The smile on Baronick’s face made Pete think of a wolf baring its teeth while pouncing on its prey.
“Scott Springfield in western Pennsylvania,” the detective mused out loud. “Our illustrious DA is going to love this.” He picked up his cell phone.
Pete resisted the urge to grab it out of Baronick’s hand. “Hold off on that for a while.”
“Why?”
Pete crossed to the whiteboard, studying the names and information listed. “I don’t want to tip Springfield off. Not until I know where he is.”
“You think Fratini would leak that we’re on to Dale’s son?”
Not intentionally. “What will be the first thing the DA orders?”
Baronick rocked back in his chair at the conference table. “A BOLO.”
“Right. And if the young Springfield gets wind that we’re looking for him, what do you think he’ll do?”
The detective looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Catch a private Federated jet to Texas and crawl into a prairie dog hole.”
Exactly what Pete had been thinking. “I’d rather catch him while he’s still unaware of our interest. And while he’s still in our jurisdiction.”
“All right. But if Fratini calls and demands an update?”
“Tell him we should have something for him by morning.”
Baronick grunted.
“Then get a search warrant for Scott’s phone records. I want his cell number.”
The detective’s sour expression brightened. He rocked forward in his chair. “Perfect. We can trace his movements through his tower usage. And if he just happened to use his phone while out in the woods Sunday morning, we can place him at the murder scene.”
Near it at least. For now, that would be good enough.
While Baronick placed a call to his favorite judge, Pete skimmed through his notes. Something else bugged him about Dale’s murder. Cody Bodine had mentioned a couple of muckety mucks, as he called them, at Federated who weren’t at all happy about the senior Springfield’s public position on drilling. But Bodine hadn’t mentioned Scott. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned Dale Springfield’s son being one of those muckety mucks at all. Certainly he knew. Why keep it quiet? It wasn’t like Scott’s position was some well-guarded secret.
Time for another meeting with FPR’s spokesman. Pete pulled out his cell phone and keyed in Bodine’s number. He pressed send and listened to the phone ring in his ear. An automated voice answered with prompts to leave a message at the tone. Pete requested—firmly—a call back as soon as possible and hit the red button.
Pete decided to spend the rest of the afternoon patrolling his township. Of course, he planned his route with an ulterior motive in mind.
A cruise through Scenic Hilltop Estates revealed no sign of activity at the Fort. The drone of a gasoline engine carved through the low rumble of the Explorer’s engine. A white cloud of snow sailed into the air a few doors up the hill. Despite there being a mere inch of the white stuff on the ground, John Nelson, bundled in ski pants, a parka, and a colorful knit scarf, was snow-blowing his driveway. Pete braked at the end of it and powered down his window.
Nelson flipped a switch and the machine fell silent. He trudged toward the SUV and rested a gloved hand on top of the doorframe. “Hi, Chief.”
“Have you seen any more activity over there?” Pete tipped his head toward the impenetrable privacy fence.
“No.” Nelson smiled broadly. “Thanks. Whatever you did worked. I guess the guy moved out.”
As much as Pete would’ve liked to take credit, he also would’ve liked to talk to the guy. “Sorry, but I didn’t do anything. We’ve been keeping an eye on the place but haven’t been able to catch the resident at home.”
Nelson shrugged through his layers of clothes. “I’ve noticed the extra patrols through here. Maybe he saw them too and decided to leave. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.”
Pete left after asking Nelson to continue to keep watch and to call if he spotted any activity at the house.
Next, Pete headed to the other end of the township. He turned down a winding country lane that crossed a primeval iron bridge and meandered along a wide creek. In the summer, the foliage made this road feel like a long green tunnel. Today, the trees, stripped of their leaves, offered only minimal concealment of the old mobile home set back in the woods. The sight of Warren Froats’ red Ford pickup, complete with its brown and white side panels, told Pete the retired Vance Township police chief—his predecessor—was home. The presence of a second familiar pickup, this one a dark gray Dodge, offered evidence of a visitor. Perfect. Pete could kill two proverbial birds with one stone. Or more accurately, he could question two old codgers with only one stop.
He eased along the washboard driveway and crossed the wooden bridge. The rattle and clunk of the loose boards announced an intruder’s arrival more effectively than any watchdog. By the time Pete climbed out of his Explorer, Froats had stepped out onto the expansive deck. In sharp contrast to Nelson’s ski pants and parka, the retired police chief wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a too-small Steelers t-shirt.
“If it isn’t Pistol Pete,” Froats bellowed. “How the hell are you?”
Pete climbed two steps onto the deck and extended his hand, which the older man nearly crushed. “I’m doing well. Yourself?”
“Fine. Just fine. I’ll be better when I can get back out on the creek though.” Froats lived for fly fishing. “Come on in. I got company but the more the merrier.”
Inside, he escorted Pete through a clean, but tired kitchen to a dining nook where Mrs. Froats sat with Bruce Yancy.
“Sally Jo, you remember Pistol Pete Adams?”
The woman looked as tired as her kitchen. She nodded without speaking.
“Fetch the Chief a cup of coffee,” Froats said.
Pete shook his head. “None for me, thanks.”
“Nonsense,” Froats barked. His wife stood with a grunt and waddled past them. “And you know Yancy.” Not a question.
Pete eased into one of the chairs facing the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the woods and shook hands with the former fire chief. “Am I allowed to join this party? I’m still on active duty.”
“I don’t know,” Yancy said with a wink. “What do you think, Warren? Should we let him in?”
“Only as a guest. And you only get one guest pass per year, so don’t try droppin’ in unannounced any ol’ time you please.”
Both old timers chuckled, pleased with their private club joke.
Mrs. Froats returned and set a mug of coffee in front of Pete before retreating into the rear of the trailer.
“I’m glad I caught both of you here.” Pete sipped the brew. “Yancy was going to be my next stop.”
Froats grunted. “I figured this wasn’t a social call. You need my help?”
Pete kept his expression neutral, but caught a glimpse of Yancy’s grin. As far as Pete was concerned, the jury was still out on Warren Froats. During the old chief’s time in office, he’d been known to take shortcuts—at the very least. He might even have ventured into some level of corruption. But when Pete had been forced to work with the man last summer and had needed backup, Froats had been there. Pete owed him. Big time.
Somehow, Pete suspected Froats would never let him forget it.
“I do. I could use some help from both of you, to be honest.”
Froats beamed. “What can I do for you?”
Pete took a sip of coffee. “What can you tell me about Dale Springfield?”
Yancy gave a disgusted snort. “Didn’t we already have this conversation the night of the supervisors’ meeting? I told you then you need to look at the other side of the battle.”
“I know.” Pete looked at Froats. “Yancy couldn’t point me toward anyone who might have a special vendetta against the commissioner. What
about you?”
“Me? I liked the man. Supported him a hundred and ten percent.”
Pete intentionally struck a relaxed pose. Ankle crossed over a knee, one arm slung over the back of the chair. “I have to admit I was surprised to see you involved in this. Seems to me you’ve kept to yourself since you retired. I didn’t have you pegged as an activist for or against anything.”
Froats gazed out the window. “You’re right about that. Part of it, anyhow. I’d just as soon mind my own business. But I reckon this is my business.” He pointed toward the woods. “My creek’s out there. Good fishin’. That’s where I plan to spend the bulk of my days, and with any luck I’ll keel over and die of old age while bringin’ in a rainbow trout. But this here frackin’ nonsense threatens to pollute my stream. Poison my fish. Hell, probably poison me. I don’t mind if I die in the water with a rod and reel in my hand. I just don’t want to die because of the water.”
Yancy nodded his agreement.
“All right,” Pete said. “You worked in law enforcement a long time. I’d bet a year’s salary that you know your opponent as well or better than you know your own friends.”
Froats brought a fierce glare around to Pete. “You’re damned straight, I do.”
“Who do you think killed Dale?”
The room fell silent except for the sound of a television playing low somewhere in one of the back rooms.
After a moment, Froats looked down at his coffee mug. “I hate to say it, but I have a feeling Leroy Moore might be behind it. He and Dale had some pretty heated discussions on the matter. Leroy’s been known to spout off some threats about what he was gonna do if we screwed up his one chance to get some money out of his land.”
“Threats? Aimed at Dale?”
“Dale. Me. Yancy. Joe Mendez. Whoever happened to be around at the time and didn’t agree with him. I never took his tirades seriously. Thought he was just blowin’ off steam. But now? I don’t know. Especially since Dale was killed only a hundred yards or so from Leroy’s property line.”
A slightly different scenario started forming in Pete’s mind. Did the trail Dale had been riding on cross from the Kroll farm into Moore’s place? Could Dale have been shot while on Leroy Moore’s property and somehow stayed in the saddle until he finally fell where Zoe had found him? Not likely, but possible.
Besides, something like a property line wouldn’t stop a man with a rifle intent on killing.
Nineteen
After lunch on the Rez, Zoe and Allison headed back into Farmington and the land of cellular service. Once they reached a red light, Zoe picked up her phone. Allison had other plans.
“No.” Allison snatched it from Zoe’s hand.
Zoe made an unsuccessful grab for it. “We need to check in with your mother.”
Allison tucked the phone out of reach in the map pocket of the passenger door. “We can’t.”
The light changed to green, and Zoe turned her attention to the traffic. “If we don’t let her know where we are, she’s going to think something’s happened to us too. Do you honestly want to put her through that when she already fears the worst about your brother?”
Allison slouched in her seat. “No. But if she finds out what we’re doing, she’ll insist on coming too. Billy won’t show up if he sees we have a carload. He’s not too thrilled even having you along.”
“Doesn’t he like your mom?” Zoe’s distrust of this guy was growing by the second.
“He likes her just fine. But I know the way he thinks. The more people who know where Logan is, the more chance the wrong person will find out.”
“Your mother isn’t going to tell anyone.”
Even with her attention on the road, Zoe could see the eye roll Allison aimed at her. “Mom would tell everyone. She’d be so happy he’s okay, she’d probably hire a plane to fly around with a banner.” Allison spread her hands as if framing said banner. “‘My son is alive and well.’” She let her hands drop to her lap.
Zoe hated to admit it, but the kid made sense. Sort of. “If we just disappear, your mother will be at the Sheriff’s Office, filing more missing persons reports. They’ll send out that helicopter of theirs looking for us. Do you really think that will help keep things quiet?”
Allison’s “No” was almost too quiet to hear. After a long moment of silence, she reached into the backseat to retrieve her purse. “You’re right. Mom needs to know we’re okay. But I’ll call her.”
Against Zoe’s better judgment, she agreed. With her hands on the wheel and unfamiliar streets all around, she couldn’t exactly dive across the girl’s lap to reclaim her own phone.
Allison wasn’t using the speakerphone feature, but Zoe could hear Rose’s raised voice without it. “Where the hell are you? You were supposed to meet us over an hour ago.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Allison replied, sounding appropriately contrite. “Aunt Zoe and I are fine. We’re headed out to Shiprock.”
Shiprock?
Which was exactly what Rose screeched through the phone.
“Yeah. Mrs. Santiago told me about one of Kayla’s friends who might know something. She lives near Shiprock. I called her and she’s agreed to meet us, but she has to be somewhere this afternoon, so there wasn’t enough time to come get you and still catch her.”
Rose’s response was too low for Zoe to hear, but she noticed Allison’s eyes widen. “Uh, her name’s Megan. You don’t know her.”
Rose replied with a tirade.
Allison interrupted. “Mom? Mom? You’re breaking up. We’re entering the Rez so—” She held her phone in her hand and pressed the end key, cutting off Rose’s frantic lecture. Allison grinned at Zoe. “Oops. Lost the signal.”
Zoe braked at another red light and glared at the girl. “It concerns me how well you lie to your mother.”
Allison powered off her phone. “I’ll come clean after we find Logan. She’ll happily forgive me.”
Probably. But just knowing what Rose’s daughter was capable of created a knot of tension in Zoe’s shoulders. “Where exactly is Shiprock, anyway?”
Allison dug Zoe’s phone from the map pocket and aimed one thumb over her shoulder. “If we’d kept going past the Navajo Kitchen, we’d have eventually come to it.”
“So your mom now thinks we’re heading in the complete opposite direction?”
“Yeah.” Allison beamed at her. “Smart, huh?”
“No. Give me my phone.”
She tossed the phone into Zoe’s lap without argument. The traffic light turned green, and she hit the gas at the same time she pressed the button to wake up the screen. The car responded. The phone did not. She tried again. Nothing.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Allison hold up one hand. Zoe glanced away from the road long enough to see the teen grinning and pinching something between her index finger and thumb. It took a moment to register.
The battery.
“Allison.”
In response, she tossed it into the backseat. “Billy would just make you take it out before he’d show you where Logan is anyway. I’ll leave mine in until we meet up with Billy in case he needs to reach us. Then I’ll take it out too. Turn left up ahead.”
The knot in Zoe’s shoulder expanded to her neck. Here she was, in an unfamiliar state, in unknown territory with a girl she wasn’t sure she knew anymore, headed into a canyon to meet a man she didn’t trust or understand. All in the hope of finding Logan alive and safe.
Preferably while staying that way herself.
About a half hour later, Zoe recognized the gas station and the intersection where she would have turned right to return to their hotel. Allison directed her to keep going. Zoe contemplated ignoring her. Go find Rose and Sylvia. Snap the battery back in her phone and call Pete. Have Detective Morales investi
gate this Billy Yellowhorse guy.
Except none of those moves would bring them any closer to Logan. And it was already well past their three o’clock meeting time. In spite of the screaming cramp in Zoe’s shoulders and the gnawing unease in her gut, she continued north.
They passed the turn for Kokopelli Estates. Some of these names and places were starting to feel familiar. Or at least less foreign. But all sense of familiarity vanished when Allison pointed at a road ahead. “Turn there.”
“Here?” Calling it a road seemed a bit of a stretch.
“Yep.”
Zoe braked and eased off the paved road onto a dirt track winding into a vast expanse of desolation. Under different circumstances, she’d have loved roaming around out here—on horseback or even in her pickup—with a good camera and some sort of GPS. The terrain was rugged. Massive rocks. Sand. A few scrub trees. And some of the most awesome vistas she’d ever seen.
After less than a mile, Zoe slowed to a crawl, attempting to maneuver around an especially deep rut. The car rocked and groaned, but she hit the gas before the small vehicle decided it was stuck. A sickening metallic screech told Zoe they’d bottomed out, but the car trudged onward.
“We’re gonna owe the rental agency a pile of money,” she grumbled.
“It’s not much farther.” Allison reached over and nudged her. “You have to admit, you don’t get to see stuff like this when you stick to the tourist spots.”
Right now, Zoe concentrated on the worsening road conditions. Maybe later—after they rescued Logan—they could come back in a monster truck and sightsee.
Another deep channel transected their path. Zoe jammed the brakes before they nosedived into it. “Crap.” On the left, a gnarled tree blocked any attempt to venture off the road. And the ditch looked even deeper over there. On the right, it looked like one miscalculation would plunge them over a cliff.
Even Allison the adventurer took one glance out her passenger window and shook her head vehemently. “No way.”
“What do we do?” Zoe looked over her shoulder. Retreat seemed the smartest option.
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