Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (17 page)

Chapter Forty-Nine

R
eece lay fully
clothed on top of his motel bed. He felt better being engrossed in his case and pushed the image of the Canon camera lying on the floorboard of his father’s green GTO out of his head. He knew he was on the right track to solving his father’s murder. Crystal’s case had brought him to Tulsa, and Haisley had taken him to Sam Shanks’ casino. Owen Roberts was dead and the murder weapon was the key to everything.
All of this is happening for a reason. Why am I still thinking about that goddamned camera? I’m going to solve all of this. I’m okay.

Someone rolled what sounded like a cart down the sidewalk outside his hotel room. He heard a knock on the door.

“Housekeeping.”

Reece got up and answered. “You can skip my room today. It’s not dirty,” he said to the Mexican maid before shutting the door. The older woman smiled and winked at Reece.

He fell back on the bed. His mind started roaming and pretty soon he was thinking about the ballistics report Haisley got from Mike Mobley up in St. Louis. The gun and bullets from Owen Roberts’ murder and Al Culver’s murder matched. Shanks or one of his men had to be the triggerman.

Reece’s phone vibrated on the dresser adjacent to the bed.

“Hello,” he answered, wondering if it was Crystal. “Oh, hi Mom, how are you?”

“Good, Reece. How’s your missing person’s investigation going? Have you found anything?”

Reece was surprised by her interest. He couldn’t believe she was asking about something he was working on.

“Good. Actually very well, I found something that relates to Dad’s cold case,” Reece said.

“To Dad’s case? What is it, Reece?”

He had to make a decision. As much as she deserved to know, he had another, vital consideration. “You’ve got to make me a promise, Mom.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t tell anything I tell you to the FBI.”

“Why not? Reece. Won’t it help them? I don’t understand.”

“It’s complicated, Mom. They’ve got their own agenda.”

As he knew very well, she had been suspicious of their investigation for a long time. So he believed her when she said, “I’m on your side, Reece.”

“That’s good, because I’m hoping this will crack the case wide open.”

Chapter Fifty

C
rystal spent the
afternoon at home waiting for a call from human resources to confirm her transfer to a new position with the Bureau of Land Management. She was still laughing inside about the look on Kendall’s face when he saw the video. She’d spent the afternoon surfing the Internet while George made calls to all of his connections, then came into her office to tell her he’d found her a position at the BLM.

She was heading down the steps into her basement office when she heard the phone ring in the kitchen. She retraced her way back up the stairs and ran toward it.

“Hello,” she said, out of breath.

“Ms. Thomas, this is Jocelyn Welders from Human Resources. I have your transfer paperwork here on my desk, and I was wondering if we could set up a time for you to come sign everything.”

“Sure, Ms. Welders, what time were you thinking?”

“If you’re free today how about three-thirty?”

“That works for me,” Crystal said, sounding upbeat.

“Do you know where administrative building six is located?”

“Is that the tall red brick building with the fountain in front?”

“That’s the one, Ms. Thomas. I’m on the third floor in Room 3989. I look forward to meeting you.”

Later that day, Crystal got off the elevator on the third floor. She was wearing a conservative blue business suit and carrying a leather shoulder bag. She walked confidently toward Room 3989 at the end of the drab brown hallway. She stepped into a large waiting area with black bench seats and stacks of magazines.

“Good afternoon. I have a three-thirty with Ms. Welders,” Crystal said to the receptionist.

“Have a seat Ms. Thomas, and I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Crystal took an empty seat next to the magazines. She picked up woman’s fitness and began to page through the articles, thinking of how much better her body looked than the woman standing in leotards doing yoga. She was fully engrossed in an article about pomegranates when she heard someone call her name.

“Crystal Thomas,” the receptionist said. “Ms. Welders will see you now. She’s down this hallway third door on your left,” the woman said, holding the door to the hallway open.

Crystal walked down the hall and entered the third office on her left.

“Thanks for coming, Ms. Thomas. It’s good to see you,” Ms. Welders said, sounding a bit too cheery.

“It’s good to be here,” Crystal said.

“Okay then, if you’ll sign these forms resigning from your old position, we’ll get you set up for your new position with the Bureau of Land Management.”

Crystal pulled her favorite silver pen from her purse and signed where indicated.

“Ms. Thomas, this packet has information about the BLM, its policies, and charter. I think you’ll find it a great place to work. What day would you like to start?”

It was time to turn on the waterworks. “Ms. Welders, I was planning to start Monday morning, but I’ve had a change in plans. I got a call last night, and my father is very sick. I would like to take some Family Medical Leave Act time if that could be arranged, so I could go take care of him.”

The human resources woman seemed very receptive. “Oh yes, I can set that up for you. We encourage employees to take FMLA to take care of family members. How long would you like to take?”

“How about three months?”

Chapter Fifty-One

S
am Shanks sat
on the patio behind his newly built Montevideo home. It felt like it was the first time he’d had a chance to relax in over a month. Things were all going much too fast. Especially now that Blackwell had taken out Owen and he had one less man to get things done. He could hear the chirp of crickets in the distance but little else. The nearest road was over a mile away and all the land in between his home and the road was his. It would be paid off in full as soon as he transported his artwork to the gallery and sold it off at auction.

He had his work cut out and he knew it. With his cellphone in hand he scrolled through a list of contacts until he saw the name Escodar. Shanks highlighted the number and pressed send.

“Mr. Shanks, what brings me the pleasure of receiving a call from you this evening?”

“What are you, drunk or something, Pablo? Cut the crap. You got everything we talked about put in place?”

The sunny voice quickly reverted to its usual criminal hardness. “Yeah, I got it, but I’ll need more money to put together the final parts of your plan.”

“More money? I thought we agreed on a price.”

“We did until you amended your plans.”

“How much more?” Shanks asked, sighing.

“Ten thousand dollars ought to do it. Those dollars of yours still speak very loudly here in Ecuador,” Pablo said. “I do have one question for you, though.”

“What’s that?” Shanks said, taking a sip of his Mojito.

“I wonder why you want to fly all those people down to Uruguay when you could set them up to take the fall for the crimes in Ecuador, and you could get away to Uruguay a free man.”

Shanks was intrigued. He should have thought of this himself. “What did you have in mind?”

“When the A-320 arrives in Guayaquil, it will have to be fueled and serviced,” Pablo said.

“Yeah, so what were you thinking?”

“It would be easy to require everyone to get off the aircraft for an hour or two while it’s serviced. They’d be sitting ducks there in the jet center,” Pablo said.

The proposed double-cross tickled him. “I like the way you think. The only problem is, the airplane will be full of my precious artwork.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

T
he last car
pulled from the parking lot of the Murphy’s restaurant adjacent to the Executive Inn. The bank sign across the street flashed Thursday and alternated between 2:38 am and 43 degrees in big bold yellow numbers. A door of a maroon Ford Explorer opened and someone dressed in a black sweat suit, ski mask, and dark running shoes stepped out. The driver closed the trunk with a click and walked into the shadows of the parking lot.

He carried a small cloth satchel bag folded under one arm and a five-gallon gas can in the opposite hand. Stopping in the dark, he looked up at the rooms along the second floor. He took slow steps up the covered stairway of the three-story structure. Halfway down the second floor hallway, the lone figure stopped at a door labeled Maintenance in cheap stick on metal foil letters and set down the red plastic gas can. He pulled a black vinyl case about the size of a cigarette pack out of the satchel and went to work picking the lock.

The door soon opened, and the arsonist stepped inside, pulling it closed behind. He pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. A wooden table was revealed in the center of the room, covered with tools. The arsonist pulled a long tube from the satchel and unrolled it, exposing a set of floor plans. Room 237 was just on the other side of the maintenance room.

He searched through the satchel bag and pulled out a stethoscope. With the head of the instrument held up to the wall, the arsonist listened to the sounds of a television set, along with the low roar of the in room heater fan. The arsonist put the stethoscope back into the satchel bag, rolled up the floor plans, and put them into the bag before taking it over to the door.

The room filled with the smell of gasoline as the arsonist poured the contests of the five-gallon gas can onto the wall and floor, taking great care not to get any on his shoes. With the gas can set next to the center of the wall the arsonist walked over to the satchel, took out a road flare, pulled off the end, and stuck the cap against the tip of the flare, lighting it. The arsonist held the thin red cylinder upward, admiring its bright red glow, and felt a rush of adrenaline. He picked up the satchel bag, opened the door, pitched the flare toward the gasoline-soaked wall on the opposite side of Reece Culver’s hotel room, and left. That would take care of the annoying PI.

Chapter Fifty-Three

T
he morning sun
streamed between the curtains hanging in the master bedroom of Crystal’s Denver loft. She sat on the floor with a cardboard box between her legging-clad thighs and pulled strips of tape off a dispenser. The cordless phone beside her rang several times.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Hey, Crystal. It’s Michael Zimeratti. I wanted to call and see how things are for you these days.”

She was glad to hear his voice. Whenever she came around, he always went out of his way to be nice to her. “Michael, it’s good to hear from you. Things are good. How about with you?”

“Yeah, they’re good here too. Hey, I was talking to Shanks and he mentioned you were having some difficulty with your boss. I was wondering if there’s any thing I could do to help.”

“Why would Shanks bring that up to you?” Crystal asked, not doing a very good job of covering up her annoyance. “What else did Shanks tell you, Michael?”

“Nothing really. Hey, I’m just down the street from you here in Denver. I was wondering if you’d like to join me for breakfast.”

“Breakfast? Well, I’m kind of busy packing up my loft right now. How about you come by and we can make something here?” Crystal asked, liking the idea of having a strong man around to help her pack up the last of her things.

“I’ve got a better idea. I’d imagine the last thing you want while your moving out is dirty dishes. I’ll get something to go and drop by your place. Are you in the mood for anything special?”

“How about you surprise me, Michael? I’ve heard you have great taste.”

Crystal ended the call, wondering why Michael Zimeratti had decided to be so friendly. She’d seen him around when she was with her stepfather, but had never found him too interested in socializing.
Why would Sam Shanks tell Zimeratti about her job at the Federal Center?
She hated the thought of Shanks meddling in her business. Crystal knew from her stepfather that Shanks would control the whole world if he could figure out a way to pull it off, and she hated control freaks.

She set her phone down beside her thigh and went back to taping boxes. After a bit she started thinking about her loft and how much she’d miss it. Crystal remembered all the times she’d walked into the restaurants and bars of downtown Denver. The location had been great for her social life. It was her place. She’d bought it with her own money. It was a badge of her independence and now it would be gone. It was tough letting it go, but she knew something better was waiting for her out on the horizon.

Crystal opened the mailbox to the right of the main door of her loft and scooped out a pile of letters hopeful the post office had processed her move notice and would begin forwarding all of her mail to her new P.O. box at the Minturn, Colorado, post office. She flipped through the junk mail and came to her electric bill. She ripped it open and was looking at the amount she owed when she spotted another of the letters from her mother. This one had a heart hand-drawn on the back where the envelope had been sealed. She tore it open and read the hand written letter.

Dear Crystal,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’d really like to reconnect with you. I miss you dear and there is so much I’d like to share with you.

If I knew I could trust you not to tell Vinton my whereabouts I’d meet you tomorrow, but I have many reasons to fear this man. I know deep down you must fear him as well dear. He took many things from me including you and your brothers. I know you probably blamed Owen for my disappearing from the bus station all those years ago in Tulsa, but it was Vinton who played upon that day. Owen did make a deal to retire his debts, but it was Vinton Blackwell who followed me and tormented me.

I’m not too far from you now, but I have to be careful or else risk loosing everything including you. I do this because of what Vinton did to me back when he found out I’d given my love to someone else.

I have to wrap this up now, but I promise I’ll write again.

I love you Crystal. Take care of yourself.

Love Mom

Long streams of tears flowed down Crystal’s cheeks. She dropped the letter to the floor and slid the fingernail of her ring finger under the nail of her right thumb. The pain felt good. She felt anger towards her mother knowing that she was alive and had failed to contact her for all of these years while she blamed everything on Vinton Blackwell.