Storm Peak

by John Flanagan

  He nodded, grinning in spite of himself. “Yeah, true,” he replied. “Better cut the one percent doing anything interesting.”

  The cell phone on the bed suddenly chirped to life. It was closer to Jesse. He looked at her, a question in his eyes and she nodded for him to answer. He picked it up and activated it.

  “This is Jesse,” he said. He heard Tom Legros’s voice at the other end of the line.

  “Jess? Lee told me to let her know if anything was happening around town.” The other deputy paused. He seemed to want some reply from Jesse.

  “She certainly did, Tom. I heard her. So has something happened?”

  Lee sat upright, half out of the armchair, her head tilted in a question. He held up a hand for her to wait.

  “Well, I’m sorry to bother you when I know you’re busy, but she did say—”

  Jesse cut him off impatiently. “Tom, does this have anything to do with Mikkelitz?”

  The other deputy sounded apologetic. “Well, no, Jess. That’s why, as I say, I’m sorry to bother you with it …”

  Jesse signaled for Lee to relax, shaking his head in answer to her unspoken question. She settled back in the chair, eyes still on him.

  “Never mind that, Tom,” Jesse told him. “Just tell me what’s happened and I’ll pass the details on to Lee, okay?”

  “Fine, Jess. I mean, it’s nothing important. Nothing I can’t handle, but she did say to—”

  “Yeah, Tom, I know she did say that.” There was a definite edge to Jesse’s voice now.

  Lee tried to suppress a grin. She knew better than anyone how roundabout Tom Legros could be in his explanations.

  Jesse continued. “Just tell me what’s happened, okay?”

  “Well, it’s a mugging, Jess.”

  Jesse caught Lee’s eye and repeated the phrase. “A mugging,” he confirmed.

  “That’s right. Down at the taxi depot—you know the Alpine Taxi depot out on the edge of town? Well, it seems someone coldcocked Alby Maroody when he was starting out for work. The dispatcher found Alby unconscious behind the Dumpster in their parking lot. Someone had really cracked him. Doc says he may have a fractured skull. He doesn’t look too good, believe me.”

  “You’re there now, are you, Tom?” Jesse cut in.

  “That’s right, Jess. I know Lee told me to keep an eye on those folks from the boardinghouse, but I figured this should take priority over them, okay?”

  “I’m sure that’s right, Tom. Hang on while I fill Lee in on the details.”

  He set the phone to one side and quickly recapped the situation for Lee. She listened, nodding, as he described the situation, taking a lot less time than Tom had to get to the salient details.

  Finally, she asked, “Anything stolen?”

  Jesse nodded, recognizing that was the one fact that Tom hadn’t passed on so far. At least, that was one fact. Knowing Tom, there could be half a dozen others. The taxi driver could have been mugged by aliens and Tom wouldn’t mention it unless specifically asked.

  He put the cell phone to his ear again.

  “Tom?” he said. “Lee’s asking was anything stolen?”

  The other deputy hesitated. When he spoke, he sounded uncertain.

  “You mean apart from the taxi?” he asked. Jesse held back a grin, covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked straightfaced at Lee.

  “He wants to know, apart from the taxi,” he said.

  Lee rolled her eyes to heaven. “Jesus,” she said. “He’s a tiger for mentioning minor detail, isn’t he? Yes. Let’s see if anything was stolen apart from the taxi, shall we?”

  Jesse spoke into the phone again. He had some difficulty keeping the amusement out of his voice. “Tom,” he said. “Yeah, aside from the taxi, anything else gone? You know,” he added, “the safe from the taxi company, or half a ton of gold bullion, anything like that?”

  “Gold bullion, Jess?” Tom was even more confused now. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just my little joke, Tom,” Jesse said apologetically. “Can you find out if anything else was taken?”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to go see Alby again. The ambulance just took him to the hospital. I guess I could go on up there and ask him some more.”

  “I guess you could, Tom. Why don’t you do that, then call us back with the details.” He hesitated, then added, hoping that Legros would get the hint. “All of them.”

  “Sure, Jesse. I’ll call you from the hospital. Bye now.”

  He heard the clunk at the other end as the phone was replaced on the hook. He shook his head wryly at the cell phone in his hand, then flipped it closed.

  “Jesus,” he murmured.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Jesse never knew what triggered the phone call. Some instinct deep inside—the one that made him a good cop—was at work, sorting facts and information, making possible connections between seemingly unrelated items.

  All he knew was that, ten minutes later, he suddenly grabbed the cell phone again and flicked the mouthpiece open. He glanced up at Lee, who was watching him curiously from the armchair by the bed.

  “The taxi company” he said. “You know the number?”

  Lee thought for a second.

  “Zero-zero-eight-eight,” she said. He dialed the local prefix, then the number she’d given him, pressed SEND on the cell phone and waited a few seconds.

  “Alpine Taxis.” It was a bright female voice, one that was vaguely familiar, he thought.

  “Hi,” he said. “This is Deputy Jesse Parker from the Sheriff’s Department.” He gave it a second or so for that to sink in. Before he could say anything further, the girl on the other end replied.

  “Oh, hey there, Jess. It’s Elaine Dixon here.”

  He knew now why the voice had been familiar. Elaine was an attractive brunette he’d dated once or twice-casually. She’d been keen to make it something less casual but he hadn’t been. Still, she was good company: bright, funny and with a great pair of legs.

  “Oh, hi, Elaine. Look I wonder could you—”

  “So, Jess, you back doing police work, are you? That’s real fine, you ask me,” she interrupted. Obviously, it was a slow day on the switchboard and Elaine was ready to chat. He cut short any such ideas.

  “Uh, yeah, Elaine. Look, honey, this is kind of official, okay?”

  He could almost see her sit up straighter in her chair. The change in her tone of voice was obvious. She wasn’t looking for casual chat anymore. This could be pay dirt.

  “Well, what can I do to help you, Jess?” she said.

  “Elaine, you had one of your drivers mugged this morning. An Alby—” he hesitated, searching his memory for the name.

  “Maroody,” she said quickly.

  “That’s right!” he replied, remembering the name now. “Funny sort of a name,” he mused.

  “He’s part Arab,” Elaine offered. Like a good Coloradan, she pronounced it “Ay-rab.”

  “Uh-huh, that would explain it then. So Elaine, can you tell me, was he booked on any sort of a pickup?”

  “Just a moment, Jess,” she said. He heard a quick rattle of computer keys. Alpine Taxis obviously were right up to the moment with their radio call records. There was a slight pause, then he heard a clatter as she picked up the receiver again.

  “Jess, you there?” she said. He grunted a reply and she went on. “Matter of fact, Alby did have a call to make. Mountain View Hotel.”

  Jesse felt his skin tingle. “You got a name for the passenger?” he asked slowly.

  “Nope. We don’t keep that on the computer, Jess. Hotel desk usually just rings us and books. Most times, there can be three or four people traveling.”

  “You got a number of passengers for this one?” he asked, but again she replied with a negative.

  “No luck there either, Jess. Would have had it at the time, but we don’t keep it as a back record. Odds are the trip was to the airport, this time of morning. Be in time for the flight to Denver.”
>
  “Right. Right.” His mind was racing now. He could see that Lee, sensing something was amiss, had sat up straight in the armchair, her eyes locked on him. He felt like every hair on his head was standing on end.

  “Now, one thing more, Elaine,” he said deliberately. “Has the Mountain View complained because this Mahoody guy—”

  “Maroody,” she corrected him. He shook his head impatiently.

  “Maroody. Whatever. You had any complaints coming through about him not turning up?”

  “Hang on a minute, Jess. I’ve only just come onto the switch. Jenny’s the usual girl and she’s on a break. I’ll see if she’s written up a complaints form.”

  There was a dull clunk as she set the receiver down once more. He could hear her sorting through papers and her strangely detached voice as she asked someone else in the office if they had seen the complaints file for that morning. Jesse drummed his fingers impatiently on the phone as he waited.

  Lee had stood now and moved over beside him, her head tilted to one side, questioning. Finally, Elaine rattled the receiver against her desk once more and said, “Jess? Doesn’t seem to have been any complaint. Mind you, often if a taxi’s late, the hotel will lay on a car for their guests anyway. Maybe they did that today as well.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” he said, not convinced. “Okay. Thanks for the help, Elaine.”

  Before he could break the connection, she hurried to ask a question, her curiosity piqued by their conversation. “Jess? Something going on here to do with Alby, you think?”

  For a moment he was tempted to try the “just routine” line, then knew it would never wash with a girl like Elaine.

  “Not sure, Elaine. Can’t say anything at the moment. Just asking the question, all right?” Then, before she could speak again, he hurried on. “Thanks for your help. You take care now.”

  And broke the connection.

  He sat back, let go a long breath. Lee was watching him intently, he knew, but he wasn’t ready yet to put his suspicion into words. There was a vague superstition deep inside him that if he said it, it would become true. He flicked open the phone again and dialed the operator.

  “Give me the number for the Mountain View Hotel please,” he said briskly as the girl answered. There was a notepad on the bed. He reached for it. Lee saw what he was after, got to it first and passed it to him. He nodded his thanks, then wrote the number down as the operator gave it to him. Hurriedly, he hung up, dialed the number of the hotel and waited.

  The phone burred four times before anyone answered it.

  “Mountain View Hotel. This is Dave speaking.”

  Dave sounded about twenty-five.

  “Uh yeah, this is Deputy Parker from the sheriff’s department here. Wanted some information on a call to Alpine Taxis this morning.”

  “I see,” Dave sounded a little cautious now. “And how exactly can I help you, Deputy?”

  “You had a call in to Alpine Taxis this morning—for a ten forty-five pickup? I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the party you called that taxi for. And the destination?” he added as an afterthought.

  “Well, you know, Deputy, it’s not our standard policy to release guest details over the phone to just anyone, and I’m not sure—”

  “Dave,” said Jesse, cutting him off before he could find out what it was that he wasn’t sure about, “that’s real discreet of you and I’ll be sure to mention it to the hotel chain. But this has to do with a murder investigation so I think you had just better find yourself a new policy.”

  “Well, that’s all very well.” Dave was decidedly unhappy about all of this now. He didn’t want to get involved, Jesse knew.

  “But,” he continued, “I don’t know that you really are a deputy, do I? You could be anyone.”

  Jesse closed his eyes briefly, holding his temper in check.

  “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. Then, into the phone, he said, “Dave, is your head porter on duty at the moment? Morg Buchanan?”

  “Um … yes. He’s just at the front door now,” the clerk answered.

  “Good. Just call him to the phone, will you?”

  “Well … but why?” said the clerk, puzzled now as well as unhappy.

  “Just do it,” Jesse said, with an edge creeping into his voice. Dave heard it, recognized it and decided to obey it. Jesse heard him, muffled as he covered the receiver and called to Morg Buchanan.

  Morgan Buchanan was an old friend of Jesse’s. At one stage, he’d even worked cattle on his dad’s ranch. That was when Jesse’s dad could afford to pay a few salaries. Since that time, Morg had been at the Mountain View, working his way up to head porter. Jesse instantly recognized the bluff, friendly voice as Morg took the phone.

  “Hullo? This is Buchanan. Can I help you?”

  “Morg, this is Jesse Parker. You recognize my voice?”

  “Well, hell, yes I do, Jesse. How’re things with you? I see you’re back with the sheriff’s department these days?”

  “That’s right, Morg. Look, I just need you to tell Dave on the desk that I really am who I say I am. I need some information about—” He paused, realized that Morgan would probably be a better source for the information anyway. “No, forget that, Morg. Tell me, you have any guests miss a taxi for the midday Denver flight today?”

  There was a slight pause. Then, “No. Nobody missed anything. Matter of fact Jess, Abby was here. She checked out this morning. Not ten minutes gone.”

  “But her cab didn’t turn up, right?” said Jesse, hoping Morgan was going to answer in the affirmative. He felt an icy hand grip his stomach as the porter continued.

  “No. Her cab was here all right, Jess. He was running a few minutes late, but he got here all right.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Jesse quietly. “Um, Morg, was there anyone else traveling with her? Any other guests going to the airport?”

  “No, Jess. Just Abby. I was going to say hi, but then I thought hell, she probably wouldn’t remember me, you know? After all, she only saw me out at your father’s spread one or two times.”

  Jesse stopped him. “Morg. The driver. Did you know him?”

  “The cabdriver you mean? No, can’t say I did, Jess. But you know how it is around here, new people come and go all the time.”

  “Okay, thanks, Morg. I’ll … um talk to you later, okay?”

  Jesse closed the phone, cutting off the last few cheerful words from the burly hotel porter. He sat, shoulder slumped and head down. Lee dropped to one knee in front of him.

  “Jess?” she said anxiously. “What is it?”

  He looked up slowly and she saw the despair in his eyes as he faced the fact that they’d been wasting their time waiting here for the past hour.

  “Oh, Christ,” he said softly. “He’s got Abby. The bastard has got Abby.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  The taxi was ten minutes late. As a result, Abby was waiting in the lobby when it arrived. She glanced up from the copy of the Steamboat Whistle that she was leafing through—not really reading, and barely taking notice of what was on the pages—as the eight-seater van pulled into the semicircular driveway outside the hotel doors.

  Her experience as a reporter meant she was used to traveling light. She had her attaché case slung over one shoulder, and a single hard-shell American Tourister. She stood quickly, not waiting for the driver to come into the lobby to ask for her, grabbed the drag handle on the suitcase, and hurried out through the revolving doors.

  As always, the cold hit her as she exited. The morning had started out clear. Now there were clouds blowing in from the northwest and the temperature was down around zero. She huddled a little deeper into her collar.

  “Ms. Parker-Taft?” the driver said, grinning easily at her.

  She nodded, not returning the smile. The taxi was running late and she had a plane to catch. She knew there was still plenty of time to make it to the airport but she didn’t want to take any chance of missing the flight. She’d been in Steamboat
long enough.

  Idly, she noticed that the driver looked vaguely familiar as he took the suitcase from her. The passenger side door of the van was already open. She climbed in, glanced back at the lobby to make sure there was no one else traveling, and slid the door shut, settling into a seat behind the driver’s.

  The van rocked slightly on its suspension as he went a few rungs up the steel ladder that was welded in back and hefted her case up into the shallow cage roof rack. She heard his boots crunch on the gravel of the drive as he dropped back to the ground. Then he climbed in and slammed the door behind him.

  The engine was still running. He slid the shift into drive and pulled away from the hotel. Involuntarily, Abby glanced at her watch. She wondered what Jesse was doing.

  “Heading for the airport, right?” the driver tossed back over his shoulder. She’d made her point by not returning his smile earlier, she decided. She thawed a little.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Midday flight to Denver.”

  The radio crackled briefly and he reached forward quickly to turn it off. She was glad he had. It was a good forty-minute drive to the airport and she could do without the constant one-way chatter of the dispatcher talking to other cars whose replies she couldn’t hear. They hit the main road and he turned left, not right. He was heading away from the airport, toward Mount Werner.

  Abby pursed her lips with annoyance. Obviously, the driver had another pickup to make. Leastways, she hoped there was only one more. She always preferred to be the last person to join a cab like this. It seemed like an inescapable law of nature that other people were never ready when a cab arrived for them-even one running ten to fifteen minutes late, like this one.

  “Someone else traveling?” she asked. The driver nodded, glancing up at the rearview mirror to make eye contact.

  “Couple up on Ski Trail Lane as well,” he said easily. She saw his eyes on her in the mirror once more. “Plenty of time,” he added. She glanced at her watch again.