by Peg Brantley
“Enter the amazing Carlisle brothers,” Chase said. “Bobby and Sammy would do anything for a buck. If the donor target doesn’t go along with the cash-for-organs scheme, or if the body part required sustains life, they do a quick grab and the target is never seen again.”
“Unless they turn up in one of our dumpsters,” Terri said.
Chase crumpled a napkin. “Yeah, there’s that.”
“We have the Carlisle brothers offering money to Efraín and meeting with Adams. Right?” Daniel asked.
“That’s right. Hard to miss a guy in a Bugatti.”
“We also have them at the scene of the fire at the Benavides house,” Daniel added.
“Problem,” Terri said.
Daniel didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”
“The Benavides family is here legally.”
They fell silent. Chase cursed to himself. He couldn’t have been wrong about this case. He couldn’t have been. Did this put them back at square three? Or even square zero?
“I know the answer,” Daniel said.
“Well?” This better be good.
“The Benavides family is an exception to the rule.”
“Rule? What rule?” Chase asked.
“If you’re Hispanic, live in that neighborhood, and have to use the ER when you’re sick, the rule says you’re undocumented. That means you’re fair game to Presley Adams.”
“Okay,” Chase said. “I can buy that. But why wouldn’t Adams at least hesitate? Consider the possibility that even though they were Hispanic, lived in that neighborhood, and went to the ER, they were also citizens who would raise a fuss?”
“Think of Mrs. Benavides. Left up to her, they never would have contacted us. We are not to be trusted, even by people who have lived here for generations. There’s too much negative lore. The authorities have proven time and time again that power corrupts, even on a small scale. The idea of ‘us versus them’ is so engrained, it wouldn’t matter if they lived in a mansion and your sister cleaned their toilets.” Daniel’s face turned that rusty color Chase had seen earlier. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. What you’re saying is that if it weren’t for —”
“If it weren’t for Elizabeth Benavides, we might not be here right now. Unlike the others, she was willing to come to us and speak up.”
“She’s an exceptional woman,” Chase said. “We need to put together arrest warrants, and I’m gonna tell you now we’re going to have a hard time convincing a judge that an ER employee, a doctor, and Presley Adams are responsible for the murders. And without them we can’t even get to the Carlisle brothers. They all need to come down together.”
“And if we can’t get them all at once?”
Chapter Eighty
Aspen Falls Cemetery
Wednesday, September 26
Chase and Daniel stood on the perimeter of mourners gathered to say goodbye to Rachelle Benavides. Although the old oak tree next to them had lost most of its leaves, a few scudded over the patches of unmelted snow and still-green lawn. Clouds pushed and shoved across the sun, a giant mirror ball mottling the earth as the tears mottled the faces of the family and friends of the young woman.
The detectives didn’t try to hide the fact that they were examining and cataloguing every person in attendance. Chase didn’t expect to see anyone tied to the murder here. Not really. This was not the kind of killing done for narcissistic pleasure. But they were cops, and just as autopsies were revealing, memorial services could be as well.
“See anything?” Chase asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re carrying around those flowers like you thought there wouldn’t be any at a funeral.”
Daniel looked away but didn’t seem all that embarrassed about the bouquets he held in his hands.
Chase stiffened. “Black Mustang. Three o’clock.”
The car moved slowly down the crowded driving lane but didn’t stop. When it disappeared around a curve, Chase and Daniel gave one another a nod and moved into action. Daniel dropped the bouquets and with as little fanfare as possible the two men moved through the crowd to stand at either end of the Benavides family. They were ready.
The priest continued in a mesmerizing combination of Latin, Spanish and English—enough of each language where each listener could get the gist of what he was saying. No translators required. It was a special kind of pochismo, something that extended beyond a blend of just Spanish and English.
Elizabeth seemed aware of their presence. Her parents were too wrapped up in grief to see beyond their pain. Their son, Robert, sat stiffly between the older couple. He’d been able to get leave for an immediate family member’s death even though he served in a combat zone. He looked dazed. Chase imagined that if the soldier had considered his family sitting around a gravesite, he thought it would be his rather than his youngest sister’s. The young man had probably been more shocked by this violence than by anything he’d encountered so far in his military experience. Very few war casualties were carved up so completely by the enemy.
Chase was about ready to relax when he saw a figure. Daniel drew to attention as well. The man didn’t stop at any of the graves but bisected them to come to a halt directly in Elizabeth’s view. There he stopped. Spread his legs and placed hands on hips as if he were willing Elizabeth to look in his direction.
At the same moment Elizabeth looked up, both Chase and Daniel began walking around the final resting place of Rachelle Benavides to approach the man who had challenged the sanctity of a funeral. Who was only there to threaten. By the time they’d rounded the gravesite and mourners, the brazen interloper became aware of their approach. He looked in turn at both detectives, flagged them with his middle finger and walked away. No harm, no foul, he seemed to say.
Bullshit.
Chase and Daniel returned to their positions. The priest, to his credit, had not missed a beat in his multilingual ceremony. Then it was over, and time for the family members to pay their last respects over their departed loved one.
Mr. Benavides took a shovel full of earth and turned it into the grave. Ramona Benavides did this same thing, visibly working to keep her shoulders back and her body from crumpling. Robert took his turn and remained true to both Catholic and military tradition. Then it was Elizabeth’s turn.
The woman rose from her chair next to the grave and reached for the shovel handle her brother passed to her. Rather than digging a bit of the piled earth to pour on top of her sister’s coffin as her father had, as her mother had and as her brother had, she raised the shovel over her head and turned to look at the people standing in silent expectation of custom.
She seemed to look each person in the eye. “You loved my sister. You know this isn’t right. We should not be here today burying what’s left of her body.” Her voice was strong even though tears streamed down her face. She looked in the direction the threatening man had slithered away to and then turned her face to look directly in Chase’s eyes. “These people have gotten away with unspeakable things because they’ve done them to people who will not speak. No more. It is over.” Her face crumpled and she folded to the ground using the shovel as a pole to slide down. Her brother and Daniel were each at her side in an instant, helping her up and guiding her to her chair.
The priest made some closing comments and said a prayer. This time all in Spanish. When several people began tossing single flowers into the grave, Daniel went back to the old oak and retrieved his bouquets. He waited until most of the mourners had paid their respects and quietly took his place at the end of the line. As he passed Elizabeth, he gave her a bouquet. The second went to her mother. The third one he offered as a sign of respect and loss to Rachelle.
Chapter Eighty-One
Aspen Falls Police Department
Wednesday, September 26
This was the part of police work they never show on television. The hours of boredom where nothing happens. The wait. Whether you’re a traffic cop or on surveillance or getting
arrest warrants to bring down some truly bad guys, the wait makes you want to scream.
Chase had left the team meeting that morning and gone directly to Whit. For this next step he knew they’d need the backing of the Chief of Police. The big guns. Terri had worked a minor miracle to get the warrant for the ER’s computer and server, but this—requesting warrants to arrest several people including one of the wealthiest men in Aspen Falls—could make the most assured cop feel like a rookie. Careers were on the line. Nobody rushed to help.
Now it was just a waiting game, hoping for a judge to grant them the warrant. Daniel and Terri were throwing crumpled bits of paper at each other, both detectives even more quiet than usual.
Chase called Bond for the third time that day to check in.
“Chase, I’m fine. You don’t have to keep calling. Really.” Bond did sound good. Like her old self. Almost.
“I’m worried.”
“You’re bored.”
“Caught me.” Oh God, he loved this woman. “Kids in bed?”
“Yep. We need to talk about the party Angela wants to go to this weekend. I’ll call the parents tomorrow, and if they’re both going to be home I think we should let her go.”
Chase felt the usual cramping in his gut whenever he had to let one of his kids grow up a little more. The world he knew and the world they knew could collide in some very bad ways. Bond tried to make him find balance and reason, but what the hell good would balance and reason do if another one of their children died? Where would balance and reason be then? “We’ll talk after you confirm with the parents tomorrow.” With any luck the parents wouldn’t know anything about the party and that would be the end of that.
Whit walked in the room and immediately had the attention of everyone.
Chase spoke quickly into the phone. “Gotta go. Don’t wait up.”
“We have one last hope,” Whit said. “Every other available judge has said they want additional probable cause before committing their names to a warrant. Judge Lane has been on vacation but is expected home within thirty minutes. I’m heading to his house myself and will let you know.”
“We’ll be ready to go.”
Less than forty-five minutes later, Chase got the call from Whit.
“Go get ‘em.”
Chapter Eighty-Two
Aspen Falls Memorial Hospital
Wednesday, September 26
Terri waited in the parking lot for the patrol officer who would assist her in the arrest of Dr. Armand Fyfe and Frank Dumont. She didn’t anticipate any trouble she couldn’t handle, but a bit of backup wouldn’t hurt.
A car with the Aspen Falls Police Department’s logo pulled up next to hers. A female officer nodded in Terri’s direction and exited the vehicle.
“Detective Johnson? I’m Officer Thomas. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The younger woman held out her hand. “I understand we’re making two arrests in the ER?”
“That’s right. Both male. Armand Fyfe, a doctor, and Frank Dumont, a physician’s assistant.”
“Let’s go. I’ll follow your lead.”
Fifteen minutes later a sputtering and still arrogant Armand Fyfe sat handcuffed in the backseat of the cruiser while Officer Thomas began writing her report using the laptop locked on the front console.
Terri secured Frank Dumont in the back of her car and walked over to Thomas’s window. When the officer saw Terri the window whirred down. “I just want to thank you, Officer Thomas. That went as smoothly as any arrest I’ve ever made. Good job.”
“Thank you. And it’s Linda.”
Terri gave the officer a smile, then slid into the driver’s seat of her vehicle and started the car. She needed to get a few things off her chest but didn’t want to blow an opportunity. She turned on a recorder and announced her name, Frank’s name, the date, time and location. He’d been Mirandized before leaving the building but she read the list of warnings and rights again. He didn’t respond. She stated his lack of response for the recording. “Well, Frank. It’s just you and me now. Funny how that happened, isn’t it?”
No response.
“Huh. I thought you were the talkative type. You sure talked a lot to Carol Greene.”
Silence.
“You thought telling her that crap about me would what… scare me away?”
“Stupid bitch.”
“What then?”
The spit hawked from the backseat missed her. Terri smiled. “Let me try this one. You didn’t want any nosy cop hanging out at family gatherings. Maybe get too close to your business. Ask too many questions about where you got that extra money.”
The silence this time spoke volumes.
“Now see, Frank. A couple of things. First, we were on to you long before you and I could have ever met around the backyard barbecue. That would simply never have happened unless you got out on parole or something. And second, Carol and I talked through everything and we’re cool. Not, of course, that it’s any of your business.”
“You can’t prove a thing.”
“Wrong again. Computers give up a lot of information these days. And so do scared doctors.”
“Fyfe didn’t say a thing to me.”
“You keep digging your hole deeper don’t you?”
“You must be talking about Fyfe. You arrested him.”
“Why would he have said anything to you?”
Silence.
“The reason he didn’t is because he thought we’d leave him alone because he gave you up.”
“Fuck.”
“Make that past tense and you’re right.”
Chapter Eighty-Three
The Presley Adams Residence
Wednesday, September 26
Chase knocked on the front door of Presley Adams’s mountain mansion, the uniformed officer with him tense and visibly anxious even in the dark. He knocked again and rang the doorbell. Light washed the shadows away and a moment later the intercom popped to life.
“Yes?” A woman’s voice. Accented.
“Ma’am, we’re with the Aspen Falls Police Department.” It would go a lot easier if she’d open the door and let them in.
“Is something wrong?” Swedish?
“Yes, ma’am. There is. Would you please open the door?”
“Show me some ID.”
Chase took out his creds and held them up to the camera as steady as he could. He heard a heavy bolt land home and the massive door swung inward.
“Please come in.” She had blond hair that was almost white. Nice looking in a forced kind of way. Chase thought she’d probably had some work done in one of the Preston Clinics.
“We’re here to see Presley Adams,” Chase said.
“He’s gone.”
“Where did he go?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He called me from the clinic yesterday afternoon and told me to pack a bag for him, bring his passport, and arrange for someone to drive his car home.”
Damn it! Yesterday afternoon. The man could be anywhere. A nice Swiss bank account and Presley Adams could do anything—be anyone—he wanted.
“What is your name?”
“My name is Kristina Bjorg. What is this about?”
“Ms. Bjorg, we have a warrant to search these premises and to arrest Presley Adams. Would you please show us his study? Then this officer will wait with you while I take a look.”
The woman began to shake. She lifted her hand in a ghostlike point down a long hallway, then her eyes closed and she started to crumple. Officer Duncan caught her as she went down.
“Get her some water then stay here with her.” Chase nodded toward the part of the house likely to hold a kitchen. “Be quick about it.” He waited until he heard the sound of water running then started down the hall in the direction Kristina Bjorg had pointed.
The study stood silent and cavernous. For all of the security in place at the clinic, Adams had surprisingly little at his own home—that false sense of security mountain resort living often br
ought on.
Chase turned on the lights and moved to the desk. He wished Daniel could be here to take a look at the computer, but maybe he could get some information on hard copy if he could figure out where to look. When he opened the first file drawer he sighed in relief. Not only a lack of security inside the home but organized as well. That didn’t make up for him skipping the country, but it did provide some encouragement.
Three filing cabinets didn’t reveal much, other than numerous bank accounts and real estate holdings. Clinics in all of the places Terri had learned about from Leslie James, but so far nothing to incriminate Presley Adams for anything other than being a rich bastard. Chase kept up his search.
His cell phone buzzed. Terri. “Did you make the arrests?”
“Taking them in now.”
“Good. I’m at Adams’s house. He skipped.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Yesterday. No need to rush getting the information out. He’s gone.”
“You find anything on him?”
“Not yet. If you want to handle the interrogations on your guys, go ahead. But stop if you run into any problems. Have a uniform do the taping.”
“I already started on the PA. We had some personal things we needed to discuss. Don’t worry, it’s on tape and I caught him a couple of times. For the in-house interview, I’ll ask the uniform who assisted me with the arrests to handle the recording.”
Chase went back to his task at hand. Where would Presley Adams put something important? He didn’t seem concerned about actually hiding anything. Chase walked over to the liquor cabinet and opened the doors. Crystal and bottles—but something didn’t look right. He closed the doors and reopened them. The interior should be bigger. He ran his hands along the exterior of the cabinet then shoved the bottles over a little on the inside. There. He pressed. A panel slid open to reveal a hidden cache. Inside Chase found bundles of hundred-dollar bills, two passports with Adams’s picture but other names, and a leather-bound notebook. He set the cash and passports to the side and took the notebook over to the desk.