by David Archer
“No, they didn’t. And to be honest, that’s one of the other reasons none of us go public about any of this. Donnie, he was a single man, but most of us got families.”
“Okay,” Sam said, “I appreciate this. You got my number on your caller ID?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, save it. If you come up with anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
The call ended and Sam put the car in gear. He headed back toward the apartment building in LoDo, letting what he had learned run through his mind during the drive across town.
Despite the fact that it was barely over forty degrees, there was quite a crowd in front of the building once again. Sam saw Snake sitting on the railing at the top of the stairs, and parked the car right out front. He climbed out with his cane and hobbled toward the building.
“Hey, Dick,” Snake said. “You bring some more money with you today?”
Sam smiled. “All depends on what might be for sale,” he said. “I’m looking for somebody who was here yesterday morning, a blond, football-player type, about your age. Ring any bells?”
Snake twisted his mouth in an expression of concentration. “Sounds like Freddie,” he said. “Why?”
“He might be a valuable witness,” Sam said. “Any idea where I can find him?”
Snake waved his hands and the crowd parted to let Sam get to the stairs. “Come on up, Dick,” Snake said. “He might be up with his old grandpa.” He got up from where he was sitting and led Sam into the building, then started up the stairs inside. Sam noticed that he walked up them slowly, taking it easy on the old guy with the cane.
It took them almost 2 minutes to make it to the fourth floor, and then Snake knocked on the door of apartment 4A. An old man answered a moment later and scowled at Snake.
“Whadda hell you want, you hoodlum?”
“Hey, Papa,” Snake said. “Looking for Freddie, he here today?”
The old man glanced back into the apartment and then turned back to Snake. “You see him anywhere? Why you looking for him? Why don’t you just leave him alone, he’s a good boy. Ain’t no hoodlum like you.”
Snake only smiled at the old man. “Come on, Papa, you know you love me.” He indicated Sam with a flick of his thumb. “This is Dick, he’s a private investigator. He’s trying to help that lady cop who got arrested for killing Digger. He thinks Freddie might be able to help.”
“Well, Freddie ain’t here. Him and that other hoodlum, what’s his name, they went off somewhere after all that commotion yesterday and they ain’t been back.”
“Sir,” Sam said, “it’s very important that I talk to him. Would you have any idea where he might’ve gone?”
“How the hell I know? These hoodlums, they hang around here and Freddie goes off with ’em, I got no idea what he’s up to. Maybe tomorrow you find him, come back then.” He shut the door in their faces.
Snake was grinning. “That’s Papa,” he said. “Some days, he’s as nice as can be. Other days it’s like all he wants to do is piss people off. Tell you what, I got your number. I’ll find Freddie and give you a call, okay?”
Sam looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, then turned back to Snake. “Karen told me give you a message. She said to tell you that you know exactly how grateful she’ll be if you help me prove she didn’t do this.” He watched Snake’s eyes, and saw the flicker of recognition he was expecting.
“If she told you that,” the big man said, “I ’spect she told you other things, too.”
“Yeah, she told me about an old friend. Somebody who got jacked up when he was young, but she cut him a break. She said he’s been a good friend ever since, and that I can trust him. He can trust me, too. One thing you learn quick in this business is how to keep secrets.”
Snake burst out laughing. “Especially when that secret might be able to tell you something now and then?” He held out a hand and Sam took it. “I know about you, Dick,” he said. “I know you’re a good guy, and if she trusts you that much, then so do I. What can I do to help?”
Sam bit his lip for a second. “Have you heard that Digger isn’t dead?”
Snake’s eyes went wide. “There’s some kind of rumor going around,” he said. “Rumor says it was Zeno who got whacked, not Digger. I’ve been saying it was bullshit. You telling me it’s not?”
“It’s not. Samara is alive, and I personally suspect he’s the killer, but I need to be able to prove it. Would you have any idea where he might go to hide? I definitely need to find him.”
“He’s got friends all over,” Snake said. “I’m not sure who they are but—thing is, a couple days ago he got all excited. Somebody he’s been trying to find for a long time, he said she’s back in town. That’s all I know, but if you can track down any of his old girlfriends…”
Sam’s eyes were big and round. “It’s not an old girlfriend,” Sam said. “Samara has a daughter who recently came back to Denver. If he knows she’s here, then she’s in danger. The whole reason Karen was looking for him is because the daughter came forward and finally admitted she saw Samara murder her mother and her little sister ten years ago.” He turned and headed for the stairs. “Call me if you come up with anything else, okay? I’ve got to go.”
As soon as he got into his car, Sam took out his phone and called Will Burton. “Will, it’s Sam Prichard. Listen, I know you’re concentrating on the case against Karen, but we’ve got another problem that’s probably bigger. Daniel Samara is still alive, and I have reason to believe he’s trying to track down and kill his own daughter.”
“His daughter? Why, Sam?”
“Melinda Samara was only 10 years old when she watched her father kill and dismember her mother, and a short time later she saw him kill her youngest sister, Ashley. She came to Karen a couple of weeks ago with this information, ready to testify. Karen went to Captain Barnhart and wanted to reopen the case, but he told her to hand it over to cold cases, instead. Somebody down there told her it would be a long time before they could get to it, and that’s why she was looking for Samara yesterday. She wanted to see him prosecuted for those two old murder charges, and she figured if she managed to pick him up, then you guys would at least be willing to go ahead and file charges.”
“Okay, so you think he’s going after his daughter to shut her up?”
“Yes. I just found out that he was telling people a few days ago that somebody, a woman, that he been looking for had come back to town. There’s no doubt in my mind he must’ve found out that Melinda is here, even though she’s married now and expecting a child. If he finds her, she’s probably dead.”
“Oh, geez, Sam,” Burton said. “I know this is going to cause me problems, but I’ll file for a warrant on Samara today, to pick him up for questioning. I’ll get hold of cold case and see what they’ve got, too, because I’ll need it to build a case. You got any idea where we can find this guy?”
“Not yet,” Sam said, “but I’m looking for him. But, listen, there’s more. I spoke with a patrolman this morning who tells me that Samara and Carl Rivers seem to be close. Every time Samara is mentioned in any police reports, Rivers has a tendency to make those mentions disappear, and the uniforms have noticed that he keeps them out of LoDo when Samara is in town.”
Burton made a hissing sound, and Sam could imagine the man sucking on his own teeth. “That’s a pretty serious accusation, Sam,” he said, “especially against a DPD detective.”
“Believe me, I’m fully aware of that. If I can come up with solid evidence on it, I’ll let you know, but I just wanted you to be aware that Samara has some kind of protection inside the police department. My guess is that he’ll know as soon as that warrant is issued, so it’s going to make it even more urgent for him to silence Melinda.”
“Yeah, I see your point. I can ask the judge to seal the warrant, but that won’t help unless we can find out exactly where he is.”
“Yeah, tough call. I don’t think sealing it is a good idea, we wan
t this guy picked up if he even gets pulled over for a taillight out. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can to make sure his daughter is safe and whatever I can to try to locate him. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
Sam ended the call and pointed the car back toward Melinda’s house, pushing it past the speed limits so that he arrived there in less than half an hour. He hurried up to the door and knocked, but there was no answer.
The file with her phone number in it was back at the house, so Sam took out his phone to call Indie as he walked back to his car. It took her only a moment to find the number and give it to him, and he dialed as he pulled away.
It rang four times and went to voicemail. “Melinda, this is Sam Prichard. I don’t want to alarm you any further, but I just learned that your father may have found out you’re in town after all. I know you were planning to leave, just give me a call and let me know that you’re safe, will you do that?”
He disconnected and dropped the phone into his pocket once more, driving along as he tried to figure out what to do. He was out of leads, and didn’t know where to look for the next one.
It was well after eleven, so he headed for home. Maybe a bite of lunch and brainstorming with Indie would give him some new ideas.
11
Sam turned the last corner on the way to his house and groaned. His mother’s car was sitting in the driveway, blocking his access to the garage. However, since he expected to be going back out before long, he didn’t let it bother him. He just parked on the side that was normally reserved for clients.
The groan, however, was because seeing his mother’s car meant he was probably going to find Indie’s mother inside the house with her. Kim, his mother-in-law, rented a room from his mother, Grace. The two of them were best friends, and just about inseparable.
He climbed out of the car and made his way inside, and sure enough, he found Indie, Kim and Grace all sitting at the table in the kitchen. Indie looked up and smiled, and motioned for him to join them. As he came into the kitchen and pulled out a chair, she got up and waddled across the room to come back with a loaf of bread and a big package of sliced roast beef.
“Self-service lunch today,” she said, as she settled herself back into her chair. “Your kid decided I didn’t need to cook, and who am I to argue with him?”
Sam grinned and quickly assembled a sandwich. “Mom, Kim,” he said. “How’s it going?”
Kim started open her mouth, but Grace beat her to it. “Samuel, it’s Beauregard again. I think he talks more now that nobody believes he’s real than he ever did before.”
Sam looked at his mother-in-law. “Okay,” he said. “What kind of advice does he have for me now? To be honest, I could use some.” He blinked. “Let me rephrase that,” he said. “I could use some advice that makes sense.”
Kim gave him a sad smile. “I don’t know how much sense it’s going to make,” she said. “Beauregard told me to give you a very specific message, and it comes in two parts. The first part says, ‘There are three sisters. One is dead, one wants to live, and one may choose to die.’ Does that make any sense?”
Sam was staring at her. “To be perfectly honest, I think it does. The case I’m working on right now involves a man who murdered one of his three daughters, so she’d be the one who is dead. I’m pretty sure he’s looking for a second one at the moment to kill her, so she’s probably the one who wants to live. It’s the third one I haven’t found. If she’s the one who may choose to die, then it may mean she’s already in his clutches, or in danger some other way.”
Kim’s smile got a little brighter. “Okay, that’s good, I guess. Now, the second part goes: ‘You need to use the resources nobody knows you have.’ How about that one?”
Sam narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. “Resources nobody knows I have? Dammit, Beauregard, why can’t you just speak plain English?”
Kim frowned. “Well, I guess that one didn’t help any. No idea what he might be talking about?”
“Not unless he means himself, and I’m not sure I consider that much of a resource most of the time. A resource nobody knows I have? I don’t know what that could be.”
“Well,” Indie said, “what kind of resources do you have that people do know about? Maybe if we tackle it from that direction, we can get an idea what he means.”
“Well, I’ve got you, and while not too many people know what you can do, there are a few who do. Normally, I’d have Karen; she’s usually willing to help me out when I need information from the police.” His forehead crinkled and he squinted his eyes in thought. “At the moment, I’ve got a local gang leader who happens to be an informant of Karen’s, he’s trying to help. Other than that, I can’t think of any…”
His eyes went wide. “Or maybe I can,” he said. “I talked to one of the patrol officers this morning, and he tells me that a lot of them think Detective Rivers is dirty and that Karen is getting railroaded for some agenda Rivers is working on. It’s possible that if I asked them, they might help me try to locate Samara. They know him, and there’s enough of them to keep an eye out for him.” He put a finger to his lips to tell them to be quiet, then dialed Officer Wilson.
“Wilson? It’s Sam Prichard. Listen, I need some help. Do you think it’s possible that the uniforms you know would be willing to help me track down Samara? I’ve got to find the guy, and going through official channels is probably not going to help.” He listened for a moment, then smiled. “That would be perfect. Call me the instant you know anything, okay?”
He said goodbye and disconnected the call. “Tell Beauregard I said thanks,” he said to Kim. “I might not have thought of that.”
Kim smiled but said nothing. Sam turned to his wife, but his phone rang at that moment. He snatched it out of his pocket and put it to his ear. “Prichard,” he said.
“Hey, Dick,” Snake said. “I found Freddie. Where you want us to meet you at?”
“Is there any reason we can’t meet at the apartments?”
“Just a feeling,” Snake said. “I’ve got a hunch Digger has somebody watching what’s going on there. Couple of people been asking lots of questions about why you keep coming around, and that’s kind of unusual. Most of the time, somebody like you coming around would just be something to snicker about. Nobody would be asking all these questions, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think I do. Okay, where else is a good place to meet up?”
“You know the old scrapyard out on 285?”
“Yeah, I know it,” Sam said. “I can be there in about 20 minutes.”
“Okay,” Snake replied. “See you there and then.” The line went dead and Sam started getting to his feet as he put his phone back into his pocket.
“I might have a lead,” he said. “Might be something that will clear Karen, or at least help. I’ll be back later on.” He leaned down and kissed Indie, then picked up his cane and headed out the door. He climbed into the Corvette and started it, backed out of the drive and started making his way south.
Between a heavy foot on the throttle and some incredible luck with traffic lights, Sam actually got there five minutes ahead of schedule. He wasn’t sure what Snake would be driving, so he parked the Corvette beside a semi-trailer sitting in the open lot outside the gate and shut it off to wait.
A big four-wheel-drive Dodge truck pulled in a few minutes later, and Sam recognized Snake in the passenger seat. The truck parked on the far side of the lot from where he was sitting, and he reached up to start the Corvette.
Snake and the other man started to get out of the truck, but suddenly another car, a 10-year-old Buick, came racing into the lot. It skidded to a stop near the truck and spun around, and Sam heard the rat-tat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon. Snake dropped down behind the truck and then popped back up with a pistol, firing from over the truck bed, but the man who had been driving was down on the ground. Sam twisted the key and the Corvette’s big 427 roared into life, and he slammed the car into gear. He raced forward just as the Bu
ick took off again, spinning around and throwing gravel as it aimed for the exit.
Sam got one glimpse of the driver, but he was absolutely certain it was Samara. He slid to a stop beside Snake, who had run around the truck and was bending down over the other man.
“Are you hit?” Sam yelled.
“Not me,” Snake yelled back, “but Freddie’s in bad shape. I’m calling 911, you go get that son of a bitch!”
Sam dumped the clutch and took off again. The Buick had turned right onto 285, and Sam fishtailed around the corner. He could see the taillights of the Buick almost a block ahead, but he knew there was no way it could outrun the Corvette. He shifted up to third gear without even lifting his foot from the throttle, and the rear tires screamed as the revving engine threw all of its horsepower at them.
The Buick climbed the curb to get around a car at the stoplight and took a right onto Federal Boulevard. Sam swung wide and went around on the left, then whipped the wheel to the right and downshifted to second, sending the car into a controlled skid that brought him out straight on Federal. He was making almost 50 mph after the turn, and gaining rapidly on the Buick as he accelerated up to 90. The bigger car was weaving through traffic, but the Corvette could handle that tactic much better. Sam cut through places so tight that he half expected to rip off the mirrors, but the car did everything he asked of it.
After only three blocks, he was right on the Buick’s tail. The madman behind the wheel was whipping the car around like a maniac, and finally sideswiped a new Cadillac SUV. The big Caddy’s driver lost control and clipped a light post, then spun out and flipped over right in front of the Corvette.
Sam whipped the wheel to the right and squeezed between the overturned Cadillac and the curb, but managed not to lose more than a few feet on the Buick. He dropped back to third gear and floored the accelerator, prepared to ram the Buick if necessary, but then it whipped out into oncoming traffic.
Cars coming toward it began scattering, and suddenly Sam had a Ford pickup coming at him head on. He managed to cut around it on the right, and then found an old Chevy station wagon coming at him, so he whipped back to the left. He was forced to downshift and stand on the brakes, weaving his way through traffic that was going in both directions, and by the time he got to the intersection where he’d seen the Buick make a left, it was out of sight.