Colorado Crime Scene

by Cindi Myers

  “How did he untie himself and get out of that bed?” Travis asked.

  “Once he was unconscious, the nurse would have removed the restraints,” Cramer said. “There are laws against keeping people confined for too long. They’re supposed to keep people from hurting themselves or others in the short term, until they’re under control.”

  Luke turned to Morgan. “Why did he leave?”

  “Probably because he was scared,” she said. “Seeing Danny really freaked him out. Once he woke up, he was probably worried Danny would come back. So he waited until the guard was gone and slipped out. He’d rather be on his own than trust the hospital.”

  “Where would he go?” Travis asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. No one at the hotel where he was working could tell me where he lived.” She stilled, then looked at him, her face more alert, almost hopeful, even. “I gave him my business card, with the name and address of my hotel on it. Maybe he went there.”

  “Go back there now and let us know the minute you see him,” Luke said. “We need to talk to him and find out why he’s so afraid of Danny, and what he knows that might help us.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I see him.” She started to turn away, then looked back at Luke. “Thanks,” she said. “For everything.” Then she raced away, her shoes slapping on the tile lobby floor as she headed for the parking lot.

  “I’ll set someone to watch her hotel,” Travis said, pulling out his phone. “Do you think he’ll really show up there?”

  “I don’t know. They were close, but he’s avoided her for the past year, so I’m not sure he’d have a change of heart now.”

  “Maybe he didn’t run away to avoid Danny, but to join up with him,” Travis said. “Maybe even to warn him of our suspicions.”

  “Danny already knows we suspect him. Even if he and Scott were partners at one time, Scott would be too much of a risk for him now. He’s too unpredictable.”

  “Then Westfield is in danger either way you look at it.”

  “I hope we find him—or Danny—before we have another death on our hands.” He didn’t want to even think about the possibility of having to tell Morgan he hadn’t been able to protect her brother. “Any news from the race?”

  “An American won today’s stage—Sprague? No sign of any of our other suspects. No sign of suspicious activity. If he’s sticking to his pattern, he’s waiting for the finale, when the biggest crowds and the greatest number of media eyes will be on the finish line.”

  “But he has to know there will be incredible security at the finish line,” Cramer said. “I read in the paper they’re installing scanners and the place will be crawling with cops and bomb-sniffing dogs.”

  “Some people see that kind of thing as more of a challenge,” Travis said. “A call for them to up their game.”

  He and Luke left the office. “Now that we know Scott has left, I don’t see any sense in staying here,” Luke said.

  “The hospital is in high security mode in case our suspect comes back, but that doesn’t seem likely,” Travis agreed. “We’ve put out an APB on Scott, so maybe one of the locals will pick him up.”

  “Soon, I hope,” Luke said. “I think he knows more than he’s telling us about our suspect.”

  “Did you get any information out of the sister when you went to her hotel room?”

  Luke stiffened. “How did you know I went to her hotel room?”

  “I might have overheard your conversation.”

  “I didn’t go there to question her. She’s not a suspect.” He looked away, afraid he might reveal just how close he had become to Morgan in the short time they’d known each other.

  “Until we solve this thing, everyone is a suspect.” Travis spoke softly, but his voice was intense. “Even if she’s not directly involved, her brother may be wrapped up in this some way. Don’t compromise this case for the sake of your hormones.”

  “I won’t compromise the case.” What he felt for Morgan may have started out as pure physical attraction but went beyond that now.

  Travis gripped his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re one of the best agents I know. But you know as well as I do that some people are very good liars. I’d hate to see you taken in.”

  He relaxed a little. “Morgan isn’t lying.” He started to add that Morgan wasn’t like Travis’s ex-fiancée, who had blindsided him when she broke off their engagement six months before. He didn’t want to remind his friend of that hurt, though he knew it must be the worry behind Travis’s warning to him. “But I’m still being careful. My focus right now has to be on the case.”

  “I’ll keep you posted on this end of things,” Travis said. “Where are you headed now?”

  “I’m still trying to track down any leads on the suspected terrorists in that rental house in Five Points.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” They were all going to need a lot of luck to crack this case. For all the resources the Bureau was devoting to stopping these people, they kept slipping through their fingers.

  * * *

  MORGAN PACED HER hotel room—nine steps to the window, turn, nine steps back to the door. She stared at the cell phone in her hand, willing it to ring. She’d tried Scott’s cell at least a dozen times last night before finally crawling into bed for a fitful night of half dozing and terrifying dreams in which Scott was in danger and she was unable to reach him.

  This morning she’d fortified herself with coffee from room service and resumed her vigil again. All her calls had gone straight to voice mail. The thought of him out there alone, running scared through the city, made her too sad and jittery to sit down.

  She turned to the television, where a local sports channel was showing live coverage of that day’s race stage in Colorado Springs. Today’s course was a circuit around the city, including a loop around the scenic Garden of the Gods. Apparently, one of the American team had just crashed into a fan who had stepped into the road to take a picture on his phone. Such accidents were becoming all too common at races these days. Race officials tried to publicize the dangers and urge people to stay back, but a long tradition of allowing crowds to get close to the racers made authorities reluctant to set up barricades.

  The first jaunty notes of her ring tone sounded, and she yelped and hurried to answer the call.

  “Hello,” Luke said. “How are you doing?”

  He’d called last night to check on her and reassure her, as well. Hearing from him made her feel less alone in all of this. “I’m going a little crazy, waiting and worrying.” She sat on the end of the bed, shoving aside her laptop to make room. The hours she’d spent yesterday with Luke in this room had been such a sweet, welcome interlude from the worry and frustration, but now she struggled with guilt. If she had stayed at the hospital with Scott instead of returning here with Luke, could she have prevented her brother from running away?

  “We’re circulating Scott’s picture to authorities,” Luke said. “If anyone spots him, we’ll hear about it.”

  “I checked with my dad and stepmom. They haven’t heard anything.” She hadn’t shared that Scott might be in danger—telling them their son had disappeared again had been painful enough.

  “The hotel where he worked hasn’t heard anything, either,” Luke said. “The address he gave them when he applied for the job is a men’s shelter. They haven’t seen him in three or four days.”

  “What is that address?” She reached for the notepad and pen by the phone. “Maybe I could talk to people there who knew him.” Anything was better than sitting here doing nothing.

  “Our people already interviewed everyone there.” His voice softened. “I know you want to help, but the best thing really is to stay at the hotel and wait for Scott. We still think he might try to reach
you.”

  “I hope so.” Reluctantly, she set the paper and pen aside.

  “Did he have a car, or credit cards?”

  “I don’t think so. He always rode his bike everywhere or used public transportation.” When he was well, he was proud of not being tied to a car. “As for credit cards, if he was living in a shelter, working odd jobs, I doubt if he had much money.”

  “It was a long shot, but I had to check.”

  “I appreciate all you’re doing.” She knew he wanted to talk to Scott as a witness in his case, but she liked to believe at least part of the reason he was working so hard to find him was because of her.

  “What are you doing besides worrying?” Luke asked.

  “I’m watching the race coverage.” She glanced at the TV, where a reporter stood on the side of the road, surrounded by a crowd of exuberant race fans. “I’ll finish my blog post for tomorrow later. What are you doing?”

  “I’m following some leads in another part of the case. I’m going to be pretty busy for the next day or so, so I may not get to see you, but hang in there. And try not to worry. Your brother has been doing a good job of looking after himself for the past year.”

  “You’re right. That’s a good thing for me to remember.” Scott was an adult, and when he was healthy, he was smart and savvy. It was his illness that made things so unpredictable.

  They said their goodbyes and she moved her laptop to the desk and turned up the volume on the television. American racer Andrew Sprague had won the race’s third stage the day before, just as Scott had predicted, with an impressive performance on the mountain passes that had blown away his closest competition. She watched the replay of an interview with Sprague at the finish line yesterday. The handsome racer in the yellow jersey had the same dazzling smile and charming manner she remembered from her previous encounters with him. He’d been one of Scott’s chief rivals earlier in their careers. In Scott’s last race, he had beat out Sprague by less than a second. The memory of that day was etched in her mind, a permanent image of Scott, in his racing jersey, lean and muscular, drenched in the champagne his teammates had sprayed over him in their victory celebration. He’d been so happy.

  Two months later, he’d received the diagnosis that ended his career. At first, he’d brought the same determination that had allowed him to win races to his battle against his mental illness. But he was fighting an elusive enemy, one that tortured his mind, while the medications to control it tortured his body. She’d watched, helpless, as he sank further into despair. And then he was gone, vanishing from her life. Knowing he was alive, somewhere, but that she was unable to reach him, was worse in some ways than losing him to death.

  She pushed the thoughts away and forced herself to write the blog post that was due tonight. Losing her job wouldn’t help Scott any.

  An hour later, she’d finished the article and was thinking about ordering in something to eat when her cell phone rang. Heart pounding, she studied the unfamiliar number on the screen, then hurried to answer it. “Hello?”

  “It’s Scott. Are you alone?”

  “Yes. I’m alone in my hotel room.” She tried to sound calmer than she felt, fearful of scaring him away if she acted too anxious. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I know you’re worried about me, but don’t. I’ll be okay.”

  “Where are you? I can come get you. Why did you leave the hospital?” She couldn’t keep back the flood of questions.

  “It wasn’t safe there. I had to get away. It’ll be better now.”

  “Why wasn’t it safe? Tell me where you are. Let me help you, please.”

  “You can’t help me,” he said. But the words didn’t hold the despair she’d heard from him before. He seemed to be calmly stating fact. “You have to look after yourself.”

  “I can help you,” she insisted. “If nothing else, at least we can be together. Please tell me where you are.”

  “I can’t do that. It isn’t safe.”

  “Who is trying to hurt you? Who are you afraid of?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “I’m not afraid for myself. But I have to stay away, to protect you.”

  “Me? Scott, please—I don’t understand.”

  “Just—look out for yourself. Stay close to your cop friend.”

  “Scott, let me—” But he’d ended the call. With shaking hands, she hit the redial button. The phone rang and rang. “Come on, Scott. Answer me.”

  After a dozen rings a mechanical voice came on the line. “The party you are trying to reach is unavailable or out of service...”

  She hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the conversation over and over in her mind. The Scott she’d spoken with just now had sounded strong and sure of himself—more like the old Scott, before his disappearance, and before his diagnosis, even. Though in recent years she’d slipped into the role of worrying about and taking care of him, when they were growing up he was the one who had protected and looked after her. If she was bullied at school, he dealt with the culprits. He vetted her boyfriends, helped her study for difficult tests, and was always there to offer advice and encouragement. She hadn’t let herself think, until now, about how much she’d missed that side of her brother.

  Believing she was in danger, he’d slipped back into the role of her protector. But why would he believe anyone would want to hurt her? She hadn’t had any contact with Danny or anyone else associated with the bombings. How could she be in any danger?

  Chapter Ten

  Luke was sure half a dozen pairs of eyes watched him as he approached the last house on the street. He’d spent the morning going door to door in the neighborhood, showing pictures of their suspected terrorists and asking if anyone knew them or knew where they went. The work was simple but filled with tension. Everything about him, from his car with government plates to his suit, pegged him as a fed. Every time he knocked on a door, he braced himself for a less-than-friendly reception. Agents had been gunned down for asking questions in the wrong neighborhoods.

  But today’s search had yielded nothing more than wary looks and denials that anyone knew anything about the former residents of the little white house on the corner. A few people would admit to having seen one or more of them or their car, but, as one woman put it, “they kept to themselves.”

  A young woman with a baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her leg answered the door at the last house. She studied Luke’s credentials with wide eyes and nodded when he showed the photographs. “I know who they are, but I don’t know anything about them.”

  “So you never spoke to them, made conversation in passing or anything like that?” he asked.

  “Why are you looking for them?”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question. “We think they witnessed a crime we’re investigating,” he said. “Finding them could help us locate a murderer.”

  The word “murderer” invariably got people’s attention. The young woman studied the photos again. “I talked to the woman once. She told me my little girl was pretty.” She put a hand on the head of the toddler at her side. “She had kind of a Southern accent. Maybe from Georgia or someplace like that.”

  It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. “Was this at her house?” Luke asked.

  “No. At the Gas N Go a block over. I get milk for the kids there a lot, because they put it on sale all the time, and I used to see one or all three of them in there a lot. I was buying milk and juice in there one afternoon and the woman was there. I smiled and said hello and she smiled back and said, ‘Your little girl is so pretty. I always smile when I see her.’”

  “What was she doing in the store?”

  “I think she was buying a money card. You know, one of those credit card type things you can put cash on and send as a gift
or something like that.”

  “Anything else you remember?”

  The woman shook her head. “I think they moved out not too long after that. At least, when I walked by the house a week later, it looked empty.”

  “Thanks.” Luke replaced the photos in his jacket and handed the woman one of his cards. “You’ve been a big help.”

  He drove to the Gas N Go and parked at the side of the building. It was a typical neighborhood convenience store, with gas pumps out front and groceries, snacks, lottery tickets, gift cards and cigarettes for sale inside. This time of the afternoon, business was brisk. Luke waited until one of the two clerks on duty wasn’t busy and approached the counter.

  He identified himself and showed the photos to the clerk, a middle-aged African American man with a shaved head and a paunch, whose name tag identified him as Isaiah. “Yeah, they came in here pretty regular,” Isaiah said.

  “What did they buy?” Luke asked.

  The clerk scratched the side of his face. “Well, you know, the usual. Cigarettes, soda, chips. Sometimes they bought calling cards, which seemed a little odd, I guess.”

  “Why was that odd?”

  “Mostly we sell those to people who want to make calls overseas. Maybe they got a kid in the military, or they want to call home to Mexico or India or wherever. These three didn’t look old enough to have kids in the service and they didn’t strike me as foreign.”

  “Anything else?”

  “They bought cash cards, sometimes, those MoneyGram things. You can put up to a thousand bucks on one. The woman mostly did that. She always bought the maximum amount on each card and paid cash.”

  “That didn’t strike you as unusual?”

  “It’s none of my business how people spend their money or where they get it,” he said.

  Isaiah wore that closed-up look that told Luke he wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, so Luke got his contact information and turned toward the other clerk, who was selling lottery tickets to a young couple.