Blanco County 04 - Guilt Trip (18 page)

“This celery sure is crunchy,” he said.

She didn’t say anything.

He took a small bite. “I wonder what makes it so dang crunchy.”

She was still staring.

“Tasty stuff,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

There was a pause. “I’m just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“Whether you’re ready for this or not. You think you can pull it off?”

“Hell yeah, I’m ready,” Red said. “Just acting like a plumber, is all. No problem.”

Lucille leaned in close, and a wicked smile broke across her lips. “I got an idea. Instead of playing plumber, how about playing doctor?” she whispered.

It wasn’t just talk!

“Well, I, uh…” Red wanted to come up with something witty, but suddenly his tongue was as thick as fresh cement.

“How about we send Billy Don to the store for something…” Lucy said.

“Uh-huh?”

“Then we can go back into your bedroom…”

“Yeah?”

“And you can give me a complete examination.”

Red managed to blurt out something in reply, but he wasn’t even sure what he said. There was a frog the size of a Suburban in his throat.

The next thing he knew, Lucy’s hand was on his thigh. Then it crept higher, and she laughed. “See there, Doctor. I’ve already found a place to hang your stethoscope,”

“Billy Don!” Red hollered, his voice cracking all over the place. “We need more tomato juice!”

BACK AT THE sheriff’s department, Marlin decided to put his conversation with Phil Colby out of his mind. Just not think about it at all. Not now, when there was work to do.

He started by trying a shot in the dark. He closed the door to his office and dialed Stephanie Waring’s cell phone number. His heart jumped when it was answered. Sounded like an elderly male. There was lots of static on the line.

“This is John Marlin. Who am I speaking to, please?”

“This is Blackie. Is this your phone?” The old guy sounded half in the bag.

“Pardon me?”

“I said, is this your phone?”

“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m trying to reach Stephanie Waring. Is she there?”

“Don’t know no Tiffany.”

“No, it’s Stephanie.”

The man didn’t reply.

“Sir,” Marlin said, “do you know Stephanie Waring?”

“Don’t know no Tiffany.”

Whoever this man was, he sounded like he was heavily medicated. Or needed to be. “Sir, please tell me where I’m calling.”

Marlin heard nothing but traffic noise in the background. “Sir, where am I calling?”

“Hold on a dang minute.” Several seconds passed. “Down on Holtz Boulevard. Near the shelter.”

“No, I mean what city?”

The man answered, and it sounded like he said, “Miami.”

“Miami, Florida?” Marlin asked.

Nothing.

“Sir? Did you find that phone somewhere?”

But the line was dead, or the man had hung up.

Marlin dialed the number again. No answer—just an automated message stating that the customer’s voice mailbox was full. He tried two more times with the same result.

Florida? Had he misdialed? Had to have been a wrong number.

Okay, great. Now what?

The deputies had already interviewed all of Stephanie’s friends, family members, and coworkers, and Marlin wasn’t sure what else he could do to find her. He flipped back through his notes, checking everything he and the deputies had done so far.

There was a light knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

Nicole Brooks stuck her head in. “How’s it going, John?”

“Hey, Nicole, come on in.”

“Actually, I was just leaving for Scofield’s, but I wanted to come by and say…well, sorry, I guess.”

“For what?”

“This thing with Phil Colby. I know the two of you are tight, so I figured this must be driving you crazy.”

He started to shrug it off, to say it was no big deal and it would all work itself out—but there was something about her demeanor, the look of sincerity on her face, that made him want to be sincere right back. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Right up the wall.” He added a half-hearted smile just to let her know he wasn’t going completely nuts.

She glanced down the hallway behind her, then back at him. “Listen, I have to get a move on, but do you want to get together and talk about it tonight? Maybe over a beer or something?”

Marlin wondered,
Am I misreading this, or is she asking me out?

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great,” he said.
No, she’s just showing professional courtesy,
he thought.
Wants to keep me updated on the case.

“How about I meet you back here at seven?”

“Okay, good. I’ll see you then.”

She started to close the door, but Marlin said, “Hey, Nicole, I don’t see anything in my notes about Stephanie Waring’s phone records. Somebody pulled those, right?”

“Actually, no. We were about to, but her mother called and said she was in Colorado. At that point, it dropped lower on the to-do list—especially since we didn’t know yet that Scofield was a homicide. You still working on her?”

“I’d sure like to talk to her.”

“Yeah, we all would.”

He looked at his computer. “Just like a regular affidavit, right?”

“You’ve never pulled phone records?”

He smiled. “Yeah, but it’s been maybe fifteen years. Memory’s a little rusty.”

“Her home phone or a wireless account?”

“Just the wireless for now.”

“You know which carrier?”

“Yeah, it’s on her voicemail.”

“Okay, then your best bet would be to fax the subpoena to the carrier.” She stepped into his office and gestured toward his computer. “We’ve got a list of all the carriers and their fax numbers on the server. Want me to show you?”

“That’d be great.”

She came around his desk and leaned across in front of him to operate the mouse. A few clicks later, she had the list on his screen. “I’ll save this document onto your desktop.”

Marlin kept his eyes forward, but he could smell her perfume, just a light scent, and maybe the soap she had used earlier that morning.

“As far as the affidavit,” she said, “you just need to show cause for the records being important to an ongoing case, and so on.” She was clicking into areas of the network Marlin had never accessed before. “I’m going to pull one of my affidavits so you can use it as a template. Just change a few names and details and you’ll be good to go.”

As Brooks navigated the system, she used her free hand to tuck a stray lock of auburn hair back into place. Marlin could feel a warm glow—maybe real, maybe imagined—coming off her body.

“There,” she said. “You’re all set.” She came around to the front of his desk.

“I’ll let you know if I get anywhere,” Marlin said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, no problem. Ask them to put a rush on it. Sometimes that helps.” Again, she started to close the door but paused. “See you at seven?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

“I’d like to report a possible fugitive,” a man said.

“Yes, a
possible
fugitive,” a woman’s voice added. “But I hope we’re mistaken.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” the man said. “But something’s a little hinky.”

“Unfortunately, my husband is rarely wrong.”

Sergeant Damon Watley glanced up from the paperwork on his desk. The Key West Police Department didn’t get too many walk-in visitors, and those they did get were usually locals. Not these two. They had come straight from Mallory Square or Duval Street. Out-of-towners all the way. Sunburned, overweight tourists in loud clothing. Watley grabbed a pen. “Name?”

“Luke,” the man said. “I don’t know his last name.”

“He never did give it,” said the woman. “But we never asked.”

“I’m not even sure about the ‘Luke’ part. Might be fake.”

“But he
looked
like a Luke, if that helps.”

“I don’t think it does, Fiona.”

“I’m just trying to be useful, Rob.”

“No,” Sergeant Watley said. “I mean
your
name.”

“Oh,” said the man.

The woman laughed. “We thought—”

“You meant
his
name.”

“That’s funny!”

“We’re the Norrises.”

“We’re from Wisconsin,” the woman said, making it sound like an explanation.

“I’m Rob.”

“I’m Fiona.”

“Been here all week.”

“And it’s such a lovely town. Absolutely lovely!”

“First rate. And I have to say, it looks like you guys are doing a great job. I should know. I’m involved in law enforcement myself.”

“The streets feel so safe.”

“We expected more of a criminal element, to be blunt.”

“But all we’ve seen is tourists!”

Sergeant Watley held up his hands in an attempt to get the couple to quit talking. Surprisingly, it worked. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“Okay,” Rob said. “We were in a bar on Duval Street this morning. About ten o’clock.”

“We don’t usually drink that early,” Fiona stressed, “but we’re on vacation!”

“And I overheard this guy Luke talking to the bartender. He asked where he could get a new driver’s license.”

“I didn’t hear that part.”

“He wanted to know where he could get a new one. But he wasn’t from Florida.”

“He told us he was from Texas.”

“And that makes you wonder—”

“Why would he try to get a new driver’s license—”

“If he isn’t even from this state?”

“Isn’t that peculiar?”

“It seemed suspicious to me, so I asked him some questions. He was very evasive.”

“I hope we’re mistaken. For his sake.”

“Except we’d hate to waste your time.”

“We snapped his photo!” Fiona Norris held up a digital camera.

“Even better, I’ve got his fingerprints.” Rob Norris held up a plastic bag, inside of which was a glass beer mug.

Sergeant Watley scratched his head. “You’re a cop?”

“Uh, well, no.”

“You said you were in law enforcement.”

“Well, in a way,” said Rob. “I’m the president of our Neighborhood Watch program.”

“And he does a really good job!” Fiona proclaimed.

“I do have an eye for it,” Rob confessed.

“It’s like an intuition.”

“More of a sixth sense.”

“Our neighbors love him!”

“I can just look at a guy—”

“And tell if he’s up to no good!”

“Like this guy here,” Rob said, tapping the camera.

“He was so sweet,” said Fiona.

“But I saw right through it.”

“Rob says he’s on the run.”

Rob nodded solemnly. “No doubt about it.”

“Kind of sad, really.”

“Unless he’s, like, a murderer.”

“Or a rapist!” Fiona shuddered.

“You should contact Texas.”

“See if they’ve got—”

“Okay! Okay!” Sergeant Watley said loudly “We’ll look into it.”
Just to shut both of you up.

“You just shot my stove,” Colby said. “That was an antique. It was my great-grandmother’s.”

The man had hardly even flinched, and Buford had to give him credit for that. This was the second bullet he’d sent sailing past Colby’s skull, and Colby hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Next one goes in your head,” Buford said, but he knew he was losing credibility. That was the problem—he kept saying he was going to shoot Colby, but he couldn’t actually do it. Not if he wanted to find the negatives. There were other things he could do, though. Plenty of them. “Mister,” he said, “you want my advice, you’ll just give me the negatives and be done with it.”

Colby remained silent.

“Ain’t worth the trouble,” Buford said.

Nothing.

“You think this high-fence shit is worth dying for?”

Buford must’ve said the right thing, because the look on Colby’s face changed. Now he was shaking his head, like he’d figured something out. “You know something? You’re absolutely right. This whole thing has gotten out of hand.”

Now we’re getting somewhere,
Buford thought.

“So I’ll do it,” Colby continued. “I’ll give you the negatives. But we got one small problem.”

“Yeah, what?”

“They’re in a safe-deposit box down at the bank. It closes early on Fridays. We can’t get in it till Monday.”

It was bad news, meaning this was going to take a lot longer than he had hoped. But Buford was prepared for it. He had a backup plan. He pulled the roll of duct tape out from his jacket pocket. “On your stomach. Arms behind your back. We’re going for a little ride.”

Marlin had just sent a fax when Darrell put a call through.

“Uh, John Marlin?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yeah, I think you called me earlier this week. My name’s Jenny Geiger.”

For a moment the name didn’t register. Then it clicked. “Oh, right, thanks for calling me back. I left half a message on your machine. Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay, I tracked you down. I was out of town. Just walked in the door.”

“Miss Geiger, you’re a friend of Vance Scofield’s, right?”

A pause. “Well, sort of. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“How long has it been?”

“Probably two months or so.”

“From what I understand, you and Vance dated?”

“Uh, yeah. Briefly.”

Jenny Geiger did not sound comfortable.

“Have you seen the news lately?”

“Yeah, about Vance. I already heard. I figured that’s why you were calling.”

“Are you aware that it was a homicide?” Marlin knew Bobby Garza’s news conference had ended thirty minutes ago.

“Yeah, I heard it on the radio coming home from the airport. Some of my friends called me earlier this week when it first happened, but they were saying he drowned. What happened?”

“That’s what we’re working on,” Marlin said. “Let me ask you something, Miss Geiger. Do you know of any reason somebody would want to harm Vance? Anyone angry with him—that sort of thing?”

“Not that I know of. Like I said, we only went out a few times.”

Marlin tried the same questions, but in different words. Sometimes that technique elicited different responses. “Did he ever mention any arguments with anybody, or talk about anybody that didn’t like him?”

“Not really, no.”

“Not really?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did you ever meet any of his friends?”

“He was in the Rotary Club. I met a couple of those guys when I was selling tickets for the raffle.”

“That’s how you met Vance? Selling the tickets?”

“Right.”

“Did he ever mention anyplace else where he might’ve parked the Corvette?”

“He kept it in his barn. That’s all I know.”

Marlin switched gears. “Where did you and Vance usually go when you went out?”

“Just clubs in Austin.”

“The Warehouse District?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did y’all ever meet up with anybody down there?”

“Nope.”

“He ever get into any trouble at any of the clubs?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Maybe exchange words with somebody. Get into a confrontation.”

“Not that I ever saw.”

“Did he seem to know many people at the clubs?”

“Well, maybe a couple, but he’d just say hi and that was it.”

“You catch any names?”

“None that I remember.”

“How about phone calls? Did you ever hear him get angry with anybody?”

“No, I—” The line clicked. “Can you hold on just a second?”

Before Marlin could answer, she switched to the incoming call. Just as well. So far, she wasn’t offering much. In fact, she seemed reluctant to speak, and Marlin thought he knew why. After a good minute and a half, she finally came back on the line.