known if Larry Stryker had a legal weapon but not an illegal one. As a TLC operative, Brandon wasn’t privy to any of that information. What if he observed the Strykers making a headlong run for the border? What would Brandon do then? Call for reinforcements? From Bill Forsythe? As Ralph Ames had quickly grasped, that was a no-brainer, unless Alvin Miller came up with the right kind of print information…
At the rear of Medicos for Mexico a metal door marked DELIVERIES ONLY opened. Gayle Stryker hurried across the parking lot, unlocking one of the Lexus sedans as she went. Intent on avoiding the reporters camped out front, she quickly started the car and sped out the back way.
It would have been simple to follow her, but Brandon was torn. Should he go after her, or wait for his real prey-Larry Stryker? Had Brandon Walker been blessed with a partner right then-one with another vehicle-it would have been possible for him to follow Gayle while his partner kept an eye on Larry’s activities. Forced to choose, Brandon opted to stay where he was.
His cell phone rang. Brandon leaped to answer, hoping Brian would be calling with some news. “Hi,” Diana said. “The car’s clean and Lani’s on her way home from Smitty’s. We’re going to come back into town for lunch. I’m sure she’s dying for Mexican food. We’re going to Karichimaka. Care to join us?”
“I’m busy right now,” Brandon told her. “I’ll have to pass.”
“You won’t get a better offer,” Diana told him with a laugh.
Brandon knew it was true, but the best part about missing lunch with his wife and daughter was knowing Diana and Lani would be out together-in public. That was better than their being home alone and trusting their safety to a passing deputy. Lani and Diana were safe, leaving Brandon free to keep watch on Larry Stryker.
It doesn’t get any better than that.
Gayle went by her house and picked up a few essentials-including her loaded Davis Industries P-380, which she slipped into her jacket pocket. After hastily stuffing two suitcases, she loaded those, along with three empty briefcases, into the back of the Lexus.
Then she began her circuit of three separate banks, visiting each in turn, going through the safe-deposit boxes and removing everything of value she found there. She’d learned it was wise to have close banking relationships with several different banks, and the loot she’d managed to squirrel away in all of them over the years was quite impressive. The problem was, she couldn’t simply waltz into a bank and waltz right back out again. She was an important customer in every one of them. The people who worked there-managers and tellers alike-wanted to visit with her and chat her up. One or two even expressed careful sympathy over the “unfortunate” situation with Mr. LaGrange.
Gayle tried to keep things light. More than that, she tried to keep things moving. When leaving a vault, she attempted to carry her briefcase with the same casual indifference she’d used when carrying it in. That wasn’t easy, since loaded briefcases were far heavier than empties.
Finally, when the safe-deposit boxes were cleaned out and the Lexus fully loaded, Gayle headed for The Flying C. She wouldn’t have gone at all except, unlike Larry, there were a few items she wanted from the ranch. Some of the artwork was too valuable to just abandon. She’d put the pieces she wanted in the backseat and drop them off at her storage unit on the way to the airport.
As she headed north, Gayle called the office. When Denise answered, she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Gayle asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Denise sobbed.
“Heard what?”
“About Erik?”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead, Mrs. Stryker. One of the reporters just told me. He committed suicide in jail. I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!”
You’d better believe it, bitch, Gayle thought. If he hadn’t been sniffing after you, maybe he’d still be alive. That’s not what she said. “What terrible news. Does Dr. Stryker know?”
“I haven’t told him, but someone else might have.”
“Put me through to him, then,” Gayle said.
“What about the reporters? They want to talk to either you or Dr. Stryker.”
“I already handed you a copy of our standard no-comment response, Denise,” Gayle said firmly. “All you give them is that. Do not answer questions. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” Denise sniffled.
“Now put me through to my husband.”
“Hold on, then,” Denise told her. “I’ll have to knock on his door. He has DND selected on his extension.”
Denise Lindsay came back on the line a minute or so later. “He’s not there,” she said.
“What do you mean, he’s not there?” Gayle demanded. “Maybe he’s in the rest room.”
“He’s not,” Denise said. “I checked. His car’s not in the parking lot either. He left without telling me. He must have gone out the back way.”
Gayle was upset, but she didn’t allow any of that concern into her voice. “That’s all right, then,” she said. “I’ll try his cell.”
She did-immediately-but he didn’t pick up, not the first time or the second or the third. That son of a bitch! she muttered. I told him to stay put. What the hell is that damned fool up to?
When Gayle hit the first traffic tieup on Oracle, she shot over to the freeway. She preferred to take the long way around rather than sitting stuck in stalled traffic.
J. A. Jance
Day of the Dead
Twenty-Eight
Minutes after Gayle left the Medicos lot, Brandon spotted her husband. Larry Stryker opened the delivery door and furtively checked to see if anyone was looking before hotfooting it across to his Lexus. Brandon put the Suburban in gear and waited to see what would happen. When Larry peeled out through the back entrance, Brandon had to execute a U-turn in order to follow him. He was doing just that when his phone rang.
“It’s me,” Brian said.
“What’s the word from Alvin Miller?”
“Not good,” Brian answered.
“What do you mean?”
“Not what we expected,” Brian said. “Larry Stryker isn’t our guy. None of the Orozco prints match any of the ones on the Burger King cup. But one of the Orozco prints does match one of the unidentified prints we picked up from LaGrange’s house. Ditto for Yuma County.”
Brandon processed that information in stunned silence. He had invested so much belief and emotion into the idea that Larry Stryker was a serial killer, he couldn’t quite let it go.
“That leaves us only one viable suspect,” Brian continued. “It has to be someone who was present in 1970 when Roseanne was killed and who was at LaGrange’s house on Saturday night.”
“Gayle Stryker!” Brandon breathed.
“You’ve got it,” Brian agreed. “Either her alone or both of them together. I’d love to have a set of her prints, but there aren’t any official ones on file-at least none that Alvin can find that are officially identified as hers. I can’t go for a warrant without something more specific, but I don’t need a warrant to talk to the lady. If I just happened to hand her something and-”
“Damn!” Brandon muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“She’s gone. She left the Medicos office a few minutes ago. I’m following Larry west on Broadway.”
“PeeWee’s pulling DMV info on all the Medicos company vehicles. While he’s at it, I’ll have him pull licensing information on Gayle and Larry. Once he has that, we’ll come straight there. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll come back to the office.”
“That would be nice,” Brandon said, but he didn’t sound hopeful.
“What are you up to again?” Brian asked.
Brandon wasn’t eager to say, but he did. “I’m following Larry Stryker through downtown and out toward the freeway. He came racing out of the office a couple of minutes ago, threw a briefcase in his car, and took off.”
