Justice (A Rocky Mountain Thriller Book 3)

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “Me.” Sanchez pointed to a series of tattoos that marked his face from temple to neck. “Your cop killers, they have marks like these?”

  She remembered Nick mentioning tattoos in his original statement to police, but he’d never given her a detailed description. “Those mark them as Latin Devils?”

  Sanchez smiled. “Something like these. Not saying I’m in a gang.”

  “Mind if I take a picture?” She pulled out her cell phone.

  “The cops have my mug shots. You want one for your own use?” He sent another leer down to her chest.

  “Yeah, whatever.” She snapped a few pictures of the side of his face. “I’m going to have a chat with Detective Marris from the gang bureau, too, José. Just so you know.”

  He leaned back on his stool. “You do that. He’ll tell you same as me.”

  “If this is a line of B.S., you’ll be hearing from me.”

  “Should’ve told me that before.” He lowered one lid in a wink. “I would have enjoyed another visit. Only next time, wear something sexy.”

  ______

  Nick had just finished some of the most imaginative, expansive, and exhausting action-figure adventures he’d ever known when the door to the little cabin swung open and Melissa stepped inside.

  “Melissa!” Jason leaped up from the fireplace and scampered across the floor.

  She flung her arms wide and engulfed him in a hug. “Did you guys have fun today?”

  “Me and Daddy played our guys were on a ranch. They were exploring mountains.” He pointed to the fireplace.

  Nick was still caught on the word daddy.

  Melissa met his gaze across the room. “It sounds like you and your daddy had a blast.”

  Grabbing her hand, Jason pulled her toward the fireplace. “You can have a guy, too. ’Cept I don’t have any girl guys.”

  “Wait, Jason.” Melissa gathered him toward her and knelt down. “I have to talk to your daddy for a minute. Then you can show me the guys. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He let go of her hand and returned to the fireplace.

  Melissa stepped toward the kitchen end of the room and motioned for Nick to follow.

  He joined her, leaning one hip on the sink in a posture much more relaxed than he felt. Before she told him her piece, he had a question he needed to ask. “Where were you?”

  “Jail.”

  “You visited José Sanchez?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to find out a little more about the Latin Devils.”

  “And you couldn’t just talk to one of the gang bureau detectives?”

  “Not about this.”

  “Isn’t a guy like that dangerous?”

  “I have to deal with guys like that all the time. Who do you think gets prosecuted by the D.A.?”

  She was right. What in the hell had gotten into him? He was being ridiculous, trying to protect a woman who didn’t want his protection, didn’t need it, and wasn’t his to protect.

  And never would be.

  “What did you ask him about? The men who followed you last night?”

  “That didn’t come up.”

  If that hadn’t, he knew what did. “The men who shot Jimmy.”

  “I told him our witness couldn’t identify the two who were still living.”

  Nick could see what she was doing. Trying to make it possible for him to return to the ranch with Jason. A goal he would be happy about, thrilled about really, if only it hadn’t come hard on the heels of their discussion last night. Now he saw it for what it was. Not Melissa trying to give him his life back, but Melissa pushing him away.

  He glanced at Jason, busy making Spider-Man climb the fireplace’s rock wall. If he’d ever needed a reminder of his priorities, this morning had been it. He needed to keep Jason’s best interest foremost in his thoughts. Jason’s and his own. “Good thinking. If they don’t know I can identify them, I’m not a threat. Jason and I can go back to the Circle J.”

  She didn’t answer, just canted her gaze to the side, focusing on a spot just off his right shoulder.

  “Did Sanchez buy your story?” he asked.

  “He says the men who shot Jimmy and Essie weren’t Latin Devils.”

  “Of course he’s going to say that.”

  “That was my reaction, too. But he insisted. Said no Latin Devils killed Jimmy and no Latin Devils were gunning for witnesses.”

  “And he said that he’s innocent, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe him?”

  Melissa reached into her bag. “I need you to take a look at something for me.”

  “Me? You’re really asking for my help this time?”

  Melissa gave him a frown, still not quite meeting his eyes.

  He knew he should keep his personal disappointment out of this. She certainly hadn’t promised him anything. There wasn’t anything more between them than a single kiss. He took off his hat and set it down on the tiny kitchen table. “Show me.”

  She fished her cell phone out of her purse, tapped the screen, and handed it to him.

  Nick looked down at the phone and focused on a photo of the side of a man’s face. The image was a little distorted, as if shot through some kind of glass. The reflection of lights blocked out part of the man’s shaved head.

  “See the tattoos?”

  “How could I miss them?” Thick black lines met with more intricate swirls, marking the sides of the man’s face, his head and his neck. “These look like the ones on the guys who followed you last night. I’m not sure they’re exactly the same, though, since they were wearing hoods. I didn’t see all of the tattoos.”

  “How about the guys who killed Jimmy?” She pointed to a button on the phone. “I have more than one shot. Another might give you a better angle.”

  He flicked through all the photos on the phone. Different angles, same effect. Finally he looked up at Melissa.

  This time her eyes met his. “So? Are these the same tattoos as the ones on the men in the sedan?”

  He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, but he had no doubts about what he’d seen. “No. They’re totally different.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MELISSA GATHERED HER HAIR AND lifted it off the back of her neck, some tendrils already damp with sweat. The sun hovered low in the sky, just barely over the mountains in the west. But its heat beat down, the thin air doing little to mitigate its rays. Pine rose on the hillside, its sharp spears thrusting skyward, its clean smell nearly covering the odor of stale beer wafting from a nearby Dumpster. Cigarette butts littered a patch of gravel that formed an employee parking lot.

  They’d parked down the street and walked just to be safe, not sure what they’d find. The spot on the outskirts of the metro area wasn’t rural, not in the way Nick might define rural. But it felt isolated to her. A lot of pine forest and dry hillsides dotted with houses and the occasional cluster of businesses. And she found it a little strange that Detective Marris had designated it as the place to meet.

  She supposed she should be grateful he’d agreed to meet them alone at all. She’d made him agree not to take Nick and Jason in on the material-witness warrant. He didn’t seem overly concerned about looking the other way. He didn’t seem to care at all. But she had to wonder if he chose the meeting spot so no one would see them together.

  Marris climbed out of his unmarked car and strode across the lot, shoes crunching on gravel. A tall, beanpole of a man, Marris had the friendliest smile she’d ever seen. But underneath his sunny exterior, Melissa had always sensed a will that was hard as diamonds. Jimmy had respected Marris. She’d found it impossible not to follow suit.

  Marris greeted Nick and kidded around with Jason for a couple of seconds, then he turned to her. “So what you got for me?”

  She offered him her cell.

  He took the phone and studied the image. After a second or two he looked up at her, peering over his sunglasses. “Is this a quiz?�
�

  “Please, Ben. It’s important.”

  “I sure hope so. I didn’t come all this way to be quizzed on trivia. It’s a picture of José Sanchez.”

  “His tattoos. What can you tell me about them?”

  His gaze flicked to the phone and back to her. He paused as if waiting for her to deliver the punch line. “Most of them are pretty standard for a member of the Latin Devils. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “Do all Latin Devils have tattoos like these?”

  “Some of them.” Marris pointed to the digital image. “Especially these on the side of Sanchez’s head. See these lines and the devil’s tail? Each member gets these when they’re initiated.”

  “So if someone doesn’t have those tattoos, they don’t belong to the Latin Devils?”

  “Why all the questions?”

  “Because that’s what José Sanchez told me. That all Latin Devils have these tattoos.”

  His brows arched. “So Sanchez can tell the truth? Who knew?”

  Melissa glanced at Nick. He’d been standing on the edge of the conversation, watching Jason who was now exploring a collection of pine saplings next to the parking area.

  Nick nodded to her and cleared his throat. “The men who shot Detective Bernard had different tattoos.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ben Marris narrowed his eyes on Nick. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about that. I noticed the tatts in the police sketch, they were different. I was wondering if the artist got the tatts mixed up. Or if you just didn’t remember.”

  “I remember lines, but they were different. And no devil’s tail. They aren’t like these.” Nick pointed to Melissa’s phone.

  “So that would mean the Latin Devils aren’t the ones who killed Jimmy and Essie?” Melissa looked to Marris for a verdict she knew was coming. A drip of sweat trickled down her back.

  “Appears not. No.”

  “Are they tatts a different gang might wear?” Nick asked.

  Marris gave his head a brief shake. “Judging by what I saw in the sketches, they’re not part of any gang.”

  Melissa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. They’re not Latin Devils. And they’re not anything else, either. Not any gang I know, and I know them all. The ones operating in this area anyway.”

  “Then who are they?”

  “Hell if I know. My guess? Wannabes. Guys who play at being in a gang. Guys who want to appear tough but don’t really belong to anything.”

  Melissa mulled that over. “Are they just kids?”

  “Maybe. You see that kind of thing in the suburbs sometimes. Guys who are working up the nerve to try the real thing. Or they could be just operating in their own interest. Hard to tell.”

  Nick held up a finger. “If they’re kids, there might be missing person reports for the two killed in the mountains. Right? Parents missing their sons?”

  Marris tilted his head to the side. “Maybe.”

  Melissa didn’t want to think of the two who had died in the crash as someone’s sons, someone’s brothers, some lost kids trying to find their way. Thinking of them as gang members had been easier. As if they weren’t real people then. As if gang members didn’t have parents or siblings or anyone to mourn them.

  Her face felt hot, the skin tight. “Have you told anyone about the tattoos in the sketch?”

  “I included the apparent discrepancy in my report,” Marris answered.

  A report Calhoun had probably seen. A report he’d apparently ignored, or at the very least, hadn’t studied closely. “Have you talked to Cory Calhoun directly?”

  “I’ve talked to him plenty.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Calhoun’s on a witch hunt. He’s ignoring facts left and right.”

  “Can you take this to Seth Wallace? Tell him about the tattoos? Calhoun’s story doesn’t hold together if it isn’t the Latin Devils who killed Jimmy. Maybe more of it doesn’t hold together, either. Maybe none of it does.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. Calhoun is more concerned with revenge than anything else.”

  Nick’s eyebrows flicked upward. “Against who? Jimmy Bernard?”

  “You got it.”

  Melissa frowned. She’d had plenty of misgivings about Calhoun, but she thought his attitude was based on ambition. He’d smelled Jimmy’s blood in the water and wanted to be first in line for the feeding frenzy. It hadn’t occurred to her there might be more to it. “A grudge? What about?”

  “Jimmy wrote up Calhoun years ago, back when he was Calhoun’s supervisor in the P.D. Don’t remember what Calhoun did—not important—but the whole thing hurt his career. It was the reason he jumped at the D.A. job.”

  It made sense. The way Calhoun was shoehorning facts to fit his Jimmy-is-dirty theory had the vehemence behind it that fit best with a personal grudge.

  “And then there’s Seth Wallace.”

  “Seth?”

  “A guy like Calhoun brings up the possibility of dirt in the police department, and a political animal like Wallace is going to do one of two things. He’s going to either sweep it under the rug, or if he can’t, he’ll crucify anyone he can find and call it the even hand of justice.”

  Melissa thought of Seth’s reaction to Calhoun in his office. The investigator had little evidence to back up anything he was saying, yet Seth let him continue. At the same time, he ordered him to keep the investigation quiet as death. Covering himself both ways. “So what are you saying? We shouldn’t point the tattoos out to Seth?”

  “No we should. You should. But don’t expect him to do a whole hell of a lot about it. Not until he has definitive proof that the investigation is crap, the story leaks to the press, or he wins the election.”

  “So in the meantime, the P.D. is out looking for the two remaining Latin Devils instead of the real men who shot Jimmy and Essie.”

  “Yep.”

  And in the meantime, a father and son had nowhere to go.

  ______

  Walking back to the truck, Nick couldn’t explain the strange prickle at the back of his neck. He twisted around to look behind them. Pine and a few golden shocks of aspen mixed with a smattering of houses and businesses lining the street. Cars buzzed along the nearby highway. A normal day happening all around them. Yet he felt nothing close to normal.

  Maybe it was that meeting with Detective Marris. Or the strained silence that had fallen between Melissa and him since their discussion the night before. But whatever it was, he wanted this unsettled feeling to stop.

  He wanted to know what was coming next.

  He glanced at Melissa. She looked straight ahead as she walked, but he could feel she was aware of his stare. “Some of the things Detective Marris said don’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe four kids from the suburbs would know how to shoot assault rifles, I don’t know. God knows if they were any good at shooting, I wouldn’t be here. But…”

  She glanced his way. “It seems like a stretch.”

  “Exactly.” He let out a breath. A brief glance from her, an acknowledgment of his hunch, and his chest felt less tight. The unease at the back of his neck lessened ever so slightly. “Besides those guns are expensive.”

  “It would depend on the family the young men came from.”

  “Which at the very least should give the police another lead when it comes to identifying them.”

  “Marris also said they might not be affiliated with any group.”

  “That theory makes more sense to me. But it begs the question of why they are involved in this at all.”

  She nodded an encouragement to go on.

  “How did a few wannabe gang members decide to pick off a police detective on the street in broad daylight? Why would they do it? And how did they know he’d be there?”

  “A leak.” The skin around her eyes looked tight. Lines dug on either side of her mouth.

  “I
t’s hard for you, isn’t it? To think someone in the system is behind this?”

  “The whole thing is hard for me. I still want to believe it never happened.”

  An image flashed through Nick’s mind. Black letters. More flourish than the gang tatts. More detail. “Can I see those pictures again? The ones of Sanchez?”

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe nothing.”

  “At this point, nothing is a step up.” Melissa pulled out her phone and brought up the photos she’d just shown Detective Marris.

  Shifting Jason’s weight onto his hip, Nick took the device and scrolled through the images. When he landed on the last one, he handed the phone back. “See the tatt peeking out of his jumpsuit collar?”

  Melissa squinted at the image. “Letters.”

  “Looks like Esme.”

  “Probably.”

  “Isn’t Essie a nickname for Esme?”

  “That’s not exactly a rare name, Nick. Not around here.”

  “Like I said, maybe nothing.”

  “You think she was the target.”

  “Nothing else is making sense.”

  “We did a check on her, right after the shooting. There didn’t seem to be anything to even suggest she would…”

  “What if she didn’t do anything? What if Sanchez is being targeted?”

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know. A rival gang? Someone who wants to send a message to her boyfriend?”

  “Assuming she’s the Esme tattooed on his chest.”

  “How well did you know her?”

  “Not well. She’d only been with the D.A.’s office for a few months.

  “Then it sounds plausible. And it would mean Jimmy was never the target.”

  “We’ll check it out.” Melissa looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Believing me about Jimmy. Giving me… I don’t know… hope.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. You know that.”

  “No, I do. Last night, you offered to help and I…” She shook her head.

  “It doesn’t need to be more than it is.”

  Melissa pressed her lips into a hint of a smile. “You said that last night, too.”

  Nick smiled back, but he had no idea how he managed it. Because although he said what was between them didn’t have to be more, more was exactly what he wanted.