surfaces in an interrogation, it’s time to push for more information. Even so, a yellow caution light began blinking at the back of Brandon’s head. He was little more than a private citizen, but he was investigating a very real murder- one in which Larry Stryker might well turn out to be a suspect. That being the case, what the hell was Brandon Walker doing questioning him on his own? Good sense dictated that he walk away from the interview. Force of habit kept him where he was.
“Unusual case,” Brandon said casually. “Roseanne was fine as a toddler and she seems to have developed normally right up until she went to kindergarten. She came home from her first day at school and never spoke again-not even to members of her family.”
“Oh, yes,” Stryker said quickly. “I guess I do remember now. The mute girl. She was evaluated countless times. No one could find anything physically wrong with her. There must have been some kind of trauma involved, but I don’t think anyone ever figured out exactly what it was. And now that you mention it, I do remember that, shortly before her death, she was hospitalized for surgery-appendicitis, I believe. Later on she was back in the hospital for tests of some kind. It seems to me that there was a mixup about who was picking her up once she was released. She left the hospital on her own and never made it home. Instead, she turned up dead out along the highway.”
Stryker shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Tragic case all around. I believe her father was suspected of having had something to do with her…her condition.”
“Her pregnancy?” Brandon asked.
Stryker nodded. Brandon was struck by the fact that, although Larry Stryker had first claimed to have no knowledge of Roseanne Orozco, he was now exhibiting almost total recall-one lie compounded by another.
“Yes,” Brandon agreed. “Henry Orozco was a suspect initially, but a blood test eventually proved he wasn’t the baby’s father. Roseanne’s killer was never caught.”
“You’re trying to solve the case after all these years?”
Brandon nodded. “That’s the idea.”
“Why now?”
“Because Roseanne Orozco’s mother still wants to know who killed her daughter.”
“What does any of that have to do with me?” Stryker asked.
It was Brandon’s turn to ask a question. “How long were you out on the reservation?”
“Seven years and a little bit,” Stryker answered. “Why?”
“That’s several years longer than most doctors stay on at Sells, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Stryker answered. “Usually people don’t stay any longer than what it takes to pay off their student loans. Once they’re debt-free, they head for the hills-for the cities, rather.”
“But not you?”
“No. I really liked the people out there, but eventually it just wasn’t practical to stay any longer. Even so, my wife and I came away from the reservation with an abiding interest in taking modern medical services to the impoverished peoples of the world. Under the aegis of Medicos for Mexico, we’ve been doing just that ever since.”
“I know you have,” Brandon agreed. “And it’s very commendable. But getting back to Roseanne Orozco. Now that you remember who she was, do you happen to recall the name of her attending physician?”
“My dear man,” Stryker said. “As you yourself pointed out a little while ago, this all happened many years ago. Of course I don’t remember something as inconsequential as that. There were always three or four doctors on staff at Sells at any given time, all of us living in the hospital housing compound. We traded cases back and forth all the time. It could have been any one of us, or a combination of more than one. I really don’t see what the point is…”
Brandon couldn’t fail to notice that Stryker, who had gone from knowing nothing to knowing virtually everything about Roseanne Orozco, was now unable to recall this final, crucial detail. If he was lying, did that mean he was the killer? The possibility sent a clutch of fear deep in the pit of Brandon’s stomach. Whatever else Larry might be, he was also a “friend of the family.” He knew where Diana and Brandon lived. He knew Lani’s name, and he knew where she lived, too.
With a supreme effort, Brandon kept his tone easy and conversational. “I’m trying to get a sense of what was going on in Roseanne’s life during the months leading up to her death,” Brandon explained carefully. “I’m sure it was a difficult time for her. Is it possible she may have found a way to communicate her troubles to her personal physician, someone she might have expected to help?”
An almost imperceptible change had occurred in Lawrence Stryker’s countenance as the discussion continued. That one brief moment of uncertainty had passed and he was back in control.
“Well,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation. “If you wanted to find out who was assigned to be Roseanne Orozco’s physician, you could drive out to the hospital at Sells and have them check their records. But again, even if you locate her doctor, I doubt he’ll remember much about her, not after all these years.”
“I already checked the records,” Brandon said.
“And?” Again there was a slight waffling-a damning hint of hesitation.
“Nothing,” Brandon said, shrugging. “Roseanne Orozco’s records are missing. There are other records from around that time, but hers are nowhere to be found.”
“Probably a clerical error of some kind,” Larry Stryker said smoothly. “It’s not easy finding decent clerical help anywhere anymore, but particularly out on the reservation. No doubt it’s hiding right in plain sight, but when you’re working with computers, even the smallest misspelling can make a record totally irretrievable.”
“Right,” Brandon agreed. “I know just what you mean. Garbage in and garbage out.” He stood up. “I guess I’d better be going. You’ve been most kind to give me all this time when I didn’t even call ahead for an appointment.”
“No problem,” Larry Stryker said at once. “And no need to stand on ceremony where appointments are concerned. After all, any friend of Gayle’s is a friend of mine.”
It was the last thing Brandon Walker wanted to hear from Larry Stryker about then. If he did turn out to be a killer-the very last thing.
After Walker left, Larry stayed at his desk awash in the familiar rush as adrenaline turned fear to pleasure. Once again he was out there, walking on the edge. It was nothing but a coincidence that ex-Sheriff Walker had shown up asking questions about Roseanne Orozco, still…There was something subtly different about Brandon Walker’s appearance-something that had changed since the night of the Man and Woman of the Year Gala.
Larry waited until he was sure his guest had exited the lobby, then he dialed Gayle’s extension. “You’ll never guess who was just here,” he said.
Gayle’s answer was impatient. “I don’t have time to play games, Larry. Tell me.”
“Brandon Walker.”
“What did he want?” Gayle asked.
“He was fishing for information about Roseanne Orozco.”
There was a pause-a slight pause and maybe even a slightly in-drawn breath-before Gayle answered. “So?”
“So why’s he bringing this up now?” Larry asked. “What does it mean? Should we be worried?”
“What it means is you should settle down,” Gayle told him smoothly. “You sound utterly panic-stricken.”
You talk a good game, Larry thought to himself, but you sound a little upset, too.
For a long time after she’d finished talking to Larry, Gayle sat at her desk, thinking her way through the problem. She had tried to sound calm in the face of Larry’s concern, but Gayle knew he was right, and this meant trouble. After all these years, why in the world would Brandon Walker start asking questions about Roseanne? That was ancient history.
“Don’t worry about Brandon Walker,” she had assured Larry. “He’s out of it. He can’t hurt us. No one’s going to pay attention to anything he says.”
“But he’s working for somebody else, an organization that starts with a T, gave me a card, but I can’t…Oh, yes. Here it is. The Last Chance. It’s a group of do-gooders who go around solving cold cases. He’s working at Roseanne’s mother’s-”
“What exactly did he ask you?” Gayle asked. She spoke slowly, trying to make Larry settle down and
