Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [108]
In his current state, Larry was in danger of crumbling like a house of cards as soon as a detective or a reporter asked him a single question. That made Gayle’s husband a liability she could ill afford. He would have to be dealt with. So would Brandon Walker. After all, Walker wasn’t a police officer anymore. He had no more protection than anybody else, and no more legal clout, either. Not only that, Gayle knew where he lived. The question was, could Gayle come up with some kind of elegant solution that would deal with both Larry and Brandon at the same time? To do that, she needed to think. She picked up her phone and dialed the receptionist. Gayle had meant to fire the little man-stealing bitch first thing this morning, but with so many other things on her mind, she hadn’t quite gotten around to it.
“Denise,” Gayle said as civilly as she could manage, “I’ll have to cancel my luncheon at Canyon Ranch this morning. Could you please call Ron Farrell, the manager out there, and let him know? His number’s in the database.”
Outside, Brandon sat in the Suburban, savoring the warmth of the smooth leather seat and trying to come to terms with what he had done. By barging in on Stryker and asking questions, it was possible he had put his whole family at risk—himself, Diana, Lani. And for what? For Emma Orozco?
Not really, he told himself in disgust. I did it because I wanted my old life back—because I wanted to be useful. I wanted to be a hero. But now that my damned ego has jeopardized my whole family, what the hell should I do now?
He used his cell phone to call Ralph Ames. “What’s up?” Ralph asked.
“I may have found Roseanne’s killer,” Brandon said carefully. “But there’s a problem—a big problem. The guy knows me, he knows my family, and he knows where we live. I’m going to need some backup on this, Ralph. If this is our guy, we’ve got to nail him now—or I’ll never sleep again.”
Ralph Ames processed the information and went into his problem-solving mode. “Who is he?” Ralph asked. “Let’s see what our reference librarians can dig up on him. What’s his name?”
“Stryker,” Brandon answered. “S-T-R-Y-K-E-R, Dr. Lawrence. Wife’s name is Gayle. He was out on the reservation working as a doctor at the same time my wife was teaching there. Gayle and Diana taught there together. This isn’t definite, but I suspect Larry Stryker was Roseanne’s attending physician at the time she was hospitalized. I also know that later on—years later—there was a scandal on the reservation about doctors abusing their patients. He may have had something to do with that, but it was all a long time ago. Since then, Stryker and his wife have turned into big deals here in Tucson. They run a nonprofit organization called Medicos for Mexico.”
“In other words, we may find lots of material,” Ralph said.
“That’s right,” Brandon returned. “I’m looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, and first I need you to find the haystack.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Ralph told him. “You do what you can to keep everyone out of harm’s way. In the meantime, I’ll see about getting you some help. Once we’re set, I’ll be back in touch.”
“Thanks,” Brandon said. “I appreciate it.”
Brian was within minutes of heading out to Kino Hospital for the autopsy when Homicide Captain Julio Hernandez stopped by his desk. “What’s up?” Brian asked.
“The Big Guy wants to see you.”
The Big Guy was none other than Sheriff William Forsythe. In all his years with the Pima County Sheriff’s Department, Detective Brian Fellows had never before been summoned for a personal audience with the top gun. He blinked in surprise.
“Sheriff Forsythe wants to see me?” Brian asked stupidly.
Hernandez nodded. “ASAP.”
Feeling like a grade school student being sent to the principal’s office, Brian made his way to the