to do. Carlisle claimed to know nothing at all about what had happened to the girl's breast.
Carlisle took no responsibility for anything else that might have transpired between Gary Ladd and Gina while he himself was asleep.
Carlisle's claim of drunken innocence galled the detective, but without contradictory testimony, he couldn't shake the story.
Throughout the questioning process, Carlisle maintained that they put the body in the water, hoping no one would notice for a while, and that when they did, people would assume Gina had drowned. Things didn't work that way. As soon as the girl's grandmother reported her missing, the people of San Pedro remembered the two drunk Mil-gahn ad escorted Gina Antone at the dance. Word was who h passed along, first to the tribal police, and later to Brandon Walker of the Sheriff's Department.
Much to his dismay, Sheriff DuShane found himself stock with a solved murder and a very prominent murderer-a University of Arizona professor, no less. Those were complications DuShane hadn't counted on when he assigned Brandon Walker to the case. Offending the university community didn't bode well for DuShane's political future.
Several pointed damage-control suggestions Were made to Detective Walker advising him to back off. Rather than quitting, Walker renewed his efforts.
He called on Diana Ladd in the aftermath of her husband's suicide.
'What about the bite on Gina's breast?' a tearful Diana had demanded when he questioned her not only about the suicide, but also in regard to Gina Antone's death. Word on had somehow found its way into Of the grisly mutilated newspaper accounts of the murder.
,,what about it?' Brandon asked.
He would never do something like that. Never. Isn't there some way to check it, to do an impression Of the bite mark and compare it with Gary's dental records? They won't be the same, I know they won't.'
Of course, the one ghoulishly mutilating bite wasn't all , not by any means. There were Gina Antone had suffered burns and cuts and signs of innumerable forced entries. But the bite itself could have provided the most telling testimony had Brandon Walker been able to check it, but pertinent information about the bite somehow had disappeared from that missing piece of Gina Antone's file. For years now, paper had haunted Brandon Walker- Would the Outcome have been different had it been found?
There was no way to tell for sure, but without it, Andrew the more serious Carlisle's lawyer managed to plea- bargain charges down to one of second-degree rape and voluntary on the case, hard-nosed Judge manslaughter. The judge immediate and intense dislike to Clarence Barker, took an Andrew Carlisle. Barker threw the book at Carlisle anyway, handing out eight years. That much of a stretch was a long time for a first-time offender, especially when the perpetrator was an Anglo and the victim was an Indian, but Barker made it stick, and no amount of appealing changed it.
For some reason Brandon Walker could never fathom, during the legal maneuverings, Diana Ladd became Rita Antone's constant companion and champion. All the while maintaining her own husband's innocence, she made it her business to see that Andrew Carlisle got what was coming to him. She was outraged by the plea-bargaining arrangement.
From her point of view, eight years in Florence was a mere pittance of punishment, almost as good as Carlisle getting off scot-free.
Years later, Walker could see that Gary Ladd hadn't exactly got off, either. Dead by his own hand, he went to his grave under a cloud, convicted of suicide and innocent of murder and rape only by the narrow technicality of never having come to trial. Walker considered both Ladd and Carlisle guilty as hell. Both were equally despicable, but most of the burden for their crimes had fallen on Diana Ladd's narrow shoulders.
Justice really was blind, Walker thought humorlessly.
Gary Ladd was dead, but his widow was still paying.
Back in the deserted English Department office, standing with his arms crossed, Garrison Walther Ladd leaned against the receptionist's desk regarding Diana's fetching backside with considerable interest while she distributed the packets of dittoed material to the various mailboxes.
Knowing he was looking at her made her nervous. A deep flush spread up her neck and across her cheeks, not stopping until it reached the roots of her auburn hair.
'You're serious about what you do, aren't you?'
'Why wouldn't I be?' After what Garrison Ladd had just told her, what else could he expect?
'Most girls your age are more ... well, lighthearted, I suppose.'
She resented his making small talk. After all, the president was dead.
Shouldn't they be talking about that? 'Most girls don't have to pay their own way,' she returned.
'Do you? I Really? Pay your own way, I mean.'
'No,' Diana answered bitterly. 'I'm just working to wear out my new clothes.'
Garrison Ladd laughed then, blue eyes twinkling with hearty merriment, white teeth flashing in the fluorescent lighting. 'You're something else!' he said. 'You really are.'
She wished he would go away and let her be, but he probably didn't want to be responsible for leaving her alone in the office after the place had been closed up and secured for the weekend. She had wanted to work all five of her scheduled hours that morning and afternoon. Her budget was so tight that she couldn't afford to miss work from any of her three jobs. She only had a few more paychecks to accumulate enough money to pay off next semester's tuition and books.
She finished distributing the dittos and checked the empty box where instructors sometimes left typing for her.
'So what are your plans for the afternoon?' he asked. She shrugged.
'Go back home, I guess. Nobody left any typing for me.'
