No Way Home

by Annette Dashofy

  “Yep. Both his phone and wireless providers have already been subpoenaed. We’re waiting to hear back from them.” Baronick lifted a box from the floor and thunked it on the table next to his laptop.

  “Good.”

  “You were at the meeting last night,” Baronick said to Pete. “Which local yokels are on the pro-drilling side of the debate?”

  “Most of the farmers, especially those with acreage. They’re the ones who stand to profit.” But Pete hated to think of any of them being willing to kill for a share of the wealth.

  “You’d better add them to the list. At least until we can clear them.” Baronick’s cell phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. “This is probably our ballistics report.”

  Pete stared at the board, marker in hand. Writing down names like Marvin and Bernice Kroll and even Leroy Moore, in spite of his threats, felt like a giant waste of time. On the other hand, they might be the very people who could point him toward the real killer. He added their names and that of a dozen other farm owners. Behind him, Baronick’s half of the phone conversation consisted of several short uh-huhs, yeses and nos.

  “Okay, thanks.” He set the phone down. “Springfield was killed with a twenty-two.”

  Pete capped the marker and turned. “Which could be a handgun or a rifle. But not a deer rifle.”

  “We can rule out a stray bullet from a hunter sighting in his gun, but we still don’t know if he was shot from a distance or close up.” Barnonick’s phone rang again. “I’m a popular guy today.” He picked it up. Once again, his side of the call yielded nothing but some monosyllabic affirmations. Then his voice rose. “Are you kidding me? You’re sure?”

  Baronick had a strange look on his face. Part surprised. Part annoyed.

  “Okay. Thanks.” He tapped his phone and set it next to his computer. Pointing at the whiteboard, he said, “Michael Liggett isn’t missing any longer.”

  “Pittsburgh PD found him?”

  “He wasn’t there. He was right here in Monongahela County.”

  Pete dropped the marker onto the whiteboard’s tray. “Good. Let’s go talk to him.”

  “That’s gonna be tough.”

  “He got away?”

  “Nope. And he isn’t going to either.” Baronick growled. “Michael Liggett is in the morgue. He’s the boy who ODed last night.”

  “Logan’s mixed up with a bad crowd?” Rose echoed Zoe’s explanation back to her as a question. “What the hell does that mean?”

  They headed toward Aztec, the shops and restaurants becoming a little more familiar to Zoe now that she’d passed them for the third time.

  “I don’t really know,” she replied.

  Not entirely a lie. The Santiagos could be wrong about the drug connection. “They’re grieving. Angry. Casting blame in any direction they can. You know how your imagination goes wild when you don’t know the truth.”

  “Like mine’s doing right now?” Rose’s voice bordered on shrill.

  “Exactly. So don’t take anything they said as fact.” They passed a nondescript Mexican restaurant, and Zoe’s stomach growled in response. “How’s the food there?”

  “Good.” But Rose buzzed right on by. She braked at a traffic light and drummed the steering wheel with her fingers. “I called Logan’s cell phone while I was waiting for you.”

  Zoe shot a glance at her anxious friend’s profile. “Oh?”

  “Straight to voicemail. Again.” The light turned green and Rose hit the gas. “He either has his phone turned off or he’s in an area where there’s no signal.”

  Zoe could think of another reason, one she didn’t intend to share—the battery had gone dead because Logan wasn’t able to charge it. Because he was dead too. On the other hand, he could be on the run and didn’t have access to a charger. Or he could be in hiding and had turned off the phone to keep from being pinged.

  It all sucked.

  “I left a message,” Rose said. “Told him we were here and where we’re staying. And to call me back. Now.”

  He hadn’t returned her calls in days. Zoe didn’t expect their current location would change anything. But that was just one more thing she wasn’t going to share. Rose had no doubt already imagined the same nightmarish possibilities that Zoe had, and probably a lot more.

  “What’s the address?” Rose asked.

  “Which address?”

  “For the ME’s office.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “How the hell should I know where the medical examiner’s office is?”

  “You’re the one who lived here all last summer.”

  Rose turned to glare at Zoe. “I didn’t have any dealings with dead bodies while I was here.”

  The small rental car drifted toward the other lane—and a much larger truck traveling toward them. Zoe jammed both feet against a nonexistent brake. “Watch the road, okay?”

  With a head-on collision avoided, Rose turned into the same county government complex they’d been to less than an hour ago. “It must be here somewhere, don’t you think?”

  Zoe tapped in a Google search on her phone. “San Juan County NM Coroner.” The first result was for San Juan County, Washington. The second result was for the right state, but the address it listed wasn’t Aztec. “How far is Albuquerque?”

  Rose’s expression said “you have to be kidding.” “About a hundred and forty miles. Why?”

  “Because that’s the only address I can find.”

  “In Albuquerque?”

  Zoe held up the phone so her friend could see. “Maybe they have food somewhere between here and there.”

  “How can you possibly be hungry?”

  “Because my stomach is still on Pennsylvania time.” Zoe pointed at the dashboard clock and did some quick math. “It might be three thirty, but it feels like five thirty to me. Plus, we haven’t eaten since the layover in the Denver Airport.”

  Rose slumped. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat,” Zoe said, softening her tone. “I’m not going to let you get rundown. You won’t be any help to Logan if you starve yourself into a hospital bed.”

  Rose’s eyes glistened and she swiped a hand across her face. “You’re right. And by the time we got to Albuquerque, the offices would probably be closed. We’ll get something to eat and start fresh in the morning.” She reached for the gearshift.

  “Wait.” Zoe touched her friend’s arm. “Pull up by the Sheriff’s Office. I’ll run inside and find out if there’s a local address for their coroner.” And ask if there was any news about Logan or the deputy who’d been shot.

  “Good idea.”

  A minute later, Zoe left Rose in the car and jogged into the building. The same stone-faced deputy manned the desk.

  Zoe gave him a friendly smile lest he lump her with her hysterical compadre. “Hi. I’m Zoe Chambers with the Monongahela County Coroner’s Office in Pennsylvania. I was in here earlier with Mrs. Bassi.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I remember.”

  “I hope you can answer a question for me.” She explained the situation to him. “Does your coroner or ME have a local office?”

  The young man managed something close to a smile. “New Mexico’s version of your coroner’s office is called the OMI. Office of the Medical Investigator. And yes, they’re based at the University of New Mexico.”

  “In Albuquerque,” Zoe said. Looked like they were in for a long drive tomorrow.

  “Yes.” The young deputy leaned forward. “But you can probably find out what you need from the FDMI.”

  She ran the acronym through her mind trying to come up with a meaning. Fire Department Medical Investigator?

  Apparently the deputy read the puzzlement on her face. What was left of his stony façade dissolved in a chuckle. “Field Deputy Medical Investigator. A guy by the na
me of Dennis McAllister. He’s working the Santiago case.”

  “And I wouldn’t have to go to Albuquerque?”

  “No. Perhaps Farmington.”

  Why hadn’t she studied a map before she got there? “Farmington?”

  “Fifteen miles southwest of here.”

  She could do that.

  “I’ll have McAllister give you a call and set up a meeting.” The young deputy’s gaze shifted over Zoe’s shoulder. He straightened. “Detective Morales,” he called. “Do you have a moment?”

  A dark-haired, dark-eyed man in a charcoal dress shirt and black jeans approached. He wore the same impassive expression as the clerk—at least until Zoe’s confusion over local departments and distances had mellowed him. But she had a feeling the detective wouldn’t be so easily entertained.

  The younger deputy introduced her to Detective Miguel Morales of the Sheriff’s Office and included her status with the coroner’s office back home. He concluded with, “Her friend is Logan Bassi’s mother.”

  Morales offered his hand, which Zoe took. “I’m glad to meet you,” he said. “I was about to call Mrs. Bassi as soon as I got back to my office. I’m taking over for Detective Apodaca.”

  The man who’d been shot. “How is he?” Zoe asked.

  “Holding his own. Unfortunately, he won’t be back on duty for quite some time. I’ve spent all afternoon getting up to speed on his caseload.”

  Zoe glanced toward the door, thinking she really should go get Rose. “Have you learned anything new about Logan?”

  Morales’ expression didn’t change in the slightest. Nor did he answer her question. “Where are you and Mrs. Bassi staying?”

  “The Ameritel Inn.”

  “The one here in Aztec?”

  “Yeah.” She hoped he didn’t ask her which street it was on.

  But he nodded. “Nice place. We haven’t had any calls there.”

  “Oh.” Zoe hadn’t thought about rating a hotel that way. “Good.”

  “Bring Mrs. Bassi back here at nine a.m.” Without waiting for Zoe to confirm the appointment or question him further, Morales strode away.

  She stood there a moment, feeling as if her brain were in a vacuum. She should have stopped him. Should have had Rose come in with her. Should have…

  She caught the young deputy at the desk watching her. “He’s not one to waste words, but he’s damned good at his job.”

  Sounded like someone else she knew. Someone she suddenly missed. A lot.

  Eleven

  Stuffed from a huge plate of chile rellenos at La Cocina de Aztec and warmed from a steamy shower, Zoe propped herself up in bed with a road map she’d obtained from the hotel’s front desk. The hiss emanating from the bathroom told her Rose was still trying to wash the day down the drain.

  Rose had been livid when Zoe told her she’d spoken to the new detective, but she’d expected as much. “You should have come out and got me,” Rose had yelled before threatening to march back inside the Sheriff’s Office.

  But Zoe convinced her to give Detective Morales time to completely familiarize himself with the case. “Besides,” Zoe told her, “if there’d been any news, he’d have told me.”

  Maybe.

  Rose resigned herself to picking at a plate of chicken fajitas in silence and then retreating to a hot shower while Zoe did her homework. At the moment, that consisted of trying to memorize the area they might have to travel in the next few days.

  Her phone sang out her favorite ringtone. “I Fought the Law.”

  “Hi, Pete,” she answered.

  “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re in a different time zone. I wasn’t sure if I’d wake you up or catch you eating dinner.”

  She glanced at the clock on the table between the two beds. “Apparently it’s seven o’clock here, but my brain thinks it’s nine.”

  “You’re going to love jet lag.”

  “Yeah. Right.” The sound of his easy chuckle warmed her. “How’s the Dale Springfield case going?”

  “Uh-uh. You first. Have you found anything on Logan?”

  She sighed and told him about the day’s events, from Detective Apodaca’s shooting, to the Santiagos’ accusations, to her plans to meet with Morales and McAllister tomorrow. When she finished, there was silence on the line and for a moment she thought they’d been cut off. “Pete?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. What do you make of the Santiagos?”

  “They’re typical grieving parents. Lashing out at anyone or anything they can place blame on.”

  “Do you think there might be something to the accusations?”

  “About drugs?” The hiss of the shower stopped. Zoe lowered her voice. “I can’t believe it. Logan saw what they did to his sister. No. He wouldn’t get mixed up in anything having to do with drugs.”

  Pete fell silent again.

  “Do you?” Zoe asked.

  His chuckle wasn’t as warm this time. “I’m a cop, remember. I always expect the worst.”

  The muffled electric whine of a hair dryer drifted from the bathroom.

  “Now tell me about Dale’s homicide,” Zoe said.

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’m trying to determine who might have known he was out in the woods Sunday morning. I need you to give me a list of who all was at the barn for the trail ride.”

  “What good would that do? If they were with me when he was killed, I’d only be giving them alibis. Or are you trying to figure out who can be cleared?”

  “Maybe. But don’t forget. The time of death was earlier than you first thought. It’s possible someone was at the barn when Dale left, maybe even went with him, killed him, and came back to establish their alibi for when the horse returned.”

  She pondered the scenario. “There’s only one problem with that.”

  “What?”

  “Cisco. Why didn’t he come back to the barn until much later?”

  Another silence. Then Pete swore. “Quit punching holes in my theories.”

  Zoe laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Just give me the names of your trail riders.”

  She closed her eyes, picturing the barn that morning. “Me, Allison, Noah Tucker…” She counted off the rest of the regular gang who’d shown up. “But they’re all kids and their parents. No one I’d suspect of killing anyone. Especially Dale. Everyone liked him.”

  “Not everyone.”

  The dark tone of Pete’s voice chilled Zoe. “No. I guess not.”

  “Who’s this Noah Tucker?”

  “He’s a new guy at the barn. He’s looking to buy a horse and asked for my help. In the meantime, he’s been doing a lot of barn work for me in exchange for letting him ride the schooling horses.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?”

  Zoe thought back over the numerous conversations she’d had with the young man. “He’s a nice kid. He used to rodeo and it shows. He’s great with the horses.”

  There was a pause. “That’s all well and good, but do you know where he lives?”

  “Oh.” Zoe laughed. Her idea of background information varied a little from Pete’s. “No, I don’t, but I have his phone and email information. I can send it to you.”

  “Please. And all the others who were there too. I’m sure you’re right about them being in the clear, but I have to cover my ass.”

  Zoe ran through a variety of comebacks, but opted to keep her thoughts to herself even though the mental picture of Pete’s ass stirred a rush of heat.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with Logan’s case.”

  “You mean besides flying out here to be with us when we talk to the detective?”

  “Yeah. Besides that.”

  “I will. And you
keep me in the loop about Dale’s homicide.”

  “You bet. Get some sleep. It’s the best thing for jet lag.”

  The whirl of the hair dryer fell quiet as they said their goodbyes.

  Rose came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of flannel pajamas. “Did I hear you on the phone? Did the detective call?”

  “It was Pete.”

  “Oh.” Rose picked up the television remote and turned it over in her hand. “Any progress on Dale Springfield’s murder?” she asked flatly.

  “No.” Zoe knew Rose didn’t care about anything except Logan right now.

  Rose studied the remote for a moment before setting it down again. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”

  Zoe watched her friend crawl between the sheets and doubted sleep would come easily, if at all, to either of them. She plugged her phone in to charge on the nightstand and tossed the unfolded road map onto the chair on the other side of the bed. Maybe tomorrow would be the day they’d track Logan down.

  She clicked off the light and stretched out to stare into the darkness, picturing Pete’s face and feeling the distance between them.

  Cody Bodine had agreed to meet with Pete at the Dog Den, a hotdog shack in Dillard that didn’t look like much, but was a well-known and well-loved gathering spot for locals and over-the-road truckers as well. In addition to the obvious, they offered an extensive breakfast menu. The only problem was privacy. On a windy, brisk November morning, the tiny indoor seating area was crammed. No one opted for the outdoor picnic tables.

  Pete ordered his scrambled egg and bacon sandwich with a large coffee at the outside window, and once he’d collected the meal, headed to his SUV to eat. Two bites in to the delicious greasiness, he noticed Bodine pull into the lot in a white Ford pickup.

  The Federated Petroleum Resources spokesman stepped out, tugged the collar of his brown Carhartt coat up against the icy breeze, and looked around. He spotted the township police vehicle and approached it.