“Exactly.”
“And this Eddins woman is your girlfriend?”
“We’ve dated. That’s on hold for now.”
“The whole thing sounds like it’s getting very messy.”
Talk about an understatement, thought Books.
“What do you think the likelihood is that federal prosecutors will go along with the deal?”
“Not sure, but I know exactly who to call. Stay near your cell phone and I’ll call you back. The guy I need to reach in the prosecutor’s office is Wayne Chance. I’ve worked with him on several occasions. He’s got the most experience handling pot hunting cases. I think he’ll go along, but you can never be sure.”
They disconnected. Books glanced at his watch. It was late in the afternoon. The U.S. Attorney’s Office might be closed for the day. What then? The trail to Rolly and Abby Rogers was growing colder by the hour. He could ill afford to lose another day.
As Books parked the Tahoe in front of Red Rock Touring, his cell phone chirped. He glanced quickly at the caller ID, figuring that it was probably Maldonado returning his call. It wasn’t. The caller was Alexis Runyon. He wanted to avoid what he suspected would be an unpleasant conversation for as long as he could. He ignored the call.
Brett Gentry was a squat, muscular man in his mid-forties who had the upper body of a weight lifter and thick legs that looked like railroad ties. He extended a large beefy hand that Books wished he didn’t have to shake. He was certain he’d heard the crush of bone and cartilage as Gentry tightened the vice-like grip. Books had never understood people who insisted that you could tell something about the character and personality of a person from a handshake. The softest and gentlest handshake Books had ever experienced belonged to a concert pianist who wielded a straight-edge razor with the skill of a surgeon as he slashed the throats and faces of more than a dozen Denver-area prostitutes.
Books took a seat in a leather chair in Gentry’s office. “How was your golf game?”
Gentry seemed taken aback by the question. “Ah, not so good—couldn’t putt worth a damn. You know how that goes.”
“Sure do. By the way, I hope my visit earlier today didn’t upset your wife.”
“As a matter of fact, it did.”
Books lied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Gentry ignored the lame apology. “I was shocked to hear that the name of our business had somehow come up in your investigation. I’d like to know how.”
“As a matter of fact, it has. You probably heard that we arrested a man in connection with the burglary of the Rogers’ home.”
“Some Navajo guy, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Figured as much—shiftless bunch, if you ask me.”
Books ignored the comment. “When we picked him up, I found a slip of paper in his bedroom with the phone number to Red Rock Touring on it. I wondered if you could explain that.”
“I have no idea. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never heard of this Benally kid.”
“You’re sure he didn’t work for you in the business or perhaps doing odd jobs around your home?”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure I would remember.”
Books stood to leave. “Then I think we’re finished for now. Appreciate your time and sorry I upset your wife.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll get over it. And you let me know if there’s anything we can do to help. We didn’t know Abby and Rolly very well, but this is a small town, and we’re all concerned. We’d like nothing better than to see you catch the people responsible for their disappearance.”
Books thanked him and left, relieved that Gentry hadn’t offered to shake hands a second time. As he maneuvered the Tahoe through the Red Rock Touring company parking lot, Emily Gentry pulled in and gave him a friendly smile and wave. She was driving a black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. That was the description of the suspicious-looking vehicle that the old man, Eldon Hitch, had described to Books that day when he was camped near the site where the Rogers had gone missing.
Like most good cops, Books had developed well-honed instincts when it came to people, and Brett Gentry made him feel uneasy. Gentry’s expressed concern for the welfare of the Rogers struck Books as disingenuous and well rehearsed. His reference to the couple in the past tense, and his remark about catching the “people” responsible, implying multiple suspects, also hadn’t gone unnoticed. Yet his biggest gaffe was lying about not knowing Benally’s name. Initially, all he could recall was “some Navajo guy.” Moments later, the name Benally popped out of his mouth like it was a name he’d known all along. And now the black Escalade. Sure, it could be a coincidence, but black Cadillac Escalades were not all that common in Kane County.
While he hadn’t yet connected all the dots, Books was convinced that Brett Gentry and his Red Rock Touring company were somehow involved.
Chapter Twenty
Books returned to his office to find an irritated Alexis Runyon sitting at his desk. “I guess this is the only way I get to talk with you. Hang out in your office until you finally show up.”
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“I believe it. Now tell me about your encounter with Lamont Christensen.”
She listened without interruption as Books laid out the incident for her, offering another half-hearted apology.
“Save the apology. Lamont’s an egotistical, self-important asshole, and everybody knows it. Well, almost everybody.”
Books’ relief was premature, because Runyon wasn’t finished. “Of course, we both know you have a tendency to act like a bull in a china shop. Tact and diplomacy aren’t your strong suit.”
“There’s more.”
She gestured for him to continue. Books explained Becky Eddins entrance into the case as Joe Benally’s defense lawyer, as well as the arrest of his brother-in-law, Bobby Case.
“Yikes. That won’t do much for family harmony.”
“Tell me about it. I can’t even bring myself to call my sister to tell her. She’s in Salt Lake City with Bernie. He’s scheduled for cancer surgery tomorrow morning.”
“Better she hear it from you, J.D., than somebody else. So man up and call her. You might already be too late.”
“You’re right. I’ll do it right away.”
“Good. Now I’m thirsty. You gotta a beer?”
The question caught him off-guard. “Well, no, but we could go out…”
“Don’t lie to me, Books. If you think you can smuggle beer into this building without me finding out, think again. Now, are you gonna give me a beer, or do I have to get it myself?”
“I think it might be against the law to bring alcoholic beverages into a federal building,” Books said lamely.
Runyon stared at him but didn’t reply.
Embarrassed, he opened his small refrigerator and glanced inside. “Coors Lite or Corona?”
***
Books hated making the call, but after he’d fortified himself with a couple of beers and sent Runyon on her way, he dialed his sister’s cell.
“Hi, J.D.” The upbeat tone of her voice suggested that she hadn’t heard the news.
“Hey, sis. How’s dear old dad?”
“Actually, he’s doing pretty well considering. His spirits are high, and he’s talking about making a full recovery. They ran some tests and did his blood work today. Surgery is scheduled for eight o’clock in the morning. Are you going to be able to make it?”
“That’s partly why I called. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to. Things are heating up, and I just can’t get away. I feel bad, but I’m afraid it can’t be avoided.”
“It’s okay. Dad is doing fine and I can stay with him until it’s time to bring him home.
“How long will that be?”
>
“They’re telling us a three-night stay if everything goes the way they expect.”
“Have you heard from Bobby today?”
“Not a word. Why?”
Books paused.
“J.D. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Yeah, there is, Mags.”
“Well, spit it out. What’s going on?”
“Bobby was arrested today.”
“What! What for?”
“Tribal police caught him red-handed pot-hunting on BLM land. I got called to the scene having no idea who they had in custody. When I got there, I realized it was Bobby…”
“You arrested Bobby?”
“I had to, Mags, I’m really sorry. I wish there had been something else I could have done.”
“This is just awful. His parents are going to feel so hurt and humiliated.”
“I know. I met with Doug this afternoon, and, considering the circumstances, he seemed to be handling things pretty well. Don’t worry about the boys. Doug posted his bail and drove Bobby home.”
There was a brief lull in the conversation before Maggie continued. “Was he alone?”
“He was by himself.”
“I can’t believe he’d do something so stupid. What made him do it?”
“He did it for the money, Mags. He said he needed the income. He’s worried about family finances and maybe even losing the ranch.”
“That could happen, and maybe it will now.”
“I’m really sorry, Mags. I wish there was something I could say or do to make it go away.”
“Not your fault, J.D. I guess that explains why he’s been gone so much lately. I was getting worried that maybe he had a girlfriend on the side—small comfort.”
“Maggie, there’s something else.”
“I’m listening,” she said, anxiety in her voice.
“When we arrested him, we found some antiquities in the cab of his truck.”
“So what. That’s what he was arrested for, pot hunting, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, except the stuff in his truck didn’t come from the site he was excavating. It came from the collection of Rolly and Abby Rogers. It was part of the collection that was stolen in the burglary of their home.”
“Oh, my God. Are you telling me you think that Bobby is somehow mixed up in the disappearance of Rolly and Abby?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. Bobby says he bought the stuff from the Navajo kid we arrested yesterday. I haven’t been able to confirm that yet, but I’ll take Bobby at his word.”
“I wonder how Bobby met this Navajo man you’re talking about?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. He says a friend introduced him, but he refuses to tell me who this friend is.”
“You have to believe him, J.D. I know Bobby, and I know he would never harm the Rogers or anyone else. It’s just not in his DNA. He’s been a great father to your nephews and a good husband to me.”
“I know that, sis.”
“I’ll try to get you the name of the person who introduced him to the Navajo. He’ll talk to me or I’ll wring his scrawny neck.”
“Getting me that name would be helpful, sis. Thanks.”
They fell silent. Then, “Can I give you a piece of advice, Mags?”
“Sure.”
“I know you’re terribly upset right now, and I don’t blame you. But so is Bobby. If you talk with him tonight, try to avoid saying a lot of angry things that you might regret later, you know, once you’ve had a chance to think things through.”
“That’s probably good advice. Right now I just feel like strangling the guy.”
“I know, but that won’t help. Wait until you’ve calmed down and then have the conversation. You can always strangle him later.”
“Not a bad idea. Listen, J.D., I’d better go. I’m trying to get Dad to eat something for dinner even though he doesn’t have much appetite. He can’t eat anything after midnight.”
“Okay. Call or text me when he comes out of surgery. And Mags, hang in there. I wish I could be more helpful.”
After the call, Books sat at his desk pondering what it might mean to his family if his faith in his brother-in-law’s integrity turned out to be misplaced. What if Bobby was involved in the Rogers case? At the moment, all he had was Bobby’s word that he’d purchased the artifacts from Joe Benally. What if that was a lie? And who was the mystery man Bobby refused to identify who had introduced him to Joe Benally?
As he prepared to leave the office, Books wondered why he hadn’t heard from Special Agent Randy Maldonado. It probably meant that Maldonado had been unable to reach Wayne Chance in the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Time was the enemy, and Books knew it.
He walked to the Tahoe feeling totally discouraged. His relationship with Becky was strained and now on hold. He’d made an ass of himself in an exchange with the local newspaper editor. He’d been forced to arrest his own brother-in-law. His father was facing serious cancer surgery the next morning, and he felt guilty because he couldn’t be there. And, he was no closer to solving the case despite having a suspect in custody who he knew was withholding valuable information because of all the legal niceties required by being lawyered up. If that wasn’t enough, the leg that had taken the bullet several months earlier ached like hell.
Books drove home, changed out of his uniform, downed a handful of Ibuprofen, and returned to town. He parked in front of the Cattle Baron. The place was nearly empty. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a Coors Lite. The bartender returned and placed the beer and a frosty stein in front of him. “That’ll be $2.50, or I can run you a tab.”
He was in no mood to get sloppy drunk. “Cash.” The bartender took his money and returned to the other end of the bar where he resumed reading a newspaper.
Books glanced around the bar. A young couple sat together in a corner booth with a half-empty pitcher in front of them while they played smash mouth. At the other end of the bar an old man, with several days of unshaven stubble on his face in a dirty John Deere ball cap, sat talking to himself while he nursed a beer. Willie Nelson crooned Texas country on the juke box while the big screen television featured a soundless Dodgers–Braves baseball game.
Books lost track of the time as he sat there replaying the day’s events. Could anything else have gone wrong?, he wondered. Later, he vaguely recalled the bartender telling him that he was about to lock up and that it was time to go home. As he fumbled in his wallet for a tip, he felt a hand on his arm.
“Hope you’re not figuring on driving home tonight, Ranger Books.”
Books glanced to his left and found Beth Tanner standing next to him. He felt so tired.
“Sorry, J.D., I know this has been a tough day. Let’s get you out of here.” Tanner walked him out of the bar and into her SUV. He dozed off almost immediately.
Chapter Twenty-one
Friday Morning—Day 8
Books awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the living room window of Beth Tanner’s apartment. He had been asleep on her couch, his shirt and pants folded neatly at his feet. His mouth tasted sour and he had a headache. He looked around and saw Tanner in the kitchen. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a pink terrycloth bathrobe that hit her mid-thigh.
“Where the hell am I?”
“You’re at my place. And relax, I promise I didn’t take advantage of you last night.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Time to get up and get your butt moving. I’ll fix us toast and coffee while you take a shower. I left a towel in the bathroom for you.”
“Thanks.”
Books stood under the steaming hot shower for a long time allowing the warmth of the water to soak into his skin and clear his head. As he dressed, the smell of fresh
ly brewed coffee filled the air. He found Tanner in the small kitchen buttering toast and nursing her own first cup of the day. She filled a mug for him and set it on the counter. Next to the coffee sat a bottle aspirin and a large glass of water.
Tanner saw him looking at the aspirin. “Just in case you need it.”
“Appreciate that.”
“I assume you take it black.”
“Is there any other way?”
“Not for coffee purists, I suppose, but I don’t count myself among the coffee elites. For me, it’s flavored creamer and plenty of sugar—a liquid candy bar.”
Books drank the glass of water with two aspirins. “About last night, uh…..”
“What about last night?”
“Well, uh, I wouldn’t want you thinking that I’m the kind of guy who goes off on a bender every time things get a little tough.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Why do you care what I think, J.D.?”
The question caught him completely off-guard. “Um, well, professional image, I guess.”
“Listen, J.D. If you think I see you as some kind of knight in shining armor or as John Wayne, you can forget that. As far as I’m concerned, what happened last night was a cop under a lot of stress who crashed—I’ve got no problem with that—pushed myself too hard on a few occasions.”
“Fair enough.”
“And as far as you sleeping here, it probably wasn’t such a great idea. It was a spur of the moment decision on my part, and my place was a lot closer than yours. I can assure you, nothing happened between us. I know you’re with Becky Eddins and if you need me to be your alibi, I’ll swear on a stack of bibles that you worked late on the case.”
“And why would you do that for me?”
“That’s what partners are for, isn’t it?”
Books continued to sip the hot brew. He was already starting to feel better. “Um, a very good cup.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I’d guess a medium roast and probably Starbucks.”
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