Colorado Crime Scene

by Cindi Myers

  “I don’t know. I just saw him in London—I didn’t know him. But I get a bad feeling about him. You have to stay away.”

  “I promise I won’t go anywhere near Danny,” she said. “But you need to tell all this to my friend Luke. He’s with the FBI and they’re trying very hard to catch Danny and stop him from hurting people.”

  “Is Luke the cop I saw you with?”

  “Yes, and he is trying hard to find Danny. You could help.”

  “I don’t see how I could help. I don’t know where Danny is. I haven’t seen him since he tried to shoot me.”

  “You can tell Luke everything you know—where you saw Danny last, what he was doing, things like that. It might help save a lot of lives.”

  “I don’t know.” He looked around. Despite the meds he’d taken, his anxiety was ramping up. He had to get out of this alley. “I’ve got to go now.” He needed to be alone, so he could think.

  “Wait. Let me give you Luke’s number. Call him. He can help you.”

  “I don’t have anything to write on.”

  “Fine. When we hang up, I’m going to text the number to you. Promise me you’ll call him.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I just want you to be safe. I have to go now.”

  He ended the call before she could try to talk him into doing something he wasn’t sure was right. Before he had gotten sick, people had always said he had good judgment. That he’d been smart. A good person. But no one had said that about him in a long time. It was as if the devils in his head were determined to steal who he really was. He had to fight them, to hang on to himself for as long as he could.

  * * *

  MORGAN STARED AT the phone, dragonflies battling in her stomach. All this time, Luke had been saying that Scott could be the key to stopping a killer; now she knew he’d been right. But she wasn’t sure if Scott realized yet how important the information he had could be. He hadn’t exactly promised to call Luke himself, and they were running out of time. The race ended tomorrow. In Paris and London, the bomber had attacked at the race’s finish line. Scott might be the only one who could help stop a similar tragedy here in Denver.

  Morgan would have to put aside her hurt over the way Luke had ended things between them and call him. Maybe he could track down Scott through his new phone number.

  Afraid he might ignore a call from her cell phone, she used the phone in her hotel room. “Agent Renfro,” he answered, his voice brisk, all business.

  “Luke, it’s me, Morgan. Please don’t hang up. I just heard from Scott. What he told me might be important.”

  “I wouldn’t hang up on you,” he said. “You didn’t stop being important to me just because I have to keep my distance for a little while.”

  His words, and the warmth behind them, washed over her like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She wanted to tell him how good it was to hear his voice and how much she’d missed him, but they didn’t have time for those personal feelings, not with so much else at stake. “Scott said he saw Danny. Yesterday, I think. He went to talk to him, to tell Danny to leave me alone. He said Danny shot at him.” Her voice caught on these last words, as the enormity of what her brother had told her hit.

  “Neighbors heard the shots and called it in,” Luke said. “We didn’t find any evidence that Scott was hurt.”

  He’d known about this and hadn’t told her? She pushed aside the feeling of betrayal. She didn’t like that Luke’s job meant he had to keep some things from her, but she had to learn to accept it. “He said he was okay, physically, at least. But he thinks Danny may be mixed up in the bombing.”

  “Did he say why he thought that?”

  “Danny was asking him a lot of questions about the race and the racers, but Scott said they weren’t the kind of questions a real fan would ask. I gave him your number and told him he needs to call you and tell you what he knows.”

  “He needs to contact me soon,” Luke said. “We don’t have much time.”

  “That’s why I called,” she said. “I have his new phone number.”

  “We found his smashed phone near where the neighbors reported gunfire. We wondered what he and Danny were doing together.”

  “Is that why you said you couldn’t see me? Because you’d discovered evidence that Scott and this Danny guy knew each other?”

  “We didn’t know what their connection was,” he said.

  She wanted to argue that there was no connection, but how did she really know that? The most important thing was for Luke to find Scott and talk to him. Then he’d know for sure her brother was innocent. “Will you call him?” she asked. “Or maybe you can track him somehow, using the cell number.”

  “We’ll try. What’s the number?”

  She read off the number. “Thanks,” Luke said. “I’ll do my best to reach him. If you talk to him in the meantime, try to find out where he is and I’ll go to him.”

  “If you find him, will you arrest him?” she asked. “He swore he didn’t know Danny before a few days ago, though he had seen him in London.”

  “He hasn’t been charged with any crime,” Luke said. “We only want to talk to him and find out what he knows. But if he doesn’t come forward voluntarily, it could look bad for him, since we know he and Danny know each other.”

  “It’s hard for me to hear you say things like that,” Morgan said.

  “I know. But you and I are on the same side, truly,” he said. “And I’m glad Scott wasn’t hurt and is all right.”

  “He’s not all right. He’s out there alone and scared and a terrorist wants to kill him. You have to help him.”

  “I promise I will. I know this is hard,” he said. “Especially with things so unsettled between us. But you need to trust me. I’m good at my job. I’ll look after Scott, and I’ll look after you, too, even though you may not always see me or know that I’m there.”

  “I do trust you.” In spite of everything—years spent looking after herself, his suspicions about Scott and this new distance between them—she did trust him. Perhaps from the moment they had met, she’d known Luke was a man she could depend on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Our suspect is going to make his move soon. We need to be prepared.” Ted Blessing faced the members of Search Team Seven, his brow furrowed with grim determination. Late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the hotel conference room illuminating the drab surroundings. The finish of the Colorado Cycling Challenge bike race was less than twenty-four hours away and Luke doubted any of them would sleep before then.

  “Maybe we’ve scared him off,” Jack Prescott said. He sat back at one end of the table, tie loosened, an open can of Red Bull in one hand. “When he abandoned his camp, he left behind all those explosives. He might not have time to assemble more.”

  “Two pounds of C-4.” Cameron Hsung read from the report they’d all received earlier today. “Blasting caps. Maps of the race course.”

  “He didn’t get all of that by himself,” Travis said. “Someone probably picked him up from the hotel the night of the banquet, and we don’t think he was driving the car that tried to take out Luke and Morgan. We need to be alert for any accomplices.”

  “We got a match from IAFIS on fingerprints inside the footlocker.” Blessing passed around a sheet with a photo of a clean-cut young man in military fatigues. “His name is Daniel Bradley. Thirty years old, honorably discharged from the United States Army in 2011 after service in Iraq and Afghanistan. No priors. No known association with terrorist groups. Though that doesn’t mean he hasn’t hooked up with a group we don’t know about.”

  “That’s the guy we’ve been looking for,” Travis said. “What’s his beef with bicycle races?”

  “We don’t know,” Blessing said. “But poisoning the UCI president and the atta
ck on Agent Renfro and Ms. Westfield shows an escalation of violence.”

  “We’ve got enough evidence to put this guy away forever,” Cameron said. “Knowing we’ve got that would make most crooks think twice.”

  “Maybe,” Blessing said. “But it could also make him even more determined to complete his mission.”

  “He can get more explosives,” Luke said. “Maybe not high-grade C-4, but an old-fashioned pipe bomb can still do a lot of damage.”

  “He may already have all the material he needs.” Blessing tossed a computer printout onto the table. “I just heard from our friends at the Denver Police Department. Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office reported the theft of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil pellets—ANFO—from a quarry sometime early this morning. The thief disabled the security camera, cut off the lock and was in and out before the night watchman at the place had finished his rounds.”

  “Could be our guy,” Travis said. “Or it could be some other nut.”

  “What I want to know is why can’t we catch this guy?” Luke asked. “We’ve got all the resources of the United States government behind us, and every law enforcement agency in the state is looking for him. And he’s making us all look like a bunch of idiots.”

  “What about his friends who had the house in Five Points?” Jack asked. “Maybe he’s hiding out with them.”

  “Every indication is they left the city,” Blessing said. “We have one lead that suggests they may be operating on the western slope. Possibly near Durango. We haven’t been able to pinpoint anything solid but we’re still looking. Right now we’re focusing our resources on the race. Agent Mathers, give us the rundown on the schedule for tomorrow.”

  Gus stood and directed their attention to the screen behind him, which showed a map of the downtown area. “The racers will leave Boulder about twelve thirty,” he said. “They’ll travel toward Golden via Highway 93.” He traced the route, from Golden, over Lookout Mountain and into Denver. “After three laps of the downtown area, they’ll come up the 16th Street Mall to Union Station, to the plaza behind the station, over the underground bus transit center. The first racers should start arriving between three thirty and three forty-five. The winner’s podium and press area are here.” He indicated an area of the plaza, between the historic Union Station building and the orange neon sign that proclaimed Travel by Train and the new transportation hall, with its swooping white canopy and glass walls. “There will be grandstands set up on the plaza here.” He indicated an area next to the commuter rail tracks. “This entire area will be barricaded. The only way in or out is through a metal detector.”

  “Except if you’re a rider,” Luke pointed out.

  Gus’s pointer stilled. “Yes, except if you’re a rider.”

  “Do you think he’d try to pass himself off as one of the racers?” Travis asked.

  “How would that work, unless it’s a suicide bomb?” Cameron asked.

  “We can’t rule out the possibility of a suicide bomb,” Blessing said. “But can our man pass himself off as a racer?”

  “All the top riders—the ones expected to arrive at the finish line first—are pretty well-known,” Travis said.

  “But he could wait until later in the race, when the less-well-known racers started to arrive,” Luke said. “There would still be plenty of people in the grandstands and press and other racers milling about.”

  “We can’t frisk every rider who comes into that plaza,” Jack said. “The UCI would have a cow. And the press would have a field day, too.”

  “We stop them before they get to the press, before they get into downtown, and search them then,” Blessing said.

  “It won’t keep someone from sneaking into the race after the checkpoint,” Travis said.

  “We’re going to blanket the course with security,” Blessing said. “No one is going to get in or out.”

  “The UCI won’t like it,” Jack said.

  “They won’t,” Blessing agreed. “But I think the specter of a third bombing, which could very well destroy their sport, will persuade them.” He turned back to the map. “Each of you will be stationed somewhere in this area, tasked with searching for Danny and any of the others on our suspect list. This guy and his friends aren’t going to get anywhere near the race course.” He turned back. “Try to get some rest tonight. We’re going to be on the job early, at 6:00 a.m. I’ll keep you apprised of any new developments between now and then.”

  Luke and Travis left the room together. “Do you really think any of us will sleep tonight?” Luke asked.

  “I’m going to try,” Travis said. “Need to be alert for tomorrow. You?”

  “I’m going to keep trying to reach Scott Westfield. I can’t help thinking he knows where Danny is—even if he doesn’t realize it.”

  “He won’t answer your calls, huh?”

  “No, and he hasn’t been in touch with Morgan again, either.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “No.” But they’d stayed in touch. He’d kept the conversation focused on Scott and his job. He was sticking to the letter of his agreement with Blessing. He didn’t know where the case would end up, but he wanted to leave the door open for Morgan. She was too special for him to lose without a fight. “She promised to let me know if she heard from Scott. I tried to put a trace on the phone, but didn’t have any luck. We just don’t have enough time left.”

  “It’s making me crazy that this guy keeps giving us the slip,” Travis said. “It’s like he can turn himself invisible or something. I mean, the whole point of this team is to see people, the way other people don’t see them. But we’re not stopping him.”

  “I drove around the area near the camp for over an hour last night, hoping to see Danny or Scott.” Luke shook his head. “No luck.”

  “Gus says the key is to go all Zen and think like these guys do, but that doesn’t seem to be helping him any.”

  “I’d try anything if I thought it would work,” Luke said.

  “Pray that we catch a break tonight or tomorrow,” Travis said. “I have a feeling that’s the only way we’re going to stop this guy.”

  They parted at the street, Travis headed for his car, Luke to walk downtown. While he scanned the faces of those around him, he tried to puzzle out where Scott might be. He’d left the camp on foot, running. He was concerned for his sister and wanted to stay close to her. To watch over her, even. And he felt a connection to the racers and the bike race. So maybe he would stay close to the course, also. The people Luke had interviewed at the men’s shelter where Scott had been living seemed to think he and Danny had met at the shelter. And Scott may have been sharing Danny’s camp down by the creek. So he wasn’t a loner. He sought out the company of others on the street.

  He set out walking in the direction of Union Station, but instead of heading toward the upscale restaurants and high-rise apartments that flanked the transportation hub, he detoured to a soup kitchen he’d seen advertised on a church sign. Half a dozen men lounged on the steps of the church in the sun. A sign advertised the kitchen would open in another hour.

  A definite chill set in when he approached the group. Even if he hadn’t been dressed in his suit, he knew everything about him screamed “cop” to these streetwise men. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” he said. He scrolled to his photo of Scott and held it toward them. “His name is Scott. Have any of you seen him around?”

  “What you want him for?” A burly black man with a beard fixed a hard stare on Luke.

  “He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Luke said. “His sister is worried about him and she asked me to look for him. I only want to talk to him and make sure he’s okay.”

  The only answer he received was stony stares and silence. If he told these men that the lives of dozens, even hundreds, of people might depend on him finding Scott, would the
y believe him? Would they even care?

  “I seen him yesterday, down by the tracks.” A younger man, thin with a pockmarked face, spoke up.

  “The tracks? The train tracks?”

  “Light rail. Perry Station. He was sitting under a tree. Might be he stays around there.”

  Luke thanked the man and took off at a trot for the light rail station on Eighteenth. He scanned the route map and hopped on the next W train to arrive. Ten minutes later, he got off at Perry Station. New apartments fronted a green space beside the station, next to a neighborhood of older homes in various stages of renovation. A bike path next to the creek led past a playground and basketball courts.

  Luke set off along the path, searching for any place a man might camp for the night, out of sight of cops and nosy neighbors but still close to the trains, which would make it easy to get around the city. After ten minutes of walking, he found what he was looking for—a dirt path that led into the woods behind a gutted factory. A sign beside the factory announced it was being transformed into lofts.

  He followed the trail through the woods, noting the empty whiskey bottles, beer cans and fast-food wrappers that littered the underbrush. Before long, he came to a dirt clearing, where an old sofa and a trio of folding chairs were arranged around half a metal barrel. Two men occupied the folding chairs. Scott lay on the sofa, eyes closed.

  The men were already standing and moving away when Luke approached. “I’m not here to bother you,” he said, and walked over to Scott. He shook the young man gently. “Scott, wake up. It’s me, Luke. We need to talk.”

  * * *

  THE SIXTH DAY of the race consisted of time trials in the mountain town of Vail. American Andy Sprague claimed the yellow jersey for this stage, and was a favorite to win the race tomorrow, as well. Morgan, sick to death of her hotel room, watched the race results from a tavern on Seventh, surrounded by noisy race fans who cheered on their favorites. She wondered what Scott would think of today’s results. In time trials, each racer competed against the clock. They couldn’t draft off team members or trade off positions with someone on their team, to allow each other to rest. Scott had always preferred the camaraderie and strategy involved in team racing, but some racers saw time trials as the true test of a racer’s ability, so every big race these days incorporated both approaches in the various stages.