Spillman turned to me. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Deuce Smith.”
She paused for a second. She had to be wondering if I was making up the name. “Check on the report,” she finally said.
He disappeared inside.
“Spats?” I said, eyebrows arched.
“Detective Youngfield,” she said to me.
“Nice nickname,” I murmured.
She ignored that and continued questioning me.
“You said Gary might be avoiding you.”
“I thought he might be,” I said.
“Why?”
“I first came by on Saturday to talk to him, he wasn’t very pleasant.”
“You think he’s hiding something from you, or he has information about your friend?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
Spats stuck his head through the doorway. “There’s a missing-persons report for a Deuce Smith, reported by his older brother.”
Spillman tipped her head again, the single nod.
“So you’re trying to find your friend, you think Gary has something to do with it, and you’ve been around here before.”
“Yes.” I suddenly was unsure of myself. I did a quick mental review of our conversation and I didn’t like where this was headed. I glanced at Moore. He stared back, his face a blank slate.
“Or do you think Gary did something to your friend, so you came here, killed Gary, and then reported it to us?” Spillman said.
“If that’s true, why would I report it?”
“To throw us off track.”
Our eyes locked. I waited her out. She was forced to look away when Spats came back out.
“We’ll need his prints, Spillman,” he said, pronouncing it ‘Speelmahn’.
“No problem,” I said, but I was getting nervous. What happened if and when they found out I searched around the house?
He turned to me. “You just touched the doorknob and nothing else?”
I nodded.
“Okay, let’s get this done.” He went inside and returned with an inkpad and fingerprint card. He was careful as he printed me, not wanting to get ink on himself. When he completed the job, he handed me a tissue. I worked on my hand, but the ink remained.
“Am I a suspect?” I asked.
“Until we can eliminate you.”
Great. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the police.
“Where were you last night?” Spillman asked.
“With my girlfriend. She came over about eleven and I was with her all night, until I left for work this morning.”
Spillman nodded. “We’ll need to verify that.”
I rattled off Willie’s number. Moore wrote it down, then poked his head inside, presumably giving the number to Spats. So much for keeping Willie in the dark. I sighed.
“Spillman,” Spats called to her.
“Wait here,” she ordered me, then marched inside.
I waited, my eyes on Moore. He made a few notes and then looked in the house. My phone rang again. Moore glared at me as I shut it off. It was Willie again. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. A few minutes later, Spillman returned.
“Detective Spillman,” I said, spreading my hands. “I’m trying to find my friend. What I’ve told you is the truth.”
Spillman contemplated me for a moment. “I believe you,” she said, softening just a bit. “So far your story checks out.”
“Good.”
“What else can you tell us?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Not much.” I explained what I knew, leaving out how Cal had gotten the cell phone information.
“But you don’t know how, or if, Gary’s death is connected to your friend?”
“Not yet. But I’ll figure it out.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d share what you find out with us, and you don’t interfere with our investigation.”
“Of course,” I said. “Do you need me here anymore?”
Spillman shook her head. “No, but we might call you back.”
I turned to go, then stopped. “Does the exchange of information go both ways?”
“No way,” she snapped, then paused. “It depends on what mood I’m in.”
“Thanks.” I backed up. “Do you have a first name?”
She looked me up and down. “It’s Sarah,” she finally said.
“Nice name.” I tipped a make-believe fedora at her, Bogie-style. Then I stepped off the porch and walked to my car.
She stayed on the porch, watching as I drove away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I pulled over a few blocks away and sat for a moment, gathering my thoughts. I hadn’t been interrogated like that, ever. Even my mother’s nosiness paled in comparison. I breathed deeply for a moment and assessed the situation. Deuce was still missing. Gary was now dead. I’d found him. I’d stolen something from his house. I’d lied to the police about that. I hadn’t told them about the man looking for Gary. If Spillman figured all that out, it was going to be bad for me. And if I was going to find out what happened to Deuce, and to Gary, I would have to work fast and stay ahead of her.
But first things first. I grabbed my cell phone and called Willie.
“Reed, what in the world is going on? I get a call from the police asking if we were together last night, and I haven’t heard a word from you.”
“What happened to ‘Hey handsome’?”
“That’s not funny. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I exhaled slowly. “Remember Gary, who worked with Deuce? He’s dead.”
Willie gasped. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I launched into a quick account of everything that happened since I’d last seen her.
“Reed, how is Deuce involved?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But Gary seems to be at the center of all this.”
“He did lie to you about not knowing or talking to Deuce. But now that Gary’s dead, how do you find out why?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated, with more certainty than I actually felt. “And something he did to somebody was enough to get him killed. My play now is to figure out who killed Gary, and hopefully it’ll lead me to Deuce.”
“You don’t think that maybe…” her voice cracked. “Do you think someone would’ve, you know?”
“No, I’m sure Deuce is okay,” I said. “If he’s involved in whatever’s going on, he’s probably hiding out somewhere. I could see him not knowing what to do, so he runs away instead of facing us.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, it’ll be okay. Hey, I’ve got a couple of things to follow up on. Do you have time to check on Ace?”
“Sure, I’m off today so I’ll pop over and see how he’s doing.” She paused. “Will I see you today?”
“I hope so.”
“Okay, call me later.”
“Will do.”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the seat, frustrated. I wanted to go home and spend the afternoon with Willie. Instead, not only did I still need to find Deuce, I now needed to find a killer. And even though I’d tried to downplay my worry to Willie, I was scared that Deuce might’ve been killed, too.
I dug the piece of paper from Gary’s room out of my pocket and studied it. There was a list of websites: Craigslist, Diggerslist, eBay, Builder2Builder, and others. Craigslist and eBay I knew. Some of the others I didn’t. Below that was another short list of construction and electrical companies.
I picked up my phone, connected to the internet, typed in Diggerslist, and a moment later the page loaded. It was billed as a home improvement classifieds site. I clicked on the about page, and read more. Diggerslist was similar to Craigslist, another hugely popular online classified site. But unlike Craigslist, where you could buy and sell stuff, place personal and want ads, advertise jobs, and much more, Diggerslist focused solely on buying and selling products specifically related to home improvement and construction.
You could also narrow your search to where you lived. I clicked around the site for a bit, noting that it had a ton of stuff for sale, from building materials to heavy equipment, tools, interior décor and furniture.
I typed in the other site, Builder2Builder, and saw that it was similar to Diggerslist, but appeared to have less inventory.
I stared out the windshield, thinking. Gary had a lot of building materials on his back porch. Maybe he was looking to sell some of it. Better than having it clutter up the yard.
I picked up my phone again and called Cal.
“You making progress?” he asked. Right to the point.
I felt like a broken record as I again related all that had recently occurred.
“Wow. You actually saw a dead body? You okay?”
“It smells different than you’d think,” I said, sensing the odor in the car. I rubbed my nose. “I’ve read about it, but now experiencing it, it’s like nothing I can describe.”
“You want to consider a career change? Your mother would be delighted.”
That was true. My parents would love it if I gave up being a detective and got a real job. “I don’t give up that easily. Besides, I have to find Deuce.”
“What can I help with?”
“Has anyone else called his cell phone?”
“That would be a negative. At least since this morning.”
“Okay, keep checking. Another thing: would you be able to get onto Craigslist and see if Gary placed any ads there?”
“That’s a weird request. What rabbit trail are you going on?”
“It’s probably nothing, but Gary has a bunch of stuff on his back porch, like electrical wiring, copper pipes, and rebar. And he had a list of websites, including Craigslist, on a notepad in his bedroom. It makes sense he’s selling the stuff.”
“So?”
“Maybe someone killed him over that stuff.”
“That’s a bit thin, don’t you think? Is anything valuable?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Copper’s worth a lot right now. I’ll bet the pipes lying around would make him a pretty penny.”
“Enough to kill someone over it?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe there’s more stuff in the garage. Did you check?”
“No, I was a bit sidetracked…you know, by the body.”
“Oh yeah,” Cal said. “So, if we follow this theory of yours, we need to find out if Gary was selling his leftover materials. Which brings us back to Craigslist.”
“Yes.”
“You know how Craigslist works, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “You place an online ad and people contact you.”
“Yeah, but you don’t typically email the person placing the ad. The emails go through the Craigslist servers so the users are anonymous. It’s safer that way.”
“Unless Gary put his name, phone number, or email in the ad itself.”
“He’d be stupid to do so, but if that happened, I can do a search on the ads and find one.”
“If not, wouldn’t Craigslist have some record of Gary’s real email?”
“Absolutely. So I’d need to find Gary’s email.”
“Can you?” I asked.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“And one more thing.”
“That isn’t enough?”
“This is easy,” I said. I gave him the license plate of the forest-green truck.
“That’s the guy that came to Gary’s house while you were there?”
“Yeah. He talked about dumping some stuff, and sounds like he’s in cahoots with Gary. He might know who came by Gary’s house last night.”
“You’re right, that is an easy request.”
“Can you do it? Now?”
“Hang on a second.” I heard clicking. His fingers on the keyboard. “It’s a truck registered to Shane Mundy. He’s twenty.”
“Address?”
He rattled it off and I jotted it down.
“Great. I’m going to run by Shane’s and see if he’s there.” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was now after two in the afternoon. “And I’m going to get some lunch. Can you do a little more research on Shane, see if you can find anything interesting?”
“Will do. I call you in a while.”
I thanked him, hung up, and drove off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I stopped at a Subway for a meatball sub. As I wolfed it down, I thought about where things were going. Somehow Deuce was tied to Gary, but I didn’t know how. And Shane was tied to Gary, but I didn’t know how. I hoped by the time I figured it out, it wouldn’t be too late for Deuce. It was as bad as The Big Sleep, with its convoluted plot.
Shane Mundy lived rented an apartment near Broadway and Dartmouth, about six miles directly south of downtown Denver. The building was like many others in the area, a three-story L-shape with a tiny parking lot, and no extra amenities like a pool or workout room. Shane lived on the third floor.
I scanned the lot and the surrounding streets, but didn’t see his truck. I was debating what to do next when my phone rang.
“Shane works at Criss Cross Construction,” Cal said without any ado.
“I should’ve known. All these guys know each other. And I’ll bet that means he knows Deuce, too.”
“Uh huh.”
“How’d you find that out?”
“Let’s just say I tracked down his banking information and traced back the direct deposits from Criss Cross.”
“I don’t want to know how you did it all,” I said. How Cal never got caught, I don’t know.
“Did you find out anything about Craigslist?”
“Negativo, but I’m still working on it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to see if I can track Shane down at Criss Cross.”
“What if he works at a different site from where Deuce did?”
“Good question.” I paused. “I’m stabbing in the dark right now.”
“I’ll see if I can find out,” Cal said. “Oh, and still no calls to Deuce’s cell phone.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
I sat in the car for a minute, debating what to do. Criss Cross Construction had multiple job sites. How could I find out which one Shane worked at? I could go back to the main headquarters, but I doubted that Lon Carlson’s secretary, Edna, would be thrilled to see me. I looked at the clock on the dashboard: 3:15. By the time I drove over there, it would be close to four. Somehow I didn’t think Edna would want to let me see Carlson again today. And I didn’t have time to wait. But there was another place I could try.
I put the 4Runner in gear and headed back downtown to the Vanguard site. Chuck Fitzhugh had been pleasant with me this morning, and I figured if he knew where Shane worked, he’d tell me.
I turned on to 15th Street and approached the entrance to the building site. I was about to turn into the lot when I spied a blue Mustang parked in front of the trailer. I swore. Detective Sarah Spillman was there, presumably telling Fitzhugh about Gary, and asking questions. Not a good time to drop in and ask about Shane.
I drove past the entrance, around the block and then parked where I could see the trailer. I’d have to talk to Fitzhugh after she left. I hoped it wouldn’t be too long, but that was the life of a detective. It wasn’t like in the movies, with nonstop of action. I sat back in my seat and cranked the tunes. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel along with the Violent Femmes.
Right at five o’clock, the secretary I’d met this morning came out of the trailer and walked to a Toyota Prius. She got in and a moment later drove out of the lot, followed by a white truck. Quitting time, I thought as another car turned onto the street. And then a forest-green truck appeared.
I perked up, squinting to see the license plate or the driver. Young with a goatee. Bingo! It was Shane.
The truck waited for an opening in traffic and then it turned onto 15th and drove off. I whipped a U-turn and fell into place behin
d him, letting a couple of cars get in between us. The truck was big and easy to keep in view, and Shane wasn’t in any hurry, driving with the flow of traffic. I doubt he had any clue he was being followed.
He soon turned on California and headed past the convention center and onto Colfax. I had no idea where he was going.
We stayed on Colfax, drove past the Auraria College Campus, and then Shane exited onto Interstate 25. He took that north to 58th, then got off and made his way east, where he turned on a side street that was lined with businesses, ranging from tires to construction. He drove to Paxton Electric and parked near a side entrance. I stopped down the block where I could keep the truck in view.
Shane hopped out and went inside the building. A minute later, he came out a side entrance, followed by a gangly guy in jeans and a red baseball cap. I grabbed a pair of binoculars from the back seat and trained it on them.
They strolled to Shane’s truck and stood beside it, chatting for a moment. Then Shane went to the tailgate, let it down, and started taking bales of wiring from the back. As he unloaded them, the red-capped fellow grabbed the bales and hauled them inside the building.
In a few minutes they finished and the man took cash out of his pocket and handed it to Shane. Shane counted it and they shook hands. They chatted a moment longer, then Shane got back into the truck, waved, and drove out of the parking lot. He headed back to the highway, still seemingly unaware that I was behind him.
I now had Shane selling building materials, I thought as I kept the truck in front of me. Where did he get the wiring? From Gary? If so, where did Gary get it? Were they buying wholesale, marking the price up, and then selling it? Or were they stealing it? How could I find out? And the biggest question was, how did Deuce fit into all this?
I mulled this over, my mind on autopilot as we crawled along the highway. We passed downtown Denver and then Shane exited on Santa Fe and then onto Evans. The neighborhood changed and it dawned on me where we were going. A few minutes later, Shane turned onto Acoma. He slowed down in front of Gary’s house. Then he gunned the engine and the truck squealed off down the street. I drove by the house and saw yellow crime-scene tape strung across the door. That must’ve spooked Shane.
Farewell, My Deuce: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 4) Page 8