“What about Wolf Man?”
Baronick flashed his irritating smile. “He’s all mine. I intend to find out who he is and where he is before the end of the day.”
“Good luck with that.”
“You know me when I put my mind to something.”
Pete grunted. “Like I said. Good luck.” He closed his notebook and stood. “I have something else you can delegate to your county boys.”
Baronick looked up. “What?”
Pete ripped the page from the legal pad and slid it toward the detective. “This is the list of trail riders who were at the barn the morning Dale was killed. I’ve already spoken to Noah Tucker. He claims to have been the first one there. Have your guys run the rest of them down and make sure no one else saw anything.”
Baronick picked up the paper and scowled at the names. “Will do.” He gave Pete a smirk. “You know, if we clear both these cases, you could take a few vacation days. I hear New Mexico is lovely this time of year.”
Pete left the conference room without acknowledging the comment. He didn’t want to give the detective the satisfaction of admitting he’d been thinking the same thing.
One advantage Zoe had discovered about being time-zone challenged was breakfast. She and the three Bassi generations arrived downstairs just as the hotel’s free breakfast bar opened. No crowds. Fresh sausage and scrambled eggs. And the coffee urns were full.
With steaming cups and heaping plates, the women settled at a table by the front window. They still had about an hour before dawn, which limited the view to the cars and pickups in the illuminated parking lot and the lit office buildings across the road.
After they established that no one had slept especially well, Rose took a sip of her coffee and said, “Let’s make a plan for the day. For starters, I want to go over to our old neighborhood and talk to some of the folks. Hopefully someone remembers us and might know who Logan hangs out with.”
Zoe caught Allison’s subversive glance. “Why don’t you and Grandma do that,” the girl said, “and Aunt Zoe and I will go see Kayla’s mom and dad.”
Allison hadn’t shared her intentions, but Zoe decided to play along. For now.
Rose made a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey. They’re pretty angry with us. Plus, we only have the one car.”
Allison pushed some hash browns around on her plate. “Aunt Zoe and I can drop you and Grandma off over at Ruins Road Park, and you can walk house to house, right? Mr. and Mrs. Santiago are angry with you. They like me.”
“They don’t like anyone with the last name Bassi.”
Zoe held a forkful of eggs halfway between her plate and her mouth. “Your mom might be right, but we can try. Besides, I promised to get back to them after I talked to the medical investigator. At least they won’t slam the door in our faces until I answer their questions.”
“Problem is,” Rose said, “they won’t answer yours.”
“It won’t hurt to try. Maybe they’ll be more open to Allison.”
“They will,” the teen said around a mouthful of toast.
Sylvia had been silent through the exchange, but she put her fork down on her plate with a sharp clank. “I’ll go with you,” she said to Zoe. “I want to convince them my grandson had nothing to do with their daughter’s homicide, and by refusing to help us, they might be putting Logan in danger.”
Zoe reached across the table to touch Sylvia’s arm. “I know how you feel, but I don’t think they want to be convinced. They’re hurt and angry. Logan’s an easy target. So is anyone trying to save him.”
“She’s right,” Rose said. “Which is exactly why I don’t like the idea of Allison going over there. I think Zoe should go alone. You can meet us at the Ruins afterwards.”
“No,” Allison said, a little too sharply. “I mean, I want to at least tell them how sorry I am. I really liked Kayla. Please, Mom.”
Zoe remained silent. Whatever Allison had in mind, she didn’t want her mother or grandmother along.
Rose glared skeptically at her daughter. “All right. We’ll break into teams this morning. Sylvia and I will tackle the houses over on Ruins Road. You two will visit the Santiagos.” She shook a menacing finger at Zoe. “If they get vindictive with my daughter, you get her out of there.”
Zoe snapped off a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she finished the last of her sausage, she caught the victorious sparkle in Allison’s eyes. Wherever they were going, Zoe had a strong feeling it wasn’t to the Santiagos’ house.
With all the various suspects Pete had unsuccessfully tried to track down, he expected Scott Springfield to be yet another elusive ghost. Instead, the senior vice president in charge of corporate development turned out to have an extensive social media presence, most of which appeared to have rather transparent security settings.
Scrolling down the page, Pete learned that Dale’s estranged son owned an impressive-looking home in Odessa, Texas. There were dozens of photos of the blonde woman and two children—the same ones from the photos Pete had seen at Hope’s house, only the kids were slightly older now. While the family, oil field, and cowboy photos and posts were interesting, Pete returned to the top of the feed to scan the recent ones. “Jackpot,” he said to himself.
He recognized many of the locations in the photos posted over the last two weeks. Scott on the Mount Washington Overlook with the famous spectacular view of Pittsburgh behind him. Scott at the Point, where the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers merged to form the Ohio. There were a number of shots of him at drilling sites. According to the photo tags, he’d been in neighboring Allegheny, Washington, and Fayette Counties within the last month. Only a week ago, he’d posted “Looking forward to bringing gas production jobs to Monongahela County” on his timeline.
Pete rocked back in his chair. A week ago. And three days later, Scott’s father had been killed.
The younger Springfield’s posts grew sparse since then, mostly memes. There was no mention of where he was staying or if he was still in Pennsylvania. Nor was there any mention of his father’s death.
Pete’s cell phone rang. Fratini.
The DA didn’t offer any rudimentary words of greeting. “Give me an update on the Springfield case.” From his tone, he wasn’t expecting good news.
Pete clicked on Scott’s profile picture. “I believe I’m on to something.”
“You told me as much yesterday. What?”
“I’d still rather not say until I dig a little further. But I have a feeling I know who killed the commissioner.”
Sixteen
Zoe had been partly wrong. She and Allison did indeed pay a visit to the Santiagos. The grief-stricken parents were moderately less hostile toward the teen than they had been toward Rose. At least, they seemed less inclined to blame Allison for Logan’s actions or Kayla’s death.
They were not, however, any more willing to reveal information that might help track him down. And Allison didn’t press.
Zoe passed along Dennis McAllister’s phone number as well as his promise to notify them about the release of Kayla’s body. The Santiagos thanked Zoe, and they thanked Allison for stopping in. But they ushered them out the door without any additional pleasantries.
“That went well,” Zoe said sarcastically once they were back in the rental car. “I thought you said you could get some answers out of them.”
“You and Mom were right. They need to blame Logan. Why waste our time? I have other plans to find him.”
The girl’s eyes held an intense glint that unnerved Zoe. “What other plans?”
Allison gestured toward the road. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you where to turn.” She cast a Cheshire Cat smile at Zoe. “Unless you want me to drive.”
“No.”
“But I’ll be sixteen next week.”
“Then next week, we�
��ll talk.”
Allison huffed and pointed a finger at the road. “That way.”
“That way” took them southwest on the same road Zoe had taken yesterday. “Where are we going?”
“A town called Farmington.”
“Where in Farmington?”
“If I told you, you still wouldn’t know.”
“Try me.”
Allison made a production of twisting in her seat to look at Zoe. “KNDN.”
Zoe struggled to make sense of the letters. Was this one of those net-centric abbreviations kids constantly came up with to confound adults? “I give up. What’s KD…?”
“KNDN. It’s a radio station.”
Zoe glanced away from the road long enough to gauge the girl’s face. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” Allison faced forward. “I told you you wouldn’t understand.” She crossed her arms. “Just trust me for once, ’kay?”
“I trust you.” Sort of. “I’d just like to know what a radio station has to do with finding Logan.”
Allison relaxed, letting her hands lower to her lap. “Everything.” She breathed a loud sigh. “Remember I told you last night about a friend who can find him?”
“The one you were so mysterious about?”
“Yeah. Well, he’s Navajo.”
“Okay.” Zoe dragged the word out and waited.
After a few long moments of silence, Allison said, “Billy works in the oil fields. He’s a crew chief, and Logan was assigned to him. They—we—all got to be good friends.”
Zoe processed the information as Allison again fell quiet. “Who’s ‘we’?”
She started picking at her cuticles. “Billy and Logan and Kayla and me.”
“This Billy knew Kayla?”
“Uh-huh. Their dads worked together for the oil company.”
Zoe’s instincts told her there was a lot more. But this time when Allison grew still, she remained that way. Zoe suspected prying would only be met by a stone wall of teenaged silence.
Except for occasional directions on where to turn, Allison remained quiet until they reached Farmington’s Main Street. Then she sat up, paying attention to the buildings they passed.
“There,” she said, pointing. “Turn in there.”
Zoe eased the rental car into a parking lot next to a squat beige and sand-colored structure with the call letters KNDN blazoned along the top of the wall facing the road. “Now what?”
“Park.”
She pulled into one of the spaces and turned off the ignition.
“Oh. You could have left it running. This won’t take long.” Allison searched through her small purse, coming up with a pen. “Do you have a piece of paper?”
Zoe reached into the backseat and dragged her larger handbag into the front. “Mind telling me what the hell’s going on?”
Allison grinned at her. “Mom would make you pay the cuss jar if she heard you.”
“Right now, I don’t care.” The kid had no idea how much she was about to owe the jar if answers weren’t forthcoming. And soon. She found the notepad she’d swiped from the hotel room and handed it over. “So what are you doing?”
Allison scribbled on the top sheet and tore it off. “Getting word to Billy.”
She reached for the door handle, but Zoe caught her arm. “Uh-uh. You’re not leaving this car until I know exactly what you’re up to.”
“You need to trust me.” Allison tugged against Zoe’s hold.
She didn’t release the girl. “That goes both ways. You need to trust me too. So spill it, Chickie.”
Allison slumped back against the seat. “You haven’t called me that since I was ten.”
“Eight,” Zoe corrected.
The girl blew out a breath that puffed her strawberry blond bangs. “Okay, okay.” She held up the folded piece of paper.
Zoe took it, unfolded it, and read.
“Lil Sis is looking for Pony Boy and wants a Navajo taco.”
Zoe fixed Allison with a hard, questioning scowl.
She finally must have realized Zoe wasn’t letting her go anywhere without an explanation. “KNDN…NDN…Indian, get it?”
“I got it.” Zoe refused to admit she hadn’t.
“There’s a slot in the door over there. If you want to get a message to someone on the Rez, you drop a note through the slot. They broadcast the messages three times a day. At eight in the morning, at noon, and at four. People on the Rez know to listen to their radios during those times. There’s no cell service in a lot of places out here, so this is how they communicate.”
“That doesn’t explain this cryptic note.”
Allison gave her a look that conveyed what a greenhorn Zoe was. The same look that also meant adults were too stupid to live. Zoe hadn’t seen it in a while. “Indians have a lot of beliefs that are different than ours. For one thing, you don’t call anyone by their real name. Something about names carrying great power and shouldn’t be abused. Anyway, Billy Yellowhorse goes by Pony Boy. He calls me Little Sister, because of Logan.”
Zoe stared at the note, which made more sense now. “Okay. What’s this about a Navajo taco?”
Allison flashed a bright smile. “It’s what we’re having for lunch.”
Pete hadn’t shared Scott Springfield’s name with the DA, but promised to update him after a little more digging.
First stop—Dale and Hope’s residence. An inch or so of snow coated the ground with more in the forecast. The driveway hadn’t been cleared and multiple sets of tire tracks indicated a lot of coming and going. When Pete reached the house, he noticed the Ford pickup was missing. The sidewalk had been swept clean, and when he knocked on the front door, no one responded. Along with the truck, the loud country music was noticeably absent.
He returned to the Explorer and called the number he had for Hope’s cell phone.
She answered with a hesitant “Hello?”
Pete identified himself. “I need to talk to you about your husband’s case.”
“Have you found out who killed him?”
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m at the Kroll farm where we board our horses. You know it, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I plan to be here for the next hour or so. Can you meet me?”
About ten minutes later, Pete parked next to the F-350 with its expensive tires and stared at the barn. Sitting there, he conjured up a mental picture of Zoe swaggering from the barn in her tight jeans and a snug t-shirt. Okay, so today she would’ve also had on a winter coat.
What was it like today in New Mexico? Warm? Cold? Sunny? Was she having any luck finding Logan?
Was she safe?
Pete reached for his phone and pulled up her number. Her smiling face appeared on the screen. His thumb hovered over the send button, but before he could tap it, Hope stepped out of the barn and waved. He sighed and pocketed the phone. Later. He’d make sure to check on Zoe later.
He climbed out of the SUV and approached Hope.
“I appreciate you coming here,” she said. Her cheeks were bright pink from the biting cold. “I needed to get out of the house, away from everything. This has always been my favorite place when I needed to escape. Well, not necessarily this barn, but wherever my horse is.”
Zoe had often told him nearly the same thing.
“No problem,” Pete said. He followed her across the arena. A white horse with black spots stood tethered near a bright pink plastic carrier full of brushes and curry combs. All of the stalls were open and empty. The other horses gathered around a large round bale of hay outside. One, a pinto, stood at the gate and let loose a shrill whinny.
Hope’s horse responded with a guttural whinny that shook his entire body.
“Shush, Domino,�
�� Hope said. She shook a finger at the pinto near the gate. “You too, Cisco.”
Pete nodded toward the brown and white one. “Your husband’s horse?”
“Yes.” Hope patted her horse’s neck. “He and Domino are stable buddies. And they’re a little too attached to each other. Makes it hard to ride solo. The one left behind throws a fit. And the one you take out on the trail wants nothing more than to return to the barn.”
“Are you planning to ride today?”
“Just here in the arena. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little nervous going out on the trails. After what happened to Dale…” Her voice dissolved into a squeak. She swept her glove across her eyes and turned to face Pete. “What did you want to talk to me about? Did you find out who killed my husband?”
“No,” Pete said. “But I wanted to ask you some questions about his son.”
“Scott? I told you they were estranged.”
“When was the last time you heard from him?”
The question set her back. Her mouth dropped open, but then she closed it, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. After a few moments, she said, “It’s been so long, I honestly couldn’t tell you. A year? Maybe more. Why?”
“Are you aware he works for FPR?”
“Yeah.” Hope made a sour face. “That’s the epitome of irony, isn’t it? Scott’s employed by the very company Dale and I have been fighting against.”
Irony wasn’t the word Pete would have chosen. It was too close to coincidence. He didn’t believe in either. “Did you know Scott’s been in the area?”
The color drained from Hope’s face. “What do you mean, ‘in the area’?”
“Pittsburgh. Allegheny, Washington, Fayette Counties. Probably Monongahela County too. He’s pushing to bring gas development here.”
She spun away from Pete so he couldn’t see her expression, but even her bulky quilted coat couldn’t hide the tension lifting her shoulders. And another frantic whinny from the pinto couldn’t cover the distinct sound of gagging.
No Way Home Page 15
