'Yes?' he called.
'Police,' a voice answered.
His hands trembled as he went to open the door. As soon as he did so, he shoved his hands in his pockets. The two uniformed cops he had seen earlier stood outside, both holding clipboards.
Carlisle concentrated on keeping his voice neutral and calm. 'What seems to be the trouble, Officer?'
'We're investigating the broken gate,' one of them said. 'A car smashed through it. Next it took off and bashed the El Camino across the street. You came not long after that. Did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?'
Carlisle shook his head. 'Nope,' he said. 'I didn't see a thing.'
The cops apologized for disturbing him and left. It took a while for his breathing to settle back down, to get his mind back to the problem at hand. First and foremost, he thought, he had to have another car.
Focused on solving that one problem, he prepared to leave his storeroom, but first he rummaged around until he found the bulky box that contained not only his first draft of Savage, but Garrison Ladd's manuscript as well.
It was a good thing that hotshot detective had never found either one.
Carrying the box, he locked the door and walked toward the street. The cops waved to him as he passed, but that was all. They didn't really notice him, and he was careful to do nothing that would attract their attention.
In his search for Andrew Carlisle's mother, Detective Farrell had struck out completely. The apartment complex in Peoria where Myrna Louise Taylor had been living at the time of her son's trial was such a transient place that it turned out to be a total dead end. She had evidently moved on from there more than three years earlier.
The manager had been on duty for only six months. The complex's group memory didn't stretch back any further than that.
Stymied and discouraged, Farrell trudged back to his car where the steering wheel, door handles, and seats were all too hot to touch. He turned on the car's air-conditioning full blast, but it made very little headway. Gingerly fingering the controls on his radio, he called in to check for messages.
There were several, but the only one he paid any attention to was from Ron Mallory. The assistant superintendent at the Arizona State Prison was anxious to keep his cushy job. He was doing everything possible to cooperate with Farrell's investigation.
Instead of heading straight out of town, Farrell drove to Metro Center, the nearest air-conditioned mall, and went inside to use a pay phone.
'What's up?' he asked when he finally had Ron Mallory on the line.
'I've got a name for you,' Mallory said. 'I had to ask more than once, but when I finally got his attention, Carlisle's ex-cellmate came up with his mother's new last name, Spaulding. It was something else before that. She remarried a year or two ago.'
'Anything else besides last name? Location maybe?
Husband's first name?'
'Sorry. The last name was all I could dredge out of this guy. I was lucky to get that much.'
'You're right,' Farrell agreed. 'it is progress. I can't expect the whole case to be handed to me on a silver platter.'
Myma Louise made it home in one piece. That in itself was no small miracle. She got the hang of steering fairly well, although she tended to run over curbs going around corners. Her worst problem was keeping steady-enough pressure on the gas pedal. She constantly sped up and slowed down. For the last sixty miles, she held her breath for fear of running out of gas. She didn't dare go to a gas station and turn off the motor. What if she couldn't get it started again? All she could think of was how much she wanted to be home, safe in her own little house.
If God got her home all in one piece, she promised, she'd never ask him to do anything for her again.
Chapter Sixteen
AS DIANA AND Davy returned home from San Xavier, Fat Crack's tow truck was parking in the front drive. Diana was momentarily concerned about the presence of a strange vehicle, but Davy was ecstatic when he caught sight of Rita. He was ready to leap from the car well before it stopped.
'Be very gentle with her, Davy,' Diana cautioned. 'She had surgery, you know. She has stitches, too.'
'On her head?'
'No, on her tummy.'
'I'll be careful,' Davy promised, scurrying toward the truck. Reaching the door just as Fat Crack handed Rita down, Davy stopped short, daunted at first by the huge Indian's presence. Then, remembering who the man was, he stepped forward. 'Hi,' he said shyly to Fat Crack.
Davy's first instinct was to throw himself at Rita, but remembering his mother's warning, he hung back until Rita raised her good arm and beckoned him to her. He hugged her gingerly around the waist while she patted the top of his head. The gesture activated his 'On' switch.
With a grin, he jumped away from her and pointed to the shaved spot on his head.
'See my stitches?' he boasted. 'How many do you have?
Can I see them?'
Rita smiled and shook her head. 'No, you can't see them, and neither can I. I'm too fat.' She laughed, and so did Fat Crack.
During this exchange, Fat Crack pulled several loaded hospital-issue plastic bags from the truck. 'I'll take these inside,' he said.
