The Man Who Killed His Brother by Stephen R. Donaldson

Christie is.”
    He blinked. As far as the rest of his face was concerned, he was sound asleep. “Of what interest is Carol Christie to you?”
    “There’s a connection between her and Alathea.”
    “Are the parents of Carol Christie your clients?”
    Ginny could’ve refused to answer that. She had a right to protect her client. But I guess she didn’t see any point to it. She said, “I’ve been retained by Lona Axbrewder.”
    “Then the death of Carol Christie is of no concern to you.”
    “I said there’s a connection.” Ginny let herself start to sound angry. She took out the notes and put them down on the counter in front of Encino. “Both Alathea and Carol wrote to their parents after disappearing. If you look at them, you’ll see that they were written on the same kind of paper. The sheets were torn in half the same way. What they say is almost identical, and the handwriting is similar.”
    “That’s most ingenious.” Encino didn’t even glance at the notes. “Unfortunately the truth remains. Carol Christie’s death can be of no concern to you. The rights of your client do not include her. Mr. Christie and his wife desire privacy.”
    “Says who?”
    “Their wishes were made known to the investigating officer, Detective-Lieutenant Acton.”
    Investigating officer, huh? Ginny was getting somewhere. Now we knew there was enough wrong with Carol Christie’s death to interest the cops.
    But she didn’t stop to chew it over. She had Encino backing up, and she kept at him.

    “That’s wonderful. The Christies don’t want people to know what really happened to their daughter, so the cops clamp a lid on it. Having money is good for something after all. I just wonder what you and Acton are getting out of it.”
    Encino’s composure split for a second. “Hija de la puta. ” Before he could get it back, I reached for him. I was going to knot my fist in the front of his nice blue uniform and shake him up good. But Ginny stopped me with an elbow that almost caved in my ribs. I could feel blood pounding in my face.
    The sergeant had his blankness back in place, but he couldn’t keep the rasp out of his voice. “Go away. You Anglos, you’re all the same. A girl runs away and is later found dead. There’s an investigation, and everything is kept with great propriety, even from the papers, to avoid distress for the family. But someone hires private investigators, and because they can’t do their jobs they accuse the police. It’s like that everywhere. And why? Because the girl is white. Anglo. If a Chicano girl runs away, and the mother asks for help, you Anglos say, ‘What do you expect? Look for her in the brothels.’ And if that Chicano girl is found dead, then the papers print every rumor they hear about her, true or false.” His sneer twisted his whole face. “Go away. You interfere with my work.”
    My pulse was still racing, but I heard him. I picked up the notes, pulled open the door, said to Ginny, “Come on.” But she was really mad now. Leaning over the counter, she thrust her face at Encino. “I work for whoever asks me,” she said very softly. “I don’t have any control over who asks. I just take whatever they ask and give it my best shot. That’s my work.”
    Encino jerked his head contemptuously. “Muy bravo.”
    I took Ginny’s arm, dragged her out into the corridor, and shut the door behind us. She threw off my hand. Stalked along for a minute in silence. Then she said, “That sonofabitch.”
    I said, “He has a point.”
    “He has orders. Somebody told him to put a lid on Carol Christie. It’s not my fault he doesn’t like it.” Then she
asked, “How come you’re so sympathetic all of a sudden? Two minutes ago you wanted to take his head off for him.”
    I didn’t have a good answer to that, so I just said, “I spend a lot of time in the old part of town. Probably he’s a good cop.”
    “A good cop,” she snorted. She didn’t say anything more until we got