Читать книгу Holding Out For A Hero - Pamela Tracy - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

“I JUST MET Shelley Wagner face-to-face.” Oscar Guzman sat on his bed, Peeve content and panting at his feet, and spoke via phone to Lieutenant Colonel Lionel Townley. Currently, Townley was Oscar’s boss at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Before that, during Oscar’s military service, Townley had been the second lieutenant who’d given Oscar most of his orders. Of all the men Oscar had served with, he respected Townley the most. So much so that when Townley requested Oscar be pulled from a long-term assignment for this under-the-radar case in small-dot-on-a-map, New Mexico, Oscar said yes before he’d known the specifics.

Of course, Oscar had spent a summer of his childhood in this small dot and had an aunt here. He had contacts in Sarasota Falls and could get close to Shelley Wagner without her suspecting who he worked for and what he wanted: her ex-husband, Larry Wagner.

“She was walking her son to preschool.” No surprise there. Since his arrival, Oscar had tracked her routine. Two weeks ago she’d made things amazingly easy by moving into a garage apartment just five houses away from his aunt’s bed-and-breakfast.

“I thought we were going to avoid contact for now,” Townley said.

Oscar thought about Shelley and just how hard, in the flesh, she’d been to avoid. For a moment, when he realized she was heading his way but also her son was doing a nosedive aimed at Peeve, he’d been unable to move.

She’d been wearing white capris, a huge red shirt and sandals. Her toes had been painted the same red as her shirt. Cops noticed things like that.

Even more, red-blooded men noticed things like that.

Pregnancy, if anything, only made her more beautiful.

But he’d not been in his cop persona. He’d been an overtired dog walker thinking about a big breakfast and his bed. “She must have been running late. Usually she’s gone when I walk Peeve.”

“Anything unusual happen?”

“No, not really. Ryan wanted to pet Peeve. She and I exchanged pleasantries. I acted like I didn’t have time. She acted like she wanted to get away. After a moment, I watched her hightail it back to her apartment. Funny, I thought she was taking the kid to preschool. Maybe she forgot something. Anyway, it was bound to happen, us meeting. We’re living so close.”

Townley waited a couple of beats before saying, “You’re right. Do you think there was something unusual about her being late?”

“I do. Before this, she left at the same time every morning with a variation of only three minutes.”

Anyone else would have laughed. Not Townley. He’d taught his soldiers about punctuality. “Okay, let me know if anything changes.”

Punching the off button, Oscar lay down on his bed, sweats still on. He stared at his police uniform over the chair by the window. He was bone-tired and intrigued. He was still amazed that he worked for one law-enforcement agency and was undercover for another one.

The graveyard shift was a tough one, but he’d done worse.

Shelley Wagner wasn’t what he remembered or expected.

He’d known her briefly as a kid, but he’d not seen her in sixteen years. Nor had he kept track of her, so reading about her and studying her photos from before Larry Wagner’s departure had been informative. Ten years ago, she’d been a driven high school student; six years ago, she’d been accepted into every college she’d applied to; and two years ago, she’d come home to spend one more summer with her family.

From what he could tell, nothing had derailed her until her parents’ illnesses and her misfortune of meeting LeRoy Saunders, also known as Larry Wagner, and by a few other names—some even the FBI probably didn’t know.

He wasn’t sure why this morning’s encounter had him on edge. He’d never hesitated to think the worst of people; military intelligence had a way of wringing empathy and sympathy out of a man. He stretched out on the bed. He’d reported the encounter, knew where she was, and needed sleep. Still, his mind continued going over the scene and what was happening in the neighborhood. There’d been a black cat sleeping on the top of one of the parked cars. A child’s scooter had been tossed carelessly in one yard. A white car had driven down the road, not in a hurry.

Hours later, a light knock on the door woke him. The sun still brightened his windows, and he was due back to work in an hour. Peeve was long gone, no doubt given freedom the first time he whimpered at the door. Oscar was going to have a hard time separating Peeve from Aunt Bianca. Or would it be Aunt Bianca from Peeve?

“Oscar! Get up,” she yelled from downstairs. Aunt Bianca didn’t know how to whisper. She’d not been in the military, but she could take on any drill sergeant when it came to giving orders.

He headed for the hallway bathroom, and after splashing water on his face, he went down the stairs to the kitchen, where Aunt Bianca waited.

“I have chicken on the table.”

It was never that simple. Aunt Bianca usually had some household maintenance detail she’d like him to attend to, or worse. Tonight was the or worse.

“Abigail Simms’s granddaughter will be in town this weekend.” Bianca sounded very matter-of-fact.

Oscar didn’t take the bait. Instead, he finished his first helping of chicken.

Aunt Bianca was patient. She gave him a second helping before adding, “She’s here for Abigail’s birthday.”

“That’s nice,” Oscar said.

“I told Abigail that you had some free time Saturday and that you might be convinced to take her granddaughter for a ride on that bike of yours.”

Funny, when Oscar first arrived on his aunt’s doorstep, she’d hated the motorcycle.

“Death machine,” she’d called it.

Now it seemed the death machine was okay as long as she could connect it to a little matchmaking.

“I’m doing some undercover work this weekend,” he said, heading to the pantry to look for dessert.

Aunt Bianca placed an elbow on the table, crooked her hand and placed her chin in it, looking at him and waiting. His mother did the same thing when she wanted an answer.

Bianca loved that he’d joined the police department, never dreaming that strings had been pulled and procedures ignored. Even chief of police Tom Riley had no clue his new rookie wasn’t a rookie at all.

Somehow the deception felt wrong. He tried to blame it on keeping secrets from his aunt, but he’d grown to respect Riley and wished the man was privy to all the details.

His FBI boss, Townley, insisted on the assignment. “This legitimately gives you access not only to the files but also to the people who wrote them. If we can prevent Larry Wagner from conning even one more person, your role will have made a difference.”

Townley had that right. So far, Larry Wagner, Saunders, Templeton, whatever name he was working under, had conned a lot of people. He was an equal opportunity crook and didn’t care who he was taking advantage of.

That he’d married Shelley and left her pregnant without any remorse said it all. He was a man without a conscience, and his crimes were escalating. Sarasota Falls—a town with two squad cars and six officers—had been taken, from face-to-face fraud to account hacking. If acting as an officer, low man on the totem pole, working eight at night until eight in the morning, was what it took to bring Wagner down, Oscar would willingly do it.

Chocolate-chip cookies discovered, he headed back to the kitchen.

“You’re not working the whole weekend,” his aunt protested. “You need some time to play.”

“I’ll play when I’ve closed a few of these cases.”

Mainly Shelley Wagner’s, a woman who operated alone and who appeared to be a good—albeit hovering—mother.

“But—” Aunt Bianca started.

He put his plate in the sink and gave his aunt a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let you know when and if I need a date, but believe me, I can find my own girl.”

“By the time you go looking,” Aunt Bianca muttered, “you’ll be too old to do more than watch television and complain about your health.”

“You’ve been talking to my mother again,” Oscar accused her.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, he sat at his desk, finishing up his last report when his phone rang.

“Hi, Mom,” he answered, earning a few smirks from other officers in the room.

His mother filled him in on his sister’s latest antics as well as his brothers’ accomplishments. She segued to a funny story about his uncle Rudy’s garage, and finished by saying how excited she was that he had a date this weekend with a neighbor’s granddaughter.

Ah, the phone call was the result of a joint effort between his aunt and his mother.

“I’m at work, Mom, and need to finish up.” Since his return stateside a year ago, his mother had been trying to make up for lost time. She continued a moment more about family matters and then signed off. Oscar had just a few more things to do before he could go. Just as Oscar was closing up the last open file on his computer, thinking about getting to his aunt’s place and sleep, Lucas Stillwater came in, a Snickers bar in hand. On the small Sarasota Falls police roster, he was long-term, having been with the department for over twenty years, and he hadn’t been young when he joined.

Lucas now worked the day desk and no longer patrolled. The most pressing job he had was visiting schools and discussing Stranger Danger. He paused by Oscar’s desk to say, “Hey! Riley just called. We found a DB, and you’ll never guess where.”

Oscar waited. Lucas liked to play guessing games, which Oscar didn’t have time for. Stillwater talked too much and worked too little. It hadn’t always been that way. At least, that was what Oscar had heard. According to Chief Riley, Stillwater’s retirement was merely months away, and his goal was keeping alive and out of trouble. Oscar squinted at the computer screen and responded, “Where?”

“Vine Street. Right down from where you are.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled. His aunt had a few older neighbors. He hoped it wasn’t Abigail Simms from across the street. But...

“That young couple fairly new to the town,” Stillwater continued. “She’s a schoolteacher. Her husband manages Little’s Supermarket.”

Something heavy formed in Oscar’s chest. It moved to his stomach, started to churn. This wasn’t good.

“The last name’s Livingston. She...”

The chair squealed against the floor as Oscar scooted away from his desk. Candace indeed lived three houses down from him and had hung around with his little sister when they were in school. Candace and her husband, Cody, had moved here nine months ago when she secured a teaching job. Cody managed Little’s Supermarket, a chain owned by Candace’s father. Oscar stood, reaching for his badge and touching the sidearm already secure in his holster.

Lucas let out a low whistle and bemoaned, “We still haven’t gotten over the excitement of Larry Wagner and making the national news. Now this. Chief Riley’s not going to be happy.”

Oscar didn’t care.

Candace murdered?

She represented what was good and right in the world.

He had to pause a moment, get his bearings and ask the right questions. “Who reported this?”

“We got a call from Crime Stoppers.”

Anger, white-hot and immediate, sent Oscar to the door.

“Bailey and Riley are already on site.”

Officer Leann Bailey was all the help Oscar needed. Right now Chief Riley thought Oscar was wet behind the ears, good only for traffic stops and petty crimes...but this was different. Personal. Riley might take lead investigator, but Oscar would be alongside him for this, never mind the hours. He’d known Candace most of his life, and she was all of twenty-three and had been married just over a year. Who would take her life? She and her husband, Cody, didn’t seem to own anything of real value. True, her dad was a millionaire a few times over, but Candace and Cody preferred to make it on their own. Before taking the assignment here, he’d even driven up and joined her and her husband for a couple of barbecues in their backyard. Twice she’d tried to fix him up with a coworker. He should have gone, just once, to make her happy. Now...

Oscar paused as he opened the door. “They know time of death?”

“Just that it was yesterday morning,” Stillwater said.

“What was the cause of death?”

“Head trauma. Some sign of a struggle. Husband probably did it. Supposedly he’s out of town. They haven’t been able to—”

It took Oscar ten minutes to drive to his neighborhood. Already police tape cordoned off the house. He parked his motorcycle the next house down from Candace’s and swung one leg over the seat. He couldn’t proceed, though, because suddenly cotton billowed in his throat.

This was little Candace. He’d taken her to her first dance because the boy who’d invited her had backed out at the last minute, and Oscar’s little sister, Anna, had come crying to Oscar. Oh, his brothers had teased, but in the end, Oscar’d had a great time. He and his brothers had waylaid the date-breaker a few days later and made him aware that Candace and Anna were not in his little black book unless he wanted a big black eye.

The memories made it hard to move.

It occurred to Oscar that, except for fellow soldiers, this was the first death he’d be working of someone he loved. And now he was glad his case had sent him to the Sarasota Falls Police Department.

But to make a difference here, he’d have to convince himself to walk past the cordon tape, into Candace’s house, and ask Riley for the facts.

Oscar could see the facts displayed over the front yard. This was a house, cared for by two individuals building a home.

He took off his dark glasses, momentarily blinking at the sudden brightness. When his eyes adjusted, he noted a tiny lizard crawling on top of the gray block fence next to the carport. It was probably hoping for a scent of oranges, maybe the hint of an early spring breeze. No such luck. As if realizing the futility, the lizard scurried off and disappeared into a hole in the dirt.

What had it seen? Heard?

Nothing it was willing to share with law enforcement.

The neighborhood was quiet, as if nature knew there’d been a disturbance and was now withdrawing—like the lizard—leaving them to investigate the disruption.

Next to the front door, two chairs boasted bright blue cushions. They appeared new but had been used. Candace’s tennis shoes were under one of them. She’d obviously been playing in the mud again, pretending to garden. She’d complained last week about “everything dying.”

And now she was dead.

A tiny table was situated between the two chairs. On it, a pair of gardening shears sat with the same black, lumpy mud on its blades as on the bottom of the shoes. Maybe she’d been digging with the shears instead of using a trowel. There was also a pair of flowered gloves that surely were too big for Candace’s small hands. He’d watched her one day, on her knees in the sodden yard. She’d wanted perfection, every rock moved, every weed eliminated. Her fingers had gone through the loose dirt, pushing tiny holes into sections, reinventing space and filling it back in with something that would grow: new life.

A garden hose lay in the front yard. Dripping water spread onto a small section of struggling grass. If Candace died yesterday morning, it had dripped all night. Judging by the amount of sogginess, it had.

Ornamental chimes hung overhead.

No wind today.

No sign of life, literally or figuratively.

Chief Riley exited the front door, carefully closing it behind him. He joined Oscar and gestured to the yard. “You see anything out of place?”

The cotton in Oscar’s throat doubled in size, and tears threatened to spill as he shook his head. He didn’t mind. He’d watched Lieutenant Colonel Townley, who Oscar considered the biggest hero America had, break down and sob over situations he had no control over.

Men he’d lost.

Riley seemed to understand and waited while the sun beat down on them and minutes ticked by.

“You call the medical examiner?” Oscar choked out.

“You think I don’t know my job?” Riley queried.

It was the kind of sarcastic response Oscar needed to snap out of his stupor. “I’ve known the victim all my life. She’s from my hometown of Runyan, New Mexico.”

“I didn’t know that. And the state police who are already on their way will be interested, too.”

“You know who else has a home in Runyan?”

“Who?”

“Jack Little, who owns the chain of Little’s Supermarkets.”

“And that concerns us because...”

“Candace is his daughter.”

Riley said a bunch of words Oscar knew he would not want put in the report, ending with “No kidding. Why didn’t I know that?”

“She didn’t want people to know. She wanted to make friends, get established, before everyone started seeing her for her family’s name and power instead of who she was.”

“It’s time to make some phone calls,” Riley said. “Give me a few minutes.”

Oscar figured it would take more than a few minutes before he was ready to go inside. Carefully he stepped over the cordon tape and stood at the front of the driveway, looking at a pair of sandals by the side gate. They, too, were Candace’s. She always preferred going barefoot.

Riley returned, but he didn’t share who he’d called. “See anything?” he asked.

“Nothing out of place in the yard that I can see, except the hose has dripped all night. Candace never would have left it on.”

Riley nodded, waiting.

“You need to find Shelley Wagner. She lives in—”

“Shelley Wagner,” Riley interrupted. “What does she have to do with this?”

“She lives in the garage apartment across the street. I encountered her yesterday morning walking her little boy. He ran to this window and she followed. Maybe she saw something.”

“I know Shelley Wagner,” Riley said. “And I know where she lives. You say she’s involved in this?”

“I didn’t say she was involved.” If she was, no way would she have been so calm—

But she hadn’t been calm. Not exactly, not when she was hurrying away. Maybe it hadn’t been the encounter with him.

“I don’t think she is involved,” Oscar started again. “She just happened to be out here, taking a walk.” What he couldn’t tell Riley was that she walked every morning and he knew what time she returned. Oscar couldn’t share that she was paying four hundred dollars a month for her one-room apartment and that she had two thousand, three hundred dollars in her bank account.

Oscar knew because Townley via the FBI had provided the information.

“You sure it was Shelley?” Riley asked. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with her.”

“Just under six foot, very pregnant, not much older than Candace. Ran into her yesterday morning during my walk with Peeve.”

She’d worn sensible shoes, Oscar remembered. They’d landed silent on the sidewalk when she’d stopped to talk to him. Peeve, his German shepherd, had sniffed at them and then been distracted by a bird fluttering in a nearby bush.

“That’s our Shelley,” Riley agreed.

Oscar remembered her chasing the toddler, who’d taken off across the sidewalk and tottered into Candace’s yard and then to the picture window. He hadn’t watched what happened next. There’d been a noise, and Peeve had barked until finally a cat scurried from its hiding place. When he’d turned back to the street, Shelley had been carrying Ryan up the apartment stairs, and Ryan had been crying. Just another day. That was what he’d figured.

He’d been wrong.

He wished more than anything he hadn’t been distracted by Peeve and the cat.

“Anything else you remember about the encounter?” Riley asked. “It might be important.”

“No, except something was bothering her.”

“You could tell that by how she looked?” Riley smirked.

“I’ve a sister. She had the same look Anna gets when something is bothering her.”

Speaking of Anna, Oscar needed to call her, break the news about her best friend, let her know he would do all he could to bring the killer to justice.

Riley raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got Bailey canvassing the neighborhood, asking if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary yesterday. I’ll have her go to Shelley’s apartment. They know each other.” Immediately Riley pulled out his phone, called Bailey and gave the order.

Riley managed only a few words before he stopped talking to listen. It was all Oscar could do not to snatch the phone from his chief so he could hear, too.

“You’re sure?” Ending the call, Riley shook his head in disbelief. “Bailey’s talking with Shelley’s landlord right now. Apparently she’s packed most of her stuff and fled. Shelley Wagner’s gone.”

Not what Oscar had expected. He glanced up at Shelley Wagner’s apartment. Bailey and Shelley’s landlord, Robert Tellmaster, were just coming out the door.

Oscar turned to Riley. “I need to see the...the crime scene.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “The State boys wouldn’t like that. It’s best—”

Oscar took a breath, opened and closed his hands a few times before balling them into fists. “Candace didn’t deserve this. She’s—was—a kindergarten teacher, great sense of humor, could play second base like...” Oscar was rambling, which was out of character. But he knew the victim, knew her well. Loved her like a sister.

The two men stood, sizing each other up. Oscar didn’t so much as blink. He had two inches on Riley, but that didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Oscar needed to check—Riley sure looked ex-military.

“One minute is all I ask,” Oscar finally said. “I won’t go in. I won’t touch anything.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been in this house several times. You asked me about what I noticed outside. I can tell you about the inside.”

Riley didn’t like it, Oscar could tell, but he marched to the front door and opened it, backing out of the way. Oscar didn’t hesitate.

He saw Candace first, lying belly-down on the floor. She wore a pink nylon shirt and jeans. One foot still had a sandal. The other was bare. Her brown hair was matted and her head was next to a leg of the coffee table. The table was scooted a few feet from its regular position near the middle of the room. Blood smeared a corner. The couch was bare, except for two pillows and an upended book. The television was off and a few movies were stacked next to it. Across from the couch there were a dozen antique wall clocks. All told the correct time of fifteen minutes after ten. Two easy chairs were in the room. Nothing on them. No animals—Candace’s husband, Cody, was allergic. Oscar couldn’t bring Peeve when he visited.

A large wedding portrait hung over the couch.

Except for Candace, nothing appeared out of place.

He stepped back, bowing his head to say a quick prayer, mostly thinking of how devastated Cody would be.

“Everything is as it should be.” Oscar proceeded to fill Riley in on his and Candace’s history, last time he’d seen her, family and friends. After a few minutes, he asked, “What do you know about Cody’s whereabouts?”

“He’s supposedly at a two-day meeting in Albuquerque. We’ve got the police there looking for him. He’s not answering his cell, and it doesn’t look like he was in his hotel room last night. No one’s seen him since yesterday morning.”

“I know Cody. He wouldn’t kill his wife.” Oscar heard the conviction in his own voice yet knew the husband was always the first suspect in a case like this.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Riley said, but Oscar could tell he didn’t mean it.

It was after eleven when he made it back to his office and started searching the computer for information about where Shelley might be. With Ryan, she’d need to stop. And since she was eight months pregnant, she’d likely need to stop, too. A lot.

He called Townley, who was able to tell him that Shelley had withdrawn two hundred dollars from an automatic teller before she left town. If she used her debit card again elsewhere, she could be tracked.

Townley suggested that Oscar head for Santa Fe. It was big enough to get lost in. “She has no known relatives except her father,” Townley reminded him. Oscar added the address of the father’s care center to his notebook. Townley sent a file detailing Shelley’s history, including names of college roommates, instructors, people she’d worked with.

Oscar printed it out and compared it to the file Sarasota Falls had on her, looking for repeated names. There weren’t many, as her local file had more to do with her connection with Larry Wagner.

Wagner had stolen and scammed roughly seven hundred thousand dollars from the good people of Sarasota Falls.

Over three hundred thousand of that came from the sale of Shelley’s family home and its furnishings.

Riley was good. Thorough. He’d ferreted out two women who’d had affairs with Wagner during his short marriage to Shelley. One worked at the bank. The other wasn’t named, but a desk clerk at the Sarasota Falls Inn swore Wagner had checked in with a high-class blonde at least five times. The signature on file matched Wagner’s handwriting. Unfortunately, the female hadn’t signed any receipts, and Wagner hadn’t called her anything but Sugar.

Picking up the phone, Oscar called Riley. “I’m going to head over to the care center where Shelley’s dad is.”

“Good idea. Wait for me. I’m coming in.”

“State police arrived?” Oscar asked.

“An hour ago. A couple of pretty decent guys. They looked over our reports of what the people in the neighborhood did and didn’t see. They took even more photos than I did. They think she was pushed and happened to hit her head on the table. But, based on the condition of the bedroom, they know there was a struggle. Coroner arrived right after they did.”

“Struggle in the bedroom. Did...?” Oscar hated that his attempt not to contaminate the crime scene meant he’d gone no farther than the front door. There’d been more to see, more that other people might miss.

“Lead guy said he didn’t think so. Seems someone broke in and disturbed her while she was getting dressed.”

“Time of death?”

“Between six and eight a.m., but only because she was dressed. The coroner says it could have been earlier. He prefers, for now, to say midnight and six.”

“If she fell and hit her head, then it might not be a murder.”

There was a full ten-second pause. “There are marks on the back of her shirt that could be handprints. Then, too, the way she landed implies speed and gravity. They figured this out by measuring. At the very least, it’s involuntary manslaughter.”

“Yes, but—”

“They’re still gathering evidence, from a strand of hair they found on the floor to a drop of blood taken by swab from the edge of the coffee table.”

“Have they moved her body yet?”

“Yes, but it will be a few days before we know anything.”

“And you’ve told them about Shelley Wagner and—”

“Yes,” Riley interrupted, “and they find it quite interesting that from the window of Shelley’s garage apartment, you can see right into Candace’s living room and backyard. One of Candace’s coworkers said Candace noticed the young woman across the street watching her and was spooked about it.”