Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

the murder. He was still talking when the ambulance whisked us both away to the hospital. He kept talking there, too, even when Robert Heckaman, the portly county attorney, stood over his bed. Heckaman was flanked by two deputies, one of them holding the video camera which, I was assured, would produce evidence admissible in court.
    Things had moved quickly then. With me still wrapped in a blanket, Heckaman escorted me back to his office and phoned a Beehive County judge. As I listened on his speaker phone, the judge promised to sign papers ordering Esther’s release from the Zion City jail, where she’d arrived only that morning. The entire process would take no more than a few hours.
    But Heckaman’s cooperation stopped there. No matter how hard I begged, he said he couldn’t do anything about the situation in Purity. In fact, his words oddly echoed Sheriff Benson’s.
    “You have to look at it from the legal point of view, Ms. Jones,” he said, tapping a pudgy finger on his glass-topped desk. “Who is the complainant here? You? If so, the only two people you can personally lodge a complaint against are Earl Graff, for assaulting you, and Meade Solomon, for trying to kill you. Sheriff Benson has already assured you that your complaint against Davis Royal isn’t going to fly.”
    I refused to give up. “But surely I can file a citizen’s complaint. Polygamy is illegal. So is rape, wife beating and child molestation, not to mention welfare fraud.”
    He shook his head, making his double chins wobble. “As long as the women of Purity don’t consider themselves injured parties and lodge their own complaints, the law can do nothing.”
    “You can’t be serious.”
    Heckaman sat back in his chair, his belly spilling over his belt. “I wish I could help you, but this kind of thing has been going on for more than a hundred years out here. That business with Tom Green and his wives, that was just an aberration, a publicity-seeking fool who got what he deserved.”
    I pointed out that the women of Purity hadn’t come forward because the Church of the Prophet Fundamental had convinced them they’d go to Hell if they didn’t follow the church’s orders, but Heckaman just shrugged.
    “Religious freedom, Miss Jones. The United States Constitution guarantees it.”
    Since compassion didn’t seem to be working with the county attorney, I tried another tack. I reminded him of the genetically damaged children, and the enormous cost to taxpayers they represented.
    Heckaman seemed slightly more interested in this aspect of the problem, but it still didn’t fill him with the fire of reform. After mumbling something about having a social worker stop by to check on the children confined to the Purity Clinic, he hustled me out of his office, but not before I saw the photograph hanging on the wall, positioned next to a stuffed large-mouthed bass. It was a studio portrait of three serious-faced girls no more than thirteen or fourteen, each wearing puffy-sleeved granny dresses. A beaming Heckaman stood behind them, encircling all three with his arms.
    “Your daughters?” I didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
    His own voice had been unperturbed. “Have a nice trip back to Arizona, Ms. Jones.”
    It had been all I could do not to spit in his face.
    No, Prophet Davis and the Circle of Elders would never have to worry about that particular county attorney. The polygamists were perfectly safe.
    Heckaman kept one promise, however.
    I smiled at Esther as she helped Rebecca load the rest of her things into the U-Haul. The shadows under her eyes had vanished, and her cheeks, so sunken the last time I saw her, bloomed again.
    “Did you say good-bye to your daddy, sweetheart?” she asked Rebecca.
    Her daughter nodded. “I told him he could come visit me in Scottsdale, but I wouldn’t visit him here, not ever. I told him I didn’t like his friends.”
    Esther smiled at me over Rebecca’s glossy head. “How can I ever thank you? And Jimmy. Without you two…” Her words trailed off, and for a moment, the old shadows returned.
    I reached around Rebecca, grabbed Esther’s hand, and squeezed. “I was just doing my job. Gun for hire, and all that.”
    Her eyes filled with grateful tears, not for the first time that day. “Just a gun for hire. Yeah, right.” She gave my arm a squeeze.
    I cleared my throat. “Um, Esther, speaking of Jimmy, how is he?”
    I knew perfectly well how Jimmy was doing, having