by C. M. Sutter
Minutes later, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and frowned. “That’s weird. I don’t recognize that number or the area code.” I swiped the screen and answered. “Agent Monroe speaking.” I listened as the man on the line reminded me of who he was. “Yes, Mr. Jackson, I remember you. Do you mind if I put you on Speaker so my colleagues can join in on the conversation? We’re all in a car together.” I waited as he responded then tapped the Speaker icon. “Okay, thank you. You’re on Speaker with all of us now. What can we do for you, Pete?”
“Well, I got to thinking after you made that comment to me when you handed me your card.”
I looked from Renz to Fay and shrugged. “Yes, go ahead.”
“You said if I recalled seeing a white box truck that wasn’t local to the area to give you a call.”
It was my turn to swat Fay’s shoulder. “Okay, you have our attention. What have you seen?”
“Well, remember how I said I go to Gold Nugget Café every morning and evening?”
“I do.”
“I always sit at the same table facing the window that overlooks the street. One could call me a busybody, I guess, but I just like watching people and traffic go by.”
“Understandable.”
“Your comment got me thinking about a box truck I’d seen parked out on the street twice in the last ten days or so. The only reason I noticed it was because of the advertising on the side.”
My shoulders slumped, and I was sure what he was about to say wasn’t going to be what we needed to hear. “What was the advertising?”
“A pizza joint, but it was a Wyoming address and phone number. I thought it was odd that a pizza delivery truck, one I assumed delivered to grocery stores, would be in our town and parked where it was. It was directly across the street, and there aren’t any grocery stores nearby, only out by the highway.”
“Maybe the driver stopped to eat,” Renz said.
“Maybe, but there’s plenty of places to eat out by the highway too. You’d have to come into town deliberately then park that big truck along the street in a parallel parking spot. I just thought it odd, especially since you said to call if it wasn’t a local truck, which it wasn’t.”
“And you saw it twice?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. The last time it was here, I saw a man walk out of the restaurant with a bag full of food. He rounded the truck and climbed into the passenger side.”
That piqued our interest.
“Can you describe that man?” Tommy asked.
“Sorry, but no. I wasn’t looking at customers waiting at the counter for takeout. I only noticed him because I was staring out the window and saw him cross the street and walk to the truck.”
“How about the color of his hair or his body type, then?”
“Um, let me think. Nothing really stood out about the guy, average all the way around, I’d say. Not overly tall or overweight, just a regular-looking guy from behind.”
“That’s unfortunate. Do you remember the name of the pizza delivery service?”
“Yes, I do remember that.”
“Great,” Tommy said. “What was it?”
“The side of the truck read, ‘Guido’s Gourmet Pizza—Our Own Slice of Italy.’”
“Hmm… clever logo,” I said. “And the address was somewhere in Wyoming?”
“Yep, Cheyenne.”
“Okay, we’ll check into that, and we sure appreciate your call.” I hung up. “What do you guys think?”
Renz grunted. “I’m not optimistic. We can’t force every box truck to be the right truck just because somebody we spoke with saw one.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but it’s worth a shot to find out if that company is licensed as a business in Cheyenne, Wyoming.”
Tommy took his turn and looked at us through the rearview mirror. “You girls are on a roll, so why don’t you make a few more calls before we get to Cokeville?”
I looked up the phone number for the Laramie County Public Records Office and called it. After a few transfers, I was connected with the person who handled business licensing and told her who I was and what I needed. I gave her the name of the company, hoped that Pete had remembered it correctly, and was put on hold for at least a minute.
“I’m sorry, Agent Monroe, but there isn’t a business in the entire county under that name or Guido’s Pizza or anything with the name Guido in the company title at all.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I thanked her and hung up. I wasn’t so sure anymore. I thought back to several days ago, when my gut told me the drop-off location was likely somewhere west of Denver. Jacquie had been tossed over the mountainside just outside Evergreen, and Pete, who lived in Central City, saw a white box truck parked along the street with the name of a pizza company out of Cheyenne, Wyoming, that didn’t exist.
My suspicion meter was moving into the red zone at a high speed. “I still think we should have a chat with the Cokeville PD.”
Tommy shook his head. “Give me a good reason, and if it sounds logical, we’ll stop in and introduce ourselves. Just because we’re FBI agents doesn’t mean we need permission to check out the area.”
“You’re right, we don’t, but if it’s a sleepy town, and the police don’t have much going on, there’s a chance while they’re patrolling the area, they might have passed a white box truck.”
“Humph.” Renz looked at Tommy and chuckled. “Okay, let’s go introduce ourselves, but we aren’t going to hang around for long. We’re conducting an investigation, and I want to check out the area before dark.”
“Sure. We’ll ask a few questions, let them know we’ll be in the area for a day or so, then head out.”
We reached the Cokeville PD five minutes later, after I located their address on my phone. We entered the brick building and, after showing our credentials, asked the older female officer behind the desk if the chief or any patrol officers were present. We had a few questions for them and promised not to take up too much of their time.
She sounded frazzled as she spoke. “I-I’m sorry, Agents, but everyone is scattered about the county right now. We’ve got two emergencies going on at the same time, and everyone is spread way too thin. Maybe another time.”
I tipped my chin at Renz as a signal to find out what was going on.
“Ma’am, we’d certainly like to help if you’d tell us what’s wrong.”
She squeezed her temples. “Things like that just don’t happen here. We’re a tiny town, and everyone knows each other.”
Tommy took over. “Ma’am? We’d be happy to assist.”
The woman blew out a loud sigh. “Old Man Dobbins was found murdered an hour ago, and I can’t wrap my mind around the horror of it.”
“Murdered? Who is he, and where was he found?”
“At his house. Willard didn’t have much money, so he rented out rooms that he’d added onto his home. He wasn’t licensed, but he paid his taxes on time, so the county didn’t press him. Dan Sumpter went out to Willard’s place today to give him a quote on repairing the roof over some of the rooms. Several customers had complained about rain leaking through the ceiling. Well, my lord in heaven, when Dan got there, he found Willard slumped over dead on his recliner with a wound to his midsection. Doc Evans, the chief, and three officers are there right now.”
“And they know it was a murder how?” Tommy asked.
“Because the chief said there wasn’t any type of sharp object near Willard to assume he’d inflicted the injury on himself. Doc Evans said he was certain it was a knife wound.”
“Can you tell us how to get there? I’m sure the FBI has more resources to use to locate the person who committed the crime.”
She nodded and wrote the address down. We thanked her, climbed back into the car, and left.
I leaned forward before buckling my seatbelt. “What do you make of that? I mean, what are the odds that Gary possibly headed this way, then out of nowhere an
old man who rents out rooms to travelers ends up murdered?”
“It’s suspicious enough for us to check out.” Renz punched his open hand. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“We forgot to ask what the second emergency was.”
Chapter 40
We reached Hideaway Rentals ten minutes later and found the driveway blocked by a squad car. The officer climbed out and walked toward us when Tommy stopped nose to nose with his vehicle.
“You can’t be here, sir. The rentals are closed for business.”
Tommy pulled out his ID and turned it toward the officer, whose nametag showed J. Cannon. “We’re FBI agents, and this incident may be related to a case we’re investigating. We need to speak to the chief and the doctor.”
“Sure thing, Agent Pappas, and I’ll move my car so you can pass through.”
I stuck my head out the window and thanked him, then Tommy continued on down the driveway. Two police cars, a fire department ambulance, and what looked to be a civilian car, I assumed belonging to the doctor, sat in the driveway.
An officer stood alone outside the office door. After approaching and showing him our credentials, he allowed us entry.
“Everyone is back there.” He pointed at the door behind the counter.
Fay and I followed at Renz’s and Tommy’s backs. We didn’t know if the people present were being careful in preserving evidence as they walked through the crime scene, since it didn’t sound like they’d ever worked a murder before. Because we didn’t have gloves, we were cautious not to touch anything.
Renz pushed the door inward with his elbow, and the four of us crossed over the threshold into what looked to be the living room. Three people turned and set their focus on us.
A man stepped forward with his arms outstretched as if to corral us out the way we’d come in. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, this is a crime scene, and civilians aren’t allowed in here.”
“We’re FBI agents.” Renz showed his badge. “And we were told by your officer back at the station what happened here. We were there to talk to you about a case we’re investigating that may have taken a turn into Lincoln County.” Renz pointed at the dead man lying on the floor. “That man may have died at the hands of the person we’re looking for, that is if his death was definitely deemed a murder. Has anyone checked on or spoken with the guests?”
The chief, Bud Cartwright, spoke up. “There’s nobody here. Dan Sumpter, the roofer, arrived about ninety minutes ago and found Willard this way.” Bud jerked his chin at the blood-soaked chair. “Except he was slumped over in that recliner.”
I looked around. “So where is Dan now?”
“We took his statement, and he left. No need to sit here all day.”
“Has anyone looked at the guest register to see who’s been here lately?”
Bud continued while pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the officer behind him. “Pauly looked at it.”
“And?” Renz asked.
Pauly spoke up. “And it was last filled out in 2019.”
“How about a scratch pad at the counter? Anything like that?”
Bud rubbed his forehead. “Agent…?”
“DeLeon,” Renz said.
“Agent DeLeon, we’ve only been here for an hour and haven’t had a lot of time to conduct a full search of the premises.”
“Sorry.”
“We kind of have our hands full, and the sheriff’s office isn’t any better. A report of a missing woman was called in about a half hour ago.”
I drew back. “Where?”
“About ten miles west of here at a wayside right on the state border but still in Wyoming. You can probably find out the exact location by calling the sheriff’s office dispatch number.”
Tommy spoke up. “We’ll be back later. Please, don’t do anything except remove the body. We may need a forensic team to come in from Cheyenne to go over everything.”
“That’s almost a six-hour drive,” Pauly said.
Tommy nodded. “But we can get them here a lot faster if it’s necessary. We’ll be back later and touch base, but until then, don’t move, alter, or take out anything other than Willard’s body.”
Bud promised they wouldn’t. He exchanged cards with Tommy, and we took off. If a woman went missing less than an hour ago, and Gary was the reason why, then we were the closest we’d been to him in the last week of chasing leads.
We barreled out of the driveway, and Renz made the call to the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office. After explaining who he was, Renz was given the name of the wayside and exactly how to get there. We were nine miles away, and the man who had made the 911 call was still on-site with the deputies.
We arrived at the wayside just before three o’clock. Two Lincoln County deputy cars were parked next to a canine unit van, and ten feet away sat a red Kia Sportage. A deputy was talking on the radio alongside his car when we pulled in. Tommy parked, and we got out.
The deputy held up his hand, but Renz was one step ahead of him. He showed his ID badge, and the deputy gave us a nod, then ended his call seconds later.
“What brings you out this way, Agents?”
“We’ve been on the trail of a group of kidnappers for nearly a week. We heard a woman went missing from this wayside an hour or so ago.”
The deputy tipped his head at the man sitting in the Kia. “He’s the caller and is inconsolable. He blames himself for her disappearance. According to his story, he pulled into the wayside to use the outhouse, and his wife, Melanie, remained in the car. He returned to the vehicle in under ten minutes and found her gone. He said he thought she went for a walk, maybe to snap some nature pictures, but he called out, searched the entire area, and couldn’t find her. That’s when he called 911.”
“And you pulled up his name in the system to make sure he’s legit?”
“We did, and he’s squeaky clean. They were traveling through from Rock Springs on their way to Pocatello to visit relatives when this happened.” The deputy jerked his head toward the man with the dogs several hundred feet away. “That’s our canine expert, Ray Russo. He said the dogs haven’t caught the scent of anything out there. They were most interested in the parking lot area.”
Renz continued. “Sure. We’d like to speak with the husband, and his name is?”
The deputy looked at his notepad. “Ben Gentry, and again, his wife’s name is Melanie.”
“Thanks.”
We approached the car where Ben sat. He got out, stood, and shook our hands as Renz made the introductions. Renz pointed to a weather-worn picnic table that sat under a pine tree. It would serve our purpose for the moment.
“How about we take a seat over there, and you can tell us everything you know?”
Ben wiped his eyes with his sleeve and joined us at the picnic table. I pulled my notepad and pen from my pocket and was ready to write.
“Just walk us through it starting with the moment when you decided to turn in at the wayside,” Renz said.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I turned in and said I had to use the bathroom, and Mel said she was good. She was reading a crime thriller on her phone. I got out and walked away—” He dropped his head onto his crossed arms and sobbed. “I looked everywhere. I wasted a goddamn half hour walking around thinking she’d wandered off and was taking pictures with her phone, but nothing. She wasn’t here.”
“Was her purse left behind?” Fay asked.
He nodded. “Mel and her phone are gone, and that’s why I thought she went out to take pictures. How stupid can I be? Why would any woman leave her purse in an unlocked car that had the window down?”
“I imagine it’s hard to think when you’re in a state of panic, Ben. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said. “How about passing vehicles or any that pulled in or out after you turned in?”
His eyes widened. “Wait! There was a truck, or maybe it was a van, that was parked over there.” He pointed to the far side of the lot. “I turned in, made a wide circle, and
parked facing away from it. I didn’t give it a second thought.”
“Think hard,” Tommy said. “We need to know everything you can recall about that vehicle or if you saw or heard anyone inside.”
“Um, no. I mean, I don’t know. Music was playing on the radio, and the windows were up. I guess Mel rolled hers down after I parked so it wouldn’t be stuffy in the car. I didn’t hear anything, and I don’t think I even looked at the parked vehicle for more than a second.”
“Okay, take a breath. Close your eyes, and think about it as you circled the lot. Was it shaped like a van, a pickup, or like a commercial delivery truck? Do you remember its primary color?”
Ben squeezed his temples as he tried to recall. “It wasn’t a pickup. That much I remember.”
“Okay, so a passenger van, a large van, or a large delivery-style truck?” Renz tried to narrow down the options without leading Ben to answer in any particular way.
“That’s it! I saw writing on the side, although I didn’t pay any attention to what it said. That means it was something large enough to have advertising on it, also meaning it was probably a commercial vehicle, right?”
“I’d say so. Do you recall the actual color of the vehicle minus the writing?”
“White! I know it was white.”
Renz stood and excused himself. He walked over to the deputy we were speaking with moments earlier, had a brief conversation with him, then returned to the picnic table. “Did you leave the wayside at all in your car to look for her?”
“No. I ran out to the road, looked both ways, and yelled her name but never drove off.”
“So your car hasn’t moved since you pulled in?”
“That’s correct, why?”
“The deputy over there said the dogs sniffed around your car a lot and also the area where you said the truck was parked.” Renz looked back at the ground around the Kia. “Unfortunately, the ground’s surface has been trampled by people and the dogs, so we can’t get a forensic idea of what took place. There could have been footprints, a sign of a struggle, or something to that effect.”