No Way Home

by Annette Dashofy

  Morales studied Zoe, and she knew he was trying to read her. “If what you say is true, tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “What was it Mrs. Bassi didn’t want you to say earlier? About her son’s friends.”

  The detective had caught the silent exchange between Rose and Zoe. Rose clearly hadn’t wanted Zoe to say anything about Allison. Or maybe Zoe was giving Rose too much credit in the best-friend mind-reading department, and she’d thought Zoe was going to share something else. Either way, by answering his question honestly, she might earn the man’s trust. Right now, that could be well worth Rose’s wrath. “All right. I was gonna tell you who might know more about Logan’s friends than we do. His sister. Allison.”

  Morales brought his notebook out again. “How can I reach her?”

  “Right now, you can’t. She’s on her way here with her grandmother. We’re picking them up at the Durango Airport late this afternoon.”

  “Why doesn’t Mrs. Bassi want me to know about this?”

  Zoe gave him what she hoped was a friendly, relaxed smile. “Like I said, she’s impulsive where her kids are concerned. And protective.” She stopped short of revealing why Rose was so protective of her daughter. Namely, the girl’s history of drug abuse. If the Santiagos had told Zoe about their belief that drugs were involved in Kayla’s death, they’d also told the police. No sense muddying the investigative waters.

  The detective held Zoe’s gaze. She kept the easy smile on her face. They were both playing their cards close to their vests. She could only hope he didn’t realize her propensity for the game of poker. And for bluffing.

  Whether he did or not, he nodded. “Understandable. And to answer your question, no, we don’t have anything concrete in the way of leads into Bassi’s location. But I will tell you we have the car he’d been using. If he’s out there, he’s relying on someone for transportation. Or he’s laying low.”

  Zoe started to thank Morales, but sensed there was more. She waited.

  The detective studied her for several moments and then continued, “We strongly believe Bassi was involved with some bad stuff. We’ve had our eyes on some of his coworkers for quite a while. We know they’re involved in certain criminal activities, but we haven’t been able to get the evidence we need to arrest them yet. If your friend’s son got drawn in by them…” Morales shook his head. “Let’s just say, they’ve never left anyone alive who could testify against them.”

  Zoe’s knees weakened. She caught the chair she’d vacated to keep from stumbling. Or falling. She took a breath. And straightened. “You don’t have to worry about me telling any of this to Rose.” He didn’t have to elaborate about the “certain criminal activities” either.

  Morales extended his hand, and Zoe took it. “We have each other’s numbers. I’ll be in touch with any developments,” he said. “I trust you’ll do the same?”

  “Of course.”

  A few minutes later, she stood inside the Sheriff’s Office’s door, poised to exit. She dreaded facing Rose. She’d want answers. Information.

  What could Zoe tell her? The law and Kayla’s parents believed Logan was mixed up with drug dealers. Rose and Zoe knew better. But if his coworkers were as vicious as Morales had insinuated, odds were good Logan was already dead.

  If he was alive and hiding from the men who had killed his girlfriend, why didn’t he just go to the police? Why didn’t he contact his mother? Or Zoe?

  “Ma’am? Excuse me.”

  Zoe spun to find a uniformed deputy. “Yes?”

  He smiled apologetically and gestured toward the door. “Mind if I go past?”

  Zoe realized she’d been blocking the exit. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She pushed through to the outside, moving clear so the deputy could get around her.

  Rose stood next to the rental car, arms resting on the roof. “Well? What did he say?” she demanded as Zoe approached.

  She ran through the conversation, struggling to dig out a tidbit that wouldn’t send Rose into hysterics. “Nothing really. Nothing that we didn’t already know.”

  Rose wasn’t appeased. “For instance?”

  “He wanted to know if I’d contacted the OMI yet. If I hadn’t, he was going to give me Dennis McAllister’s number.”

  “That’s it?”

  Zoe slid into the passenger seat. “Pretty much.” Another relatively innocuous factoid occurred to her as Rose settled behind the wheel. “Oh, I did ask about Kayla’s body, and Detective Morales told me where they’d found it. Hart Canyon. Do you know the place?”

  “Yeah, I know where Hart Canyon is. That’s all you learned?”

  Zoe deflated. “I thought we could drive out there and snoop around.”

  “Hart Canyon?” Rose repeated. “You don’t realize how big an area that is. Didn’t he narrow it down a bit?”

  “No,” Zoe said, dejected.

  Rose let out a growl. “By the way, the reason I stopped you in there? I had a feeling you were gonna tell him Allison could help identify Logan’s friends.”

  Which was precisely what Zoe had intended to do. And had done after Rose left. “Yeah?”

  “You know full well I don’t want to involve Allison in a police investigation. Not after all she went through last winter. And now with Logan disappearing again? I’m terrified it’s gonna send her off the deep end.”

  “Maybe she shouldn’t be coming out here at all.”

  “You try and stop her. She wants to help. Us. Not the local LEOs.”

  And yet Zoe had, minutes ago, offered Allison up to a local law enforcement officer. Rose was going to kill her.

  On the other hand, Zoe sensed the information may have smoothed the path to détente between her and the detective. If she could manage to act as go-between and keep Allison clear of Morales, perhaps he’d reciprocate with more insider details into the investigation.

  Thirteen

  The heavy dark gray clouds threatened snow as Pete returned to his car in front of Leroy Moore’s rickety house. An abandoned and even more rickety farmhouse sat a hundred or so yards away with its windows boarded. The barn was in better shape than either of the residences. At least the roof didn’t sag.

  Moore, however, hadn’t answered Pete’s knock, and he wasn’t in the barn. The farmer’s pickup wasn’t in its usual spot, so Pete knew he’d have to try another time.

  His cell phone rang as he started the engine. Baronick. “What have you got?” Pete asked.

  “Both sets of phone records came in.”

  He perked up. “Anything interesting?”

  “Maybe. We’re still running down most of the numbers. So far a lot of Dale’s office phone calls are from colleagues and random constituents. Of course, we don’t have the calls’ content, so any of them could have been threatening. The one that interests me is from Mr. Cody Bodine of Federated Petroleum.”

  “I already knew about him.”

  “Oh?” Baronick’s disappointment filtered through the phone.

  “He told me this morning that he’d left messages for Springfield at his office. Anything else?”

  “Not yet.” Baronick sounded dejected. “Lots of calls from his wife. Even a couple outgoing calls to Zoe.”

  “Probably about their horses.”

  “I can call her and ask.” The detective snickered.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll handle it.”

  “Whatever you say, Pete. Anything new on your end?”

  “Zoe emailed me the contact information for everyone who was at the barn Sunday morning.”

  “Let’s split it up. Send me half, and I’ll track them down.”

  A task Pete was more than willing to share. “I’m on my way to talk to the Krolls right now. Then I’m headed back to the station. I’ll give it to you then.”

  “Roger that.” Baronick clicked off
.

  By the time Pete’s SUV crawled up the rutted lane to the Kroll farm, the leaden gray clouds had begun to spit snowflakes, which scurried and swirled on gusts of icy wind. Pete braked on the hillside behind the new modular home occupying the footprint of what had been a beautiful 1850s farmhouse. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture the flames. Could still smell the smoke.

  Instead, he looked beyond the double-wide to the valley below and Route 15 carrying light traffic between Brunswick and Phillipsburg.

  If neighboring counties were any indicator, traffic would become drastically heavier once Federated Petroleum moved into the area. Semis carrying drilling rigs. Tanker trucks carrying water. Plus all the tractor-trailers transporting earth-moving equipment.

  Maybe he only kidded himself by believing he hadn’t taken sides in the battle.

  He picked his way down the path to the house. The snow was starting to stick. Not a lot, but enough to potentially slicken the hillside.

  Mrs. Kroll opened the sliding glass door before he had a chance to knock. “Chief Adams. How lovely to see you. Please come in.” The elderly woman looked better than the last time he’d seen her, but that wasn’t saying much. A battle with leukemia had left her frail. The heart attack four months ago hadn’t helped.

  “Thank you.” Pete stepped into the small dining room as Mrs. Kroll slid the door closed behind him. “Nice place.”

  “That’s right. You haven’t been here since we got the new house.” Mrs. Kroll beamed at him. “I’d forgotten. We used to see you all the time when we still had the old one.”

  Because Zoe lived in half of it. “Yeah. I should’ve made a point to come visit before now. Sorry.”

  The elderly woman dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. “Marvin’s in the living room.” She led the way.

  Mr. Kroll clicked off a large television and struggled to rise from the couch.

  Pete approached him. “Don’t get up.”

  The older man grasped the hand Pete offered and shook it. “I shouldn’t sit around as much as I have been, but since the accident I just don’t have the energy.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Can I get you a cup of hot tea?” Mrs. Kroll asked.

  “No, thank you.” Pete motioned to the empty half of the couch. “Please sit down.”

  Once Mrs. Kroll settled next to her husband, Pete lowered into an overstuffed chair.

  Mr. Kroll reached for a large mug on a table next to him. “You didn’t come here just to check on the elderly and infirm.”

  “I’m ashamed to say, no, I didn’t. I want to talk to you about the gas drilling that might come to the township.”

  “Might?” Mr. Kroll huffed. “It danged well better. Between me and Bernice, we have doctors’ bills out the wazoo. I’m counting on that signing bonus to get us square.”

  “I imagine a lot of folks feel that way.”

  “Not as many as you’d think,” Mrs. Kroll said. She rested a bony hand on her husband’s arm. “There aren’t as many farms as used to be. And it seems to be fashionable to show more awareness in the environment than in energy independence.”

  Pete raised an eyebrow. Frail little Mrs. Kroll had an interest in energy independence? “I didn’t realize that was something you’re concerned about.”

  The elderly woman sat a little taller as she met and held Pete’s gaze. “You think because we’re old and we’re poor farmers, we don’t follow world issues?”

  “I’m sorry. Up until now everyone I’ve talked to has been either pro-environment or looking to make money on the gas industry.”

  Mr. Kroll set his mug down and snorted. “The environmentalist crowd has more eloquent speakers.”

  “Like Dale Springfield?”

  Mr. Kroll made a sour face. “He was a pain in my butt. And not just about the gas company.”

  Mrs. Kroll patted her husband’s arm—a little too hard. “Now, Marvin. It’s not polite to speak ill of the dead.”

  He pulled his arm away from his wife. “I spoke ill of him when he was alive. To his face. I see no reason in changing my opinion of the man now.”

  Pete thought of Zoe’s comment about everyone liking Springfield. Apparently she hadn’t talked to her former landlord. “You do know he and his wife have horses in your barn, don’t you?”

  “That was Zoe’s doing,” Mr. Kroll muttered. He shook a finger at Pete. “I don’t tell that girl how to manage the barn. I gave her the job and with it came the freedom to do as she sees fit. But…” He stressed the word. “I danged near made an exception when I heard he and that fancy woman of his were going to be coming and going as they pleased on my farm.”

  “Do you realize his body was found on your property?” Pete asked, keeping his voice soft.

  “Hell yes, I realize it.”

  “Would you mind telling me where you were Sunday morning?”

  Mr. Kroll gave Pete a quizzical look before bursting into a deep chuckle. “You sound like you believe I killed him.” He laughed, louder this time. “I’m flattered if you honestly think, in my condition, I could make it out into those woods at all, let alone shoot someone off his horse.”

  “Marvin,” Mrs. Kroll scolded. “Behave yourself. Chief Adams is only doing his job.”

  But the old man obviously found the idea hilarious. He continued to chortle, wiping tears from his eyes. “Or maybe you think Bernice dragged my old shotgun out there to ambush him.”

  “Marvin.” Mrs. Kroll’s voice was sharper this time.

  “No. I don’t think either of you killed Dale Springfield,” Pete said and waited for the old man’s mirth to subside.

  When the laughter dissolved into a bone-rattling cough, Mr. Kroll picked up his mug and drained the contents.

  “What I would like to know is who, other than you, might have disliked Springfield enough to want him dead.”

  Mr. Kroll handed the cup to his wife. “Would you mind, dear?”

  “Not at all.” She stood. “Chief? Are you sure I can’t bring you something? Water? Juice? I think I have some ginger ale in the refrigerator.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Mrs. Kroll teetered off to the kitchen. Mr. Kroll leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “For the record, as you police types like to say, Bernice and I were in church Sunday morning. And if you’re looking at any of the local farmers as killers, you’re way off base.”

  “What about your neighbor? Leroy Moore?”

  Mr. Kroll blew a raspberry. “I’ve known Leroy for years. Yeah, he’s going to make out like a bandit when he leases his land for drilling. But he’s not about to commit murder for it. None of us are.”

  “None of you? You can’t think of anyone with a temper? Or who might be especially desperate for money?”

  “No,” Mr. Kroll said firmly.

  Pete waited, hoping his silence might give the older man a chance to think. But he didn’t waver. Time to try another tactic. “From what I understand, Springfield was the spokesmen of the opposition.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Does your side have someone leading the cause?”

  Mr. Kroll looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have one person who tends to be the voice for the rest of you?”

  “No one crazy enough to think murder’s the answer.”

  “All right, but the leader of a group might know more about its members than you do.”

  Mrs. Kroll returned with the mug cradled in her hands. She set it on the table next to her husband and reclaimed her seat beside him.

  Mr. Kroll mumbled his thanks before returning his attention to Pete. “I know what you’re getting at. But we don’t have a leader because we don’t have what you’re referring to as a group. Not the way those blamed fool tree huggers do. We’re just a bunch of la
ndowners who want to get some income out of our property for a change, instead of always pouring money into it. If you’re looking for someone who wanted Dale Springfield dead, you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  “Oh? And where should I look?”

  Mr. Kroll reached for the mug, turning it so the handle was easier to grab. He picked it up, blew on the steaming contents, and took a sip. Setting the cup down, he worked his lips a moment before bringing his gaze back to Pete. “Do you have to, you know, identify your source?”

  He studied the old man, who had gone from looking like the ornery old cuss he was to seeming almost scared. “I don’t see why I’d need to bring up your name.”

  Mr. Kroll nodded. “I don’t want to bite the hand that might just feed us for the rest of our lives, but…well, I like to know who I’m dealing with, so I did some online research.”

  Online research? First Mrs. Kroll and her concern over energy independence. Now Mr. Kroll was browsing the web. Pete needed to reassess his judgment of old farmers.

  Mr. Kroll didn’t appear to notice Pete’s reaction. “You go look up Federated Petroleum Resources and its list of senior vice presidents.” Kroll made air quotes around the last three words.

  “Who am I going to find there?”

  The odd glint remained in Mr. Kroll’s eyes. “You go see for yourself. But if you’re looking for Springfield’s murderer, I’d bet that’s where you’ll find him.”

  In the brief time Pete had been inside with the Krolls, the light flurries had escalated into something resembling the inside of a shaken snow globe.

  Pete’s phone started ringing as he stomped the snow from his boots and climbed into the Explorer. “District Attorney” lit up the screen.

  “What do you have for me?” Fratini demanded.

  “I’m working on a solid lead.” At least he hoped Mr. Kroll’s suggestion was solid. “But I’d rather not elaborate until I check something out.”

  “Have you shared this lead with Wayne?”