Nicked

by Michael Arches

  “There are at least twenty cops outside this building,” the doctor said. “I had to show my credentials to at least three different cops to get to this floor. The President visited this hospital two years ago as part of some campaign promotion thing, and he didn’t have as much Secret Service protection.”

  “Her new lodging will be safer for her, you, and the public in general,” Roger said.

  The doctor put his hands up in resignation. “Healthwise, she can be safely moved by an ambulance.”

  Roger arranged for three identical ambulances to leave the hospital a few minutes apart. Few knew which one contained Athena, and they all headed straight for the Cow Palace, surrounded by a flotilla of police cars.

  She made it without shots being fired or other disturbances to the public peace. Athena took that as a good omen. Hagrid was waiting for her at the old, four-story brownstone building. Athena couldn’t imagine a warmer greeting, except maybe by Beau.

  Her room was a suite on the top floor. It had two bedrooms and a master bath for each. But she had simple needs. As long as one of the beds was firm and a shower sprayed hot water, she’d be comfortable.

  The entire hotel had been remodeled to look like it had a century ago, with one jarringly modern feature—a large HDTV mounted on the wall in the living room.

  “Anything I need to know before I settle into a Harry Bosch marathon?” she asked Roger.

  “Yeah, keep this close.” He handed her Glock to her. “And don’t leave this room without a security escort from me or one of my staff. I mean it. Don’t tell anyone outside the building where we are or which room you’re in. All our meals will be provided, buffet-style in the dining room on the first floor. Breakfast will be served from 6 to 7:30 a.m. On the days when you’re not in court, lunch will be served from 11:30 until 1 p.m. Dinner will be from 6 to 7:30 p.m.”

  Roger then introduced her to the six marshals on his security team.

  “Nobody else is authorized to enter your room or to serve you food or drink,” he said. “Only this team can escort you inside or outside the building. Your room’s windows will be covered with bulletproof glass before you go to bed this evening. Until then, keep away from the windows. Finally, no unmonitored emails, text messages, or phone calls to or from anybody.”

  She knew far more about cybersecurity than he or the US Marshal’s Office, and she had complete faith in her encrypted email system. But to avoid the argument, she said, “Fine. You can listen in while Beau and I have phone sex. That will give you incentive to complete his security check quicker.”

  Roger grimaced but didn’t speak.

  -o-o-o-

  US 36, east of Denver

  Beau followed Walt as he drove to Last Chance. Beau had been roaming Colorado’s parched Eastern Plains all day, and this area looks like all the rest—damned few signs of life. Unlike the congested cities along the foothills, the plains were virtually empty.

  Last Chance was situated at the intersection of two forgotten roads, with a few widely scattered farms nearby. Most of the buildings that did exist had been abandoned.

  The deputy led him past open, dusty fields until he turned onto a rutted dirt road. They drove another mile, and the deputy stopped in front of a particular culvert. It allowed a creek to flow under the road, but the creek was bone-dry.

  Walt exited his patrol car. Beau did the same. They scrambled down an embankment to reach the flat land that included the creek bed. The culvert was three feet in diameter, and the bottom was covered with sand.

  Walt pointed. “She was just inside there.”

  Beau couldn’t see much to suggest that Isabella Costa had bled out there, except for several large reddish-brown spots on the sandy soil. “She could’ve died here or anywhere,” he said. “Nobody around to hear a gunshot.”

  “I haven’t handled any other murder cases in my year on the job,” Walt said, “but keep in mind, Denver is less than an hour west. They manage to kill plenty of folks out that way, and some bodies do get dumped in Washington County.”

  “I’m sure, but she was grabbed in Boulder.” Because of Athena’s great work, Beau suspected her murder had occurred somewhere north or east of Denver. The downside was that northeastern Colorado covered a huge expanse of land. Fortunately, most of it was empty.

  Walt had taken dozens of crime scene photos, and the young deputy was happy to share. After Beau took a few snapshots of his own in the dying light, he headed back to Denver. The FBI’s crime lab agreed to work on the fingernail scrapings as soon as he delivered them.

  -o-o-o-

  Maude’s farm

  Skye and Dawn prepared dinner as usual, and Skye shared her pork chop with her fellow slave. Maude didn’t object, but she scowled.

  Kane took Skye and Dawn back outside for a couple more hours. They’d already filled every tray in the greenhouse with seeds, so Skye wondered what their next task might be. Life was cheap as dirt here, and she realized that if she didn’t find something useful to do, they’d kill her.

  He set them to work spreading manure over iris beds Maude used to produce cut flowers. Although Skye’s back continued to ache, the alternative was far worse.

  After Maude locked her slaves into the basement for the night, Skye and Dawn lay on their beds and chatted quietly about various escape plans. Skye thought about telling her friend about the makeshift knife she’d made but decided against it. They just didn’t know each other well enough for Skye to trust Dawn with such a dangerous secret.

  Skye heard Maude’s raised voice, and it sounded like she was in the furnace ductwork. She looked at Dawn quizzically.

  “If people stand in certain areas in the house, the heat ducts transmit their conversations down here.”

  To better hear what was being said, Skye and Dawn crept over to the furnace, removed the front panel, and slid out the air filter.

  The voices from above came through much better but some of the conversation was drowned out by the TV. Skye grinned at Dawn, who whispered in her friend’s ear, “Remember, if we can hear them, they can probably hear us just as easily. Stay as quiet as a mouse.”

  An excellent point. Skye put an index finger to her lips.

  -o-o-o-

  Cow Palace Public House, Cheyenne

  After the security guys installed bulletproof glass in her room, Athena thanked them profusely, kicked them out, and locked the door. For the first time in days, she and Hagrid enjoyed complete privacy.

  She downed a small bottle of apple juice from the minibar and checked her messages. Beau had sent an encrypted email updating her about Isabella Costa. She passed that info on to Tony but asked him to keep following the sex trade angle for Dawn and Skye.

  Then, she pondered Beau’s farmworker theory. It sounded farfetched. Who needed beautiful women to work the fields? She was back to the horny rich guy who wanted to be surrounded with eye candy. Ridiculous. Hefner had finally croaked. What a creep.

  Tony wrote back. Carol, I’m happy to focus on the brothels in the northeastern corner of the state. Just so you know, most are controlled by the Santiago cartel. They’re tough hombres.

  Organized crime seemed to be everywhere in Colorado. Although her skin crawled at the risks Tony was taking, he was a retired cop and knew how to protect himself. And like most cops, he was an adrenaline junkie. She hoped it wouldn’t get him hurt. Lots of brave men were taking risks to help find her cousin and the others.

  -o-o-o-

  Maude’s farm

  Maude wanted peace and quiet, but Kane had other ideas. He bitched about everything connected with the farm, especially the smell. Who’d ever heard of a farm that didn’t smell like manure? Actually, the only reason he was still alive was that she needed his help to manage this place he hated so much. She’d be happy to get rid of him as soon as Rufus got back.

  Kane asked her a question out of left field. “What if you could get twenty grand tomorrow without farming? Cash in ha
nd.”

  She loved the old place, but it barely made any money. “Who would I have to kill?”

  He grinned. “That’s the best part. Nobody. Just sell Dawn to me. I talked to a couple of guys today who are always looking for pretty new whores. I’m sure I can resell her.”

  Selling her slaves would be about as stupid as selling her tractor. “Without workers, the farm won’t produce a damned thing.”

  “You’re not listening. Forget scraping out a crappy living. Look, how long did it take you and Rufus to find Dawn?”

  She hadn’t thought about it. “Took about an hour to drive to Boulder. Then, we spent ninety minutes waiting around for the right slut to come along. Drove an hour back.”

  Kane nodded. “For less than four hours of work, and a few bucks worth of gas, you can earn twenty grand. Fuck actually farming. You can still live here if you want.”

  Only the “fuck actually farming” part had sunk in. “I love it here. Just like Daddy did, and his daddy before him.”

  Kane threw up his hands. “Fine, stay here, but think about how easily you can make twenty grand.”

  When he put it that way, snatching girls off the street for resale did seem pretty interesting. But there were downsides. “If we get caught, we could go to jail for a long time.”

  Kane shook his head. “You’re already running at risk, and if we’re careful, the odds of getting caught are next to nothin’. We only have to work a few hours every couple of months to make a good living.”

  He was watching one of those talent shows on TV, but Maude tuned it out. The idiot might be onto something. She thought through the angles. Kidnappers took big risks, but farming was dangerous, too. Most of the old-timers she knew were mangled in one way or another. Daddy had lost two fingers on his right hand.

  Another problem came to mind. “Can’t sell Dawn. She knows too much, including our names.”

  “Not a problem,” Kane said. “Most whores know who pushed them into the business, but they make so much money they don’t care? Plus, you have to disappear anyway. Your picture’s plastered all over the news. We’ll get new identities. We could become a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.”

  Kane would’ve made a great used-car salesman, and he had a point. Maude had worked her ass off all her life with nothing to show for it but this farm. In good years, she barely paid her expenses. In bad years, she ended up deeper in debt to the fucking government.

  The thought of getting out from under all that trouble sent a thrill through her. Still, she couldn’t trust Kane, not for long. “Let me sleep on it.”

  -o-o-o-

  Skye felt hollowed out. Her entire body quaked. She couldn’t believe the conversation she’d just heard. Dawn’s lips were trembling.

  They quietly put the furnace back together and moved over to their beds.

  “Holy shit,” Dawn whispered. Her face was pale in the dim light. “What can we do now?”

  As much as Skye wanted to cry, melting down wouldn’t help. “Keep on cutting the bars. We’re already through the first one. As soon as we finish the second, we can bolt. Another couple of nights. And Kane told us snow is coming. The furnace should stay on longer tonight and tomorrow.”

  Dawn frowned. “I don’t know if we can finish before Kane talks the old bitch into selling me to some pimp. I’d much rather work here than as a hooker.”

  She made a great point, except for one problem. “What about Rufus?”

  “I know, but have no idea when he’ll get back. Hopefully, not before we can escape.”

  “I’ll start cutting again as soon as the furnace fires up,” Skye said.

  Chapter 14

  FBI Denver Field Office

  Beau arrived at seven a.m. and found a voice message from a lab tech.

  “Checked your samples from the vic’s fingernails. Real interesting. Call me.”

  He did. “That was fast. Whatcha got?”

  “I jumped right on it because not much for the night crew to do at the moment. Everybody’s up in Wyoming, sorting out that shitshow.”

  Beau cringed as he listened to her casually describe three murders and Athena’s close call with death. But that was the FBI’s culture—even the lab techs were tough as nails. “So, about Isabella Costa?”

  “Yeah, seemed like a nice girl. I hope you find the bastard who did her. The material under her fingernails was potting soil. Despite the name, it doesn’t have any soil in it. This was a high-quality mix typically used for growing seeds or rooting plant cuttings.”

  He’d never been much of a gardener. “Anything unique about it? I need to figure out where she was working before her death.”

  “A typical mix of peat moss, perlite, and compost. One thing is a bit unusual. The mix includes all organic fertilizers, like bone meal and cow manure. Organic is popular these days with home gardeners and commercial vegetable farmers.”

  Isabella’s right hand had been heavily stained by the mixture, which told Beau she’d been working with the stuff a lot. “I doubt a stay-at-home mom kidnapped Isabella to help with her kitchen garden. How do I locate organic farms?”

  Naomi blew out a breath and remained silent for a moment. “I’m pretty sure USDA regulates commercial organic agriculture of all kinds. I see their little sticker on lots of packaged food these days. Somebody at USDA must decide who’s organic and who isn’t. But here’s the thing. It’s still too cold to plant most crops outside. You’re probably looking for an organic greenhouse, which may or may not be attached to an organic farm.”

  That made sense. Naomi was a fountain of helpful information. “So, I should call up USDA?”

  “Sure, they must have a list.”

  This was the kind of task Athena would be great at. Unfortunately, she was probably too busy getting ready for her trial. It never hurts to ask.

  After hanging up with Naomi, Beau fired off a long, compelling email to Athena’s encrypted network asking whether she had any free time to research organific farms. She knew too well that he was a schmoozer, not a researcher.

  -o-o-o-

  Maude’s farm

  Throughout the night, Skye and Dawn took turns cutting the second iron bar and made great progress. In the morning, Skye shivered from fear rather than cold. Kane’s disgusting scheme for Dawn had filled her with fury. For once in her life being flat-chested was a plus. No sane guy would pay money to rape her.

  But even so, as soon as Kane and Maude abandoned the farm, they’d have no need for Skye. And Kane would talk Maude into it because otherwise, someone was eventually going to recognize her and tell the cops where she lived. During their final moments at the farm, they’d probably kill Skye.

  -o-o-o-

  Cow Palace Public House

  Athena woke in total darkness. Something furry brushed against her hand that was sticking off the side of the bed. She flinched before recognizing Hagrid’s coarse fur. My life is too weird these days.

  After a quick shower, she dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. The trial was scheduled to start that morning, but witnesses wouldn’t appear for at least a day. The judge and lawyers were picking a jury and arguing over what evidence would or would not be admissible.

  Athena needed coffee. Her suite included a small kitchen with a fancy Italian machine. She was a simple country girl, so she stuck with basic black, caffè americano. While it brewed, she checked her messages.

  Beau had left her a long, rambling justification for his sexy farmworker theory that wove in details about Isabella Costa, potting soil, and cow patties. Having grown up on a ranch, Athena had shoveled tons of manure. Never had expected her ranch experience to help her solve a murder.

  Finally, he got to the point. He wanted somebody other than his lazy self to find organic farms in northeastern Colorado, preferably the ones with greenhouses. She fired back a response agreeing to help—after her upcoming meeting with the fancy pants prosecutor DOJ had flown in from the City of An
gels. Anything to help find Skye and the others.

  Athena finished feeding Hagrid and washed out his bowl. Someone knocked on the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and just in case, she grabbed her Glock.

  Through the peephole, she recognized one of the guards and breathed a sigh of relief. He was there to escort her down to the dining room for her breakfast. Roger had made his rules crystal-clear. No wandering anywhere alone, not even inside the hotel.

  On the first floor, a dozen people milled around the buffet tables. She didn’t recognize most of the folks, but her guard seemed comfortable. She joined one of the buffet lines.

  “Grab whatever you’d like,” her guard said. “I’ll carry the tray to a conference room where you’ll chat with the prosecutors. Elijah Montgomery made it here, but he doesn’t look like he got much sleep last night.”

  Athena grinned at the guard. “Sounds like we’re off to a typical slapdash start to another trial. What do you know about the star from LA? Roger didn’t say much except Montgomery kicked a few cartel asses.”

  The guard handed her a folded-up paper from inside his sports coat. “Boss asked me to give you this.”

  While Athena waited in the buffet line, she read the paper, which was a bio. The top of the page contained a photo of a chubby, middle-aged black man with a somber expression. He reminded her more of a bank teller than a hotshot trial lawyer. They tended to be tall, handsome men or beautiful women. The one thing they had in common was that they were all good at charming juries. She’d always been too introverted to become a superstar trial lawyer, but not everybody could be Clarence Darrow.

  The bio said Elijah had been raised in Selma, Alabama, the oldest of five children. His father was an African Methodist Episcopal minister.

  His first-born must’ve had some smarts between his ears because he’d managed to get into Duke University’s law school, the best in the South. Elijah began practicing law at DOJ, and he’d stayed there for twenty years, occasionally moving from city to city.

  She folded the paper again. It didn’t tell her what she wanted to know the most—whether he could step into a major criminal prosecution on short notice. It was always possible he was just somebody who happened to be available.