Читать книгу Colorado Crime Scene - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 10

Chapter Four

“What do you think you’re doing, you idiot? You can’t come in here shooting up my kitchen!” Luke looked up into the florid face of the chef, who held a cleaver in one hand, the other curled into a fist.

“I’m a federal agent.” Luke gently separated himself from Morgan. “I have to go,” he said, to her, not the cook. “Maybe I can still catch them.”

She nodded and pushed him toward the door. “Go. Hurry.”

He raced past the gaping chef, skirted the fallen trash can and the lettuce shreds and potato peelings that spilled from it, and pounded into the alley. At the end he looked down the street filled with cars and pedestrians. Taxis and limos jostled for space with more modest sedans across four lanes of traffic idling at the red light on the corner. Half a block farther on, a light rail train blasted its horn as it pulled out of the station. His quarry could be anywhere by now—in one of the taxis or cars, on that train, or hiding in a dark alley nearby.

“You looking for those two who hightailed it out of there a minute ago?”

The raspy tenor voice came from a tall, thin black man who leaned against the brick wall a few feet to Luke’s left, one foot propped against the brick, a cigarette glowing in his right hand.

“Which way did they go?” Luke asked.

“Both ways. They split up. Which one did you plan on shooting?”

Luke realized he still held the gun in his right hand. He replaced it in the holster beneath his left arm. “The man with the short brown hair—which way did he go?”

The man straightened, both feet on the ground. “I didn’t pay attention to what either of them looked like,” he said. “I just know they were bookin’ it. I thought I heard gunshots, so I figured I’d best stay out of the way for a while.”

“Did you see either of them get into a car or taxi, or onto the train?”

“No. They were both running. I’d just stepped out for a smoke in time to see them leaving.” He snuffed out the cigarette against the brick. “And now it’s time for me to get back to work.” With that, he sauntered back into an alcove and took the stairs down a level to a club, The Purple Martini, spelled out in purple neon above the door.

Luke had little hope of finding either Morgan’s brother or his suspect now, but he had to make an effort. He set out walking, past The Purple Martini and a string of closed shops. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and called Travis. “Our suspect got away. He took a shot at me, then ran out the back door. I’m going to show his picture around on the street, but unless we get really lucky, he’s gone.”

“I heard the shot, but by the time I got to the kitchen it was all over but the crying,” Travis said. “The chef is ranting at anyone within earshot and Morgan looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

“See that she gets back to her hotel okay.”

“What happened?” Travis asked.

“I’ll tell you the story later. For now, I want to keep looking. It’s possible the suspect is still on foot downtown.”

“I’m on it.”

He ended the call, then scrolled to his photo album. The picture he had of their suspect was a grainy image from a surveillance video, but it showed his face and general build. He approached a group of young people gathered on the corner, waiting for the light to change. “Have any of you seen this man around tonight?” he asked, holding out his phone.

“Who wants to know?” demanded a beefy blond whose flushed cheeks and bright eyes suggested he’d had a few drinks.

“FBI.” Luke flashed his creds and the blond gaped, while his friends crowded close to study first the credentials, then the image on Luke’s phone.

One by one they shook their heads. “Sorry.”

“No, haven’t seen him.”

“What’s he done?” the blond asked.

“We want to talk to him in connection with a case we’re working on.”

He moved on to others. Everyone studied the picture, frowning in concentration, but no one remembered seeing the suspect. About the results Luke had expected. Most people didn’t really look at others. Even when they did, the details didn’t stick in their minds the way they did for Luke.

Over an hour later, he’d covered the two-block area on either side of the hotel with nothing to show for his efforts. He stowed his phone once more and headed back toward the banquet facility. He needed to talk to people there and find out what they knew. Other members of the team had probably already conducted interviews, but he wanted to hear the information firsthand. It was possible the suspect had made friends who knew where he lived. Certainly, they’d have a name, though whether or not it was the man’s real identity was doubtful.

And he needed to figure out if Morgan’s brother, Scott, had anything to do with the suspect. Maybe he was merely holding the door open for a coworker, but the two had fled together. Luke needed to know why.

A block from the hotel, a woman moved out of the shadows ahead of him. The streetlights shimmered on the blue of her dress, and a gusty breeze tugged at her short hair. Luke straightened. “Morgan, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was waiting for you.” She moved in close beside him, almost but not quite touching him. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder toward the front door of the hotel and Luke saw the reason for her nerves: half a dozen news vans crowded the curb and men and women with cameras and microphones filled the portico in front of the entrance, everyone jostling to report the big story of the night.

Luke took her arm and directed her across the street, to a bench at an empty bus stop. “We can talk here,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she said, though her pinched face and hunched shoulders belied the answer. “Did you find him?”

By “him” did she mean her brother or the suspect? “They both had a big head start on me. I found a witness who said they split up at the end of the alley and ran in opposite directions.”

“I’m sure Scott only ran because he was confused and frightened,” she said. “He’s never liked tense situations, but even more so since he’s been diagnosed.”

He nodded. “I’d like to talk to him and find out what he knows about my suspect.”

“I talked to Gary and he said Scott had been working as a dishwasher only three days,” she said.

“Who’s Gary?”

“Oh, he’s the chef. Gary Forneaux. After you left I offered to bring him a drink from the hotel bar and he calmed down quite a bit. He told me they’d needed extra help for the banquet, so they’d agreed to hire Scott on a trial basis.”

“Do you think that’s how he’s been supporting himself—working temporary jobs in whatever town he’s in?”

“Probably. Gary said Scott knew how to run the commercial dishwasher. And he gets along well with most people. He can be very charming when he wants to be. Gary said everyone in the kitchen liked him.”

“I’m glad you found him,” Luke said. Along with everything else that had happened, there was that one bit of good news for her. “At least you know he’s all right.”

“But it feels like I’ve lost him all over again,” she said. “No one at the hotel knew where he was staying. Though he did use his real name. Tomorrow I’m going to start calling around to hotels and apartments, trying to find him.”

“I hope you do,” he said. Not just for his investigation, but because he knew how much being reunited with her lost sibling would mean to her. He would have given almost anything to see Mark again.

“What about the other guy?” he asked. “Did you find out anything about him?”

“His name is Danny. He was a day laborer from a temp agency. He was brought in just for tonight. Gary couldn’t even remember his last name and didn’t know anything about him.”

“Thanks. We’ll follow up on it.” Though he didn’t have high hopes that anyone at the temp agency would have more information. So far this guy had been very good at covering his tracks.

He glanced toward the hotel, at the bright lights and rumbling growl of the generators powering the portable satellite dishes for the news vans. “I guess I’d better get back there.”

“Luke.” Her hand on his arm drew his attention to her once more. The streetlight overhead cast a golden glow over her, glinting off her hair and shadowing her eyes against her pale skin. “I really don’t think Scott knew the man who shot at you. I mean, I don’t think they were friends or anything. He was just opening the door for him, not trying to help him escape.”

He wrapped his hand around hers and held it to his chest. “I know you want to believe that, but you can’t know it. We have to check out the connection, though I hope we don’t find one.”

“Will you tell me if you do?”

This was hard. He didn’t like the thought of keeping anything from her. He knew how much any scrap of information about Mark would mean to him. But he had a job to do. And sometimes that job required making hard decisions. “I can’t tell you anything I find,” he said. “But I will tell you if we’re able to clear your brother.”

“So in this case, no news is bad news.”

She almost smiled, and the burden of guilt he felt at having to keep things from her lifted a little. He marveled at her ability to maintain a sense of humor under the circumstances. She was stronger than she looked. “You’ve had a rough night,” he said. “You should go back to your hotel and get some sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve still got work to do.” He doubted he’d see his bed before morning.

“The first stage of the race starts tomorrow morning, in Aspen,” she said. “I have to be up early to Skype into a press conference.”

“They’re going through with it?”

She nodded. “The UCI made the announcement about an hour ago. The vice president, Pierre Marceau, said it was what Monsieur Demetrie would have wanted.”

“So if someone was trying to stop the race by poisoning President Demetrie, he didn’t succeed,” Luke said.

“Are they sure it was poison?” she asked. “The kitchen was swarming with police after you left. They took leftovers from every dish as evidence. Gary was very upset.”

“We’ll know by morning, anyway.”

“Do you think this is even connected to the bombings?” she asked. “Poisoning seems so personal.”

“That’s something we’ll have to find out.” They could very well be looking into two unrelated crimes. He stood, and pulled her up with him. He hated to leave the oasis of this little bench, away from the crowds and all the unanswered questions, but his duty had to come before his personal feelings. “Will you be all right walking to your hotel alone? I can find someone to go with you, but I can’t leave the investigation. I’ve stayed away too long as it is.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ve done so much already. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” If anything, he’d made things worse for her, placing her brother at the center of an investigation into international terrorism.

“Thank you for listening to me. For believing me—or at least pretending to. And for sharing as much information as you have with me.”

“So you aren’t afraid of me anymore?” He continued to hold her hand, reluctant to let go.

“No.” She put her hand on his chest, the warmth seeping through his shirtfront. “I’m glad we met, in spite of the strange circumstances.”

“Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Maybe from the moment he’d first seen her in that video, he’d known he’d seek her out. Something in her called to him.

She tilted her head up and rose on her toes to bring her face closer to his in silent invitation—an invitation he wouldn’t refuse. He’d been wanting to kiss her, hesitant only because of the tenuousness of their relationship. Her lips warmed beneath his, as soft and sensuous as he’d imagined they would be. He wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer and she slid one hand around to cup the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair. He stroked his tongue along the seam of her mouth and she opened for him with a soft sigh more passionate than any words would have been. Every nerve in his body was attuned to her, to the soft floral aroma of her perfume, to the taste of wine that lingered on her lips, to the curve of her breasts against his chest and the strong line of her spine beneath his hand. He deepened the kiss, lost in the sensation of her.

A flash of light to his left distracted him, and reluctantly he lifted his head to look around, a sleeper emerging from a wonderful, compelling dream. He saw nothing but the array of news vans and reporters across the street, though he couldn’t shake the sense that something had happened that he should have paid attention to.

“I’d better go. Good night.”

She slipped from his arms and he curled his fingers into his palms to keep from pulling her back. She gave him a shy smile, then turned and walked away, hips swaying in the blue silk as she walked briskly down the sidewalk. He watched until she’d disappeared in a crowd at the corner, then turned toward the hotel to face a long night of unanswered questions.

* * *

THE MEMBERS OF Search Team Seven assembled the next morning in a conference room in the hotel that had hosted the banquet the night before. Luke slid into the seat next to Travis and nodded a silent greeting to the other team members. They all looked as weary and frustrated as he felt. Across from Luke, Gus Mathers stared at his phone, his eyes half-closed behind his black-framed hipster glasses. Next to him, Jack Prescott’s burly frame looked too big for the spindly folding chair. Farther down the table, the youngest members of the team, Wade Harris and Cameron Hsung, cupped hands around the takeout coffee they’d brought in. Even in their regulation suits, they managed to look like the college students they had been until only a few months before.

The door opened and Ted Blessing strode in. He’d flown in on a red-eye and wore the look of a man who wasn’t happy about having his sleep disturbed. In his midforties, with mud-brown skin and closely cropped hair that showed no sign of gray, he favored tailored suits and had the ramrod-straight spine of the military officer he’d been before joining the Bureau. He laid a tablet computer on the conference table in front of him and studied his team, all of whom were now sitting up straight and at attention.

“How is it that this man keeps getting away, when there are six of you and only one of him?” Blessing asked.

The others cast furtive glances at one another. It wasn’t a question that had a good answer—or any answer. As usual, Jack was the first to speak. “He’s got to have accomplices, helping him get away,” he said. “Someone with a car waiting for him, and a safe place for him to hole up.”

“We’re circulating his picture to all local law enforcement,” Wade said. “They’ll be on the lookout for him.”

“He’ll dye his hair or put on glasses and they won’t recognize him if they trip over him,” Cameron said. Such disguises rarely fooled the recognizers on the team—they memorized facial composition, mannerisms and other details that couldn’t be hidden so easily.

“I don’t want some local cop to nail him,” Gus said. “I want to nail him.”

The others murmured agreement. Blessing sat, hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Let’s go over what we know so far. Agent Steadman?”

Travis referred to the tablet in front of him. “We know our suspect was going by the name Danny in the hotel kitchen, but we’re pretty confident that isn’t his real name. We spoke with the day labor organization that supplies temp workers to the hotel. The supervisor tells me that a Danny Robinson, a sometimes homeless man with a history of alcoholism, was the man who was supposed to report for work in the hotel kitchen that night.”

“His body was found wrapped in a tarp and stuffed in a culvert near Confluence Park, not far from downtown Denver.” Cameron picked up the story. “His throat was cut. We believe our suspect murdered him and took the hotel job in his stead, in order to get close to UCI officials.”

“The chicken that President Demetrie ate tested positive for potassium cyanide,” Jack said. “We should have the autopsy results later this morning, but it looks like that’s what did him in. There was enough potassium cyanide in the dish that only a few bites would result in death within minutes.”

“Did cyanide show up on any of the other plates?” Blessing asked.

Jack shook his head.

“So President Demetrie was definitely the target,” Gus said.

“We don’t think so,” Travis said. “The covered plates with the entrées were stacked on trays and sent out by table. So the poisoner had a reasonably good chance of knowing that this plate would go to one of the tables of dignitaries seated at the front of the room, nearest the dais. But without the cooperation of the server, there was no way to be certain who would get that particular plate.”

“So maybe the server helped him out,” Blessing said.

“I spoke to the man who served that table,” Travis said. “He’s a longtime employee at the hotel. He says he never met our suspect, and witnesses back up his story. We’re still investigating, but if our suspect had help, I don’t think it was the server.”

“What about the other guy in the kitchen—the dishwasher?” Cameron asked. “He and the suspect left together, right?”

Luke shifted and all eyes turned to him. “The dishwasher’s name is Scott Westfield,” he said. “He’s a former pro cyclist who had to retire due to a medical condition. Since then, he’s traveled around, taking a series of odd jobs. He sometimes photographs races.”

“What kind of medical condition?” Blessing asked.

“He was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

“So, we’ve got a former racer, possibly upset at being made to retire, who’s mentally unstable.” Jack ticked the facts off on his fingers. “Sounds like the kind of guy who’d be happy to help our suspect. Maybe he’s even the one behind the bombings and our suspect is secondary.”

“I don’t think so.” Luke hadn’t meant to speak up in Scott’s defense. After all, the evidence pointing to his involvement in the bombings was pretty damning. But Morgan’s faith in her brother had swayed him. “I can’t find any connection between Westfield and our suspect. Westfield had been working in the hotel kitchen a couple of days before our suspect hired on, and the rest of the staff didn’t notice any particular friendship between them.”

“That kind of thing is easy enough to hide,” Wade said. “Westfield gets the job first to scope the place out, then our suspect joins him. The fact that they left together tells me they were working as a team.”

“Maybe,” Luke conceded. “We need to find Westfield and question him.”

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of questions for him,” Blessing said. He leaned forward. “But let’s not lose sight of the bigger picture here. We’ve got some intel pointing to a possible terrorist cell, possibly based here in Colorado.”

“What kind of intel?” Luke asked, relieved that the focus had shifted away from Morgan’s brother, at least for the moment.

“Some intercepted phone conversations that seem to point to a plan to sabotage transportation hubs in the region, and a report of suspicious activity at a private airport near Denver that was called in by a concerned citizen.” Blessing’s expression grew more grim. “Nothing concrete, but it’s worth paying attention to. We’ve got people working to follow these leads. For now, your job is to focus on finding our suspect and Scott Westfield. Don’t let them get away this time.” He stood, signaling the meeting was at an end, and the others rose, also. “Someone bring me the local papers. I want to see what the press is saying about all this.”

As Luke turned toward the door, Blessing stopped him. “Agent Renfro, stay and talk to me for a minute.”

Travis gave him a sympathetic look as he filed out with the others, leaving Luke alone with his commander. “Sit down.” Blessing indicated the chair to his right.

Luke sat. He could guess what this was about. Discharging his weapon in public was serious enough to warrant a private briefing if not disciplinary action. Filing a report about the incident was at the top of his to-do list today.

Blessing fixed him with a steady, calm gaze. “I know what others say happened in the kitchen last night, but I want to hear it from you. I expect your written report later, but tell me now, in your own words.”

Luke shifted, as if there was any way to get comfortable on the receiving end of a grilling from his boss. “After the president’s death, I went to the kitchen to question the staff,” he said.

“You weren’t alone.”

“No, sir.”

“Witnesses say you were with a woman. Who was that?”

“Her name is Morgan. Morgan Westfield. She’s a magazine writer.”

He could sense Blessing grow more alert, like a hound on the scent of a quarry. “Any relation to the dishwasher?”

“He’s her brother. Though I didn’t know that when I went into the kitchen.”

“How do you know Ms. Westfield?”

“We met in the lobby of her hotel the day before yesterday. I recognized her from some of the surveillance videos from the races and decided to follow her.”

“Do you think she’s involved in the bombings somehow? Perhaps she and her brother are part of this cell we’re looking for.”

Luke shook his head. “I followed her because I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. I just wanted to check her out.” Not the entire truth but close enough. “But now I’m convinced she was at the races for her job and nothing else.”

“And you know this how?”

“Everything she told me checked out. She’s at the races on assignment for Road Bike Magazine, and she’s blogging for a website, CyclingPro.com.” Though he hadn’t contacted anyone at the magazine to verify that. Was he letting his attraction to Morgan—his desire for her to be innocent—get in the way of doing his job?

“What was she doing with you last night?”

“We sat together at dinner. She followed me into the kitchen.”

Blessing’s face betrayed no emotion, but Luke could sense his skepticism. “Go on.”

“I recognized the man who was carrying out the garbage as one of our suspects. I spoke to him and he pulled a gun. I pulled my weapon and returned his fire. He fled out the door.”

“Is that all?”

“No, sir.” The truth was bound to come out sooner or later, if it hadn’t already. Half a dozen people had been working in the kitchen last night and team members had interviewed all of them. “As I pulled my weapon, Ms. Westfield shoved me out of the way. We both fell to the floor, which gave the suspect time to flee.”

“Why did she push you?”

“She didn’t understand why I was shooting. She saw my gun and panicked.”

“Or she knew exactly what you were doing and acted to stop you.”

“Yes, sir. That is a possibility.” One he couldn’t idly set aside. He was trained to be skeptical and suspicious. He couldn’t set that training aside because of his attraction to Morgan.

“You realize what you’ve done, Renfro?” Blessing’s voice held a sharp edge; Luke felt the cut. He said nothing but forced himself to look his boss in the eye.

“At worst, you’ve become involved with the very person you’re supposed to bring to justice. At best, you’ve endangered a civilian and jeopardized this investigation.”

“Yes, sir.” Luke held himself rigid.

“I expect better of you. You’re not some randy teenager controlled by your hormones. If this woman is guilty, she’s playing you for a fool and possibly using you to help her commit acts of terrorism. If she’s innocent, she’s interfering with a critical investigation. You’re here to work, Renfro, not enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

A knock on the conference room door preempted anything else Blessing was about to say. “Come in,” he barked.

Wade entered the room. As he passed, he gave Luke a sympathetic look. “You asked to see the local papers,” he said to Blessing.

“Sir, may I get back to work now?” Luke asked, seeing his chance for escape.

“Yes, go,” Blessing said. He unfolded the first newspaper on the stack. “But remember your focus here. Don’t let yourself get distracted again.”

“Yes, sir.” Luke started toward the door. He had his hand on the knob when Blessing barked his name again.

“Renfro!”

Luke turned, heart pounding. “Yes, sir?”

“How do you explain this?” Blessing turned the paper to face Luke, who stared at the picture at the bottom of the page, of him and Morgan standing in the bus shelter, wrapped in a passionate kiss. Love Amidst the Chaos, read the caption.