After I’d left the hospital, I’d run home, where I cleaned up and changed out of my dirty, wet clothes. Then I took a few minutes to find out where Matt lived. For once, I hadn’t needed Cal to help me; since I knew Matt’s last name, I was able to look up his address on the Internet. Good old White Pages. Armed with that information, and my gun, which I decided to bring with me, I drove to Matt’s.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing there at this hour. I could knock on the door and confront him, let him know I knew he was stealing materials from Criss Cross and selling it. But proving it was shaky at best, and I’d have to admit I broke into his office. Not something I wanted to do. And if I confronted him, I was tipping my hand that I was on to him. The only way that would be successful is if I could force him to tell me about Deuce. If not, I was screwed.
For the second time that night, I walked stealthily through a dark neighborhood. I’d put on black jeans and tee shirt, and a dark coat to ward off the chill in the fall air. Cal called it my “Navy SEAL” look. I stopped under a towering oak in Matt’s front yard and studied the house, my hand in my coat pocket, holding the gun. Through the front window was a living room, and it looked like a light was on in the kitchen, in the back of the house. As I stared inside, I noticed movement. Someone was in the kitchen.
I darted to the side of the house and peered around the corner. Matt, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, came out of a side door. He held something against his chest with one arm as he quietly shut the door. He turned around and I heard a crinkling sound. I then realized what he had: a bag of chips, a plate with something on it, possibly a sandwich, and a bottle. He padded in bare feet to the garage. He paused at a side door for a second, did the balancing act again with the food, then opened up the door and disappeared inside. After a second, yellow light filtered through cracks in a window and I heard voices.
Did he have Deuce in there? Was he bringing him food?
I snuck down the driveway and paused at the corner of the garage. The voices grew louder. I sidled up to the garage wall and started toward the window. And the door opened.
I froze, then turned to run.
“Hey!”
Footsteps pounded behind me as I bolted down the driveway. I felt fire in my sore leg with each step, so I was slower than usual. That’s better than admitting I was slower than Matt, who tackled me from behind. We crashed to the ground, both of us cursing.
“I got you!” He swore as he punched me in the face.
My head rocked back, but I managed to connect a left, and he grunted. We rolled around, his arms flailing at me. I pushed at him with one hand as I fumbled for my gun, still in my coat pocket. I finally yanked it out and pressed it into his left temple. His hands fell to his sides and he stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
“Stop or I’ll call the police!” I snarled, struggling to untangle myself while keeping the gun trained on him. I was on my knees, the gun still on him. As a welt grew under my eye, anger welled up in me. Matt might be dangerous, but I was tired, hurt, and frustrated. That made me dangerous, too.
“Go ahead! You’re trespassing,” he said, summoning a dose of bravado.
“And you’re stealing from Criss Cross Construction.”
He tensed, but a cautious look flashed on his face.
“Who the hell are you?” he finally asked.
“I’m a private detective and I’m looking for my friend Deuce Smith. He’s missing, but then you know that. Is he in the garage?”
“Who?”
“Deuce.” I jerked my head at the garage. “I heard voices. Is he in there?”
Matt spit out a harsh laugh. “It’s my man cave, you moron. I was watching television.”
I ignored the insult and eyed him carefully as I stood up. I waved the gun at him, indicating he should get up. “Slowly,” I said. He pushed himself up, then raised his hands in front of him.
“Don’t shoot,” he said, a nervous shiver in his voice.
“Let’s go,” I said, keeping him in front of me. “Back inside the garage.”
We walked to the side door, with Matt at an angle where he could still see me.
“Limping, huh?” he said as he turned the knob.
“Shut up.”
“Run into Rosie?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Rosie. My Rottweiler.”
I glanced at my leg, thinking about the dog. Rosie? That dog was a lot of things, but ‘rosie’ wasn’t one of them.
“You broke into my office. That’s a crime.”
I didn’t say anything to that. “Inside.” He went through the door. I took a quick look around. The neighborhood was still quiet. I noticed my hands were shaking and I steeled myself as I followed Matt.
The garage had indeed been turned into a man cave. Along one wall was a bar, complete with neon beer signs hanging behind it. A pinball machine sat in a corner and a couch was positioned in front of a large-screen television. A Colorado Rockies baseball game was on. The bag of chips, a plate with bread crumbs on it, and an empty beer bottle sat on a coffee table. But no Deuce.
“I taped the game,” Matt said, nodding at the TV. “I was having a quick snack and then I was headed to bed.”
In different circumstances I might’ve been embarrassed. But I was so tired of chasing these guys around, and getting lied to and bit by a dog, that I didn’t care. I fixed a hard gaze on him.
“I know what you and Shane and Gary are doing. I’ve witnessed your operation, and I’ve got pictures,” I said. Matt paled. “But right now I don’t care about any of that. Just tell me where Deuce is, and I’ll walk away.”
Matt threw up his hands. “Who the hell is Deuce?”
“Don’t give me that,” I said. “Just tell me where he is and I’ll walk away.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about Deuce.”
I took a few quick steps, closing in on him and pointing the gun in his face.
“Okay, you’re right.” Matt backed up and fell onto the couch. “We’ve been taking some stuff from Criss Cross. Gary and Shane help take it and sell it. But I don’t know anything about your friend, I swear.”
I leaned down, grabbed the front of his shirt and put the gun to his forehead.
“What’d you do to Gary?”
“Nothing! I swear!”
“Don’t lie to me! You were at Gary’s on Sunday night and the next day he’s dead.”
Matt shrank into his tee shirt, puzzled. “What? Sunday? I wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, you were, and I have a witness,” I said, thinking of Linda.
Matt shook his head vehemently. “I was here, watching football.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. My wife was watching the game with me, then we went to bed.”
I hesitated. “Tell me where Deuce is,” I finally said, a menace in my tone that I didn’t know I had.
“I don’t know!” He winced in pain as I pressed down on the barrel of the gun. “I’m telling the truth.”
His eyes pleaded with me to believe him. I straightened up and let him go. He sat back, rubbing his forehead.
“How about I call the police and you can tell them you don’t know anything about where Deuce is.”
“Go ahead,” he said, some of the bravado returning. “You tell them about me, I tell them about you breaking into my office.”
He had me there. If I called the police, I could end up in jail, needing to get bailed out. It would take time away from searching for Deuce. And if Matt did know about Deuce, would he clam up? Then where would I be?
“If I find out you’re lying to me about Deuce…” I aimed the gun at him again.
“I’m telling the truth. I don’t know about your friend!” The fear returned.
I turned and ran out of the garage.
CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE
My hands shook as I clutched the steering wheel. I’d pointed a gun at someone only once before, but I’d never threatened someone like
I’d just done to Matt. Bogie was so cool when he faced danger. Light up a cigarette, take a swig of scotch, and he was fine. Myself, I needed some Pepto-Bismol. I couldn’t seem to get my adrenaline under control.
I made it home without getting sick and slowly climbed the stairs to my condo. I suddenly felt weary; I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for hours. I let myself in and then paused. Something didn’t seem right. I fingered the gun in my coat pocket, and took a couple cautious steps forward.
“Hey, handsome,” Willie said, coming out of the bedroom. She was wearing a shirt of mine, that sexy way that women wear men’s shirts, and she was toweling her hair dry.
I relaxed. “Hey, yourself.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Uh huh.” My mood had drastically changed…for the better.
“How’s your leg?”
I walked over to her. “It’s okay.”
“What happened to your face?” she said, reaching up and gently touching the welt.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Nothing that a hot shower and you can’t take care of.”
“Are those simultaneous or one and then the other?”
“How about both?”
“You are incorrigible,” she said as she took my hand and led me to the shower.
***
“If Matt’s telling the truth, then who was at Gary’s?”
It was a while later and we were lying in bed. I’d finally had a chance to tell Willie everything and she was both curious and concerned.
“I think Matt was at Gary’s, and I think he’s lying. And he was damn good at it. But I’ve got pictures of him and I’m going to show them to Linda. She can confirm that she saw him, and I’ll have him.”
“Where’s Deuce?”
I yawned. “I wish I knew. Once I nail Matt, hopefully he’ll tell me what happened to Deuce.”
Willie snuggled close to me. “Reed, what if Deuce…”
“Don’t say it. We have to be positive.”
I held her close. We laid in silence and soon her breathing became even. Exhaustion washed over me and I fell asleep, too.
***
Wednesday dawned with a crispness in the air, and I felt that chill in my mind as I worried about Deuce. I left Willie sleeping, took my camera and laptop, and drove to my office. I hadn’t been there since last Friday, so I needed to check my phone messages and take care of the mail. “Ferguson Detective Agency” is two small rooms in a renovated warehouse near my condo. I pay too much for rent, but I love being close to home and the Sixteenth Street Mall, downtown Denver’s urban center.
I took the stairs to the second floor, unlocked my office door, and grabbed the mail. I flipped through the envelopes as I crossed to the inner office. Nothing of importance was in the mail, so I tossed it on the desk, then fired up my laptop.
I spent a few minutes transferring the pictures I’d taken of Matt to my laptop, then packed it all back up. I tipped my head at Humphrey Bogart, who gazed down at me from the vintage posters on the wall of The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon. Then I locked up and headed back to Gary’s neighborhood, early enough that I woke up Linda.
“Do you know what time it is?” she mumbled as she opened the front door. “Oh, it’s you. Are you trying to piss me off?” she said, leaning against the door and squinting at me. I eyed her pink pajamas with a big red heart on the front of the shirt, wondering if she was trying to draw attention to a certain part of her anatomy.
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you. I might know who was here Sunday night.”
She perked up a little. “Oh yeah?”
“I’ve got a photo,” I said, pulling out my laptop.
I fiddled with it for a moment as she opened the screen door. I turned so she could look at the screen.
“Is this the guy who was here?”
I showed her the picture I’d taken of Matt standing outside the construction trailer with Gary.
She studied the photo for a moment. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the guy,” she said, tapping the screen.
“What?” I glanced at the picture, then back to her, stunned.
“What?” she asked. “That’s the guy. He was over here Sunday night.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. The guy here was thin, like that. And he didn’t have spiky hair like the other one.”
I stared at the picture. She hadn’t pointed at Matt, but at Chuck Fitzhugh, the project manager at the Vanguard site where Deuce worked.
Suddenly it fit.
“The company logo, on the side of the truck. You said it looked like circles.”
“Yeah.”
“Could it have been C’s, intertwined together?”
“Huh?”
“Do you have a piece of paper?”
“I guess.” She went back to the kitchen and returned with pen and paper.
I exchanged the laptop for the pen and paper, then drew the Criss Cross Construction logo and showed it to her. “Was it like that?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s right. From far away, I thought it was circles.” She scrutinized me. “Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” She sucked in a breath, her hand covering her mouth. “Is that the guy who killed Gary?”
“Maybe,” I said. I took back the laptop, then slowly backed away. “Thanks. You’ve been helpful.”
CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR
I couldn’t drive to the Vanguard site fast enough. I darted in and out of traffic, and on the way I called Cal.
“What’s up?” he asked, sounding groggy.
“It’s Chuck Fitzhugh, the project manager. He’s the one at Gary’s Sunday night.” My mouth could barely keep up with my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“I knew I was missing something. How was it that Shane had access to the Vanguard site after hours? He’s just a low-level worker, so how does he have keys to get into the site? It’s because someone higher up gave him the keys. And how could they take all that stuff without someone knowing? It’s because someone did know: Fitzhugh. He looks the other way while Matt purchases more materials than they need. Then they sell it off.”
“Hey, you woke me up and I can barely think. Can you back up?” Cal asked.
“Sorry.” I slowed down and filled him in. “I’m going to talk to Fitzhugh now,” I finished.
“Watch your step. If Fitzhugh did kill Gary, who knows what he’ll do when he’s caught.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How does Deuce figure into all this?”
“He must’ve been a threat,” I said. “Although I don’t see how.”
“You think Fitzhugh will tell you what happened to Deuce?”
“The jig is up, so he’s got to.”
“What if he murdered Deuce?” Cal asked. “Man, it’s going to destroy Ace and Bob.”
“I know.”
I hung up. The reality that Deuce might be gone was hitting both of us. And what do you say to that?
***
Ten minutes later I parked on the street in front of the Vanguard site. I fed coins into a meter and walked onto the job site. The buzz of saws and pounding hammers cut through the morning air. As I entered the office trailer, the cute secretary smiled up at me. Fitzhugh stood behind his desk in the corner, reading pink telephone messages. He glanced up at me.
“Hey, what can I do for you today?” the secretary asked.
“I need to speak to Chuck,” I said, fixing a hard gaze on him.
Fitzhugh cocked his head, a puzzled look on his face. “What do you need?” he asked as he set the papers on the desk and turned around. “Have you found Deuce?”
“No, but I think you know about that. And about Gary,” I said. “Quite an operation you have, along with Gary, Shane, and Matt. How’d you get Deuce involved?”
Fitzhugh turned a sickly white as his secretary glanced from him to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
&nb
sp; “Ah, but you do.” I gestured at the secretary, who looked at me, baffled. “You want to discuss this where everyone can hear?”
Fitzhugh swallowed hard. “Karen, can you give us a moment?” he said to her.
She puckered her lips, now appearing a bit miffed. “You want me to leave?”
“Yes,” Fitzhugh said. “Why don’t you take a break and grab a cup of coffee at Starbucks.”
“Uh, sure, Chuck,” she said, standing up. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”
Karen grabbed her purse from under the desk and walked past me, throwing me another bewildered look.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Fitzhugh said as the door closed behind her. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
I shook my head as I moved into the room. “There’s no misunderstanding. I’ve got you cold. Want to know how?” I leaned against Karen’s desk. Fitzhugh stared at me but didn’t answer. “I’ve got pictures of Shane Mundy selling materials to Paxton Electric. Want to bet I can find other companies he’s sold stuff to? I have a list of companies from Gary’s house. I’ll bet they’ve all been buying discounted materials from Shane and Gary.” I paused. Fitzhugh licked his lips but remained silent. “Now where did Shane get all that extra material?” I paused again. Fitzhugh stonewalled. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I think. You see, I also know about Matt McClellan and Shane. I’ve got pictures of Shane taking materials from this job site the other night, and then storing those materials at McClellan Concrete. This is how it goes, and –” I held up my hands, “correct me if I’m wrong – you get Matt, a subcontractor, to purchase more materials than he needs for a particular job. You sign off on the purchases, and Matt and his buddies take the extra materials and sell them –”
“No,” Fitzhugh finally found his voice.
“And then you all split the profits.”
Fitzhugh shook his head slowly.
“How much are you all making?” I asked. “I’ll bet it’s a nice little chunk of change. Doesn’t hurt when the economy’s like it is, right?”
Farewell, My Deuce: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 4) Page 11