A sudden grinding sound startled me. I looked in the direction of the noise. The next-door-neighbor’s garage was opening. I glanced around for the gas meter. Nothing on the front of the house, so I headed around to the side. Bingo. Right near the corner. I opened the notepad and pretended to be jotting down something. A green Subaru backed out of the neighbor’s driveway. I turned away, then glanced out of the corner of my eye. A man with wispy gray hair was driving. He barely even noticed me.
I kept up the ruse until he drove off down the street, then walked over to the one window on that side of the house. I stood on tiptoe and peeked through partially closed blinds into a bedroom which was empty. At the corner of the house was a six-foot wood fence with a gate. I was still alone, so I raced to the gate and tried it. It opened and I slipped into the backyard. It had nothing in it. No picnic table and chairs, grill, or shed. Andre probably spent the bulk of his time with the Rasmuses and didn’t have a need for anything. I looked to the right. A long porch was empty as well.
I crept up to the set of French doors on the porch. I peered through one of the panes and into a kitchen. It was almost as sparse as the backyard, with a small table and two chairs, a few cabinets, and the basic appliances. But what caught my eye was the alarm keypad on the wall opposite the door. A green button on the right side blinked. I was pretty sure that meant it was armed. I felt the lock-pick set in my pocket. So much for breaking and entering. I checked the other windows around the back of the house, tapped one and listened. No response. I then climbed up the fence on the other side of the house. No windows were on that side. Unless someone was hiding in a closet – as I’d done earlier at Holly’s – the main floor of Andre’s house was empty. But what about the basement?
I walked back along the house until I saw a large window well. I dropped down into it, ignoring the cobwebs that hung near the edges. I wasn’t fond of spiders. I cupped my hand against the glass and looked inside. Soft light filtered in through some windows. The basement was unfinished, with a rickety couch against one wall, a water heater and furnace in the corner, and a workbench along another wall that had gun equipment on it, including a reloader. Great. I felt something brush along my neck and I swiped at it, hoping it wasn’t a spider. Then I quickly scrambled out of the window well. I stayed crouched down while I mulled things over.
It didn’t appear that Holly was inside, unless she was tied up and couldn’t respond. I really wanted to be sure, but I couldn’t get in without tripping the alarm. Then an idea formed. I would trip the alarm, which would bring the police and, most likely, Andre. But I’d probably have a minute or two before anyone showed up, and I could pop inside and look around. And if Holly wasn’t there, Andre would be going to wherever she was at some point. I could follow him. I stood up and hurried to the back door, then pulled out my lock-pick set. I really hoped my plan would work, because if the police did catch me with the lock-pick set, I’d probably be charged with a felony. I quickly picked the lock, then tried the knob. It opened. Andre hadn’t bothered with the deadbolt, probably figuring the alarm system was enough. But he hadn’t counted on Reed Ferguson, Ace Detective, as clever and cool as Bogie. I pushed the door open wider and braced myself for the sound of an alarm.
Nothing.
But I wasn’t taking any chances. It was probably on silent. Once inside, I rushed through the main floor, checking all the closets and the bathroom. No Holly. And virtually nothing else, either. Andre lived like a monk.
Once I’d finished with the main floor, I raced downstairs and checked it out as well. Holly wasn’t hidden in a corner anywhere. I took the stairs two at a time up to the main floor and ran out the back door to the gate. I peeked between the fence slats but didn’t see anyone, so I hurried out to the front and down the street to the Kia. I got in and drove around the block, then parked on the corner where I could see Andre’s house. I spied a Rockies baseball cap lying on the floor of the backseat. I put it on to shield my face, and as I caught my breath, I watched to see what would happen next.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
4:10 PM
I didn’t have long to wait. I’ll give the Denver police department credit: they were fast. I hadn’t been in the Kia long when a patrol car sped down the street and stopped in front of Andre’s house. I snatched up the binoculars and watched. A uniformed officer got out and walked cautiously up to the front door, looking warily to the left and right. He knocked on the door, waited a minute, and knocked again. Then he tried the knob.
“It’s locked,” I said helpfully, as if he could hear me.
The officer looked around, cocked his head and listened, then strode to the right of the door, peering in windows. Then he vanished around the far corner of the house. He must’ve encountered the fence because he came back around the front, passed the door and around the near side of the house, and disappeared through the gate into the backyard. Three minutes went by and he emerged again, talking into a shoulder radio. He walked back to his car, got in, and waited. I waited with him.
Time slowly passed, and then a black SUV zipped around the corner, tore up the street, and pulled into Andre’s driveway. The officer emerged from his car as Andre shot out of the SUV and hurried over to the officer. They chatted as they walked to the front door. Andre unlocked the door and they vanished inside. Another ten minutes passed, and the officer came out alone and walked back to his car. He sat inside for a few more minutes, likely making a report, and then the patrol car slowly pulled away from Andre’s house. I sank down low as the car turned the corner and drove past me. Once it was gone, I sat back up and watched Andre’s house.
Andre soon appeared at the front door and looked all around. Then he marched around to the backyard but returned seconds later. He stood on the front porch, his mouth a thin, suspicious line. He checked the front door to assure himself that it was locked, then got in the SUV and drove back the way he came.
I started the Kia and followed. The SUV was already to Seventeenth Avenue, so I sped up the block to the corner. By then, the SUV was headed west. I let a few cars go by and then I turned. When we reached Colorado Boulevard, he had to stop at a red light and I got in the line of cars behind the SUV. The light finally turned green and we proceeded.
Andre was a good driver – he kept within the speed limit, didn’t race through yellow lights or zip in and out of traffic – all the things I tended to do. It made tailing him easy. I let cars dart in between the SUV and me, and kept my distance as we headed into downtown. The SUV crossed Broadway on Eighteenth Street and eventually pulled up to the courthouse building. I had no choice but to drive on past. I had to go two blocks up, where I turned onto Curtis Street, floored the gas, then shot down the block. I rocketed around the corner, down three blocks to California and back around to Eighteenth, then pulled into a metered spot half a block down, on the other side of the street from where the SUV was still waiting.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I watched and waited. It was a little before five, and dusk settled in over the buildings and the sidewalks grew busier as people left work. I listened to 80s music, waited, and wondered about people and bad marriages. I wasn’t perfect, and I’m sure I drove Willie nuts at times, but I silently vowed that I would treat her well. And I thought again about meeting her parents. Half an hour later, a group of people emerged from the courthouse and headed down the marble steps. They stood for five minutes and chatted, then departed in different directions. A tall man with dark hair wearing a gray suit and carrying a black briefcase walked purposefully over to the SUV. As he walked, he pulled out a cell phone.
“William Rasmus,” I said out loud.
He opened the back passenger door and got in. Red taillights blinked on the SUV as it eased into traffic. I didn’t want to lose the SUV in rush-hour traffic and downtown’s crazy one-way streets and long pedestrian crosswalks, so I had to risk getting closer to the car than I would’ve liked. I kept just two cars between us, and I pulled the baseball cap down lower. As the SUV
drove slowly down the crowded streets, my cell phone rang. I turned the music down and answered.
“Yes?”
“It’s me, Betsy.” Her voice was urgent.
“What’s wrong?”
“William just called. He said he’s not coming home for dinner and not to expect the missus.”
“Did he give a reason why for either?”
“He said he’s meeting the missus for dinner.”
“Huh,” I said.
“I think he’s lying.”
“So do I.”
“Neither of them said anything this morning about going out. They usually keep a tight schedule and they rarely make changes.”
“When do you leave?” I asked as the SUV turned onto Wynkoop Street.
“Normally in about an hour, but William specifically said I should go now.”
“Do you have an excuse to stay any longer?”
“No. If I do, William would be suspicious. Oh,” she groaned. “What’s happened to Holly?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
“Please call me with any news.”
“I will,” I said, “And you do the same.”
I ended the call as the SUV pulled up in front of Denver ChopHouse & Brewery. It’s an upscale restaurant, and when Willie and I had dined there, we’d seen some of Denver’s professional baseball players and hockey players. I slowed down and watched as Rasmus emerged from the SUV and waited on the sidewalk, this time without the briefcase. Then Andre got out as well and handed the keys to a valet. Both men strolled up the steps and into the restaurant.
“No Holly,” I said, as if speaking to Rasmus. “Unless she’s already inside…or you killed her.”
However, I wouldn’t know unless I went into the restaurant myself. I glanced around, but didn’t see a metered parking space available.
“I’ll bet this never happened to Bogie,” I muttered.
I sped around the block twice before someone pulled out of a space across the street from the ChopHouse. I zipped into the space, then tossed the baseball cap on the passenger seat. Wearing it would only draw unwanted attention to myself in a restaurant like the ChopHouse, and I didn’t need that.
The early evening air was still warm, but with a hint of fall in it as I walked down the sidewalk and crossed the street. I knew the layout of the ChopHouse. The restaurant is decorated in dark wood tones, with high partition walls near the entrance that would shield me from the dining areas. As long as Rasmus and Andre weren’t seated at a table right by the doors, I would be able to avoid being detected. I’d never met Rasmus, so I wasn’t worried about him. If Andre saw me, I’d have to hope he hadn’t gotten a good enough look at me at Holly’s house to remember me now.
I pulled open a heavy wood door and stepped inside. The interior was dark, which served me well, but when I looked around, my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Andre was standing near a bar directly across from the doors.
“May I help you?” a pleasant voice asked.
I sidled up to the hostess area near the front. A young woman in black slacks and a cream-colored blouse smiled at me.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said as I shifted my back to the bar. “Can I look around and see if he’s here?”
“Sure, but what does he look like? Maybe I can help you find him,” she offered helpfully.
“He’s tall with dark hair.” I wanted to say “and he’s wearing a gray suit,” but what guy normally knows what his friends wear?
“Oh, he might be sitting over there.” She gestured around a partition to her left, which was, fortunately, away from Andre.
“I’ll check,” I said. I thanked her and walked cautiously in the direction she indicated. Then it dawned on me again that Rasmus had never met me, so I strode boldly down an aisle between tables and noticed him sitting by himself in a corner booth. A waiter was already bringing him a drink and he was perusing a menu. If Holly was joining him, he obviously wasn’t waiting for her before starting his meal. I turned around before he noticed me and went back to the front.
“It wasn’t him,” I said to the hostess.
“I’m sorry.” The smile must’ve been painted on her face. “Now that you mention it, that gentleman said he was dining alone.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andre taking a bag from the bartender.
He was getting takeout? For himself? Or Holly? I wondered. I had to leave now or he’d walk right by me.
“It’s okay,” I said to the hostess. “I’ll go call my friend.” Her smile remained as I spun around and hurried outside. I leaped down the steps, paused while a car drove by, then dashed to the Kia and got in. I sank down low, and watched the doors to the ChopHouse. Andre came out with his carryout bag and spoke to the valet, who ran off. Andre looked around casually as he waited. A moment later, the SUV showed up. The valet hopped out and Andre took the keys from him, got in, and drove up Nineteenth Street. I fell in behind him as he turned north on Market Street, past numerous bars and restaurants around Coors Field. The streets were not that busy, and this meant I had to avoid getting too close to Andre’s vehicle. The SUV drove to Park Avenue and turned left. I sped up, but by the time I reached the corner, the light had changed. And wouldn’t you know it, a number of cars zoomed past in the other direction. I muttered a string of curse words as I waited. The light finally changed, and I was able to turn onto Park Avenue, but as I drove down the street, I knew I’d lost the SUV.
I smacked the steering wheel for good measure as I drove up and down the streets around Coors Field and searched for the SUV. I passed River North Brewery and Breckenridge Brewery, old warehouses that had been turned into brewpubs, just like B 52s.
And then a thought that had been nudging my subconscious popped up like a comment bubble. Cal had mentioned that Rasmus had invested in a couple of brewpubs in Vail and Denver, and that Rasmus had a foreclosed property in downtown Denver. And Willie had mentioned that we’d gone to Rasmus’s Vail brewpub, but we’d never been to his brewpub in Denver because I hadn’t wanted to go anywhere but B 52s. I’d also seen a coaster for Vail Valley Brewery in Rasmus’s basement. Now I remembered why Willie and I hadn’t visited the brewery’s Denver location. It wasn’t because I would only go to B 52s. Okay, that was part of it. The other reason was that the Vail Valley Brewery in Denver had closed down before we’d had a chance to visit it. It appeared Vail Valley hadn’t been able to compete with the other bars and brewpubs in the neighborhood. I remember the Goofballs saying they didn’t like Vail Valley either, that the beer wasn’t as good. Not that either one of them was a connoisseur of beer; they both stuck to Budweiser. I got my thinking back on track and put it all together. The building in foreclosure that Cal had mentioned was Vail Valley Brewery, right here near Coors Field, where Andre had been driving. What better place to hide someone than an abandoned building. But where was the building? Somewhere on Walnut Street, if I remembered correctly. I hit the gas and headed in that direction.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
5:55 PM
It didn’t take me long to get back to Walnut Street. The sun had gone down, leaving a coppery glow in the western sky, and I flipped on my headlights as I drove up Walnut. I glanced left and right, studying the buildings. Businesses lined both sides of the street, along with numerous restaurants and bars. But no closed brewpub. I reached 26th Street, six blocks from Coors Field, where the neighborhood grew a bit sketchier. And then I saw it: a large, dark warehouse across from a shadowy parking lot. The building was made of brick with some siding, and large windows were set up high, a couple of them broken. The remnants of a painted sign over large doors read, “Vail Valley Brewery.”
I stopped at the corner and glanced around. The street was gloomy, with rundown buildings near the warehouse. I could easily guess why the brewpub had failed: it was too far from Coors Field, and the neighborhood didn’t feel safe. Rasmus probably did follow in Governor Hickenlooper’s footsteps by buying in a rundown area, thinking t
hat the neighborhood would improve. For Hickenlooper, that had been the case, but not for Rasmus. And now he was stuck with the building.
Only a few cars were parked on the street as I drove around the block, but not a black SUV. I eased on down Walnut again and drove past the warehouse, my eyes peeled for any sign that someone was inside, but the building was dark and quiet. I reached the corner, turned and drove up the alley behind the warehouse. Sinister shadows bathed the alley. A couple of dumpsters sat behind the warehouse, but that was it. No one was around as I arrived at the end of the alley. I went back around to Walnut and paused at the intersection. I needed to get inside the warehouse, and I needed to make sure Andre wouldn’t spot the Kia, if he showed up. So I drove down another block and up the next street, then parked on the corner of 26th and Walnut, where I could see the warehouse. I waited for a few minutes and watched the building. When nothing happened, and no one appeared on the street, I got out and grabbed my lock-pick set and a flashlight from the glove box. I noticed a nip in the air, so I grabbed a jacket that was lying on the backseat. Luckily Ace and I were about the same size, and the jacket fit. I locked the Kia and ran across Walnut. I thought about trying to get in through the front entrance, but I would be totally exposed, so I walked around to the alley. The shadows had deepened and a peculiar chill ran up my back. I took a deep breath and headed into the alley, my footsteps creating an odd echo between the buildings. I arrived at the back entrance to Vail Valley Brewery, paused and listened. A car passed by on the street, and a dog barked, and then silence. I climbed concrete steps, past a few 2x4s and other trash, to the door. I pulled out my lock-pick tools, and just as I was about to set to work on the doorknob, I stopped and tried the handle. Locked. Not that I expected anything else, but wouldn’t I look like a fool if I picked an unlocked lock.
Night of the Hunted: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 11) Page 7