Wild Horses

Chapter Fifteen

Sherman stepped out of his car at Vista Community College. The blast of Texas Panhandle heat made him long for cool green Colorado. Phaedra's check was paying for a trip to Denver to research job opportunities in a state too enlightened to insist on licensing for private investigators. Not that he told Phaedra where her money was going. All she knew was that he was on his way to the little town of Vista, known, at least in a tri-county area, for its junior college's rodeo team. Vista College, the site of Dr. James Farouk's first appearance in America, back when he was plain Jilani Farouk.

Sherman background checks had turned up a few smudges on Farouk's record: traffic tickets, mostly for speeding. More serious was a citation for driving while intoxicated -- DWI -- soon after he arrived at Trinity Hospital in Dallas. He'd spent a night in jail, paid a fine, had a brief license suspension. Wrist slap stuff. Sherman had been through that himself, and more than once.

There was no record of a mugshot. Farouk must have gotten that expunged. Apparently, he'd taken the incident seriously enough to get sobered up. 

What struck Sherman most was what wasn't in Farouk's record. Crazy as Phaedra's claim had seemed, Farouk indeed hadn't been photographed voluntarily for almost two decades. Even his hospital ID picture was the same one he'd had since he started working, according a hospital aide Sherman tipped for the information. There were no photos online, no college yearbook, nothing in professional networks, not even a candid of him on Emma's Facebook page.

There were cell phone videos of Farouk's confrontation with him at the polo match but they were so blurred Farouk's own mother probably couldn't have identified him.

Under anything like normal circumstances, such determined evasion of cameras would leave a funny smell in Sherman's nose. But Farouk had left more than enough of a paper trail for any creditors or ex-wives to follow. His medical license was in order, his residency status completely legal. 

Of course his driver's license picture must have been updated. Sherman had considered worming his way into Texas Department of Motor Vehicles records, but there was an easier way to get a recent picture. An orderly at the hospital had gone berserk when Jilani converted and changed his name to Jim, attacked him and called him a thief.

Why thief? Why not "infidel"? Was it that the orderly hadn't known enough English to understand the difference?

A news crew had been at the hospital for a story on health care funding and caught a few seconds of film in which Farouk expressed his concern for his attacker before backing away to his radiology lab. Channel Four used it for filler on a slow news day. Part of Phaedra's check had bought a still copy of Farouk holding up his three-fingered hand in a "no more" gesture.

Somewhere in Texas, there must be someone who knew why Farouk was so photo-averse. Sherman patted the pocket in his briefcase that contained the news channel's still of Farouk. Somebody here might have a clue what it meant. 

He made his way to the office of the dean of the science and math department where the dean's secretary, a slim, self-effacing woman in late middle age directed him.

Dean Scofield was a six-and-a-half-foot tall Viking who looked like he could wrestle a steer without breaking a sweat. He extended a massive, hairy hand and Sherman returned the knuckle crusher with interest.

"So, you're here about Dr. Farouk? Usually, the reporters only want to hear about the rodeo team," Scofield said.

"I might be interested in learning just a little about the team."

Scofield gave him an appraising look. "I wasn't here when Dr. Farouk was a student, but Mrs. Ross can show you around. Fran," he said, cocking his chin at Sherman, "Mr. McMillan's that reporter doing a profile on Dr. Farouk for the newsletter at Trinity Hospital in Dallas. Sherman McMillan, Fran Ross. She knows everything worth knowing."