“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 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 behind 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.
I sped up to the corner and saw the truck make a left back onto Broadway. I fell in behind again and followed Shane north to a bar near downtown on Platte Street. He parked in one of a few spots in front, got out, slammed the door, and strode into the bar. I parked across the street, waited a minute, and then went inside.
Chapter Eighteen
Platte Street Bar & Grill was decent-sized, dimly lit, with four booths along the front windows, a long bar along the back wall, and a number of small tables in between. Two pool tables sat in a back room. Music played from that room, drifting into the main room. It was loud, but not so much to drown out conversation.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around. A stocky waitress with a nose ring approached, carrying a tray with four longneck Budweisers balanced on her tattooed arm.
“You can sit anywhere,” she said with a nod at the tables.
I returned the nod and took a couple of slow steps, trying to find Shane. I spotted him sitting in the third booth, the neon light from a Coors sign in the window tinting his face blue. I raised a hand and scratched my head, trying to shield my face as I slid into the booth next to his, my back to him. I sat forward and could see his reflection in the window. He was fiddling with his beer bottle, ripping the label off it. He still didn’t have a clue that I’d been tailing him.
“Whatcha want?” The stocky waitress stood at my table, brushing off a tee shirt with Platte Street Bar & Grill on it. I was so focused on Shane, I hadn’t noticed her approach.
“I’ll take a Fat Tire,” I said.
“Sure thing, honey.”
She stepped over to Shane’s booth. He mumbled something and she sauntered away.
The occasional crack of colliding pool balls filtered in from the other room. I wished I was in there playing. The waitress brought my Fat Tire and delivered another beer to Shane. I nursed my beer; not knowing how long I’d have to wait, I needed a clear head. People drifted in and out, some sitting at tables and eating dinner, others heading straight to the pool tables. It seemed a popular hangout with the blue-collar set, as I saw a lot of guys in jeans and work boots. I glanced in the window again. Shane was drinking fast, slamming down three more beers in quick succession.
Just before six a muscular man with dark, spiky hair entered the bar. He took off sunglasses and hooked them on his shirt as he looked around. I cursed under my breath. It was the guy from the concrete company that I’d run into this morning at the Vanguard job site.
From behind me I heard, “Matt, over here.”
I turned and focused on the window. The man walked past my booth, not giving me a second glance. I let out a breath of relief.
“You said we needed to talk,” Matt said as he slid into the booth. “What’s up?”
I felt the back of my seat give a little with his weight.
“Man, do you have any idea what’s going on?” Shane’s voice was strained and he was talking loud. Easy to hear over the music.
“What’re you talking about? Everything’s fine.”
“Nah, man. You’re not at Vanguard so you don’t know what’s going on.”
They paused while the waitress came over. Matt ordered a Coors.
“What are you talking about?” he asked when the waitress walked away.
“After I left Gary’s today, I went back to work,” Shane said. “And later this afternoon, the cops came by to talk to Chuck.”
“About what?”
“I didn’t know at the time, but then I went back by Gary’s. Man, there’s crime-scene tape on the door!”
“So?”
“And Gary didn’t show up to work. He’s dead, man. Dead!”
“Calm down,” Matt said. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. Some of the guys called me and they said somebody shot Gary.”
Matt was quiet as the waitre
ss brought his beer. “You okay, honey?” the waitress asked as she passed by my booth.
I nodded distractedly, focused on the conversation behind me.
“Someone’s figured out what we’re doing,” Shane said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one has any idea.”
“Then why is Gary dead?”
“Gary’s a scumbag. Everyone hates him. Maybe some ex-girlfriend killed him.”
“You know that ain’t it.”
Glass rattled.
“Calm down!” Matt said again.
I leaned forward and peered at the window reflection. Shane had knocked some of the empty bottles over.
Matt moved them out of the way, thumping them loudly on the table. “You’re overreacting,” he said.
“Nah, this ain’t right. Someone’s onto us. I want out. I’m done.” Shane nervously pulled at his goatee.
Matt’s voice grew lower, and it had a sharp, dangerous edge to it. “You’re not going anywhere. I need your help tomorrow, and you’re gonna to do it.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I’ll call the cops and tell them about you.”
“Go on ahead, and I’ll tell them about you.”
Matt laughed. “You think the cops are going to believe you? You’re twenty and you’ve already been arrested more times than I can count, busted for DUI’s and possession. They’ll believe you over me? Get real.”
Shane stared out the window, his face twisted into an angry mask. I averted my gaze, even though I knew he wasn’t looking toward me. After a moment, I glanced back at their reflections. Shane had turned back to Matt.
“Fine, I’ll help. But what if the cops come back? What if they want to talk to me?”
“Why?”
“They might know that Gary and I hang out.”
“Did you kill Gary?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Then you tell them that. And that’s it. Nothing about anything else.”
“But –”
“Nothing else. If you do, you’ll have me to answer to.”
Matt’s tone left little doubt that he would back up what he said. “You get my meaning?” he asked.
“I won’t say nothin’,” Shane said sullenly.
“Good. I’d hate to see you end up like Gary.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Matt stared down Shane. “Forget it,” he finally said.
Shane tensed, frowning. Then he eyed Matt warily. “What about the stuff at Gary’s?” he asked. “We can’t get it now.”
Matt grunted. “We’ll have to leave it. Too bad. There’s a nice chunk of change there. Oh, by the way, where’s the money?”
Shane pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it across the table. Matt counted it, then peeled off a few bills and tossed them back at Shane.
“There’s your cut,” he said. He picked up his beer, drained it, and set the bottle back on the table. “I’m out of here.” He slid from the booth and stood up. I stayed still, my head turned away from him. “Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Matt left the bar without looking back. Just then, my cell phone rang. I grabbed it from my pocket. It was Bob, most likely calling for an update. What timing! I silenced it just as Shane stormed past me.
I had a quick decision to make: Follow them outside so I could see if they said anything more in the parking lot, but risk being discovered, or stay put until they got in their cars. I opted for the latter.
I leaned close to the window and put a hand against the glass to cut down the glare. Shane was just outside the door, lighting a cigarette. Matt was at the street, getting into a gray truck. I was too far away to read the license plate, but I did notice a logo painted on the door. I couldn’t quite make it out but I thought there were circles on it. Kind of like what Linda described. Was it Matt who was at Gary’s last night? He threatened Shane. Did he threaten Gary as well, and then it got out of hand?
I didn’t have time to think about it because Shane was on the move again. I threw some bills on the table and hurried out of the bar. Shane was in his truck, backing out. The sun was setting, taking with it its warmth, and purple and orange hues streaked the western sky. I darted behind Shane’s truck and walked to my 4Runner. By the time I got started, his truck was halfway down the street.
His driving was a little more erratic, probably due to the three or four beers he’d downed. I stayed with him as he stopped at a liquor store for more beer and to a McDonald’s drive-through. Then he went home, climbing the stairs to his apartment without a look back.
“Some kind of crook,” I muttered as I waited across the street. “Doesn’t have a clue that he’s been followed since he left work.”
I waited a while, debating what to do. I could stay and see if Shane went back out. But since he had his dinner and more beer, I didn’t think that would happen, so I decided to go home. I’d pick up the surveillance tomorrow.
Chapter Nineteen
I got up at four the next morning. I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of tailing Shane again, but I needed to know more about what he and his buddy Matt were up to, and I had to know what he and Matt had planned for this evening.
I stopped at a Starbucks, bought coffee and an apple fritter, and then headed to Shane’s. I wanted to get there plenty early so I could catch him leaving. Traffic was light and I made it to his place shortly before five, so I ended up waiting for quite a while. At six-thirty, right about the time the coffee had run through me, Shane emerged from his apartment. He walked with his head down, shoulders drooped, a man with a heavy burden. Given everything I’d seen and heard yesterday, I could understand why.
Shane drove directly to the Vanguard job site, parked in the lot, donned a hardhat, and disappeared somewhere in the building. I took the opportunity to relieve myself at a café down the block, then came back to the 4-Rrunner and moved it to a paid lot for the day.
Trucks and cars drove in and out as the workday progressed. I donned a light jacket to ward off the cool morning air and walked around the block, carrying a Canon camera with a zoom lens in a leather bag. As I watched the goings-on, I spied Shane working with a crew on the skeleton of the building. I took out the Canon, focused in on him, and snapped a couple of good shots, with a much higher resolution at that distance than what I could get with my cell phone camera. Since he looked to be occupied for a while, I took the opportunity to grab breakfast at the café. I loitered a while, watching out the window, and then I went outside and sat on the edge of a planter in the sun. After a while, it warmed up and I took off my jacket. No one seemed bothered by my presence.
A little after eleven, I spotted Matt walking toward the office trailer. I hadn’t notice him coming in, but I perked up now. A moment later, Fitzhugh emerged from the trailer. They stood talking for a few minutes. Then Shane appeared.
I took the camera, zoomed in on them, and shot pictures as they chatted. After a few minutes, Fitzhugh and Matt went into the office. Shane walked out the gate and to the corner, where he bought a hotdog from a street vendor. As he walked back to the job site, he hooked up with a few other workers, and they strolled back inside.
It wasn’t until their workday ended that things picked up – more than I would’ve preferred.
At five Shane left work with everyone else and drove back to Platte Street Bar & Grill. I thought I’d be pushing my luck if I went inside again, so I waited in the 4Runner across the street. An hour later, Shane came out, drove to McDonald’s and ate, and then returned to the Vanguard job site which, by this time, was deserted. Shane parked in front of the gate, got out and unlocked it, and drove in. A moment later the truck vanished around the corner of the building.
I pulled into a space across the street, snatched the camera from the passenger seat, and hopped out. Angry black clouds threatened a storm. As if to validate this, thunder rumbled overhead. I fed the meter and dodged cars as I
crossed the street. I approached the gate and looked around. I didn’t see anyone around the office trailer, nor was there anybody around the skeleton of the building. I listened for sounds from within the site, but the din of traffic behind me drowned out anything I might’ve heard. I glanced around once more, then walked through the gate, acting as if I had every right to be there. I kept close to the high-rise structure, holding my camera at my side. I had no idea what I’d say if I ran into anyone. I reached the end of the building and glanced around the corner.
Shane’s truck sat on the other side of a large concrete floor, but I didn’t see him. I waited a second, then slipped around the corner of the building and moved along the side of it. Five steps later, I spotted Shane. He was on the other side of the truck, cutting apart bundles of rebar. He turned around and I dove to the left, crouching behind a pile of wooden pallets stacked by a steel pillar.
Shane stood for a second, staring in my direction. I was sure he’d seen me. I peeked between the wood slats of a pallet. My heart pounded as I watched him look around. A few big drops of rain pelted down. He glanced up at the ominous sky, then shrugged and picked up a bundle of rebar and heaved it in the bed of the truck. He worked hard, but the rebar was heavy and he stopped periodically to rest. As he worked, I took pictures. After half an hour, he had nearly filled the truck. The mist morphed quickly to rain, and I knew it was time to go. I’d tail him again when he drove out.
I backed away and was almost to the edge of the building when a flash of lightning streaked across the sky and a split-second later, thunder boomed. I hit the ground, cradling the camera in my hands, and looked over my shoulder. Shane was staring right in my direction. I didn’t move a muscle. He continued to stare into the gloom, then finally went back to his truck.
I crawled around the corner, stood up, and dashed through the rain to the 4Runner. I hadn’t even caught my breath when Shane’s truck drove back through the entrance. He hopped out and as he locked the gate, he stared both left and right. I sank down into the seat so he wouldn’t see me. He rushed back to the truck, glanced around again, and then drove off.
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 9