Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [68]
“And you left your truck here? How come?”
“The trailhead’s not far up the road. I was going on a hike. Why ride when you can walk?”
“Does anyone else have keys to your vehicle or access to your home?” Fellows asked.
Erik shook his head and said nothing.
“What did you do yesterday?” the detective asked.
“I went to work.”
“Until?”
He shrugged. “Five-thirty or six. I’m on salary. I don’t have to punch in and out.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I came home.”
“Alone or with someone?” Fellows asked.
That was the moment when Erik LaGrange finally got a glimmer of just how much trouble he was in. If the murder had happened while he was with Gayle, she could give him an alibi—if she would, that is. But if she did that, it would blow the whistle to Larry, and everything about Erik LaGrange’s private life would become public knowledge.
“You know,” he said, “if you don’t mind, maybe I’d better have an attorney present before I answer any more questions.”
When Andrea got out of the Suburban and headed off across the parking lot, Brandon Walker glanced at his watch and was amazed to see how much time had passed. Prior to the interview, he had turned his cell phone on silent. Now, when he took it out and switched it back, he had a total of five missed calls. He scrolled through the list. Two from home, one from Lani, one from Davy, and another from the home of Gabriel Ortiz in Sells.
Without bothering to return any of the calls, Brandon put the Suburban in gear and headed for the Ortiz Compound on the far side of the highway. Seeing the number of cars parked around the three houses, Brandon knew before he ever went inside that Fat Crack Ortiz was no more.
That son of a bitch, Brandon muttered under his breath. He told me he was going, but I didn’t think it would be this soon.
Fat Crack’s boys, Leo and Richard, were already there. Brandon retrieved the cooler containing the homemade tamales and tortillas Wanda Ortiz had given him earlier. Knowing he was looking for their mother, the two sons nodded to Brandon as he passed. “She’s inside,” Baby Fat Crack said.
A woman Brandon recognized as Delia, Leo’s wife, met him at the door made as if to bar his way. “I brought back some tamales and tortillas,” he explained. “Is Wanda here?”
He could tell that Delia Ortiz was getting ready to send him packing when Wanda called to her daughter-in-law from the living room. “It’s all right, Delia,” she said. “Let him come in.”
Without a word, Delia took the proffered cooler and headed for the kitchen. Brandon found Wanda in the living room sitting alone on the couch.
“I’m so sorry,” Brandon said.
“I know.” Wanda sighed. “But it’s all right. He was ready.”
“Have you thought about a service?” Brandon asked after a pause.
Wanda nodded. “The funeral will be held at the gym at the high school at four o’clock Monday afternoon. The minister from the Presbyterian church will do the service. We plan to bury him at Ban Thak. The cemetery at Coyote Sitting is where Fat Crack’s parents are buried and his aunt Rita as well.”
“But a Presbyterian minister?” Brandon asked dubiously. “All this time I thought…”
“That Fat Crack was a Christian Scientist?” Wanda returned, cutting Brandon off in midsentence. “That’s right. He was, but Christian Scientists don’t believe in funerals. I grew up a Presbyterian, and I do. Besides, the funeral’s for me and the kids and for The People. What Fat Crack wanted or didn’t want’s got nothing to do with it.”
“I see,” Brandon said. And he did.
As he drove back home to Tucson sometime later, he was struck by something. Both Wanda Ortiz and Emma Orozco had spent years doing things the way their respective husbands had wanted them done, but once the menfolk were out of the way, neither of them was the least bit hesitant to do things her own way.
That’s how it works, Brandon told himself philosophically. I wonder what Diana will be up to once I’m gone.
Fifteen
Their long-established division of labor meant that Gayle disposed of the bodies and Larry cleaned up afterward, but he worried