could do under the circumstances. “I’ll stop here for now. I’ll come back tomorrow sometime. Just don’t touch anything until I do. The stuff I’ve already picked up I’ll work on in the lab.”
“Sure thing, Al,” Brandon Walker said. “I appreciate it.”
Alvin Miller drove straight back to the department. There, after simply eyeballing the two dusted prints, he picked up the phone and dialed Dan Leggett’s home phone number. “Who’s calling?” Leggett’s wife asked in a tone that indicated she wasn’t pleased with this work-related, late Saturday-evening phone call.
“It’s Alvin Miller. Tell him I’m calling about the prints.”
“So there were some?” Leggett asked, coming on the phone. “Did you get a hit?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance to run them yet, but there’s a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Dan Leggett asked.
“How well do you get along with Detective Myers?”
“He’s a jerk, why?”
“Because I’ve got a match between one of your prints and prints on a case he’s working. Actually, a case he hasn’t quite gotten around to working on yet.”
“This is beginning to sound complicated.”
“It is. The matching print came from the top of the desk in Brandon Walker’s study in his home office. Somebody broke into the place, smashed up some of his stuff, and stole a gun. But the real kicker is that Lani Walker, Sheriff Walker’s sixteen-year-old daughter, is among the missing and has been since early this morning. Myers refused to take the MP report because of the twenty-four-hour wait. Claimed it was probably just kid bullshit. But with the matching print . . .”
“You think her disappearance may be linked to our assault case from this afternoon?”
“Don’t you?” Alvin asked. “It’s sure as hell linked to your bones and wallet.”
Detective Leggett considered for a moment. “So how did you get dragged into all this? Into the Walker thing, I mean?”
“Myers told Brandon Walker that the soonest anybody could come check for prints was Monday, and Walker called to see if I could do it any earlier. I couldn’t very well turn the man down, now could I?”
“Ford Myers is going to be ripped when he finds out,” Leggett said. “He’ll be gunning for you.”
Alvin Miller laughed. “That’s nothing new. He already is.”
“So what are you going to do with the prints you have?”
“Get them ready, scan them into the computer, and run them.”
“Tonight? How long will it take you?”
“An hour or so to get them ready. After that, it’s just a matter of waiting for the computer to do its thing. Do you want me to give you a call later on if I get a hit?”
“You’d better,” Dan Leggett said. “But do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell Ford Myers until I give you the word.”
“Don’t worry,” Alvin Miller said. “Why should I? After all, he isn’t expecting fingerprint results before Monday morning. Do you want me to call you there and let you know what I find?”
“Don’t bother. I’m heading back out.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back over to the hospital to see if Brian Fellows has had a chance to talk to Mr. Chavez.”
A few yards beyond the turnoff to the Rattlesnake Skull
Quentin reached for the door handle. “How’d you know this was it?” he asked.
“I can see your tracks heading off across the wash, dummy,” Mitch Johnson replied. “And if I can see them, so can the rest of the world.”
Lani was dismayed to see that once on his feet, Quentin could barely stand upright. She stayed in the car while Quentin struggled with the hubs. Finally Mitch ordered Quentin back into the truck, the backseat this time.
“You come with me,” he said to Lani. Once she was on her feet, he handed her a branch he had broken off a nearby mesquite. “I want you to follow behind the truck,” he said. “Brush out the tire tracks, and yours, too. Do you understand?”
Lani nodded.
“And if you do anything off the wall, if you try to run, not only will I shoot your brother with his father’s own gun, I’ll come get you, too. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Lani watched Mitch climb back into the truck, knowing that he was wrong about that. Quentin Walker was Brandon Walker’s son, her father’s son, but as far as Lani was concerned, Davy Ladd was her only brother. Still, she couldn’t stand the thought that some action of hers, even an action that might save her own life, could cost Quentin his. She didn’t like him much and she owed him nothing. And had she turned and fled into the desert right then, she might very well have managed to hide well enough and long enough to get away.
But how would she feel when she heard the report of gunfire, a shot that would come from her father’s own
