word SHERIFF had’ been painted in glossy black on
lime green plaster. Underneath it, was an arrow
pointing 5o the right.
La Vista law enforcement was headquartered in
a small dark room containing two wooden desks, an
unmanned switchboard, and a silent teletype mao
chine. A map of the county covered one wall Wanted
posters and a well-stocked gun rack rounded out
the decor. At the center of the rear wall was a
metal door with a four inch wire-glass window.
The beige-uniformed man at one of the desks
looked too young to be a peace officermpink chipmUnk
cheeks and guileless hazel eyes under brown
bangs. But he was the only one there and the
nametag over his breast pocket said Deputy W.
Bragdon. He was reading a farm journal and when I
entered, looked up and gave me a cop’s stare: wary,
analytic, and inherently distrustful.
“I’m Dr. Delaware, come to pick up Dr. Melen-dez-Lynh.”
W. Bragdou stood, hitched up his holster, and
disappeared through the metal door. He returned
with a man in his fifties who could have stepped
off a Remington canvas.
He was short and bowqegged, but broad shouldered
and rock-solid, and he walked with a hint of a
bantam swagger. His razor-creased trousers were ‘of
the same tan material as. the deputy’s uniform, his
shirt green plaid and pearl buttoned. A crisp, wide-brimmed.
Stetson rested squarely atop his long head.
The suggestion of vanity was conCarmed by his tail-
· BLOOD TEST
191
oring: the shirt and slacks had been tapered to hug
a trim physique.
The hair under the hat was dun and cropped
close ‘to narrow temples. His facial features were
prominent and somewhat avian. A’thick gray han-
dlebar mustache flared under a strong beakish nose.
I was drawn to his hands, which were unusually
thick and large. One rested on the butt of a long-barreled
Colt.45 nestling in a hand-tooled holster,
the other extended in a handshake.
“Doctor,” said’a deep mellow voice, “Sheriff Ray°
mond.Hou{en.” His grip was solid but he didn’t
exert pressur-e–a man well aware of his own
strength.
He turned to Bragdon. “Walt.” The baby-faced
deputy looked’ me over once more and returned to
his desk.
“Come on in, Doctor.”
On the other side of the tin mesh window were
ten feet of corridor. To the left was a bolted metal
door, to the right his office, high-ceilinged, sunlit,
and redolent of tobacco.
He sat behind an old desk and motioned me to a
scarred leather armchair. Removing his hati he
tossed it on a rack fashioned from elk antlers.
Pulling Out a pack of Chesterfields, he offered
me one and when I declined, lit up, leaned back,
and looked out the window. A large bay window
afforded a view of Orange Avenue and his eyes
followed the path of a semi hauling a load of produce.
He waited until the big truck had rumbled
out of sight before speaking.
“You’re a psychiatrist ?’
“Psychologist.”
192
Jonathan Kellerman
He held the cigarette between thumb and ‘forefinger
and inhaled.
“And you’re here as Dr. Lyneh’s friend, not in a
professional capacity.”
His tone implied the latter would have been more
than appropriate.
“That’s correct.”
“I’ll take you to see him in just a minute. But I
want to prepare you. He looks like he fell into a
combine. We didn’t do it.”
“I understand. Detective Sturgis said he started
a, fight with members of the Touch and came out
the worse for it.”
Houten’s mouth twisted under his mustache.
“That about sums it up. From what I understand
Dr. Lynch is a prominent man,” he said skeptically.
“l-e’s an internationally renowned expert on children’s
cancer.”
Another look out the window. I noticed a diploma
hanging on the wall behind the desk. He’d
earned a bachelor’s degree in criminology from one
of the state colleges.
“Cancer.” He mouthed the word softly. “My wife
had. it. Ten years ago. It ate her up like some wild
animal before it killed her. The doctors wouldn’t
tell us anything. Hid behind their jargon till the
end.”
His smile was fr.fghtful.
“Still,” he said, “I don’t recall any of them quite
like Dr. Lynch.”
“He’s one ora kind, Sheriff.”