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“What is wrong with me?” he muttered as he climbed the bank. He started in the direction of town, but his goal was the Desert Oasis Healing Center. And Gordon White Eagle would be in for a world of hurt when he got there.

TESS STARTED UP the new car—it sounded powerful and didn’t miss like her last unit—and waited for a big truck to pull off the road and into the Subway parking lot. The words “Sunline Traders” were written on the side.

Back at the office, she called the Desert Oasis Healing Center. She was immediately put on hold. The canned music was Sinatra tunes without Sinatra’s voice. The young man who’d answered had said, “I’ll try and see if he’s in. No promises.”

She should just drive up there. But it was her first day as detective and they had three people dead of gunshot wounds and at least two crime scenes. They were understaffed and even though Pat was not as helpful as she would like, he was doing his job. She needed to stick around and work with him.

“Hello.” The voice was deep and brisk. “This is Mr. White Eagle.”

Tess thought once again, What kind of name is that? “My name is Tess McCrae. I work for—”

“I know who you are.” Silence—did he mean to intimidate her?

“This is in regard to one of your patients, Mr. White Eagle…” She decided to be straightforward. “There has been a serious crime and—”

“Is he dead?” White Eagle blurted out.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The man took a deep breath.

“Sir? Do you have any knowledge of a crime?”

Nothing but breathing on the other end. Deep breathing. Hyperventilating.

“Sir?” she repeated. “Do you have any knowledge of this crime? Here in Paradox, in Bajada County? Have you heard anything?” Wishing now she had done what her instincts told her to do and had driven up to see him in person. “Sir?”

White Eagle said, “Is he…” She heard him swallow. “Is he dead?”

“Is who dead?” Tess asked.

He didn’t reply. Silence stretched out. Tess said, “From where I’m sitting, it sounds to me like you have knowledge of this crime. Is that correct, Mr. White Eagle? Do you know what transpired here in Paradox?”

“No! Look. I’m just trying to understand. If there’s a problem…”

“You keep saying ‘he,’ Mr. White Eagle. Who are you referring to?”

Silence.

“Are you referring to the actor, Max Conroy?”

Another pause. Then Gordon White Eagle said, “Why would you think that?”

“Sir, was he at your facility last night?”

“I haven’t talked to the attendants today. They’d certainly alert me if he was missing…” His voice drifted off.

Fudging.

Max had left the reservation. But why did White Eagle think he was dead?

“Sir, I want you to listen to me and listen carefully. I am going to ask you a question. I want you to answer me truthfully. This is a criminal investigation, and as such I need the absolute truth.” Tess was a little rusty, but she thought she struck the right tone between official business and offering a little bit of wiggle room—if he cooperated. She added, “I am counting on your cooperation.”

The subtext was: remember the guru down the road with the sweat lodge? The one whose negligence led to the deaths of three people?

He was quiet on his end.

“Do you understand me? I need you to be truthful. Is Max Conroy at the Desert Oasis Healing Center or isn’t he?”

“Of course he is!”

So much for her bluff. Dammit, she wished she was in a room with him. “I need to speak to him.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“This is a homicide investigation, sir. If he is there, I need to speak to him.”

“It can’t be done.”

“Why, sir?”

“He’s in an isolation tank. He cannot be disturbed.”

“Why did you ask me if he was dead?”

Silence.

“Sir, did you think he was dead?”

“No, no. Not at all. For just a moment there I thought maybe someone might have gotten into the chamber with intent to do him harm, maybe some sicko—you know how that could happen, like that freak who shot John Lennon…but Max is checked on the hour. If there were anything, er, untoward , I’d know about it.”

Tess had had enough of his slippery answers. Time to bring the hammer down. “Are you aware that obstructing a criminal investigation is a crime?”

She could almost hear him puff up. “I am a doctor, Ms.…I’m sorry, I forget your name. Removing Mr. Conroy from the sensory deprivation tank at this juncture could result in grievous psychological harm , and I will not do it!”

“Mr. White Eagle—”

“ Doctor White Eagle,” he said primly.

“Doctor White Eagle.” Tess spoke quietly and concisely. “I’d like to read my notes from the beginning of our conversation. In reply to my statement that a serious crime had been perpetrated here in Bajada County, you stated as follows: ‘Is he dead?’ You asked me this not once, but twice.”

Silence on the line.

“Do you have knowledge of what transpired—”

The phone disconnected, and all she got was a dial tone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ON THE JET, Jerry tried to relax. He relaxed the old-fashioned way: by drinking. No designer drugs for him. Macallan scotch did just fine. He planned to drink all the way to Arizona.

Talia was moping in the jet’s bedroom, which was good, because he didn’t have to listen to her whine. He could see why Max dumped her the first time. No doubt, Max was happy that Jerry and Talia were sleeping together. If this was a game of hot potato, Jerry was the loser.

He’d tried to reach Gordon, but Gordon wasn’t answering. It could be Gordon was putting out fires, but it could also be he was in his suite taking mescaline. Peyote was a fallback position he’d used for years.

We all have our ways of coping , Gordon was fond of saying.

Gordon White Eagle was Jerry’s older brother by four years. A Jew, of course, but in the seventies he’d morphed from metal band lead singer to counselor at a hippie retreat in Mendocino, and, after a couple of correspondence courses and a quickie trip to Tortuga for a diploma in “Psychology,” he graduated to guru. For some reason, Gordon got the looks in the family. Jerry liked to think that he’d gotten the smarts. Gordon was big. Gordon was athletic. Gordon got the girls in high school. All his life Jerry had to follow in his wake.

But Jerry was richer.

Still, it was tough in high school.

They didn’t look like brothers at all.

When Gordon first started the Desert Oasis Healing Center fifteen years ago, he’d had a mane that would put Fabio to shame. His hair was slightly graying at the temples, which only made him look wise. The hair went with the tan deer hide jacket embossed with Native American symbols. But time had taken its toll and like Jerry, genes were genes, and by forty, Gordon was prematurely balding. For a while, he held onto the long locks, adopting a ponytail to go with his Guayabera shirts and wire-rimmed glasses. This made him look wise and professorial. The nineties came and went, and good ol’ Gord realized he needed to evolve again. He had grown more famous, more powerful, and he chose to show that power. Now he shaved his head twice a day, his gleaming tanned dome a wonder to behold. He wore a diamond earring in one ear, and kept the deer hide jacket.

But Jerry was richer.

TESS CALLED BACK and asked to speak to Mr. White Eagle. The administrative assistant told her that Dr. White Eagle was unavailable.