“Who was it who told you about Mrs. O’Brien’s going on missions?”
“That would have been Babe,” Eva Lou answered at once.
“Babe Sheridan. She also attends St. Dominick’s. Why do you heed to know?”
“It’s nothing,” Joanna said. “I have a couple of questions is all.” Minutes later, Joanna was on the phone with Babe Sheridan at the water company’s customer service desk, where she had worked ever since her husband’s death in a mining accident some thirty years earlier.
“What can I do for you Sheriff Brady?” Babe asked.
“I’m curious about Katherine O’Brien,” Joanna said, trying to make the inquiry seem as casual as possible.
“Isn’t it terrible about their daughter?” Babe said at once. “It’s bad enough to lose a husband, but a child? I hear the funeral mass is going to be on Thursday afternoon. I’m planning on taking half a day off so I can attend.”
“Yes, it is terrible,” Joanna replied, “but I’m not calling about that at the moment. I wanted to ask you about the mission work Katherine does. I have a friend who’s interested in doing some medical mission work as well, but this doesn’t seem to be the right time to ask the O’Briens about it.”
Joanna’s story was a bold-faced lie, but it worked. “Oh, of course not,” Babe Sheridan agreed at once. “They shouldn’t he bothered at a time like this. Now, let me see. I don’t quite remember the details or even the name of the organization. It’s not Doctors Without Borders, but it’s something like that. I’m terrible with names. Whatever it is, it operates out of Minneapolis. I could probably find out for you if you want me to,”
“No,” Joanna said quickly. “I’ll give nay friend the information and let her do her own searching. If she’s that interested in going, she should do her own research, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” Babe replied. “But still, if you need me to help out…”
“You’ve been a help already,” Joanna assured her. “I’ll let my friend take it from here.”
When she finished that call, she considered for only a moment before dialing Doc Winfield’s office. Since he was from Minnesota and also a doctor, Joanna thought he might know something about such an organization. When his voice mail message announced he was out of the office until five, Joanna looked up the area code for Minneapolis and dialed the number for information, asking the directory assistance operator for the number of the Minneapolis public library. It took several minutes before she was put through to a reference librarian who was willing to help.
“I’ve never heard of any such organization,” the librarian said once Joanna finished explaining what was needed. “The medical association might know about it, though, and if it’s possibly church-related, the diocese might know as well.”
For the next half hour, Joanna followed one blind lead after another. If a medical mission operation was working out of the Minneapolis/St. Paul area, someone was doing a terrific job of keeping it a total secret-something that didn’t seem the least bit likely. An organization setting out to save the world would want everyone to know about it-for fund-raising purposes if nothing else. Of course, the simplest thing to do would have been to call Katherine O’Brien herself and ask for the name and number, but Joanna knew better than that.
Instead, she called Phoenix information. After receiving yet another number, she dialed Good Samaritan Hospital and asked to be put through to the director of nursing. While waiting for someone to answer, Joanna tried to piece together a timetable. Brianna O’Brien had been eighteen years old when she died. Joanna remembered Katherine’s saying that she and David O’Brien hadn’t married until five years after she stopped working at Good Sam. That meant that the records Joanna needed would be twenty-three to twenty-five years old, if they still existed at all. She didn’t hold out much hope.
Moments later a woman’s voice came on the line. “This is Barbara Calderone, the director of nursing,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Joanna Brady. I’m the sheriff of Cochise County. We’re trying to learn something about a nurse who worked at Good Sam a number of years ago. I was wondering-”
“How many years ago?” Barbara Calderone interrupted.
“More than twenty.”
“It’s highly unlikely that we’d still have records from that long ago. We’re computerized now. It’s much easier to keep track of the nurses who come and go. The problem is, few of our records go back that far unless there was some kind of special circumstance. What was her name? In those days, of course, I’m assuming the nurse was a woman.”
“Ross,” Joanna said. “Katherine V. Ross.”
“One moment.”
Over the phone line came the familiar sound of a clicking keyboard as Barbara Calderone typed something into a computer. “That’s odd,” she said. “Is her birthday March 4, 1942?”
“Yes,” Joanna replied, fighting to contain the excitement in her voice.
Barbara Calderone sounded mystified. “I don’t know why, but the name’s still here, even after all this time, along with a DNH designation. There’s a notation that indicates all inquiries ore to be directed to the legal department.”
“DNH?” Joanna asked.
“Do not hire,” Barbara Calderone explained. “In this business, before we hire someone, we run his or her name, Social Security number, and date of birth through the computer just to be sure we’re not rehiring someone who’s already created some kind of difficulty for us, which this Katherine Ross certainly must have done. I have to say, this is one of the oldest DNH designations I’ve ever seen. Most of the time, records that n up that way are for people who’ve developed inappropriate relationships with their patients. Or else ones who have developed difficulties with prescription medications-particularly other people’s prescription medications,” she added meaningfully. “But then, I suppose you know all about that.”
“Right,” Joanna responded. She was surprised that she had made it this far with Barbara Calderone without some demand as to Joanna’s legal right to make such inquiries. Still, she wasn’t about to turn down the information.
“Could you connect me with the legal department, then?”
“Sure,” Barbara Calderone replied. “Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”
The man Joanna spoke to there, a Mr. Armando Kentera, wasn’t nearly as loquacious as Barbara Calderone had been. “We do have a file on Ms. Ross,” he conceded, “but, without a properly documented court order, that’s all I can tell you. We’re dealing with privacy issues here, Sheriff Brady. I can’t give out any further information than that.”
From the tone of Mr. Kentera’s voice, Joanna knew there was no sense arguing. Thanking him, she ended the call and then dialed the Copper Queen Hospital, asking to be put through to Ignacio Ybarra. He answered after the second ring.
“This is Sheriff Brady,” Joanna told him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he answered. “It’s nothing serious. Dr. Lee says I just got overheated. They’re letting me out. One of my cousins is coming to pick me up. Detective Carbajal wanted to take me up to the Peloncillos this afternoon to look at the campsite. I tried to get back to him, but the office said he had been called away to something else.”
“That’s right,” Joanna said.
“Tell him if he wants to go tomorrow, he should give me a call.”
“Right,” Joanna said. “I will. Tomorrow will probably be plenty of time, but in the meantime, Ignacio, I could use your help with something else.”
“What?”
“It’s about Bree’s journals.”
“What about them?”
“I read the final entry in one of them,” Joanna said. “The one volume we were able to find. The words were ‘My mother is a liar.’ Do you know anything about that?”
“I guess so. Her mother was always leaving home. About twice a year she’d go away for two weeks or so, sometimes even longer. She told Bree she was doing some kind of mission work, but Bree found out that wasn’t true.”