Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [123]
Suddenly, all the fight went out of the man. Ryan Doyle slumped heavily onto a nearby couch and buried his face in his hands.
Brian sat down next to him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Doyle. I’m sure all this is a terrible shock to you…”
Ryan raised his head and looked around the room. “And where’s she?” he demanded. “Where’s the bitch?”
“Who?” Brian asked.
“Gayle Stryker,” Ryan muttered bitterly. “Who do you think?”
“You knew about Erik’s relationship with Mrs. Stryker?”
“Relationship? Bullshit! The word relationship implies a two-way street, something that goes in both directions. Gayle was playing with him, using him, leading him along. Bree and I both tried to warn him about her. Bree said when Gayle was done with him, she’d drop him like a hot potato. Erik didn’t believe it. For the longest time—for years, even—he was convinced that someday, somehow, Gayle would leave her husband for him.”
“Was convinced?” Brian put in. “You mean he wasn’t anymore?”
Ryan sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sure. Bree and I just had a baby—a boy. Erik and I talked on the phone. He was congratulating me, saying how lucky I was to have a wife and baby. It’s not that he said anything specific, but I could tell it really got to him. I told him, ‘You know, Erik, you could have this, too,’ and he said, ‘I know. Maybe I will.’ ”
“When was this?” Brian asked. “When did you have this conversation?”
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks ago. Why?”
Brian was thinking about what Erik had told them. He had claimed that he had done nothing, that someone was framing him for murder. Brian had heard similar stories for years from punks complaining they were being framed, but maybe this time it was true.
A doctor entered the waiting room through the swinging doors and made straight for where the three men were sitting. “Has the sheriff’s department had any luck locating next of kin?” he asked.
The question was addressed to PeeWee Segura, and he was the one who answered. “We’re still working on it, but I haven’t heard if we’ve made any progress.”
“Erik doesn’t have any next of kin,” Ryan Doyle interjected. “His mother died when he was a baby. His father walked out and left him to be raised by his grandmother. She’s been dead for years. Why?”
The doctor peered down at Ryan Doyle over the top of a pair of reading glasses. “And you are?”
“My name’s Doyle, Ryan Doyle. Erik and I have been friends since grade school. I came as soon as I heard.”
The doctor held out his hand. His name was on the badge he wore, but he introduced himself nonetheless. “I’m Mr. LaGrange’s physician, Fred Ransom. You’re fairly certain he has no relatives—no brothers, no sisters, no aunts or uncles?”
Ryan shook his head. “There’s no one, no one at all, but you still haven’t told us why you need to know.”
The doctor took a step back and considered before he answered. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Doyle,” he said at last. “It doesn’t look good for your friend. His brain was denied oxygen for too long.”
“You mean Erik is going to die?”
“He’s on life support,” the doctor said. “That’s what’s keeping him alive. If he had relatives, I’d need to consult with them before…well, before doing what’s necessary.”
Ryan Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, as if processing that information. Brian thought briefly that he might break down. Instead, he stiffened his massive shoulders and straightened his back. “What about his organs?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” the doctor said.
“Erik signed up to be an organ donor,” Ryan said. “We both did it when we first started driving. It should be on his driver’s license.”
“I’m afraid Mr. LaGrange’s driver’s license wasn’t made available to us when he was admitted…”
Ryan Doyle wheeled back on Brian. “His license isn’t here because he was in jail, right?”
Brian nodded. “Yes, but—”
Ryan took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “When we were in high school, Pueblo High School, one of our pals needed a kidney. Robby Martin was on dialysis and waiting for a kidney to become available when he caught an infection and died. Erik and I made a