Lawman Protection

by Cindi Myers

  Which still didn’t make him guilty of a crime.

  “Was Bobby working for Prentice when he was killed in that plane?” she asked. Janey’s answer was a yawn and a luxuriant stretch. “Who killed him, and why? And what was the mysterious cargo that Graham was so closed-mouthed about?”

  Bobby had told her he liked working for Prentice. Or at least, he liked the generous paycheck the work generated. Robert Pace, Junior, who went by the nickname Robby, was on his second round of treatments for leukemia and the divorce decree stated that Bobby was responsible for all the medical bills not covered by insurance, which he also paid for.

  Had Prentice—or someone—paid Bobby to smuggle drugs up from Mexico or South America? He wouldn’t be the first pilot who’d make extra cash smuggling. Now that Colorado had legalized and regulated the production and sale of both recreational and medical marijuana, he might not even have seen what he was doing as so wrong. But bringing drugs—including marijuana—across state lines was still a serious federal crime.

  Or maybe he’d been carrying cocaine or heroin or some other illegal substance. Graham knew, she was sure, and though she understood why he wouldn’t want to blab the story to the press, it still stung that he didn’t trust her.

  She closed the file and rested her chin in her hands, brow furrowed in thought. Maybe whoever had killed Bobby thought she’d seen something at the crash site. Or maybe he thought if she kept digging, she’d uncover something he didn’t want anyone to know.

  She sat up straighter, her heart beating a little faster. “That has to be it, Janey.” The man on the phone had warned her to stop what she was doing. What she did was investigate news stories—and the story of Bobby Pace’s death was at the top of her list. She had a reputation as being good at getting to the truth of the matter, and in this case, Bobby’s killer had a very good motivation for not wanting her to find him out.

  She grabbed a notebook and began jotting down ideas and questions. Bobby was the key. She needed to find out what he’d been doing in that plane when it crashed—where he’d been, where he was headed, what he was carrying and who had hired him.

  To find out, she’d start with the person who knew him best—the mother of his son and the woman who had been married to him for twelve years.

  * * *

  SUSAN PACE WORE her bright pink hair in a pixie cut. Full-sleeve tattoos and multiple piercings in her ears, nose, eyebrows and lips gave the impression of a tough chick no one should mess with. But when Emma slid into the diner booth across from Susan and her son, Robby, she noticed the dark circles beneath the other woman’s eyes, and the way she kept stroking and patting the boy, as if to reassure herself that he was still here. Susan might be tough, but she was also exhausted, frightened and hurting—a mother fighting for her child’s life against an enemy that couldn’t be intimidated by metal studs or tattoo ink.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Emma said, when they’d ordered coffee, and a milk shake for Robby. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

  “I was glad to get out of the house for a while.” She smiled at the boy. “Robby’s having a good day today, aren’t you?”

  Robby nodded. “I didn’t throw up today,” he said.

  Emma’s heart broke a little at that statement, said the way some boys might have announced that they’d hit a home run or gotten an A on a spelling test. Robby looked like his father, with Bobby’s dark eyes, and the same dimple in his chin. She turned her attention back to Susan. “How are you doing?”

  Susan shrugged. “Okay. The police were around, questioning me yesterday. About Bobby. I figure that’s what you want to talk to me about, too.”

  Emma glanced at Robby. Susan sighed and reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a handful of quarters. “Want to play video games, Robby?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah!”

  “Here you go, then.” She handed over the quarters and he scurried away. Both women watched him all the way across the room. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach the machine, but soon he was engrossed in the game.

  “So, what did you want to ask me?” Susan asked.

  “Someone broke into my house and stole all my notes. And I’ve received threatening phone calls. I think whoever killed Bobby is trying to stop me from writing about it.”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “So what are you doing here now? If this person is a killer, why aren’t you taking their advice?”

  “Because I’m not that kind of person. I want to find out who they are—and why they killed Bobby.”

  Susan looked around nervously. “I don’t have any idea what Bobby was up to,” she said. “We didn’t talk about his work. What if this person who’s been threatening you followed you here and sees you with me? I’ve got enough problems right now—I don’t need some killer following me.”

  Emma took hold of the younger woman’s wrist. “It’s okay,” she said. “Nobody is following me. We’re just two friends having coffee.”

  Susan looked into her eyes, then nodded and pulled her hand away. She sipped her coffee. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just a little on edge. Bobby and I were divorced, but having him die like that—it really shook me up.”

  “How is Robby handling it?”

  “I don’t think he really understands what happened. I tried to explain to him about Daddy being in heaven now, but he knows Bobby flew planes. He’d been up with him a few times. So sometimes he talks about his dad flying to heaven—as if he’s going to come back. The doctors were worried it might affect his treatment, but so far it hasn’t.”

  “I know Bobby was paying the medical bills. Is that going to be a problem now? I could write an article for the paper...”

  Susan shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. With Bobby gone, Robby’s eligible for Social Security and health insurance through the state. Is that twisted or what? Poor Bobby busted his butt to pay those bills, and now the government’s picking up the tab.”

  “I’m glad you don’t have to worry about that, at least,” Emma said. “So, Bobby never talked about his work with you?”

  “We had other things to talk about. More important things. He was a lousy husband, but he was a pretty good dad.” She turned the teaspoon over and over on the table. “I know he’d been working a lot. And when I saw him a few days before...before he died, he told me he’d have enough money to pay most of the doctor bills soon. I figured that meant he had a new client, but I didn’t ask about it. I didn’t care how he got the money, as long as the bills were paid and Robby could get his treatments.”

  “Did you know he’d been flying for Richard Prentice?”

  “The gazillionaire?” She nodded. “Yeah. He did a lot of work for him, and I guess that paid pretty well.”

  “Did he say where he and Prentice went?”

  “I told you, I didn’t care about that.” She sat back and stared out the window, at the parking lot where the sun glinted on the rows of cars and traffic zipped by on the highway. “I know one time he flew Prentice and some other people all the way to South America. He was gone for a few days and had to miss one of Robby’s chemo appointments.” She glanced back at Emma. “He always tried to be there on chemo day.”

  “When was this—the South America trip?” Emma pulled out her reporter’s notebook.

  “I told the police this. It was maybe a month ago.”

  “Do you think he was working for Prentice on this last flight?”

  “How would I know?” She sounded annoyed, but Emma was used to people being annoyed at her questions.

  “Think. What, exactly, did he say about how he was getting the money to pay off the bills? Did he mention a man or a woman? A particular destination? Anything at all.”

  She furrowed her brow, and looked back over her shoulder to where Robby rema
ined absorbed in the video game, his thumbs furiously flicking over the controls. “I think it was a woman,” she said.

  “You think the client was a woman?”

  Susan nodded. “Before he told me about the money, he said he’d met this woman. I thought he was talking about a new girlfriend, but now I’m thinking maybe he didn’t mean that at all.”

  “Bobby talked to you about the women he dated?” Had he told Susan about the times he and Emma had gone out?

  “No, he wasn’t like that. I mean, I knew he dated. We were divorced, so he was a single guy with a plane—women like that. I liked that, once upon a time.” Her expression hinted at a smile. “So I was a little annoyed when he started talking about this woman. I thought he was bragging or something. He said he’d try to get me an autograph—like she was someone famous or something. I thought he was just trying to be mean—letting me know what I was missing, or something. But it makes more sense if he was talking about a client.”

  “Did you tell the police any of this?”

  “No. I just thought of it.”

  “What, exactly, did he say?”

  “That he’d met a woman and they’d hit it off. They were supposed to meet again the next day and he’d try to get her autograph for me.”

  “Anything else?”

  She made a face. “I wasn’t very nice. I told him what he could do with that autograph. So then he told me he’d have the money for the bills soon.”

  “But you think this woman—this celebrity—was going to hire him to do a job?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it was just a date. But Bobby never bragged about women that way. I even wondered after he left if he’d been drinking or something, but that wasn’t like him, either. Still, having a sick kid can make you do all kinds of crazy things. I know.”

  “So he didn’t say anything else about who this woman might be? I’m sorry I keep picking at this, but it’s really important.”

  “I wish I could help you, but he didn’t say anything else.” She sat up straighter, a bright smile transforming her features. “Did you have a good time?”

  Robby crawled into the booth beside her and laid his head against his shoulder. “I did, but I’m tired now. Can we go home?”

  “We can.” Susan hugged him close, then took her car keys from her pocket. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said. “But we have to leave.”

  “Sure. Thanks for talking with me.”

  They left and the waitress refilled Emma’s cup. She sat for a long time, sipping coffee and replaying the conversation over and over. She felt a little sick over what she’d discovered. She could think of only one female celebrity who could have been in Montrose in the days before Bobby’s death.

  But what was Bobby Pace doing with Lauren Starling?

  Chapter Six

  Imposing stone pillars and a massive iron gate marked the entrance to Richard Prentice’s land, which he referred to as a ranch or an estate, depending on whom he was talking to. Though the road across the ranch had once been a public thoroughfare, Prentice had recently obtained a court order allowing him to close the road, hence the locked gate that confronted Graham and Carmen when they arrived.

  He frowned up at the camera mounted on one of the pillars. “What now?” Carmen asked.

  “He has guards, and I’m sure one of them is watching us.”

  “They could decide to ignore us.”

  “They could,” he agreed. “But by now he’s heard Bobby Pace is dead, and though he can deny a connection all he wants, there is one. If he doesn’t at least pretend to cooperate with us, I can have him brought in for questioning.”

  “Someone’s coming.” She nodded toward an approaching cloud of dust.

  The black Jeep skidded to a halt on the other side of the gate and two men in desert camo fatigues climbed out. The one on the passenger side carried an automatic rifle, its barrel pointed toward the ground. Graham recognized the driver from his last visit to the ranch, the day Raul Meredes died at the hands of an unknown sniper just as the task force was about to arrest him and bring him in for questioning. The shooting had occurred on national park land, within sight of the boundary to Prentice’s holdings.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Prentice,” Graham said, holding up the leather folder that contained his credentials.

  “Any communication with law enforcement must go through Mr. Prentice’s attorney,” the young man said. “I can give you his contact information.”

  “I don’t need it. I’m here to talk to Prentice.”

  The guard’s expression remained impassive. “What is this in reference to?”

  “One of his employees was caught red-handed with illegal goods.”

  “Who is the employee?”

  “If Mr. Prentice wants you to know that, he can tell you.”

  The guard said nothing, but turned and walked back to the Jeep. A moment later, he and the man with the gun had driven away.

  “What if he refuses to talk to us?” Carmen asked.

  “Prentice likes to talk. I think he enjoys sparring with anyone in authority. But if he passes up this opportunity to play his favorite game, I can arrange with the lawyers to question him as a possible accessory to a crime.”

  “We don’t have any proof that Bobby Pace was working for him at the time of the crash.”

  “We don’t have any proof that he wasn’t, either.”

  The Jeep returned ten minutes later. “He probably drove out of sight and made a phone call, then kept us waiting a few minutes longer for show,” Graham said.

  The guard didn’t bother getting out of the Jeep this time. “You can follow us,” he said.

  He turned the Jeep around and the gate swung open behind him. Graham put the Cruiser in gear and followed him up the gravel road. Five minutes later, a massive three-story house built of gray stone loomed over them. With its flanking towers and expansive wings it resembled a castle, or a fortress.

  “So this is what too much money will buy you,” Carmen said.

  “Can you have too much money?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  Another camo-clad guard ushered them into the house, into a front room filled with bookshelves and comfortable chairs. Richard Prentice didn’t keep them waiting. He strode into the room with the air of a much larger man, though he was well under six feet tall and rather delicate-looking. Still, he carried himself like a man who wielded great power. Having billions of dollars made up for a lot of shortcomings, Graham supposed.

  “I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for small talk,” he said by way of greeting. “What is this about an employee of mine smuggling something?”

  “Bobby Pace flew for you,” Graham said.

  Prentice’s eyes narrowed. “Pace was a private pilot I hired sometimes. Not lately, though.”

  “When was the last time he worked for you?”

  “Two weeks ago? Maybe more.”

  “Have you spoken to him since then?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Graham could feel the anger radiating from the man, but Prentice kept his voice even, enunciating his words as if explaining a simple concept to a recalcitrant child. “I hired the man from time to time to do a job. We weren’t friends.”

  No, Prentice would not be friends with someone like Bobby Pace. “Were you aware that Mr. Pace has a young son who is being treated for cancer?” Graham asked.

  “I was not. What does this have to do with me? What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “Where were you from Sunday night through Monday morning of this week?”

  Prentice stiffened. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Answer the question please.” Graham kept his voice pleasant.

 
“I was here.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “Everyone who works for me, I imagine. The guards at the gate, for a start.”

  “Do the guards know where you keep your drone?” Carmen asked.

  Prentice didn’t miss a beat. “What drone?”

  She shrugged. “I heard a rumor that you’d purchased a drone.”

  “What would I want with a drone?”

  “Some people use them for security,” she said. “You can patrol a large area—like this ranch—with only a single operator and a camera attached to the drone.”

  “Interesting. Maybe I’ll look into it.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  He turned back to Graham. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. You’d better go.”

  Graham thought about staying longer, if only to annoy the man. But Prentice wasn’t the only busy person in the room. “We’ll be in touch,” he said, and led the way back to the Cruiser.

  “Why do I feel I’ve just poked a stick in a very big fire ant bed?” Carmen asked as they pulled away from the house. “We annoyed him and didn’t learn anything useful.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Graham checked his rearview mirror. The Jeep with the two guards had fallen in behind them, escorting them to the main road.

  “What do you mean?” Carmen asked.

  “He wanted to know why I was questioning him about an employee smuggling something. But I never used the word smuggling. I said the employee had been caught with illegal goods.”

  “Do you think it means anything?” she asked.

  “He knows more than he wants us to believe. I think he’s hiding something.”

  “Maybe that drone,” she said.

  “Or a Hellfire missile. Or maybe something even bigger. Whatever it is, I’m going to find it.”

  * * *

  “IF YOU LIKE, MA’AM, I can tell the captain you were here and ask him to call you.” The Ranger, a young man with closely cropped blond hair and a nametag that read Sgt. Carpenter, hovered near her as she walked around the room in the trailer that served as Ranger headquarters. He reminded her of an Australian shepherd, ready to herd her away from anything that was off-limits. In fact, he looked as if he wanted to herd her right out of the office.