Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [107]
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 focus.
“Who the attending physician was when Roseanne was admitted for her emergency appendectomy.”
“Did he ask you anything about what happened to her later?”
Larry paused. “No, not that I remember.”
“See there? I’m sure it’s nothing.”
But with Larry off the phone, Gayle knew that