“They?” Joanna asked. “You mean there was more than one?”

Waller nodded. “Some of the bruises show actual shoe prints,” he said. “There was more than one pattern.”

“Will we be able to have photos of the shoe patterns?” Joanna asked.

Dr. Waller nodded grimly. “Eventually, I suppose,” he said.

“Was she raped?”

“That I don’t know,” Dr. Waller said. “We’ve been a little too busy saving her life to spend any time processing a rape kit.”

“If DNA evidence is available, I want it,” Joanna said. “It may be the only way to nail these bastards.”

But Waller, having given a little, retreated back into the world of rules and procedures. “We’d need a signed consent form for that.”

“Jeannine is in no position to sign anything,” Joanna pointed out.

Waller shrugged. “That’s why we need to speak to her next of kin,” he said. “One of her relatives could probably give consent.”

“What if I speak to them first?” Joanna asked. “What should I tell them?”

Dr. Waller sighed again. “I don’t really recommend that. Next-of-kin notifications are best left to the professionals.”

“I am a professional,” she reminded him. “A law enforcement professional. It turns out I, too, have had some experience with next-of-kin notifications.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Of course.”

“So what can I tell them?” Joanna persisted. “How would you characterize her condition?”

“Grave,” Waller said at last. “Her condition is grave but stable.”

With that, Dr. Waller walked away. Joanna went into the rest room and removed her hospital garb. When she walked out through the waiting room, she was aware that the people there were watching her. She knew that, even caught up in their own pain, they all were wondering which patient this very pregnant law enforcement officer had been allowed to visit and why.

On her way down in the elevator, Joanna puzzled about her next move. Jeannine may not have disclosed information about next of kin on her employment records, but there was someone who might have access to information that wasn’t in the written record-someone who was waiting and worrying and wondering what was going on-Millicent Ross.

When the elevator door opened, Joanna had her phone in her hand and was preparing to use it when, on a bench near the front door, she caught sight of Isabel Duarte. As the reporter sprang to her feet and hurried to meet her, Joanna returned her phone to her pocket.

“Is it her?” the reporter asked.

“Yes.” The answer was out before Joanna had time to think about whether or not replying was the right thing to do.

“Is she going to be all right?”

Joanna was struck by the expression on Isabel’s face and the way she asked the question. She seemed less focused on getting the story than she was about voicing concern for a fellow human being. Even so, in answering, Joanna took her cue from the way Dr. Waller had danced around the issue.

“We’re not making any comment about her condition at this time.”

Nodding, Isabel looked slightly disappointed. “But you did promise me an exclusive,” she objected. “If we hurry, we can just make the deadline for the Noon News.”

So the story was part of it after all. Joanna had lots of other things that urgently needed doing, but Isabel was right. Joanna had promised, and without the reporter’s timely intervention, it was likely Jeannine Phillips’s whereabouts would still be a mystery.

“You’re right,” Joanna agreed. “That is what I said. Is your camera guy around here somewhere?”

“He’s outside smoking a cigarette.”

“Let’s go do it then,” Joanna said.

When summoned from his cigarette break, the cameraman grimaced, ground out the stub, and then grudgingly hefted the camera to his shoulder. Standing posed before the UMC logo, Joanna held a microphone in her hand and spoke into the lens. “This morning a Cochise County Animal Control officer was attacked and severely beaten in northeastern Cochise County. We’re currently withholding the victim’s name, pending notification of next of kin, but I can assure you, my department will leave no stone unturned until we have brought all those responsible to justice.”

“Thank you,” Isabel said, when she came to retrieve her microphone.

“It wasn’t much,” Joanna said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say more.”

Isabel smiled. “It’s more than anyone expects me to get,” she said. “The news director didn’t send me to the hospital in the middle of the night because he thought I’d actually come away with a story.”

“You think this will help show him what you can do?”

“Something like that.”

“But whatever made you think that there might be a connection between the woman here and the incident at Texas Canyon?”

The reporter shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I heard the police scanner reporting that the missing officer was a woman, and I just put two and two together. I guess you could say it was gut instinct or maybe even woman’s intuition.”

“Good gut instinct,” Joanna said, shaking the reporter’s hand. “Thank you.”

Once Isabel and her cameraman had left, Joanna settled onto a concrete bench next to a reeking outdoor ashtray and dialed Frank Montoya’s number. “It’s her,” Joanna said when he answered. “It’s Jeannine.”

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“Very bad.”

“Is she going to live?” Frank asked after a pause.

“Too soon to tell.”

“Want me to contact her next of kin?” he asked.

“No,” Joanna returned. “I’ll do it. There’s evidently some kind of discrepancy with the office records. Notifying them isn’t going to be the kind of slam dunk you’d think it would be.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “Once it’s done, I’ll talk to the press. There’s a swarm of reporters out here, all of them clamoring for information.”

“Not all the reporters are there,” Joanna corrected. “One of them, Isabel Duarte from KGUN, ended up following me here to the hospital. I gave her a brief statement, but I didn’t ID the victim.”

“The others are going to be bent out of shape,” Frank said.

“Too bad. She was on the ball, and they weren’t.”

“But you don’t usually talk to the press.” Frank sounded puzzled.

“I made an exception this time,” Joanna said. “I’ll get back to you later.” She ended the call, then located Millicent Ross’s number in her incoming-calls list and punched the button.

“Hello?” Millicent said anxiously when she picked up. “Joanna?”

“Yes.”

“Have you found her?” Millicent demanded. “Is she all right?”

Joanna took a steadying breath before she answered. “I have found her,” she said. “But she’s not all right. Jeannine’s at University Medical Center in Tucson-in grave but stable condition.”

There was a long pause before Millicent Ross spoke again. “Oh my God! What happened?”

“Someone attacked her while she was sitting in her truck, pulled her out of the vehicle, and beat her up,” Joanna said. “And we’re not talking your everyday, run-of-the-mill beating here, Millicent. They damn near killed her. I was just talking to her doctor-Dr. Waller,” she continued. “He needs the name of her next of kin. I don’t seem to have any record of that. For some reason the information appears to have been either omitted or obliterated from her records.”

“It’s not strange at all,” Millicent returned. “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with those people, and I don’t blame her.”

“So she does have relatives?”

“Yes, of course she does.”

“Do you know who and where they are?” Joanna pressed. “Do you know how we can reach them?”

Joanna wanted that rape-kit consent form signed. If contacting Jeannine’s parents was the only way to accomplish that goal, then that’s what she would do.

“She was born in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico,” Millicent said.

“Good,” Joanna said. “Are her parents still there? Do you have a name and address?”