The Past Came Hunting (15 page)

Chapter Seventeen

In a noisy, smoke-filled tavern across town, Drake scanned the booths for Denny Ramirez, hoping to remember what the guy looked like. It’d taken the ex-con three days to return Drake’s phone call, and if not for the tip on Melanie, he might have said “fuck this” and left Colorado altogether.

Looking over his shoulder was becoming a habit. He flinched when he heard sirens, he watched for squad cars, but the cops never burst in. What’s more, no one seemed to pay him any mind, which made him rest easier.

Last night in another dumpy hotel room, he’d watched a Denver television station. Not one mention of Ropes’ death had made it to Colorado’s largest metropolitan area. Guess the state’s capital had enough crimes of its own to report. So far, anyway. He’d never take his freedom for granted again.

Shit.
He had to find a place to lay low.

In the back booth next to the john, Drake saw a Hispanic man drinking beer. Drake made eye contact and the dude nodded. His hair was shorter than Drake remembered and Ramirez had grown a goatee.

He stood and gripped Drake’s hand in the familiar fashion they’d used in the pen. “Max, thanks for comin’.”

Drake slid into the opposite booth. A waitress came and gave him an eyeful of her cleavage. He took a leisurely look down her blouse, but ignored further invitation. Pointing to Ramirez’s drink, Drake said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Both men studied the sway of her hips as she sauntered away. Turning to Drake, Ramirez said, “You look fit,
amigo
.”

Yeah, boredom and prison could do that to you.
On the inside he’d bench pressed two-twenty. Now, he missed his regular workouts. When he finally got settled, he’d join a gym. “Your cousin mentioned a venture. I want in.”

“Let’s eat, then we’ll talk.” Apparently, Ramirez was in no hurry. But Drake’s nerves felt like a skittering metal ball in a pin-ball machine. He wanted in on the plan. It wouldn’t be long before he was out of options, and as much as things cost these days, out of money.

The steak dinner helped, but not much. The waiting was making him want to smash something. He felt the same pressure building as he had with Ropes. “Garcia said you wanted to see me. Well, I’m here. Quit wasting my time.”

“Fair enough.” Ramirez shoved his plate aside and lowered his voice. “I got a team of six players. All cons, none on parole, and all able to move around at my say so. If you got an old lady you’re attached to, don’t waste
my
time.”

Drake’s mind meandered to the hooker he’d picked up on Colfax. She’d hinted about coming with him when he left town. He’d retrieved the money he paid her, then left her asleep in a Denver hotel room. “I ain’t attached to nobody.”

Ramirez lifted a brow. “You gay, man?”

Drake shook his head. Guess if he was going to be living around a bunch of men, Ramirez wanted it out in the open.

“The way you was ogling that waitress I didn’t think so. But I’m glad to hear it. The heat’s on in the Springs, so we’re givin’ it a rest. The way I see it, we’re good for one more job here. After that, we leave the state.”

Drake thought of the Pueblo phone directory he’d left in his Jeep. He’d made it half-way down the list so far. Once he found Melanie and eliminated her, Ramirez’s venture would be perfect.

“Another thing, I need you to stay out of trouble. If you’re into anything else, don’t lay it on my doorstep.” The con’s dark eyes narrowed. “No crimes other than our hits. Got any secrets, Max?”

Picturing Ropes’ lifeless body, Drake said, “I just got out of the joint. Who’s had time?”

“To work for me, you better keep it that way. I need men I can trust, or at least those quiet enough to get rich.

“I got some ground rules, so hear me out. One, I’m in charge. I give the orders. No one crosses me. You never bring a woman or drugs to the house. You park your vehicle in an apartment complex down the street, then walk. We meet at my sister’s place. She lives in a nice neighborhood, man. We don’t want no one ratting us out to the cops. My sister ain’t home much, but when she is, she’s off limits, understand?”

Drake nodded.

“No drinking or drugs during a job. I need people with clear heads. And if I let you in on this, forget about having my boot up your ass, you talk to anyone, you’re dead.”

Adrenaline shot through Drake’s veins. Denny Ramirez’s reputation with a switchblade was legendary. Drake had no doubt the former con meant what he said. “I can live with your terms.”

Ramirez stood and picked up the bill.

Outside the tavern, music and laughter filled the night as people, obviously regulars, came and went. Veering away from passersby, Ramirez slapped Drake on the back and returned to his affable self. “This thing is working, Max. The way I see it, we’re kind of like a union.”

“A union.” Drake scoffed. “What? I get a pension and benefits?”

“Better. You get someone watching your back. This city’s shitting, Max. They never see us coming. Get this, we even made the nightly news. They’re calling us the Chaos Bandits.”

Drake shook his head. Sounded like a damned video game
.
“When do I meet the others?”

“How about now?”

Nearing their cars, Drake shoved his hands in his coat pockets as the gang leader paused again. “You don’t like people, Max, and that’s cool. For what I have in mind, you’ll work alone. But to distract the cops, I need every man on my team, so play nice. My boys have already proved themselves. You haven’t. If any one of them says you’re out, you’re out.”

Drake slid into the Jeep. He followed the gang leader’s car out of the tavern’s parking lot.
Play nice
. Drake drew his mouth into a sneer. He’d do what he could to fit in. As for playing nice? He’d given that up a long time ago.

Chapter Eighteen

In the Op Center’s largest conference room, Joe sat as a representative of the CSPD among people from two other agencies, the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office and the Colorado State Patrol. The three law enforcement bureaus had joined forces to stop the orchestrated robberies and the individuals responsible. So far only one store owner had been injured, but it was only a matter of time.

Now some media wise-guy had given these criminals a nickname, and it’d stuck. Just what law enforcement needed―for these lowlifes to think of themselves as celebrities. The sensationalism had also fueled the ire of the mayor, city council and county commissioners, which meant if the outbreaks weren’t stopped, and soon, they’d be howling for badges.

The meeting today was to strategize how the unencumbered agencies could provide backup and resources to their activated law-enforcement counterparts when the 911 calls went down.

With the city and county growing at inordinate rates, statistics had shown the criminal element encompassed only ten percent of the population. Unfortunately, they tended to find each other, then band together like lint on a sweater.

At first Joe clung to every syllable, but as the sheriff’s commander rehashed locations on a PowerPoint presentation of the MOs, getaway routes and times that Joe had seared into his brain, his thoughts turned to Ropes’ murder, Drake Maxwell, and naturally, to Mel.

How had he come to care for her in such a short time? More importantly, sharing a past like they had, why should he want her at all?

Since dinner Saturday night, he’d done his best to give her space, because she needed it, and because he could use the time to sort out his feelings as well.

He hadn’t dated much since the divorce, but with the few women he had spent time with, he’d never made even a hint of a suggestive remark. Maybe because he was half-afraid they’d take him up on his offer. Mel had been fun to tease, and seemed as reticent as he about their relationship. Until Thursday night, that was. If she made love the way she kissed. . . Joe rubbed his forehead. Is that what he wanted?

“Lt. Crandall, do you agree with Lt. Fowler that the lull in the Chaos Bandits’ activities indicates they’ve left town?”

Good thing the commander repeated the question, because Joe sure as hell hadn’t been paying attention.
Left town
. He hoped not. If the instigators of the crimes had vanished, it left Joe with a major black mark on an otherwise impeccable record.

“There’s always that possibility,” he admitted. “However, I suspect they’re lying low, maybe waiting for a greater opportunity. The Springs appears to be the first place they’ve hit. The fact they’ve stayed also indicates something else.”

“They’re locals?” the commander asked.

“Maybe,” Joe acknowledged.

“What’s the something else then?” Sgt. McMurtry from the State Patrol leaned forward, placing his massive arms on the conference table.

“The fact that they’ve hit Colorado Springs so many times leads me to believe they have a vendetta. Possibly with police.”

“They’ve done time,” the commander said.

“Unquestionably. Or someone in their family suffered at the hands of law enforcement.”

The room grew quiet as Joe’s theory ruminated.

Lt. Fowler pushed up her wire-rimmed glasses. “Anyone care to speculate where they’ll strike next?” She focused on Joe.

He shrugged. “My personal theory is since they’ve struck so many times during the night, they’ll aim for day.”

“I don’t think so,” McMurtry argued. “They don’t like witnesses,”

“You could be right,” Joe said. He glanced up to see the department secretary standing in the doorway. She waved a message; he shook his head. He’d told her no interruptions. Yet, as she stood unmoving, he surmised the situation was urgent.

Joe rose from the table. “Not only do I think they’ll strike during the day, I think they’ll lie low until Christmas, where instead of the nighttime, the crowds will be their accomplice. What’s more, because of so many citizens at risk, I think we have an obligation to beef up patrols and undercover operations during this period.”

At the manpower shortage and overtime costs Joe’s suggestion created, loud grumbles and arguments broke out throughout the entire room.

His secretary never budged. “Looks like I have to take this, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up.”

He left the meeting heavy in debate with as little disruption as possible.

In the hallway, Louise handed him the note.
Warden Simon Rivers holding on line three
. “He insisted I interrupt, Lieutenant.”

Pulse quickening, Joe hurried through the maze of cubicles to his office and shut the door. “Warden? Joe Crandall.”

“You asked me to follow up on Correction Officer Jesse Ropes and any connection to Drake Maxwell.”

“And?”

“Prior to Maxwell’s release, Ropes worked on Maxwell’s block.”

Releasing the breath he’d been holding, Joe said, “Still think my theory’s unlikely?” The remark wasn’t meant to be smug.

“I’m not ready to panic,” Simon replied. “But I’m leaving nothing to chance. Against my better judgment, I made a phone call to Maxwell’s brother in Riverside.”

Quite a risk, Joe thought. “Did he tell you anything?”

“Maxwell did indeed show up in Riverside, but he left.”

“Left?” Pressure pounded the space between Joe’s eyes.

“That’s correct.”

“Did his brother say
where
he went?”

“Adam Maxwell said he didn’t know, nor did he care.”

“You don’t think he’s in California,” Joe said.

“No. And neither do you.”

“You didn’t happen to ask―”

“No, Lieutenant, I asked precisely the questions I told you I did, and then I hung up.”

“Understood,” Joe said. The risk factor again. Drake Maxwell hadn’t gotten out of prison on parole. He’d been released as an
ex
-convict. There was a huge difference, and for a warden to check up on him, violated Maxwell’s civil rights, and risked Simon’s job. Hell. The criminal element had more rights than their victims any day of the week. “My next move is a repeat call to the Cañon City Police to see what they’ve learned.”

“I’d like to be kept informed.” Simon hesitated. “After Luke’s game on Saturday I asked Melanie to marry me.”

The comment was so out of context with the last, it took a moment to register. When it did, Joe clutched the phone so hard his knuckles turned white.

“She turned me down.”

Loosening his grip, Joe exhaled.

“She says she’s not in love with me, Lieutenant. She says she’s not in love with anyone.”

A dull ache settled in his throat. Of course, he couldn’t expect her to be in love with him. Not yet. But he’d thought she felt
something
. Joe stared at the wood patterns in the door.

“Personally, I don’t believe her,” Simon continued. “I advised her to keep her distance, and made some fairly disparaging remarks about your character to persuade her.”

“I don’t have time for this discussion,” Joe said heatedly.

“Make time. I don’t approve of your methods, Lieutenant, and personally, I think I’m the better man for her. But if Maxwell’s on to her, my feelings are irrelevant. My only reason for telling you is, thanks to my remarks, you may have a formidable wall to breach.”

“Noted.”

The warden grew quiet, then said, “Should we tell her about Maxwell?”

“We’ve kept her aware of his movements so far. Now that he’s disappeared, why would we do otherwise?”

“She’ll think I failed her,” Simon replied.

“I doubt that. She’s aware of everything you’ve done for her.” Joe sighed. “Any chance we’re overreacting? That Maxwell has let all of this go?”

“The warden at Maxwell’s prison passed on a decade of documented reports that say differently. I find your wishful thinking unlikely. Maxwell may not have had a thing to do with Jesse Ropes’ murder, but if Drake finds Melanie, he will hurt her. Which brings me back to my point, if she chooses to avoid you, how do you plan to keep her safe?”

That was a damn good question. Joe had no idea. “You’ve seen how I work. I’ll think of something.”

Joe hung up the phone. He should return to the meeting, but he’d said his peace, and now it was up to the brass to approve the additional overtime. He dialed information and asked for the number of Maxwell Construction in Riverside.

Adam Maxwell greeted Joe in the most cordial of tones. It wasn’t until Joe identified himself that he caught the first case of hostility. “I’ll tell you what I told the other man who called me today. I can’t help you. I wish I could.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Maxwell. But I have to ask―did your brother mention a man by the name of Jesse Ropes?” Joe went on to explain about the guard’s murder.

Maxwell remained silent for a time. “We never got that far. Drake wanted one thing when he came to see me, and that was money. I offered him a job. He refused. He left. As I said, I’d help you if I could. It would be a huge relief to my family.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“He threatened to kill every last one of us.”

Joe stared so hard at the wood ingrains in the door, the pattern swirled. “That’s an important omission, Mr. Maxwell. Did you alert the local police?”

“No. I have it all on a digital recording, though. If Drake dares to harm any one of us, he’s our number one suspect. He ruined my family’s reputation once. It took us years to rebuild it. My company can’t tolerate any more negative publicity.”

“Who do you think your brother would come after first?

As Joe met with another round of silence, the ingrained wood pattern spun faster.

“Drake would come after me first,” Adam admitted. “But as I explained, I have the recording, I surround myself with topnotch security, and my driver’s my bodyguard.”

Joe yanked his gaze from the damn door. “Sounds like you’ve taken precautions. But I hope you’ll keep vigilant. If you happen to think of anything, no matter how insignificant, or if you see your brother around―”

“I’ll call you. I can’t even begin to make excuses for Drake. There are none. It wasn’t until our last meeting that I realized he truly lacks conscience. If he did this terrible thing...” Adam’s voice shook as it trailed off. “My deepest condolences to Mr. Ropes’ family.”

To hell with Drake Maxwell and his civil rights. Someone needed to give a damn about the people who crashed in his wake.

Joe gave Adam Maxwell every one of his contact numbers, then called the Cañon City Police Department and clued the investigating detective in on the fact they should consider another suspect regarding the guard’s murder. As Joe expected, the detective wasn’t particularly appreciative or willing to share information.

Joe returned to the Chaos Bandit meeting, still heavy in debate. He forced himself to focus, but his thoughts kept veering toward Maxwell. From the warden to Maxwell’s brother, everything pointed to Drake being one vengeful son of a bitch. Moreover, Adam Maxwell may have not known the correct term, but the wealthy businessman had just called his brother a sociopath. The question was, who did he hold a grudge against more―the family who’d rejected him or the woman Joe couldn’t banish from his head?