“What about the Dragon? Do you think he’ll come after her?” She took off her shoes and lay down on the bed.
“He’s not gonna be happy, but then I don’t really care what he thinks.” I slipped my .45 from my shoulder holster and placed it on the nightstand.
“What are we gonna do? She’s eighteen. Legally, she can do whatever she wants. You can’t force her to go back to Fredericksburg.”
“She’s a scared little kid. I don’t care if she’s eighteen. She doesn’t know what she wants.”
She pulled the cover up to her chin. “It’s like a refrigerator in here.”
“I’ll put the heater on,” I said and walked downstairs.
Skeeter was already sawing logs. I found the thermostat, flipped it to heat. I hadn’t used the central heating since last January. When the blower kicked in, I waited by the vent near the front window for signs of warm air. The pecan tree in the front yard was just beginning to move in response to the brisk north wind. The leading edge of the storm had finally hit the city. After a few minutes, a steady stream of warm air escaped the vent, but it was overwhelmed by the cold air seeping under the windowsill. If I ever got a break, replacing the windows was at the top of my fixer-upper list.
I checked the deadbolts on the front and the back door. If Maya wanted to escape, she’d have to have a key.
Chapter Thirty-One
“She’s gone!” Kelly said from the bedroom doorway.
My head cleared, and I reached for my Wranglers. “Gone?” My throat was dry and sore from breathing dry air from the central heating unit. I slipped on a sweatshirt and followed Kelly into the spare bedroom.
“She went out the window,” she said.
I went to the open window. She would have had to creep along a two-inch gutter to the porch roof and jump ten feet to the yard.
“You check downstairs?”
“I checked the backyard, everywhere.”
“Outsmarted by a teenager,” I said.
A knock came from the front door. Kelly and I hustled downstairs. Skeeter was still sleeping on the couch.
“I guess he didn’t see anything,” I said, pointing to Skeeter.
“No, and he snores like a diesel engine. It sounded like my dad was plowing the cotton field down here last night.”
The knocking got more insistent.
I opened the front door.
Rose Gustafson stood holding a pie pan covered with tinfoil.
“Thought you could use some breakfast with all the extra mouths to feed,” she said, peering around me into the front room.
“Hi, Rose. Now’s not a good time,” I said.
She ignored me and smiled at Kelly. “Well, hello, sweetie. I brought y’all some breakfast.” She walked into the kitchen.
Skeeter sat up on the couch, aroused from slumber by the smell of Rose’s quiche.
“What’s that wonderful smell?” he asked, knowing full well what it was. While I was staying at the ranch, he had been the recipient of many of Rose’s delicious meals.
“That was quite a racket y’all put up last night,” Rose said, setting the dish on the kitchen table and removing the foil.
“Sorry if we woke you up,” I said.
“I was awake when you came home. You know I can’t sleep. My hip’s been bothering me lately something fierce.” She looked around the room. “Where’s the little girl you brought home?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. She ran off last night,” I said. “Did you see anything unusual?”
Rose kept a diary of the people who came and went in the neighborhood to keep her busy on nights she couldn’t sleep. “I saw a black Jeep parked on the corner about an hour ago. I’d never seen it around here before.”
“Russell Stevens drives a black Jeep Grand Cherokee,” Kelly said.
“That son of a bitch,” I said. “Excuse my language, Rose.”
“I’m almost eighty. I’ve heard every cuss word there is. I’m not easily offended.”
I ran up the stairs and put on my socks and boots. She must have had a phone in her pocket. I kicked myself for not searching her. If she bought one burner phone, she knew how to buy another one. Or more likely, Russell gave her one to keep in touch.
I slipped on my shoulder holster and strapped my .38 S&W above my boot.
Kelly joined me in the bedroom and laced up her running shoes. “Where do you think they went?” she asked.
“The strip club and the flophouse are the only two places I know.”
“He wouldn’t take her back there. He knows you’ll look for her.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Neither of us had an answer. Downstairs, Skeeter was enjoying an extra-large slice of quiche, and Rose was pouring him another cup of coffee. He held his fork with his metal hook prosthetic like Poseidon holding a trident.
“Why not call him?” He held up the thug’s phone with a smug look. “You were right. It had a wealth of intel. I found the Dragon’s number.”
Skeeter dialed the number and put the phone on speaker.
We listened to the phone ring several times. Finally, a tired voice came on the line.
“Yeah,” the voice said. It was Russell.
“Where you at?” I said, trying to sound like a thug.
“Who’s this?”
“Who you think, dog?”
“Nick Fucking Fischer,” he said, fully awake now.
“Middle name’s Lee, after my dad, but close enough. Should I call you Russell, or do you prefer the Dragon?”
“I don’t want you to call me at all. I want you to disappear, along with your cute bitch and that big fucking one-armed nigger.”
“Now, let’s not get personal, Russell. I’ll leave you alone if you give me Maya.”
“She’s with me. Don’t you get that? She made her choice.”
“She’s a kid, Russell. She doesn’t know what she wants. Turn her loose or I’ll take you apart.”
“Fuck off. You can’t do jack. You ain’t the police.”
“Let me talk to Maya,” I said, but the line went dead. I hit redial and got the not-in-service message.
“No doubt who has Maya,” Skeeter said.
“What do we do now?” Rose asked. She had listened to the whole conversation and felt she was part of the team. “I’ve got my shotgun.”
“Leave it in the closet and stand by the phone,” I told her.
She looked disappointed. I’d seen her shotgun. Another weapon handed down from her father. I had no doubt she could and would use it if she had to. I also knew her reaction time wasn’t what it used to be, and her cataracts limited her vision.
“We’re gonna need some lunch,” I said.
That got her attention. “I’ll have it ready by noon,” she said and hurried off to start cooking.
I turned to Skeeter, who was finishing the last of Rose’s quiche. “I need names and addresses for anything that has to do with Russell Stevens.”
He nodded without speaking. He knew what to do and what I was going to do with the information. We had been together long enough to communicate without the need for explicit instructions.
Kelly listened to our exchange and raised her eyebrow. “What’s that for?”
I let the silence stretch for an uncomfortable moment.
“You gonna let me know what’s going on?” She was irritated.
“You heard the Dragon. He’s not going to give up Maya. He’s got her brainwashed.”
“So, you’re gonna do what, target Russell Stevens?”
Skeeter excused himself. “I’ll be outside,” he said and walked out the front door.
“Got a better idea?”
“Yeah, let’s go to the police. We talk to Ochoa and tell her what’s going on. Then we make our case to Zeller.”
“And they’ll do what? Maya’s eighteen, remember. She left on her own. What can they do?”
Kelly chewed on her bottom lip. She saw the reality of the situation without me having to explain. It wasn’t a crime for Maya to be with him. I knew what was going on, and we both knew he was behind two murders, besides trafficking girls. Getting the police to legally put Russell behind bars would take time. Something Maya didn’t have.
“We need to tie Russell Stevens to Candy’s murder and Lori’s,” Kelly insisted. “We need to build a case.” Her lips pinched shut and her eyes narrowed.
“If I were a cop, that’s what I’d do. But I’m not, so I’m gonna get Maya back before it’s too late.”
“Targeting Russell makes you a vigilante.”
“You know what’s gonna happen to her if she stays with him.”
She stood her ground in the middle of the room.
I knew it would take time for Skeeter to get the information I needed to take Russell Stevens down. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go talk to the police.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I parked in the parking garage across the street from the downtown police station. Kelly zipped up the bomber jacket she borrowed from me, and I flipped the collar up on my jean jacket. The north wind was a welcome change from the long, hot, sticky summer.
Kelly and I walked past the odd public art display that consisted of thirty-foot-tall metal beams painted white and standing on end like unstable teepee poles in a gale force wind. We went through the glass door and found Sergeant Hugo Vera on duty at the front desk. He nodded at me and smiled at Kelly.
“I see you’re keepin’ better company these days,” he said and winked.
“What’s the good word,” I asked. We shook hands over the desk.
Vera was an old-timer who had retired from SAPD once but came back to work part-time because he said his wife got tired of seeing him around the house all day. He also had a history with my father when he was sheriff of Gillespie County, but he’d never shared the details. When the subject came up, his only comment was, “Lee Fischer could walk on water.”
“Every day above ground is a good day. I see the PI business is attracting some very beautiful company.” He’d always been a shameless flirt.
She held out her hand. “Kelly Hoffman,” she said, rewarding him with a smile.
Vera stood and shook her hand. “I hope you can keep this upstart in line.”
“That’s a full-time job,” she said.
“You look up to the task.” He sat back behind his desk and turned his attention to me. “Who’d you come to harass today?”
“Detective Ochoa,” I said.
Vera shook his head. “Diana ain’t very happy with you.”
“We have some info that might lift her spirits.”
“I hope so. She brings me donuts when she’s havin’ a good day. I haven’t had any this week.”
“Then you ought to thank me for helping you manage your weight.”
He ignored me and turned to Kelly. “Good luck with this guy. He’s stubborn as a barn-sour mule. Just like his father.” Vera made the call upstairs. Detective Ochoa agreed to meet us.
Kelly and I took the elevator.
“Will you agree to do what she says?” Kelly asked when we were alone.
“Let’s talk to her first.”
We got off the elevator and found Detective Ochoa standing by her corner desk. She didn’t look happy to see us.
“What brings you down here, Fischer?” she said, not bothering to offer her hand. She glanced at Kelly and seemed to size her up as if they were wearing four-ounce gloves and about to get it on in an MMA cage match.
“Truce,” I said. “Mind if we sit down?”
Ochoa shrugged and plopped herself behind her desk. There was a picture of a five- or six-year-old boy with an angelic smile and dark hair. It was a new picture. The boy’s hair was colored dark purple in the last picture I’d seen.
“How’s your son?” I asked, trying to thaw her chilly mood.
A flicker of a smile crossed her face, but she quickly pursed her lips. “He’s fine. With his father this weekend.”
“That must be touchy,” Kelly interjected.
“Yeah, well, it is what it is. One day Aaron will realize what an A-hole his father really is. Until then I won’t interfere with their relationship.”
“Is he a cop?” I asked.
She sat back in her padded office chair. “Did you come down here to ask me about my personal life?”
“Sorry, just curious.” I cleared my throat. “Candy.”
“I’m fresh out,” she said. “Aaron steals it out of my desk drawer whenever he’s here.”
“No. Candy was the name of the dead girl in the dumpster.”
“You suddenly remembered that obscure name while eating your morning protein bar?”
“I had quiche, but yes that’s what happened,” I said.
“Didn’t figure you for a quiche kind of guy.” She smirked.
I let that pass and started at the beginning and explained how I’d gotten involved with Maya’s case and what we’d found so far. I also explained that I only withheld the name because I was certain that Maya was going to be the next victim and I needed to get to her fast, before that happened.
“Now you’re bringing it to me?”
“We found Maya,” I said. “She ran away from us.”
“She’s eighteen, right?” Ochoa asked.
I nodded, knowing where this was going.
“I have to treat this as a voluntary missing person.”
I shared a glance with Kelly and shook my head.
“Look, we know about Russell Stevens, aka the Dragon. He’s on our radar. He’s into more than prostitution. He’s a big-time dealer and plugged into the big dogs across the border. Runs distribution from San Antonio.”
“Now he’s branching out to Fredericksburg,” I said.
“We suspected that too.” She stood up and walked around the front of her desk. “You wanna know why I’m pissed?”
I kept my mouth shut for a change. I figured she was dying to tell me anyway.
She leaned back against the edge of her desk and crossed her arms under her breasts. She wore black slacks and a cream-colored silk button-down blouse. The matching jacket was slung over the back of her office chair. Her shoes were classy but sturdy—the kind that would hold up in a footrace.
“I’m pissed ’cause somebody took down a flophouse on the west side that we were watching. We suspected it was run by Russell Stevens. Because a group of vigilantes broke into the house and rousted the inhabitants, including the girls we suspected of being trafficked, we can’t make the connection or an arrest. In fact, citizen Stevens called 911 last night and claimed his girlfriend Maya Chavez was kidnapped by someone named Nick Fischer.”
“That piece of shit,” I said.
“Technically, he’s right. It was a kidnapping.”
“You just said it was a flophouse. She was there against her will.”
“Then why did she run away from you?”
“You know that happens all the time,” I said. “The victim gets attached—”
Ochoa cut me off, annoyed. “I know that. The problem here is you ruined my chance of linking a crime to the Dragon. I don’t have a money trail. I don’t have shit. You helped Russell Stevens give SAPD the royal shaft.”
“What about Candy?” I asked. “She was gonna tell us about Maya.”
“We already ID’d the girl. Kim Lucey, from Portland, Texas. Ex-cheerleader. We also have the time of death. The Dragon has an alibi. The strip club surveillance cameras put him at the club at the time she was killed.”
I stood up. I didn’t need to hear any more.
“I know he’s a thug. I know he’s dealing drugs to strippers and probably pimping them out. But until I have evidence, my hands are tied,” she said. “I have to follow the law.”
I walked toward the door. “Thanks for your time.”
Kel
ly scrambled to follow.
Ochoa put a hand on her arm. “You’re a cop. You know what I’m talking about. Do him a favor and convince him to stay away from the Dragon. I’m building a case, and I don’t want him to interfere.”
I turned in the doorway. “Where does that leave Maya? By the time you build a case, she’ll be dead in a dumpster.” I walked out without waiting for an answer. I knew she didn’t have one.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I waved to Sergeant Vera on my way out of the building. He was answering questions from an older couple that seemed to be lost. I wasn’t in the mood to chat. Kelly hustled to keep up as I crossed the street to the parking garage.
“So, what’s next?” she asked, catching up to me as we entered the lower level.
“Lock and load,” I said.
“You heard what Ochoa said.”
I found my pickup and we both got in. “Maya’s in danger whether she knows it or not. I can’t stand by and wait for her to get killed. I made a promise to Helmut.” I drove out of the garage and turned north. I was angry at the Dragon for getting away with murder, and I was angry at Maya for falling for his line of BS.
“Maya said she had a fight with her grandfather.”
“Yeah, I know. He can be a crusty old fart. I’ve known him all my life.”
“Why don’t we go and ask him what the fight was about? Maybe we can get him to reach out to Maya. It could change her mind about returning home.”
She had a point. Reconciling with her grandpa might tip the scales in favor of returning to Fredericksburg. Besides, at the moment, I had not heard from Skeeter. He was making the connections I needed to take down the Dragon. I needed to know where he did business, and more importantly, who handled his money.
It was close to lunchtime, so we stopped at Chris Madrid’s for burgers and fries. The line was usually long, but the cheeseburger was worth it. We took our burgers outside and joined a half dozen businessmen in suits, a street crew in uniform, and a handful of students from nearby Trinity University.
I tried calling ahead to see if I could catch Helmut at home and tell him we needed to talk, but like my grandpa, Helmut didn’t have a cell phone and didn’t have an answering machine. Calling him was like sending a sound wave message into outer space—you know the aliens are out there somewhere, but they never answer the phone.
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