Читать книгу Cold Case at Cobra Creek - Rita Herron - Страница 12
ОглавлениеDugan stopped by his ranch before heading out to talk to the ranchers Lewis had approached.
He’d worked hard as a kid and teen on other spreads, doing odd jobs and then learning to ride and train horses, and had vowed years ago that he would one day own his own land.
Growing up on the reservation had been tough. His mother was Native American and had barely been able to put food on the table. Like little Benji’s, his father had skipped out. He had no idea where the man was now and couldn’t care less if he ever met him.
Any man who abandoned his family wasn’t worth spit.
Then he’d lost his mother when he was five and had been tossed around for years afterward, in foster care, never really wanted by anyone, never belonging anywhere. It was the one reason he’d wanted his own land, his own place. A home.
He’d hired a young man, Hiram, to help him on the ranch in exchange for a place to live. Hiram was another orphan on the rez who needed a break. He also employed three other teens to help groom and exercise the horses and clean the stalls. Keeping the boys busy and teaching them the satisfaction of hard work would hopefully help them stay out of trouble. He’d also set up college scholarships if they decided to further their education.
Everything at the ranch looked in order, and he spotted Hiram at the stables. He showered and changed into a clean shirt and jeans, then retreated to his home office.
He booted up his computer and researched Trace Lanier. Seconds after he entered the man’s name, dozens of articles appeared, all showcasing Lanier’s rise in success in the rodeo. Other photos revealed a line of beautiful rodeo groupies on his arm. For the past two years, he’d been traveling the rodeo circuit, enjoying fame and success.
He had no motive for trying to get his son back. He had plenty of money. And now fame. And judging from the pictures of him at honky-tonks, parties and casinos, he enjoyed his single life.
At the time of Benji’s disappearance, he was actually competing in Tucson.
Dugan struck Lanier off the suspect list, then phoned his buddy Jaxon and explained about finding Lewis’s corpse and the phony identities.
“Sounds like a professional con artist,” Jaxon said. “Send me a list of all his IDs and I’ll run them.”
Dugan typed in the list and emailed it to Jaxon. He could use all the help he could get.
“I’m plugging them in, along with his picture,” Jaxon said. “Now, tell me what you know about this man.”
“He came to Cobra Creek on the pretense of saving the town. Said he had a developer wanting to rebuild the downtown, and expand with an equestrian center, dude ranch, shopping mall and new storefronts. The banker in town said he approached him to invest and that he solicited locals to, as well. I’m going to question them next. But I’m anxious to learn more about his background. Does he have an arrest record?”
“Jeez. He was a pro.”
“What did you find?”
“He stole the name Lewis from a dead man in Corpus Christi.”
“A murder victim?”
“No, he was eighty and died of cancer.”
“So he stole his identity because it was easy.”
“Yeah, Lewis was an outstanding citizen, had no priors. His son died in Afghanistan.”
“What else?”
“Three of the names—Joel Bremmer, Mike Martin and Seth Handleman—have rap sheets.”
“What for?”
“Bremmer for theft, Martin for fraud and embezzlement and Handleman for similar charges.”
“Did he do time for any of the crimes?”
“Not a day. Managed to avoid a trial by jumping bail.”
“Then he took on a new identity,” Dugan filled in.
“Like I said, he’s a pro.”
“Who bailed him out?”
“Hang on. Let me see if I can access those records.”
“While you’re at it, see if you can get a hold of Sheriff Gandt’s police report on Lewis’s car accident. I want to know if Lewis was shot before the accident or afterward.”
“The sheriff doesn’t know?”
“According to Gandt, he thought the man died in the car fire. Now we have a body, the M.E. pointed out the gunshot wound. When I asked Gandt if he saw a bullethole in the car, he sidestepped the question, and said the car was burned pretty badly. But all that tells me is that he didn’t examine it.”
“Shoddy work.”
“You could say that.”
Dugan drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited. Seconds later, Jaxon returned.
“Each time, a woman bailed him out. The first time, the lady claimed to be his wife. The second, his girlfriend.”
“Their names?”
“Eloise Bremmer,” Jaxon said. “After Bremmer disappeared, the police went to question her, but she was gone, too. Same thing with Martin’s girlfriend, Carol Sue Tinsley.”
“Hmm, wonder if they’re one and the same.”
“That’s possible.”
“How about the other names?”
“One more popped. Seth Handleman. He was charged with fraud, but the charges were dropped. Says here his wife, Maude, lives in Laredo.”
“Give me that address,” Dugan said. “Maybe she’s still there.”
She also might be the same woman who’d bailed out Bremmer and Martin.
* * *
SAGE RUBBED HER FINGER over the locket she wore as she parked at the coffee shop where Ashlynn Fontaine had agreed to meet her. After Benji had disappeared, she’d placed his picture inside the necklace and sworn she wouldn’t take it off until she found her son.
It was a constant reminder that he was close to her heart even if she had no idea if he was alive or...gone forever.
Clinging to hope, she hurried inside, ordered a latte and found a small corner table to wait. Five minutes later, Ashlynn entered, finding Sage and offering her a small smile. Ashlynn ordered coffee, then joined her, shook off her jacket and dropped a pad and pen on the table.
“Hi, Ms. Freeport. I’m glad you called.”
“Call me Sage.”
“All right, Sage. You said there’s been a new development in the case.”
Sage nodded. “I take it you haven’t heard about Ron Lewis’s body being found.”
The reporter’s eyes flickered with surprise. “No, but that is news. Who found him?”
“Dugan Graystone, a local tracker, was searching for some missing hikers and discovered his body at Cobra Creek.”
“I see. And the sheriff was called?”
Sage nodded. “Sheriff Gandt said he would investigate, but he didn’t do much the first go-around.”
“How did Lewis die?” Ashlynn asked.
“He was shot.”
“Murdered?” Another flicker of surprise. “So he didn’t die from an accident?”
“No.” Sage ran a hand through her hair. “He died of a gunshot wound. At this point it’s unclear if he was shot before the accident, causing him to crash, or after it, when he tried to escape the burning vehicle.”
“Interesting.”
“The important thing is that they found Lewis’s body but not my son’s. So Benji might be alive.”
Ashlynn gave her a sympathetic look. “Did they find any evidence that he survived?”
“No,” Sage admitted. “But they also didn’t find any proof that he didn’t.”
“Fair enough.”
“Think about it,” Sage said. “The shooter may have wanted to kill Ron. But maybe he didn’t realize Ron had Benji with him. When he killed Ron and discovered Benji, he may have taken my son.”
A tense heartbeat passed between them, fraught with questions.
“That’s possible,” Ashlynn said. “But it’s also possible that he didn’t.”
Sage’s stomach revolted. “You mean that he got rid of Benji.”
“I’m sorry,” Ashlynn said. “I don’t want to believe that, but if he murdered Lewis, he might not have wanted any witnesses left behind.”
Sage desperately clung to hope that Ron’s killer hadn’t been that inhumane. Killing a grown man for revenge, if that was the case, was a far cry from killing an innocent child.
Ashlynn traced a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “I hate to suggest this, but did the police search the area for a grave, in case the killer buried your son?”
Sage’s throat closed. She clutched her purse, ready to leave. “I didn’t call you so you’d convince me that Benji is dead. I hoped you’d run another story, this time focus on the fact that Lewis’s body was found but that Benji might still be out there.”
She pulled a picture of her son from her shoulder bag. “Please print his picture and remind people that he’s still missing. That I’m still looking for him.” Desperation tinged her voice. “Maybe someone’s seen him and will call in.”
Ashlynn reached over and squeezed her hand. “Of course I can do that, Sage. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get closure.”
Sage heard the doubt in the reporter’s voice. She didn’t think Benji would be found.
But Sage didn’t care what she thought. “I know you have your doubts about him being alive, but I’m his mother.” Sage stroked the locket where it lay against her heart. “I can’t give up until I know for sure.”
Ashlynn nodded and took the picture. “Did Benji have any defining characteristics? A birthmark, scar or mole? Anything that might stand out?”
“As a matter of fact, he does,” Sage said. “He was born with an extra piece of cartilage in his right ear. It’s not very noticeable, but if you look closely, it almost looks like he has two eardrums.”
“Do you have a photo where it’s visible?”
Sage had actually avoided photographing it. But it was obvious in his first baby picture. She removed it from her wallet and showed it to Ashlynn.
“This might help,” the reporter told her. “I’ll enhance it for the news story. And I’ll run the story today.” Ashlynn finished her coffee. “As a matter of fact, I have a friend who works for the local TV station. I’ll give her a heads-up and have her add it to their broadcast. The more people looking for Benji, the better.”
Sage thanked her, although Ashlynn’s comment about searching for a grave troubled her.
As much as she didn’t want to face that possibility, she’d have to ask Dugan about it.
* * *
DUGAN ENTERED THE ADDRESS for Maude Handleman into the note section on his phone, then drove toward Lloyd Riley’s farm, a few miles outside town.
He’d heard about the tough times some of the landowners had fallen upon in the past few years. Weather affected farming and crops, the organic craze had caused some to rethink their methods and make costly changes, and the beef industry had suffered.
Farmers and ranchers had to be progressive and competitive. He noted the broken fencing along Riley’s property, the parched pastures and the lack of crops in the fields.
He drove down the mile drive to the farmhouse, which was run-down, the porch rotting, the paint peeling. A tractor was abandoned in the field, the stables were empty and a battered black pickup truck was parked sideways by the house.
It certainly appeared as if Riley might have been in trouble.
Dugan parked and walked up the porch steps, then knocked. He waited a few minutes, then knocked again, and the sound of man’s voice boomed, “Coming!”
Footsteps shuffled, then the door opened and a tall, rangy cowboy pushed the screen door open.
“Lloyd Riley?”
The man tipped his hat back on his head. “You’re that Indian who found the hikers?”
“I was looking for them, but another rescue worker actually found them,” Dugan said. He offered his hand and Riley shook it.
“Name’s Dugan Graystone.”
“What are you doing out here?” Riley asked.
Dugan chose his words carefully. Tough cowboys were wary of admitting they had money problems. “I spoke with George Bates at the bank about that development Ron Lewis had planned around Cobra Creek.”
Riley stiffened. “What about it?”
“Bates said he asked him to invest before he died. He also mentioned that he talked to some of the locals about investing, as well.”
“So?” Riley folded his arms. “He held meetings with the town council and talked to most everyone in town about it. Didn’t he approach you?”
Dugan shook his head. “No, he probably meant to, but he didn’t get around to me before he died.”
Riley pulled at his chin. “Yeah, too bad about that.”
The man sounded less than sincere. And Bates had said that he thought Riley made a deal with Lewis. “I heard Lewis offered to buy up some of the property in the area and made offers to landowners. Did he want to buy your farm?”
Riley’s eyes flickered with anger. “He offered, but I told him no. This land belonged to my daddy and his daddy. I’ll be damned if I was going to let him turn it into some kind of shopping mall or dude ranch.”
“So you refused his offer?”
“Yeah. Damn glad I did. Heard he cheated a couple of the old-timers.”
“How so?”
“Offered them a loan to get them out of trouble, supposedly through the backer of this rich development. But fine print told a different story.”
“What was in the fine print?”
“I don’t know the details, but when it came time to pay up and the guys couldn’t make the payments, he foreclosed and stole the property right out from under them.”
Riley reached for the door, as if he realized he’d said too much. “Why’d you say you wanted to know about all this?”
