Free Hour of the Hunter by J. A. Jance

trash can. The clothing he ditched in another can, this one at Thomas Mall on his way to the airport.
    Sky Harbor was his last stop. Once there, he pulled into the long-term lot and took a ticket. One last time he wiped down everything he remembered touching since Park Mall-the door handle, steering wheel, gearshift, window knob, and keys. Then, placing the newly wiped keys back in the ignition, he got out of the car and walked away.
    It was dark by then and much cooler. In the hubbub and hurry of the airport, no one noticed him walk away.
    It would be a five-mile hike to his mother's new house in Tempe, but he wasn't afraid of walking. in fact, walking that far would be a real treat.

 
    Chapter Four
    AROUND SEVEN, BRANDON Walker emerged from his cubicle and ventured down the hallway, hoping to bum a cigarette and some company from Hank Maddern in Dispatch.
    "Who knows. . ." Brandon began by way of greeting, walking up behind the dispatcher's back.
    it ... what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" Maddern finished without turning. Both men laughed.
    The intro to the old radio show The Shadow was a private in-crowd joke, shared among the grunts of the Pima County Sheriff's Department.
    Professional police officers called themselves Shadows to differentiate between themselves and the political hacks who, with plum appointments, held most key jobs.
    Sheriff DuShane, reelected over and over by comfortable margins, had himself one hell of a political machine, to say nothing of a lucrative handle on graft and corruption. One outraged deputy had printed up and distributed a bumper sticker that said, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL SHERIFF.
    GET A MASSAGE. He had been all too right; he was also no longer a deputy.
    DuShane may have been crooked, but he was also nobody's fool. He knew the value and necessity of real cops to do the real jobs. That's where the Shadows came in. They did all the work, got none of the glory, and most of them wouldn't have had it any other way.
    Hank Maddern, who had reigned supreme in Dispatch for more than ten years, held the dubious honor of being the most senior Shadow. He worked nights because he preferred working nights.
    "Hey, Hank, got a smoke?" Brandon asked.
    Maddern pulled a crumpled, almost-empty pack from his breast pocket and tossed it across the counter. "Didn't quit smoking, just quit buying?"
    "I'll even up eventually," Brandon said, shaking out the next-to-last cigarette.
    "Right. You working on a case or hiding out?" Hank Maddern knew some of what went on in Brandon Walker's home life because he often fielded Louella Walker's calls.
    "Hiding out," Brandon admitted, breathing the smoke into his lungs.
    "Too bad it's so quiet."
    "Give it time. It's Friday. Things'll heat up."
    As if on cue, the switchboard buzzed, and Maddem picked up the line.
    Brandon, with the cigarette dangling almost forgotten between his fingers, lounged against the counter. He gazed off into space, letting his mind go blank.
    He wasn't ready to go back to his cubicle, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to go home.
    Maddern, listening intently on his headset, made a series of quick notes. "What was that name again? L-A-D-D, first name Diana?"
    Immediately, Brandon Walker's attention was riveted on Maddern. Even after six years, Diana Ladd's name was one he remembered all too well.
    What was going on with her now?
    "The boy's name is David," Maddern continued. "Yeah, I've got that, and you're Dr. Rosemead? Repeat that number, Dr. Rosemead, and the address, too."
    Maddern reviewed his notes as the doctor spoke, verifying the information he had already been given.
    "Sure," he said. "I understand, it's not life-threatening, but you've got to talk to the mother. Right. We'll get someone on it right away.
    You bet. No problem."
    He dropped the line and reached for the duty roster, running his finger down the list, checking the availability of cars and deputies%.
    "What's going on?" Brandon asked.
    "Car accident. Out on the reservation. A