Brandon had been to plenty of Tohono O’odham feasts, but this was by far the largest he’d ever seen. He nodded. “The old miracle of the loaves and fishes all over again,” he said.
The two men stood slightly apart from the rest of the line. Had Leo or Baby been with them, Brian and Brandon would have been included in some of the easy laughter and lighthearted banter from other people waiting in line. Without Ortiz relatives to run interference, the two Anglos were left alone-Mil-gahn outsiders in an essentially Indian world.
“Brian, I’ve got to talk to you,” Brandon began.
A cell phone chirped farther up the line. The crowd paused and waited. The idea of a cell phone ringing while people waited to eat food cooked over a woodstove struck Brandon’s funny bone. Years earlier, when hard-wired telephone lines had been difficult to come by on the reservation, phones had been a rare commodity outside the villages of Sells and Topawa. Now, though, with revenue-raising cell-tower sites dotting reservation lands, cell phones had proliferated.
Finally, as general talk and laughter resumed, Brandon broached a subject he’d been waiting to bring up. “I understand you made an arrest in that case,” he said casually. “The one from over the weekend. I heard a snippet on the radio earlier, but since I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper, I’m short on details.”
“We did,” Brian agreed. “And the guy’s been bound over for trial.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Brandon observed.
“Arresting him may have been premature,” Brian said. “I suspect there’s a whole lot more to the story than we know so far.”
“You and PeeWee are both good detectives,” the older man said encouragingly. “You’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Brian accepted Brandon’s praise gratefully. He wasn’t getting strokes like that from Sheriff Forsythe. “By the way,” he added, “I did look at that file you mentioned the other day.”
Brandon’s heart leaped, but he tried not to show it-tried not to sound too eager. “Roseanne Orozco’s file?” he asked.
Brian nodded. “I have to admit, that case does bear an uncanny resemblance to this new one, but I doubt they’re related,” he said. “For our guy to be the perp, he would have started killing people when he was five.”
“Right,” Brandon agreed. “That’s not too likely. I think I-”
He was interrupted by the arrival of Davy and Candace, who had emerged from the feast house as the group at the head of the line was ushered inside. Tyler, whimpering and whining in typical two-year-old fashion, clung tightly to his father’s shoulder.
“The kid’s run out of steam,” Davy explained. “We have to get going.”
“How are our womenfolk holding up in there?” Brandon asked.
Davy grinned. “Fine,” he said. “They’re washing dishes like mad.”
“What about the food, Ty?” Brandon asked. “Was it good? Did you leave any for Grandpa?”
For an answer, Tyler Walker Ladd shook his head and buried his face in his father’s neck. Candace, standing off to one side, beckoned impatiently and then headed for the car. Davy nodded in acknowledgment, sighed in resignation, and followed.
“She keeps him on a pretty tight leash,” Brian said.
“True, but what do you expect?” Brandon agreed. “She’s a woman, isn’t she?”
Another cell phone chirped. This time it was Brian’s turn to dig his phone out of his pocket. Not wanting to listen in, Brandon con-tented himself with wondering whether or not he should say anything about his own suspicions. What did he have to go on other than a sense Larry Stryker had been lying? He had nothing concrete to offer that would cover Brian’s back if Sheriff Forsythe came gunning for him. And until you do, Brandon told himself, shut the hell up.
Brian clicked off his phone. “Damn!” he muttered.
“What’s the matter?” Brandon asked.
Brian Fellows turned to his old mentor with a face full of anguish. “PeeWee and I were going to interview our suspect again this afternoon, but things came up. I was worried about being late for the funeral, so we put the interview off until tomorrow. Now it’s too late.”
“What do you mean, it’s too late?”
“Our suspect just tried to off himself, but he botched the job and is on life support at Saint Mary’s,” Brian said. “PeeWee thinks we should be there if he wakes up-or if he doesn’t.”
Brandon understood. More than once the same thing had happened to him when a suspect had committed suicide before answering the critical question that might have filled in the missing pieces of some puzzle. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“Thanks,” Brian replied. “I’d better go.”
It was hot inside the cooking portion of the feast house. As the evening dragged on, tempers ran short. “How many more groups?” Wanda Ortiz asked, surveying the dwindling stacks of tamales and tortillas.
“At least three more,” Kath Fellows answered, “not counting this one.”
Wanda shook her head. “Maybe we won’t run out of food,” she said, “but it’s going to be close.” She glanced at Delia, who had been manning the serving line for most of the evening. “You look tired. Sit down and put your feet up for a few minutes.”
Delia glanced toward the sink, where Diana Ladd and Lani had been doing KP duty all evening long. Other people had offered to spell them, but they had refused all offers. They claimed to be doing fine and were more than happy to keep on doing it. Even now, hours into the event, they were still talking and laughing. Despite the tragic occasion, working together in the hot kitchen provided its own salutary remedy.
Not wanting to be outdone in the dutiful department, Delia shook her head. “I’m fine,” she told her mother- in-law. “You’re the one who should sit down.”
By then the new set of guests had their plates and were streaming into the serving line. When a discreet knock sounded on the exit door, Wanda opened it to find Brian standing outside.
“I have to go in to work,” he called to Kath, who stood in the serving line doling out thick red chili. “Can you come now?”
Kath made no move to leave her station. “Does it look like I can come now?” she asked.
Lani, who had heard the exchange, pulled her soapy hand from the dishwater and dashed over to Brian. She gave him a brief but enthusiastic hug. “Long time no see,” she told him. “But don’t worry about Kath. Leave her here with us. I’ll see to it that she gets home. Promise.”
“You’re sure?” Brian asked. “It’s out of your way.”
“I don’t mind,” Lani said.
“Is that all right with you, Kath?”
“Sure,” Kath Fellows told her husband. “It’s fine. Get out of here now. You’re holding up production.”
The whole day and most of the evening passed without Gayle’s being able to sort out what to do about Larry and Brandon Walker. Frustrated and tired, she finally went to bed in the upstairs bedroom of her El Encanto home. She switched on the television set just as that night’s edition of the Ten O’Clock News came on. KOLD-TV’s “Breaking News” headline stunned her.
“This afternoon Erik LaGrange, former director for development for Medicos for Mexico, one of Tucson’s premier nonprofits, was charged with first-degree murder in the death of an unidentified teenage girl whose dismembered body was found near Vail on Saturday. We’ve just received word from the Pima County Sheriff’s Department that this evening, shortly before nine o’clock, LaGrange attempted suicide in his Pima County Jail cell. He’s been taken to Saint Mary’s Hospital, where he is listed in guarded condition.”
Gayle’s joy knew no bounds. This was nothing short of a miracle-a gift from a god Gayle Stryker hadn’t, until now, believed in. If Erik died, what could be better? When it came to assumptions of guilt, nothing quite compared with committing suicide-or even attempting it. And if he lived? No problem. Gayle Stryker was a master at the art of spin. She knew that the very act of saying something loud enough and long enough could make it true, even if it wasn’t. She had told Bill Forsythe earlier about the unsatisfactory job-performance review looming in Erik’s future. Now she had a chance to turn that job review into a motive for murder.
After looking up KOLD-TV’s phone number in the book, Gayle dialed the “Breaking News” number and asked to speak to the news director. While the weatherman was doing his gig, Gayle Stryker was speaking to a blundering
