Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [137]
“PeeWee and I just left the department. With all the construction at I-19 and I-10, we’re taking surface streets. It may take us a while. Do you want us to use the siren?”
“Don’t bother,” Brandon said. “Traffic’s too heavy for that. I’ll keep you posted, but give me that home address again, just in case. I’ll key it into my GPS. That way, if I do end up losing him, I’ll still have some idea where he’s headed.”
After ending the call, he started messing around with the GPS controls. The obligatory warning came on, telling him not to make adjustments to the system while the car was in motion, but there was no danger of that. The Suburban was stopped cold at a traffic signal. As soon as the GPS system had located the address and mapped it, Brandon called Brian back.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “The Flying C is off Highway 79. It’s in Pinal County, not Pima. What’s going to happen if Bill Forsythe finds out you’ve strayed into another jurisdiction?”
“We’re just going to ask a pair of suspects a few questions,” Brian said. “No big deal.”
But Brandon knew that once Sheriff Forsythe heard what was going on, there would be hell to pay.
The lunchtime rush was mostly over. Diana and Lani sat at a table in the far corner of the room while Lani picked at her food.
“I never saw a Mexican combination plate you didn’t devour on sight,” Diana said to her daughter. “Is something wrong?”
Lani looked at her mother—her Mil-gahn mother—and shook her head. Lani still didn’t understand the terrible dread she was feeling—dread brought on by that vision of the flesh disappearing from Gayle Stryker’s face. And if Lani couldn’t understand it, there was no way she could explain it to her mother.
“I’m worried about Dad,” she hedged at last.
“Don’t be,” Diana said with absolute confidence. “Your father’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
Not without help, Lani thought. She pushed her plate away and gave her mother what she hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m full,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
She wanted to be back home—back in her room with the door closed. There, at least, she’d be able to sit on the floor with her legs crossed, hold Looks at Nothing’s crystals in her hands, and sing the song that had come to her earlier. As a medicine woman, it was all she knew to do. As a daughter, it was the best help she could offer.
Staying at a discreet distance, Brandon followed Larry’s LS 430 through Catalina, past Saddle Brook, and then off onto Highway 79 at Oracle Junction. When Larry slowed and signaled for a left-hand turn at Flying C Ranch Road, Brandon took his foot off the gas and then drove by with his face averted in case Larry happened to look in his rearview mirror. Brandon continued on up the highway another half mile or so before pulling another U-turn and parking on the shoulder.
Taking out his phone, he called Brian. “Where are you?” Brandon asked.
“Just past Oracle and Orange Grove,” the detective returned. “Traffic is the pits. We finally had to put on the lights and siren.”
“Don’t worry,” Brandon said. “Everything’s cool. Larry just pulled off Highway 79 onto Flying C Ranch Road. My GPS says that’s a dead end, so he’ll have to come back out eventually. I’m parked up the road a few hundred yards. When he comes back out, I’ll see him, but he won’t see me.”
“Sounds good,” Brian said.
“I’ve been thinking about all this while I’ve been driving,” Brandon added. “Larry was all upset when I brought up the possibility of his being the father of Roseanne Orozco’s baby. I’d talked to him about Roseanne yesterday. He kept his cool then, but the paternity issue threw him into a blind panic. If you and PeeWee can apply the screws…”
“With pleasure,” Brian returned. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“Okay,” Brandon told him. “I’ll hang tight. See you when you get here.”
Larry’s phone rang again as he drove up Flying C Ranch Road. When he checked the readout and saw that