Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [66]
“A young woman was found murdered in the desert near Vail this morning,” Brian Fellows said easily. “Your business card was found among what we believe to be her effects.”
“Somebody’s dead? Near Vail? I haven’t been anywhere near Vail in years. I know nothing about any dead girl. I have no idea why she would have had one of my business cards, but I work with a lot of people. Someone else could have given her one.”
Erik heard the rising hysteria in his voice. He couldn’t help that any more than he could quell a growing sense of panic. Obviously these two cops thought he had something to do with this poor murdered girl, but how could that be?
“Please, Mr. LaGrange. Don’t get yourself all worked up.”
Worked up? he thought. What the hell am I supposed to do?
When Erik spoke next, he made a concerted effort to sound calm and reasonable. “Look, you guys,” he said. “There must be some kind of mistake. I had nothing to do with whatever happened. And what about probable cause? It’s a long way from finding a business card to getting a search warrant. You can’t just walk in here and—”
“Would you mind stepping this way, Mr. LaGrange?” the detective named Fellows asked, leading the way to the tailgate of Erik’s Tacoma.
He was polite enough, so Erik voiced no objection.
“Take a look at that.” Detective Fellows pointed to something on the bumper—a brown stain of some kind.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Erik said. “What is it?”
“From my training and experience, I’d have to say it looks like blood,” Detective Fellows said. “Do you mind if we open this up?”
“I…” Erik began.
“You’ll find this vehicle specifically mentioned on the warrant,” Fellows added. “Go ahead, Detective Segura.”
Slipping on a latex glove, the other detective twisted the latch and raised the back door on the camper. Then he stood to one side, allowing all three of them to peer into the bed of the pickup. The smudge on the bumper had been baked brown in the sun. The pools of blood that lingered in the bed of the truck were still clearly red. Erik’s knees gave way beneath him. One of the officers grasped him by the elbow and kept him upright.
“Easy,” Detective Fellows said, leading him toward one of two waiting Ford Crown Victorias. “You’d best take it easy for a while. Are you armed, Mr. LaGrange?”
“Armed?” Erik asked. “Are you kidding?”
“Sir, would you please lean up against my vehicle…” Detective Fellows said.
Not believing his senses, Erik did what he was told. He stood with his hands on the Crown Victoria’s blistering hot hood and with his legs spread apart while the detective patted him down. Moments later, his backpack was removed and his hands were behind him, secured with some kind of plastic handcuff.
“You’re not carrying any needles, are you? Or any illegal substances?” Detective Fellows asked the questions in an easy, conversational voice, but nothing in his tone could calm the quaking of Erik’s heart or fill the terrible sinking feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach.
“No,” Erik said. “I’ve got nothing on me and nothing to hide.”
“These are the keys to your house?” Fellows asked, removing Erik’s key chain.
“Yes,” he said. “The small one with the rectangular top is the key to the front door.” He sure as hell didn’t want these bozos breaking down the door.
Taking the key chain, Detective Fellows tossed it to the other cop, who caught it in midair, turned on his heel, and headed toward his house. As Segura hurried away, Fellows opened the back door to the Crown Victoria and motioned Erik inside. “Please have a seat, Mr. LaGrange.”
“Wait a minute,” he objected. “Are you placing me under arrest? Don’t I get a lawyer or something?”
“Just have a seat,” Detective Fellows said more firmly.
With the cop holding his head down to keep him from banging it on the top of the door, Erik slipped into the backseat. As he did so he caught sight of several of Professor Rice’s neighbors and a bunch of openmouthed kids watching