nobody was interested in what I had to say. Nobody listened.”
“What hospital?”
“That one,” Andrea said, gesturing with her head in the direction of the Indian Health Services Hospital just up the road. “That summer Roseanne got sick and had to have her appendix taken out. After she got out of the hospital, she was supposed to be better, but she wasn’t. When school started that year, she was too sick to go. Finally, my mother took her to the doctor. He put her in the hospital for tests. When they let her out, Dad was supposed to go pick Roseanne up after work to bring her home. When he got there, she was already gone. Everyone assumed that she had just walked out of the hospital on her own. We never saw her again. The next week somebody found her body in an ice chest out along the road.”
“You believe something happened to her while she was in the hospital the first time, for the surgery?” Brandon asked.
Andrea Tashquinth turned so she was looking Brandon square in the face. “I know something happened to her,” she said fiercely. “I think my sister was raped.”
“By whom?”
Andrea’s diffidence returned. “I don’t know. Someone who worked there, maybe? An orderly or a nurse. They had a few male nurses back then. Or maybe it was someone who was at the hospital visiting someone else.”
“You told this to people at the time?”
“Tried to,” Andrea said. “But I was sixteen. No one was interested in my opinions.”
“Especially since they were all convinced that your father was the culprit.”
“Yes,” Andrea agreed.
“Did your parents or anyone else ever ask to see Roseanne’s medical records?”
“I doubt it,” Andrea said. “When I told them that I thought something had happened to Roseanne at the hospital, my parents didn’t listen, either.”
“What made you think that?” Brandon asked. “Did she say anything to you about it-communicate anything?”
“No. It was just a feeling I had. It was probably nothing.”
Maybe not, Brandon Walker thought to himself as he jotted a reminder in his notebook.
That was one thing TLC had taught him. When you were doing cold-case investigations, you had to be willing to follow up on the dead leads everyone else had ignored.
By the time Erik reached Pontotoc Road, he looked as though he’d been through a war. His clothes were a mess. He was dusty, hot, thirsty, bloodied, and sweaty, and his ankle hurt like hell. He was sure now that it wasn’t broken, but it was badly sprained. What he wanted to do was shower and then ice the damned thing, although this late in the game, icing was probably beside the point.
He was surprised to see a cop car with a single occupant parked in front of his house. Erik hobbled up to the vehicle.
“What’s up?” he asked as the officer rolled down the window. “Is something wrong?”
The cop hustled out of the car. “My name’s Detective Brian Fellows,” he said, flashing a badge. “I’m an investigator for the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. And you are?”
Erik glanced at his truck to see if it had been damaged in some way, but the Tacoma was fine and still parked where he’d left it. “I’m Erik LaGrange,” he replied. “I live here. What’s going on?”
“You seem to be hurt,” the officer responded without really answering. “What happened?”
“I fell while I was up on the mountain.”
“When was that?”
“A while ago. I don’t know exactly. I’m on my way inside to shower and ice my ankle. You still haven’t told me what’s up.”
Just then a second sheriff’s department vehicle pulled up and parked. A second plainclothes officer stepped out and hurried over to Erik and Detective Fellows.
“Got it,” the second cop said to the first one, who nodded. The meaningful glance that passed between them gave Erik an uneasy feeling. This wasn’t just a routine neighborhood disturbance call. Something was going on- something out of the ordinary.
“This is my partner, Detective Hector Segura,” Detective Fellows said. “This is Mr. LaGrange.”
Instinctively, Erik held out his hand. Instead of taking it, Detective Segura reached into his jacket pocket and removed a folded paper, which he placed in Erik’s outstretched hand. Erik unfolded the document and examined it. For what seemed like the longest time the words didn’t penetrate, didn’t register.
“A search warrant?” he stammered finally. “You want to search the house? My house? My car? How come? What the hell’s happening here?”
“A young woman was found murdered in the desert near Vail this morning,” Brian Fellows said easily. “Your business card was found among what we believe to be her effects.”
“Somebody’s dead? Near Vail? I haven’t been anywhere near Vail in years. I know nothing about any dead girl. I have no idea why she would have had one of my business cards, but I work with a lot of people. Someone else could have given her one.”
Erik heard the rising hysteria in his voice. He couldn’t help that any more than he could quell a growing sense of panic. Obviously these two cops thought he had something to do with this poor murdered girl, but how could that be?
“Please, Mr. LaGrange. Don’t get yourself all worked up.”
Worked up? he thought. What the hell am I supposed to do?
When Erik spoke next, he made a concerted effort to sound calm and reasonable. “Look, you guys,” he said. “There must be some kind of mistake. I had nothing to do with whatever happened. And what about probable cause? It’s a long way from finding a business card to getting a search warrant. You can’t just walk in here and-”
“Would you mind stepping this way, Mr. LaGrange?” the detective named Fellows asked, leading the way to the tailgate of Erik’s Tacoma.
He was polite enough, so Erik voiced no objection.
“Take a look at that.” Detective Fellows pointed to something on the bumper-a brown stain of some kind.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Erik said. “What is it?”
“From my training and experience, I’d have to say it looks like blood,” Detective Fellows said. “Do you mind if we open this up?”
“I…” Erik began.
“You’ll find this vehicle specifically mentioned on the warrant,” Fellows added. “Go ahead, Detective Segura.”
Slipping on a latex glove, the other detective twisted the latch and raised the back door on the camper. Then he stood to one side, allowing all three of them to peer into the bed of the pickup. The smudge on the bumper had been baked brown in the sun. The pools of blood that lingered in the bed of the truck were still clearly red. Erik’s knees gave way beneath him. One of the officers grasped him by the elbow and kept him upright.
“Easy,” Detective Fellows said, leading him toward one of two waiting Ford Crown Victorias. “You’d best take it easy for a while. Are you armed, Mr. LaGrange?”
“Armed?” Erik asked. “Are you kidding?”
“Sir, would you please lean up against my vehicle…” Detective Fellows said.
Not believing his senses, Erik did what he was told. He stood with his hands on the Crown Victoria’s blistering hot hood and with his legs spread apart while the detective patted him down. Moments later, his backpack was removed and his hands were behind him, secured with some kind of plastic handcuff.
“You’re not carrying any needles, are you? Or any illegal substances?” Detective Fellows asked the questions in an easy, conversational voice, but nothing in his tone could calm the quaking of Erik’s heart or fill the terrible sinking feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach.
“No,” Erik said. “I’ve got nothing on me and nothing to hide.”
“These are the keys to your house?” Fellows asked, removing Erik’s key chain.
“Yes,” he said. “The small one with the rectangular top is the key to the front door.” He sure as hell didn’t
