three-man homicide team. Detective Jaime Carbajal was inside it, talking on the phone. When Joanna approached the vehicle, he rolled down the window and waved a piece of paper.
    “The search warrant?” she asked.
    He nodded. “Be right with you.” When he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut a few moments later, the thunderous appearance on his face told Joanna something was wrong.
    “What’s the matter?” she asked.
    He let out a long breath. It sounded like air being released from an overloaded tire. “That was Debra Highsmith,” he said. “Luis got in another fight today. He’s being suspended. She’s of the opinion that whatever’s wrong with Luis is all my fault, and she wanted me to come get him. I told her I can’t. Delcia’s going instead.”
    Luis Andrade was Jaime’s nephew, the son of Marcella Andrade, Jaime’s ne’er-do-well sister, a sometime prostitute who had abandoned her progeny the previous summer. Despite having a son of their own, Jaime and his wife had gone to court and petitioned for custody, which had been granted. At the time taking their nephew in seemed like a no-brainer. Luis had come across as a good, self-motivated kid who had looked after his mother more than she had looked after him. At first Luis had convinced everyone, including himself, that his mother’s disappearance was temporary. As the months went by and the loss of his mother seemed more and more permanent, he had started getting into trouble. His grades had fallen. He’d lost interest in sports. And Joanna knew that this was the third time in as many weeks that he’d been in