The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3

by Renee Pawlish

  I glanced at my watch. Almost one o’clock. Time to make my exit. I went outside and slid the door closed. As I hiked back to my car, I thought about the case and what my next move should be. Noel Farrell had been murdered, and now Trevor Welch. By Gus? Welch also had some kind of wound and Gus had been seen at a doctor’s office. Coincidence? I doubted it. My toes were frozen by the time I reached my car. As I got in and warmed up, I knew what I needed to do. First thing, I’d stop where I could anonymously make a phone call and report the body. Then I figured it was time to pay Doctor McKenzie another visit.

  Chapter Twenty

  Once I got back on Highway 285, I had cell phone reception so I called Willie.

  “Hey, I’m on my way to work,” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “Not good.” I told her about Welch.

  “Oh no!”

  “Yeah, and that’s not all. He had either gotten into one helluva knife fight or he’d had some kind of surgery.” I described the stitches on Welch’s abdomen. “What would that be? Kidneys?”

  “Which side was the incision on?”

  “His right.”

  “Yeah, I’d bet it’s some kind of kidney surgery, but it’s hard to say for sure.”

  “Still, I’ll bet Doctor McKenzie’s involved.”

  “I would, too,” she said. “And here’s why. When I went to his office, I overheard a nurse talking to someone about coming there for a surgery and to plan on it taking a few hours. Then she realized I was there and she stopped talking. But Reed, the conversation sounded like she was talking about something more than what a GP would do.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I think his office is worth a second look.”

  “Now who’s the detective?”

  She laughed and it cheered me up.

  “I’m going to go to his office tonight and see if I can look around,” I said. “Maybe I can find something in his files that’ll tell me if I’m on the right track.”

  “Okay. I’m almost to work so I’ll be home late.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I hung up and thought about Doctor McKenzie. I realized I’d never had Cal work his research magic on McKenzie, so I made a quick decision. Cal lived near Pine Junction, a small town a few miles northeast of Bailey on Highway 285, so I decided to drop by and see if I could get him to look up the information on McKenzie. A few minutes later, I turned off the highway at the traffic light in Pine Junction proper. The town wasn’t much, just a gas station and a strip of stores at the traffic light and houses on either side of the highway. I stopped at the gas station, which still had a pay phone, dialed 911 and reported the dead body. I ignored the inevitable questions of who I was and what I knew, hung up and got back on Mount Evans Boulevard. A few minutes later, I followed a winding dirt road to a secluded house in the trees. It was the perfect domicile for Cal’s personality, and because he covered his tracks so well, it was almost as if he, and the house, didn’t exist.

  I parked in front of Cal’s house, got out and walked up the porch to his front door. With some mountain residents, you might worry that if you show up unannounced, the owner may confront you with a shotgun. With Cal, I didn’t worry about that, but I did worry about him rigging the door with an electrical current or some such thing. I’m sure there were security cameras around and that he’d probably seen my approach, but I doubted that he’d remember I was driving a rental instead of my 4-Runner. So I rang the bell, stepped back and smiled. A moment later, his voice burst out from a hidden speaker near the door.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” I said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Hey, it’s cold out here. Let me in.”

  “Oh, right.” He’s got a genius IQ but sometimes he acted as dense as a Goofball Brother.

  I heard a slight click and I tried the doorknob. It turned and I let myself in, going right past his sparsely furnished living room to the place I knew he’d be: his office. When I entered the room, he was sitting at his computer desk, staring at a huge monitor.

  “Have a seat,” he said, not stopping his typing to look at me. “Let me finish this.”

  Cal’s office is the complete opposite of mine. Both of ours reflected our personalities, but where mine is a film buff’s dream, his computer room is cutting edge. Cal boasted electronics that he’d made himself and that I would have no clue how to use. He had a hard drive filled with a variety of musical genres that he listened to on state-of-the-art speakers, he watched DVDs on one of his four computers, and he’d recently upgraded to a forty-two-inch screen. Assorted computer stuff, books and manuals were piled against one wall, and boxes of disks, wire, CDs, and other accessories leaned against another wall. It was the same as long as he’d been in this house, only this time it was less dusty.

  “Did you do some cleaning?” I asked as I flopped down on his ratty loveseat. That was the same. I waved away a dust cloud.

  “Yeah, it was getting messy.”

  I had to admit, the room was relatively clean. No dirty dishes or beer bottles and soda cans lying around. I was impressed.

  He glanced at me. “Your face looks a little better.”

  “You think?” I gingerly touched my cheek. “My jaw’s still sore.”

  He turned around and scrutinized me closely. “Not sure about the beard.”

  “Yeah, neither is Willie.”

  “Go with what she says,” he said with a grin.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Keep her happy and you’ll be happy.”

  “This coming from the guy who’s only had a couple of dates in his whole life, and those were because I set them up for him.”

  He raised his hands. “Just because I haven’t dated much, doesn’t mean I don’t hear things.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He sat back. “I’m sure you didn’t come to ask my advice about women, so what’s up?”

  “Trevor Welch is dead.”

  He listened with a serious expression while I told him about my day. “I’m going to go back to Doctor McKenzie’s tonight, but I thought since I was around, I’d stop by and see if you could do your research magic on the doc and his practice.”

  “And by coming here, there’s less chance that I’d blow you off.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But I have been,” he said, “maybe just a little. I’m sorry. This new client is a bit demanding, but I need to help my best friend, too.” He whirled around and started typing. “It’s Doctor David McKenzie, right?”

  “Yes.” I leaned forward and peered over his shoulder. “And thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Windows opened up on the screen and he hummed as he scrolled through web pages. Then his fingers would fly over the keyboard like a concert pianist. I didn’t want to know what websites he was checking, or what laws he was breaking as he hunted for information. Some things were better left unsaid.

  “He graduated from Cornell in 1974, then went to medical school at George Washington University. He did his residency in Los Angeles. Wow, from one coast to the other.” A pause. “Then he worked at a general practice in St. Paul for a while before moving to Colorado in 1986 when he joined Doctor Perry Patterson’s practice. Looks like he took over the practice when Patterson retired.” More typing. “He’s got a lot of money in investments, belongs to the Cherry Creek Country Club. Not bad.”

  The Cherry Creek Country Club was one of Denver’s most exclusive clubs, and I’m sure it cost a pretty penny in dues. Even my father, who had plenty of money when he lived in Denver, didn’t belong to that club.

  “He’s married, father of two daughters, and he lives in east Denver. The house is fairly new.” He whistled.

  “What?”

  “The house is off of 6th Avenue and Elm Street. It’s huge – a mansion – and it cost him over a million dollars. That’s a big mortgage to assume when you’re almost sixty.”

  �
��Any other debt?”

  He shook his head. “A little bit on credit cards, but nothing he can’t pay with his salary.”

  “Has the doc been in any trouble?”

  More typing. “Nope. No criminal record of any kind.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “So he’s clean in every possible sense.”

  Cal turned back around. “At least on paper, it looks that way.”

  I thought for a moment. “If that’s the case, I’m going to look like a real fool if I get caught breaking into his office.”

  “Reed, he’s probably got some kind of high-tech security system.”

  “Want to come with me?”

  “No,” he said a little too quickly.

  “I know what you’re thinking, that I just don’t want to leave my house,” he said as if he’d read my mind. “But it’s not that. Even if we could figure out what kind of system the doc has, it would take more time than you have for me to figure out a way to bypass it.”

  “Then aren’t you lucky.” I grinned at him faintly.

  “I’m sorry. You know I’d help since you’re trying to clear your name.”

  I sighed. “It’s okay.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  I pondered that. “I’m not sure. I’ll see if there’s some way to get in undetected, and if not, I’ll see what I can see. I might be on a wild goose chase.”

  “Doesn’t sound very promising.”

  “No, but that’s the best I’ve got right now.”

  I stood up to go. “Oh, have you found out any more on U.S. International Realty?”

  He blushed. “Not yet, but I promise I’ll have something for later tonight, or first thing in the morning.”

  I patted his shoulder. “You’re a good pal.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks,” I said and let myself out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was dark when I got home. I left the backpack and blankets in the car, and was thinking about Welch and what his death meant as I walked across the front porch and around the side of my building. So I was completely surprised when I barreled into Ace.

  “Whoa, Reed, thinking hard,” Ace said with a goofy smile.

  “Uh yeah,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “You want to go shoot some pool with us at B 52’s?” asked Deuce, who was standing behind Ace. Both brothers were fabulous pool players.

  “I wish I could,” I said, and that was the truth. A few games of pool and a beer or two sounded much better than what I had planned. “But I’ve got some things to do.”

  “On a Friday night?” Ace said. “That stinks.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve got to clear my name.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Deuce offered.

  “Thanks, buddy, but I don’t think so. Go enjoy yourselves.”

  “Okay,” Deuce said.

  As I stepped past him, I patted him on the shoulder, grateful for their offer. They headed across the porch to their door.

  “Maybe we should’ve asked him if he wanted to watch one of those old movies he likes so much,” Ace whispered loudly enough that I heard him. “I think he’s bummed out.”

  “That film-now stuff is boring,” Deuce replied.

  “It’s film no-ar,” Ace corrected him knowingly.

  That brought a smile to my face as I climbed the stairs to my place. It seemed no matter how many times Deuce heard the term “film noir”, he could never get how to pronounce it. But I had to appreciate that they’d sacrifice a night of pool to cheer me up.

  I was famished, so the first thing I did after taking off my coat and gloves was go in the kitchen and heat up some leftover soup. I wolfed it down, grabbed a Coke and went back into the living room where I flopped down on the couch. I took a long drink and contemplated the soda can. Bogie would’ve slugged down something stronger, but I needed to keep a clear head for what I was going to do.

  It was only a little after six and too early to visit Doctor McKenzie’s office, so I went into the office and picked a relatively unknown film noir, Nightfall, with Aldo Ray, Brian Keith and Anne Bancroft. It takes place in Wyoming in the winter, and is about mistaken identity and a murder that the noir hero is accused of but didn’t commit. However, due to circumstances, he can’t remember why. It seemed like a fitting movie to watch since, at the moment, I found myself identifying with the plot and snowy setting. And I hoped that fate wouldn’t deal me the same hand as the character in Nightfall. I returned to the living room and started the movie. I tried to lose myself in the story but my mind was on the case. A little over an hour later, Nightfall finally ended, and I went into the bedroom and changed into my Navy Seal outfit. It was getting a good workout this week. I hurried back into the living room, opened the door and was surprised again. Only this time it wasn’t a Goofball Brother but Detective Sarah Spillman.

  “What the hell, Spillman, don’t you ever take time off?” I asked.

  All I received for that was a slight smirk. Then she surveyed me. “That’s quite an outfit.”

  “Yeah, I’m going out.”

  “Dressed like a Navy Seal?”

  Touché. I pulled off the knit cap and patted down my hair. “Yeah, black is the new black, at least in terms of fashion.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you want?” I was not in the mood to deal with her right now.

  “A man named Trevor Welch has been murdered.”

  I hoped my face didn’t betray my surprise that she knew about Welch so soon. “So?”

  “What do you know about his death?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Beats me.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I think you know,” she said.

  “How’d you hear about his death?” Smooth, Reed, real smooth, I chided myself.

  “Jeffco Sheriff’s Department alerted me. Getting an anonymous phone call about a body in a cabin in the woods is fairly uncommon. And when it relates to another murder I’m investigating, that piques my interest.”

  “I’m confused.” I tried to play that up with a puzzled look. “How does Trevor…what did you say his last name was.”

  “Welch.”

  “Yeah, Welch. How does Trevor Welch tie in with Noel Farrell?”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot,” she said through clenched teeth. “Farrell had a file on Welch.”

  How did she know that? “Yeah, but I’m sure Farrell had a lot of files. How do you know there’s a connection between Welch and Farrell?”

  “Welch’s file is missing and it’s the only one. Seems a good bet someone took the file to keep me from figuring out there’s a connection between the two.”

  I had to work hard that time to not show my astonishment. “How do you know a file is missing?”

  My mind raced. She’d made the link between Farrell and Welch, but what else did she know? I doubted she was aware of Gus or Mick, which meant she was still focusing on me, even if she didn’t act like it when we’d talked at the Starbucks the other day.

  “On Tuesday, the liquor store near Farrell’s office called to report some suspicious activity around his office. I did some checking around. Your friend Henri Benoit from the memorabilia shop mentioned that he’d seen some strange activity around Farrell’s office.”

  Ah Henri, I thought. Your helpfulness did come back to bite me. But I couldn’t blame him for trying to help.

  “So we went back to Farrell’s office and checked around. That’s when I noticed that there was one file missing – Welch’s – and a day-to-day calendar that was on Farrell’s desk. Know anything about either of those?”

  I shook my head slowly and hoped lightning wouldn’t strike me. “I still don’t understand how you know anything is gone.”

  “Little police fairies told me,” she said, the sar
casm thick. “We had documented everything carefully when we searched the office right after Farrell’s murder. We took pictures of the entire office, including his files. When we went back and checked the office and files again, it wasn’t that hard to figure out that a file was missing.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She gave me a long, hard look, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So if I looked around your place, I won’t find the file or calendar?”

  “You’re welcome to look around, just show me a warrant.”

  “I just might do that,” she said.

  And by then the calendar would be gone, I thought. “I don’t have either,” I said, then waited again for the lightning.

  She sighed. “This doesn’t look good for you.”

  I stared at her, my mind not coming up with any words. I’d already pled my innocence. Repeating it again wasn’t going to do me any good.

  “Are you going to arrest me?” I finally asked.

  “I don’t have any grounds for that…yet.”

  “Then I’ve got things to do,” I said.

  I stepped out onto the porch, forcing her to step back onto the stairs. I made a show of locking the deadbolt and then I turned to her.

  “After you,” I said, then followed her down the stairs.

  I headed to the Subaru and she tramped across the street to her Mustang.

  “Watch yourself,” she called after me.

  I got in and started the car, then pulled slowly into the street. The Mustang followed. Was she going to tail me the whole night? That would certainly ruin my plans. I needed to find Gus fast, along with the proof that he had killed Farrell and Welch, or I’d find myself trying to conduct an investigation from behind bars. Not good.

  I turned onto 17th Avenue and headed to Colorado Boulevard, then north onto Interstate 70. It wasn’t the way to Doctor McKenzie’s office but I wanted to see what Spillman would do. The Mustang stayed with me as I drove east, but then she veered south onto Interstate 225.