In Deep Trouble, page 25
“What about faces?” Derek asked. “Enough for facial recognition?”
“I don’t think even your buddies at Blackthorne could enhance them enough, but if you want to shoot it their way, let me know.”
“Could you do that?” Cecily turned her brown eyes to Derek. “They’d be able to find Grady, wouldn’t they?”
“You planning to hire them?” Derek asked. “I’m all out of favors. We should use our local resources.”
Cecily stared at her phone, as if willing it to ring. When it didn’t, she picked it up and put it in her pack.
“Can someone give me a lift to my place for my car? Frank’s got the computer skills, and I can go to the station, see if I can access any information. I’m not being of much help here.”
Derek cast Bryce a pointed look. “I’ve still got ranch stuff to deal with.”
Did he think he was doing Bryce a favor by having him play chauffeur? The lack of enthusiasm—the lack of anything—in Cecily’s expression said otherwise.
Cecily was grateful for Bryce’s silence as he drove from the ranch to her house. “Thanks for the lift,” she said when he pulled into her driveway. “I’ll see you. Let me know if you hear anything. I’ll be at the station, so use my cell.”
He nodded and drove off.
Was this the usual morning after regrets they’d skipped when Derek had called them to the ranch? They’d spent the night in a motel, so there was none of the do I stay or go home? to deal with after they’d used Bryce’s second condom. Had she expected Bryce’s attitude toward Grady to have done a reversal because they’d slept together?
She changed out of her quasi-homeless clothes and went to the station. Andy wasn’t in, but another of the detectives was willing to hunt through the reports for gang rapes, and he didn’t press Cecily for why she wanted to know. Eventually, he’d mention it to Andy, who would connect it to Grady, but for now, she might get what she needed without opening those cans of worms she’d been trying to avoid.
“It’ll be a while,” he said. “I’ve got a couple hot leads to follow on a case I’m working.”
“Whenever you can will be fine,” she said. After a quick trip to the breakroom to see whether anyone had brought in any homemade goodies—they hadn’t—she sat down at a vacant desk and went over everything she and Bryce had done—and hadn’t done.
Something teased at the back of her brain. There had been one or two of the homeless men who’d seemed to be giving her more than the usual guy appraising a woman looks. At the time, she’d thought that was all it was, but thinking about it, maybe she’d seen something else. Maybe they’d wanted to say something, but didn’t want to contradict their spokesperson.
She needed to know.
She left a quick voicemail for Derek—Bryce would try to argue with her—saying she was following a hunch at Stargate Park. She got into her SUV, plugged her phone into the charger, and set off down the mountain.
Traffic was light. Everyone was going up to the resorts or to look at the fall colors, so she was in Stargate Park in record time. She spotted the cluster of homeless people she and Bryce had talked to last night. After making sure some ones and fives were handy in an outside pocket of her purse, she made her way over. People were taking advantage of the crisp fall weather. Kids were enjoying themselves on the playground, joggers filled the pathways, dogs and masters were out for exercise. A curious golden retriever puppy strained at its leash, approaching Cecily.
“She’s friendly,” the dog’s owner said.
“Aren’t you a pretty pup.” Cecily gave the dog a scratch, then meandered toward the area the homeless group had been last night.
“Hey, Ginger, right?” one man said.
Cecily gave him a grin. “You remembered. I was wondering if you might have thought of anything else. Something that might help me find my friend.” She focused on one of the men who’d expressed interest in her last night.
He wiped his hands on his dirty camo pants. “Probably nothing,” he muttered.
“Hey, it might be something,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me, and I can decide.”
He stepped away from the group, jerking his head that she should follow. She did, trying to stay downwind. The smells of sweat, booze, and cigarette smoke surrounded him like flies on a manure pile.
“See, that picture, that kid. There’s this guy. Not part of a gang, like the one that hangs out here.” He tilted his head again, in the direction she and Bryce had gone last night after leaving his group. “This other one likes younger kids, the down-on-their-luck ones. If he’d come across your friend, he might have recruited him, you know.”
Her heart thumped. A lead? “Recruited him for what?”
The man hiked a shoulder. “They work in teams. Finding marks. People with money.” He scratched himself, and Cecily averted her eyes. When he was done, he continued. “Now, I ain’t never seen any of these. Heard about ’em is all. Rumor is, he feeds ’em, gives ’em a place to stay, and they work for him.”
“Doing what?” she asked again.
“Mostly stealing. This guy, he might be some Asian fellow. Chang, I’ve heard him called. Others say, no he’s a Mexican. Rico, or something like that. Anyway, the young ones, they go up to tourists or people who look like money, maybe give them a sob story, ask for cash, or who knows what. Then when the mark is paying attention to the kid, one of the other guys picks their pockets, or steals purses, whatever. Heard they did some mugging, too. Your friend—he’d fit in with how they operate.” The man eyed her purse. “What I heard—again, it’s only what I’ve heard—the kids live an okay life.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” Cecily said, trying to piece his Fagin-esque ambiguities together in a picture that would give her something to go on. And trying to picture Grady as a con artist. “Thanks for your time.” She handed him two fives, hoping it was enough. “Do you know where I might find these people?”
He pocketed the fives and gazed at her purse again, not speaking. “I might. Only what I’ve heard, mind you.”
She pulled out another five, but kept a tight grip. “What did you hear?”
“You might check over round the new museum center and the swanky shops. Or in the Broadmoor complex. Good pickings there.”
She handed over the bill. “I’ll do that. Thank you.” She hoped he wasn’t going to spend the money on booze or cigarettes, but wasn’t optimistic.
She got in her SUV and wondered how to find Chang, or Rico, assuming they existed. Would they let her into their circle? She should have stayed in her homeless clothes. The man had said they recruited kids. That, she wouldn’t be able to pull off. She wasn’t dressed like a wealthy tourist, either.
She’d start at the museum center downtown, which was closer. She’d play it by ear from there.
Cecily decided a “wealthy tourist” in Colorado Springs didn’t look like a wealthy tourist in New York City—or even Denver, for that matter. Did she have to look like a tourist? The museum center was host to locals as well, and her cowboy boots and western shirt ought to work fine. Knowing she was going to visit the homeless crowd, she’d downplayed her jewelry, but her silver and lapis earrings and matching ring might help project the right image, might tempt someone to approach her.
After finding a slot in the museum center parking lot, she flipped down the vanity mirror and refreshed her makeup. She was about to leave the car when she decided she ought to be sensible, and retrieved her Lady Smith revolver from the glove box, then slipped it into her purse.
She locked her car. Now what? Unlikely any of the people her source had described would be inside the museum. But there were shops and galleries. She’d hoof it and see what happened. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she meandered out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk.
What would she be doing if she were a rich woman, tourist or otherwise? She window-shopped, browsed inside some of the exclusive boutiques. Other than sales clerks, no one paid her any attention.
Hungry and in need of a restroom, she ducked into a small Indian café—none of those in Pinon Crest—and asked for coffee and an order of samosas. While she waited, she used the small but elegant ladies room and wondered if she was wasting her time. What made her think she’d be lucky enough to run into one of the kids her source had told her about in her first hour of trying to attract one? Or even that her source hadn’t been making the whole thing up for a few more bucks?
Either way she needed lunch. She took her seat at a table for two near the front window where she could observe the passersby—and maybe catch a glimpse of the action her source had mentioned. The server approached with her coffee. “Your samosas will be up in a minute.”
Cecily thanked her and resumed people watching. Outside, a woman dressed in skinny jeans, flat-heeled black suede boots, and a form-fitting gray sweater walked a dog bearing a marked resemblance to Charlie. Cecily shook her head as the woman tried to keep her dog from approaching every pedestrian on the sidewalk, scaring a toddler who cried and buried his face in his mom’s legs. Mom glowered at the woman with the dog, scooped up her kid and put him in the stroller.
A youth on a skateboard zipped by, followed by two more, all plugged into earbuds instead of paying attention to what was going on around them. One barely averted hitting the dog walker, another almost clipped the stroller.
Cecily was tempted to call the cops and report their recklessness, but the dog walker and the mom chatted, seeming to have banded together as new allies against the skateboarders. After a moment, the dog and master continued on their way. Her server returned with the samosas, but out of the corner of her eye Cecily caught the flash of alarm that spread over the mom’s face.
Chapter 38
After Cecily’s abrupt dismissal, Bryce drove to the Triple-D. Better to be working than stewing. Besides, the discovery of the pictures on the cell phone had piqued his curiosity. What about the necklace? Once Frank had enhanced the images enough to determine they were a potential crime scene, all thoughts of the necklace had been shoved aside. Cecily hadn’t said anything about it when she’d called Andy, either.
Bryce stepped into Derek’s office, where the man was making notes on a legal tablet.
“Back so soon?” Derek lifted an eyebrow.
He ignored the remark. “Sherlock make any progress with the pictures?”
“He’s still in the hideaway,” Derek said. “Ask him yourself.”
The bookcase door stood open, so Bryce went downstairs and repeated his question to Frank.
“Take a look.” Frank leaned away from the screen, and Bryce blinked at what was now an obvious rape scene.
“Am I seeing a hand with a bunch of rings?” Bryce asked.
“That’s what I think. Could be a good way to identify the rapist.”
“This needs to go to the cops,” Bryce said. “No matter what she says, Cecily’s too involved with Grady and her project to see the reality of the situation. If Grady’s part of this, there would be people out there looking for him. Bad people. At least if the cops find him, he’s got a better chance of being safe.”
Frank gave a half-smile. “I’m not going to argue. I’m about ready to send everything to the Sheriff’s Department. I thought I’d deliver the phone in person. Let their cyber guys pull the information. That kind of thing is way above my pay grade.”
“Did you take pictures of the necklace, too?” Bryce asked. “I think Cecily conveniently forgot to mention it when she called.”
“Not yet. Speaking of Cecily, did she get a call from Andy? We can’t trust the dates on the photos, but if what I have in these images matches any crime scene reports, we’d know where they were taken.”
Bryce stepped back. “If they match a crime scene report, the cops would already know where they were taken.”
“There is that,” Frank said. “Okay, so this would be corroborative evidence.”
“Corroborative?” Bryce grimaced. “You trying to give D-Man a run for his money? Why not say it would support what they’re investigating?”
Frank flipped him off. “For all we know, they’ve already solved this, and the perpetrators—excuse me, bad guys—are already in custody.”
“If our deputies talk to the El Paso County cops, then if that were the case and they were looking for Grady as one of the involved parties, they’d have known to come here.”
“I’ll concede the cops haven’t seen these pictures. I agree, Cecily’s wishes and opinions have to take a backseat.”
Bryce pulled out his cell. “Let me get some pictures of the necklace. As long as you’re going to deliver the phone, you might as well get the ball rolling on whether the necklace has been reported stolen.”
“Before I leave, you can give Cecily a call. Let her know I’m coming. She’ll know who should get this.”
Bryce considered the options. If Cecily knew Frank was going to the station, would she take possession of the phone and the pictures herself, saying she’d get them where they needed to go? Bryce had no doubt she’d do so, but—no matter how much he didn’t like the feeling—he also feared she might delay the process.
He could also see that if Frank showed up on his own, Cecily might consider it as going behind her back, even though, technically, she had no authority in the situation. Clenching his teeth, he punched Cecily’s number into his phone.
It rang through, but went to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. “Not there,” he said to Frank. “You can decide if you want to go through her or play good citizen and go through proper channels. Cecily’s not a cop.”
Bryce laid out the necklace and took half a dozen shots. Frank connected Bryce’s phone to the computer, downloaded the pictures, and printed them out.
“Would you rather go in my place?” Frank asked.
Spoken or not, the so you can see Cecily was loud and clear.
“Nope. You go. I have things to do in the barn.” Let Frank deal with Cecily’s wrath. Because if Bryce knew Cecily, she’d be royally put out. But he did try her cell once more.
Another rollover into voicemail. Ducking his calls? It was possible the Sheriff’s Department had been shorthanded and put her to work, but unlikely. This time he left a message. “Call me.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and told himself he wasn’t waiting for her to call back.
He let Ginger know he’d walk her later, and grabbed Shadow’s saddle from the tack room. He gave Derek a quick call, letting him know he was making sure the steers they’d separated out had enough feed.
Derek paused, but said, “I’ll call if I need you for anything.”
Sometimes, Bryce had to get away from people, and Derek’s pause said he knew Bryce well enough not to tell him the steers didn’t need another follow up. Since he was technically off duty, Bryce’s time was his own and spending it on the range instead of in his cramped apartment trying to second guess his relationship with Cecily was the kind of head-clearing he needed.
Trouble was, his mind wanted no part of being clear, and insisted on analyzing the frustrating ins and outs of why Cecily kept getting under his skin. She and he were alike in so many ways, but were they the ones that counted? They cared for animals, they were—or had been—comfortable with each other. The sex was great. But she was too quick to trust, too quick to jump into things. It wasn’t that she was stupid, or even flighty. She forgot to consider the big picture sometimes, and that’s when they started fighting. He didn’t like the idea of fighting with someone he loved.
Whoa! Where had that come from? Loved? Who said anything about loving Cecily? What did he know of love? His parents had loved each other—or had they? His mom said she loved his dad, but he’d never seen them show affection for each other. As for his dad—if smacking someone for speaking was affection, the man must really have loved him.
Lost in a swirling conflict of emotions, Bryce was nearly jolted from the saddle when Shadow came to an abrupt halt. She lifted her head, sniffing the air. Her ears pricked forward. When Bryce kicked her to get her moving again, she crow-hopped and backed up.
Bryce leaned forward and patted her neck. “What’s the matter, girl? Something out there?” One ear flicked back and forth, alternating attention between him and whatever she’d sensed. Even before he finished speaking, he reached for his rifle. They were about a hundred yards from the pasture, which was, with the exception of a few shrubs and clusters of boulders, open grassland, bordered by a thick stand of pines and aspens on the far side.
As Bryce searched for a reason for Shadow’s unexpected reaction, the steers, almost as one, bolted.
He nudged Shadow. She refused to move.
Trusting the mare, knowing her instincts as a prey animal, knowing her sense of smell would have detected a predator long before Bryce could see it, he dismounted. Shadow resisted, but when he turned away from the direction they’d been heading, she followed. Whatever was out there must be in the other direction. He looped her reins around a shrub, and gave her another pat. “If anything comes your way, you’re not really tied up, but I’d appreciate a warning, because I don’t want to walk back to the ranch.”
She looked at him as if she understood, but tested the air again. Bryce took off for the pasture gate, his rifle at the ready. Had the cops released the cow-killer? Had he come back to continue his quest?
No, Shadow wouldn’t have spooked at a human scent.
He saw it then. A lone steer, lying on its side. A mountain lion crouched over it, feasting on a midday meal. Bryce froze. Too late for the steer, was his guess. Too late for that mountain lion, too. Bryce raised his rifle, sighted, and although he wasn’t a trained sniper like Tim, this should be an easy shot.
The animal raised its head, blood dripping from its jaws, apparently catching a whiff of Bryce’s scent. Bryce shot just as the mountain lion ran off. Damn.
He fired again, but the speeding cat had already disappeared into the trees.
Bryce pulled out his phone and called Derek. “We have a problem.”
