Dead Wrong

by Patricia Stoltey

  Brake lights flared a few feet ahead, tall lights that indicated he’d followed in the tire tracks of a truck, then a right turn signal flashed. Albert crept along behind the vehicle, down a curving ramp and onto a two-lane road that appeared to have been plowed at least once. Continuing to follow the truck, Albert saw the yellow hazy glare of parking area lights ahead. Then the running lights of at least thirty semis. And finally, a building lit inside and glowing through fogged-over windows. He maneuvered through the lot until he found a spot where he could nose his car up to a giant pile of snow. Seconds later he sat in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, a huge cinnamon roll dripping with melted icing and a mug of coffee. He wrapped his hands around the cup and lifted it to his lips.

  Glades, Florida

  Friday, January 24

  “Gutierrez!” Detective Prince barked.

  Maggie jumped and sat up straight. After grabbing the quick nap in her car, she had returned to her desk and concentrated on her calls. Focused so intently on her efforts to locate Lynnette Foster, Maggie hadn’t heard the detective come in the door.

  He stopped in front of her desk. “We got another one. I need someone to drive.”

  “Another body?”

  “No, an alien invasion. Of course a body. You coming?”

  “Hell, yes.” She looked across the room at her partner who watched her without expression as he poured a cup of coffee. Maggie glanced at her computer monitor, refreshed the screen and confirmed she had no new emails. Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, she followed Prince out the door.

  Near Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  Lynnette checked on Grace and found her already asleep in Blue’s room, her head cushioned by a pillow with a pink flannel cover. Grace clutched her phone in her hand, the charger plugged into a wall outlet. Lynnette checked the display to make sure the phone was fully charged, then unplugged it from the wall and laid the cord on the bed. She closed the door and went into the darkened living room. “I should check my email before I lie down,” she said, mostly to herself. She spoke a little louder for Thomas and Blue to hear. “The guy I used to work for in Indianapolis tried to reach me. I should see what he wants.”

  Thomas said a few words to Blue, but Lynnette didn’t hear. Blue walked over to the wall phone in the kitchen and punched in a number.

  Lynnette leaned forward. “What’s going on? Who are you calling?”

  “She’s calling CDOT,” Thomas said. “The Colorado Department of Transportation updates weather and road conditions. Teresa, get I-25 south to Denver, I-70 west of Denver through Utah, and I-25 south to New Mexico. The Utah number is in the front of the phone book.” He looked at Lynnette. “In case we have to get out of here in a hurry,” he said.

  “Maybe we should split up,” said Lynnette. “You and Blue take Grace to L.A. by air. I take my stuff and split. It’s obvious Grace would be safer with you.”

  “I thought the same thing at first. But after hearing your side of the story, I can’t let you go off on your own. You could get killed before you even get to Denver. And if you make it back to Florida, you’ll need a lawyer. I didn’t take the bar exam there, but I have friends who did. You’re better off sticking with me. And since we need to keep you off the grid for a little longer, we can’t buy you another airplane ticket until we’re inside DIA.”

  “Will you be in a lot of trouble with the police for keeping me out of sight?”

  “I will be if you’re charged with a crime. This blizzard will serve as an excuse only so long.”

  “The article I read said I’m a person of interest.”

  “But it didn’t say you were wanted for questioning or that you’d been charged. It merely said you had disappeared and the police hadn’t located you. They won’t necessarily issue a warrant for your arrest. We’ll check the news again in a couple of hours and see if anything has changed. If so, I’ll advise you of your next step. Until then, relax. Get some rest.”

  Los Angeles, California

  Friday, January 24

  “They’re definitely staying put,” Ortega told Getz. “Apparently the weather up there is bad. Get back on the interstate before they start closing roads. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  He snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the desk. If he ever got his hands on Albert Getz, he would kill him. What the hell was taking him so long to get to Fort Collins? What stupid excuse would Getz give if Ortega asked the question?

  What about Foster? Ortega thought about her for a minute, then reached for his cell phone again. He dialed Sammy’s number, this time waiting through the voice mail message for the beep. “Lynnette Foster, it is now seven forty-five on Friday morning in Colorado. I know you’re in Fort Collins. I’m tracking you, and I have someone following you. When he catches you, he will retrieve the things you have in your possession that belong to me. Make it easy for him, Mrs. Foster, and you and your friends will survive the encounter. If you make it difficult, my man will do whatever is necessary.”

  Would she attempt to retrieve the messages? If she did, would she believe his guarantee of safety?

  I-25 south of Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  They’re less than an hour ahead, Albert thought. About the same amount of time I spent feeding my face. He chuckled. Ortega must be going nuts. What could Foster have that Ortega wanted enough to send an assassin after her? What was in the case Sammy Grick had inadvertently switched with Foster’s? Obviously, the laptop wasn’t important. They’d already retrieved that.

  Whatever Ortega wanted, Albert wanted even more. He couldn’t imagine what it might be, but if Ortega would kill to retrieve the goods, they might be the means to nail the guy. Albert followed a semi onto the on-ramp of I-25, heading north toward Fort Collins. Alert from the double dose of caffeine and sugar, he guided his car into the wintry hell.

  Near Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  It was quiet throughout the house. Lynnette closed her eyes and tried to doze but couldn’t make it happen. She stood up and walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside and raised the blinds. The windows were fogged up on the inside. She rubbed a spot clear, but could see nothing outside except piles of snow on sagging tree branches.

  She sat down, pulled her purse into her lap, and unloaded the contents onto the couch. Then she emptied her pockets.

  Thomas heard and walked in from the kitchen to see what she was doing. “Housecleaning?”

  “I still have all this stuff I took from the fat guy’s laptop case,” she said. “Thought I’d look through it again, see what I can get rid of.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Phone, charger, cash—”

  “How much cash?”

  “Twenty or thirty thousand.”

  “Think he stole that too?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why didn’t you give everything up to the guy at the library? Chances are that’s all he wanted.”

  Lynnette thought of the checks but didn’t say anything about them. “I know,” she said. “It was stupid. I couldn’t be sure, and with Blue and Grace along, I felt I should keep something for insurance.”

  She would need the phone charger as long as she carried the phone. She put it in her purse. Struggling to reach into the pocket of the jacket she’d thrown across the end of the couch, she took out Sammy Grick’s phone, loaded the battery, and turned it on. It was still fully charged. She turned it off and removed the battery again. If there were any more calls from the bad guy with the Cuban accent, she didn’t want to hear them.

  Thomas returned to the kitchen. Lynnette lay on the couch and closed her eyes, once again hoping to sleep. She thought of Carl and how he might have been killed. Once she pushed that away, she thought of the phone calls from the fat man, then the even scarier calls from The Cuban. Mixed in were images of a flag-draped coffin coming off a plane and poor little Grace n
ot there to see her father return. She felt overwhelmed.

  The newspaper sections she’d saved and stuffed in her purse were still there. She took them out and began reading random articles from the business section.

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  Miami, Florida

  Friday, January 24

  “What’re we doing here?” Maggie asked. She checked out the fancy houses, mansions almost, in the expensive neighborhood Detective Prince directed her through as though he knew exactly where they were headed. “We’re outside our jurisdiction.”

  “There’s a reason, Gutierrez. Watch and listen.”

  Maggie looked out her side window and rolled her eyes. There’s a price to pay for the privilege of working with jerks. “Okay, Detective. Whatever you say.”

  “That’s a good girl. You stick with me and you’ll make the grade a lot faster than that asshole you call your partner.”

  “So what’re we doing here?” she asked again as Prince pulled up behind the three Miami Police Department squad cars that flanked the driveway of a mansion big enough to hold six apartments the size of the one Maggie rented.

  Prince didn’t answer. He opened his door and got out, then signaled Maggie to follow him inside. The cop at the door checked their badges and waved them through. “Upstairs,” he said.

  Death smelled one way in the first few moments, worse a few hours later. But as time passed, the odors changed and the stench intensified until it became so repulsive, few humans could tolerate it. Maggie had already learned that cops, especially homicide cops, pretended they didn’t notice.

  Stopped at the bedroom door by an MPD uniform, she and Prince waited. A woman’s body lay sprawled beside a king-sized bed. Two men in plain clothes stood on the other side of the room, observing the crime scene crew comb the carpet, bag the dead woman’s hands, and cover her hair with what appeared to be a surgical cap. One of the men skirted the edge of the room and approached the doorway. Prince said, “Long time no see, Detective. I understand you called to share some information. What’s up?”

  “Yeah. Here’s the thing.” The Miami detective held out a plastic bag containing a piece of paper with printing on it. “We found this on the floor, under the edge of the bed. On this side of the paper are scribbled instructions for getting through the security gate and into the house.” The detective flipped the bag over. “On this side is a receipt from a car detailing company. Receipt’s made out to a Sammy Grick.”

  Prince shook his head. “Don’t recognize the name.”

  “I do,” Maggie said. “Fat Ass Sammy Grick. Petty thief with a bad temper. He was on the hook for a couple of murders but somehow got off. Nobody cared because the guys he iced were worse shits than he was. But Grick’s dead.”

  The Miami detective raised his eyebrows. “Who’s this, Prince? Your replacement?”

  Prince turned his back on Maggie. “So Grick probably got caught robbing the place and killed the lady of the house. How’d she die?”

  “We’re not sure. Massive bruises on her chest, maybe broken ribs. Looks like Sammy sat on her. But I’m not so sure he robbed the place. He works for the guy who owns this cottage. Heard of Benito Ortega?”

  Maggie winced. “Is this his wife?”

  “Yeah. The housekeeper discovered the body.” He looked at Maggie. “You said Grick died. When did that happen?”

  “Yesterday, I guess. We got a call from Denver asking if we could turn up any next of kin. Grick dropped dead in the bus station. Had a Glades address on his driver’s license. They couldn’t come up with a phone number, so they called us.”

  “Who’s working the next of kin?” the detective asked.

  “Me,” Maggie replied. “I checked him out because it looked like he might have crossed paths with somebody Detective Prince is tracking. They were on the same flight to Denver and she was last seen on Denver’s mall, only three or four blocks from the bus station.”

  “You called us because you found out Grick lived in Glades?” Prince said.

  “Yeah.” The detective held out the receipt so Prince could read it. “His car license number is on there, too. If the car’s not at his house, maybe he left it at the airport when he flew to Denver.”

  Maggie looked at Prince. “Are we the ones who have to get the search warrant?”

  Prince nodded. “We’re on it, Detective. Let’s go, Gutierrez. I have work to do.”

  One the way to the station, Prince gave Maggie the silent treatment until she had parked and turned off the engine. “Before you go,” he said. “You made me feel stupid back there. I don’t like feeling stupid.”

  Maggie looked at Prince in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “Save the surprise reports for my ears only next time. I don’t want to learn about something like Grick’s death and his connection to the Foster case in front of Miami P.D. detectives.”

  “Okay, Detective.”

  “Do you have any more tidbits of information I should hear about?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how you knew Lynnette Foster had been spotted on the Denver mall and I didn’t. Or how you knew Foster and Grick had crossed paths before Grick died.”

  “That info came in through dispatch. It’s all on the computer, filed under the Foster file number.”

  “I don’t have time to sit in front of my computer, Gutierrez. People like you are supposed to do that and then report urgent updates to people like me.”

  “It didn’t seem urgent at the time. Grick wasn’t on our radar.”

  “You don’t have radar. You have assignments. Don’t go off half-cocked, trying to check things out on your own. You run any of this by your supervisor?”

  “Not yet, sir, but I will do that as soon as I get inside.”

  He looked at her face as though trying to figure out whether she was properly respectful or whether she was being a smartass. Then he got out of the car.

  Maggie hurried to catch up with him at the precinct’s front door. “Wait. I forgot to mention one other thing.”

  Prince turned around.

  “After I saw that report about Grick, I called Denver P.D. The cop I talked to said when the ambulance picked up Grick and took him to the hospital, they also picked up a computer case. An emergency room security guard took a look at it when they were hunting for contact numbers for Grick’s family. He said the case contained a bunch of papers that didn’t belong to Grick. He said the documents belonged to a woman, last name Hudson. The guard called the cops and they were supposed to pick up the case, but when the officers showed up, the case had disappeared.”

  “How is that relevant?”

  “Lynnette Foster’s maiden name is Hudson.”

  “So we’re thinking Grick stole Foster’s laptop case, and now someone else stole it from the emergency room?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Maggie didn’t tell Detective Prince that she’d been trying to contact Lynnette Foster by email. With a Yahoo email address, even if she no longer had her laptop, Foster could still check her messages from anywhere in the country. It was a shaky attempt to find the woman and probably not a technique Prince would approve of, especially since he seemed eager to place the full blame for Carl Foster’s murder on Lynnette. Maggie didn’t think Carl’s time of death would support Prince’s theory, but they were still waiting for a time of death.

  Maggie decided to keep the line of communication open to Lynnette, but to leave Prince out of the loop, at least for now. She sat at her desk and sent her target another email.

  Near Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  Lynnette woke with the newspaper clutched in her hands and her neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle. She heard voices. Thomas and Blue talking. Lynnette got up and walked into the kitchen. Thomas signaled Lynnette to join them. “I had an idea, but it didn’t work out. I have a friend in Wyoming who’s a retired pilot. He owns a six-passenger Cessna that he ke
eps at the Cheyenne airport. I called him to see if he could pick us up at the Fort Collins–Loveland airport and fly us out of here if we need him.”

  “He couldn’t do it?” Lynnette asked.

  “He would, but this storm still covers the southern half of Wyoming and part of Northern Colorado. It’s moving toward the eastern plains, but very slowly. The jet stream, he said, was unstable. He might have to wait anywhere from six hours to a couple of days to take off. He could fly us into Burbank or Orange County, but he has no idea when.”

  “So there’s no way you can deliver Grace safely to L.A. by Sunday?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Lynnette felt terrible at the thought of telling Grace she couldn’t meet her father’s coffin. She was stuck here for the time being, still in the path of the dangerous men who wanted to find Lynnette.

  “Will I get there in time?” Grace asked from the doorway. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

  “Grace, I’m so sorry,” Lynnette replied. “Blue’s dad did his best, but there’s no way to get you to California on time.”

  Grace shifted her gaze to the weather outside the window. “Oh, well,” she said. “It was worth a try.”

  Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  Albert pulled the rental car GPS unit forward on its holder and turned it on, then called Ortega. “I’m less than five minutes from Fort Collins. The rental car has a GPS. I need the address where Foster’s hiding out.” As soon as he had the information, he dropped his phone on the seat and started tapping the GPS screen. When he felt the tires slip on the road, he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and slowed down. The road looked dry ahead, so he tried to enter the address into the GPS again.