“And you didn’t insist?”
The smile returned. “Have you ever met Scott Springfield?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” But he planned on it. Soon.
“Well, as stubborn as Dale Springfield is well known to be, Scott is even worse. No amount of insisting would sway him. It would have been a waste of my energy.”
Pete struck his at-ease pose. “Did you get the impression that Scott harbored any anger toward his father?”
“Oh, heavens, yes. I don’t have any idea what the history is between those two, but Scott certainly despises Dale. And I got the impression their political and business differences have nothing to do with it.”
Pete made a point of appearing to study his notes. Then he looked up and fixed the executive with his most penetrating stare. “You say Scott despises his father. Do you think that hatred is deep enough to make him want to kill Dale?”
Johnson blanched. “Kill? No. Absolutely not. He said—” The executive clamped his mouth shut, but his eyes widened.
“What did he say, Mr. Johnson?”
“It was just one of those things you say without thinking.”
“What did he say?”
Johnson took a deep breath before replying. “Scott said the only time he ever wants to see his father again…is inside a casket.”
Pete reached for his phone only to have it vibrate in his hand. Baronick’s name lit up the screen.
“We’ve got him,” the detective said.
“Where are you?”
“Right next door. Scott’s hotel room. Number 714.”
Pete had thanked Wesley Johnson for his time and headed to the hotel next to Federated’s HQ. A pair of State Police vehicles flanked Baronick’s black sedan in the parking lot. A family walking toward the entrance looked askance at the marked cars and at Pete before snatching their three small children and bustling them back to their minivan.
He took the elevator to the seventh floor and found one trooper in the hall outside the door. He nodded a greeting to Pete and knocked. A second trooper opened the door to let Pete in.
Scott Springfield looked more like the cowboy in the photo on Hope’s mantel than the urbane businessman on Federated’s webpage. He sat on a beige sofa beneath an oval mirror, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, and one western-booted foot resting on one jean-clad knee. Baronick lounged in a plush easy chair across from him. A quick survey of the room revealed a laptop on a desk and a hallway leading to the rest of the suite.
Pete shot a questioning glance at the detective.
“I didn’t want to start without you,” Baronick said.
Scott barked a sarcastic laugh.
“Okay.” Baronick shrugged. “So he doesn’t want to talk.”
“You read him his rights?”
“Oh, yeah. He says he doesn’t need or want a lawyer, but he claims he has nothing to say to us.”
Pete studied the fuming Texan. “If you don’t have anything to hide, it could expedite the whole process if you’d just answer a few questions.”
“No.”
Pete ignored him. “Like where were you Sunday morning?”
Scott stared out the window.
“When was the last time you saw your father?”
Scott pressed his mouth even more tightly closed.
Pete exchanged a frustrated glance with Baronick. Scott knew his legal rights. Pushing him without legal counsel was treading a dangerous line. But Pete needed answers. Maybe he could lure him into a conversation that had nothing to do with the case and work from there. With Zoe still on Pete’s mind, he asked, “I understand you’re from Texas. That’s not far from New Mexico, is it?”
The question appeared to throw the younger Springfield. “Depends. They’re right next to each other on the map. But they’re big states.” So he could talk. And he definitely had the drawl thing working for him.
“I have a friend in Aztec, New Mexico. How far is that from…” Pete checked his notes. “…Odessa, Texas?”
Springfield’s forehead creased. Pete couldn’t tell whether the reaction was to the question or to the fact that he had named Springfield’s hometown. “I don’t know. About six hundred miles, I’d say.”
“Do you know anyone in Aztec or around the Four Corners?” Pete didn’t expect he would, but Zoe wanted to work the case. If her travels got Scott answering questions, she’d at least have some part in it.
He appeared to ponder the question. After a few moments, he shrugged. “Yeah. I do.”
Not the answer Pete expected.
“Fellow I went to college with moved out there. I haven’t seen or talked to him in years.”
“What’s his name?”
Scott looked at Pete, sizing him up. “He’s got nothing to do with this, and I have nothing more to say.”
Damn. Pete studied the Texan. He seemed relaxed. Pissed off for sure. But he didn’t look like he was trying to hide anything. Then again, he might just be a topnotch liar. Time to throw the cowboy another curve ball. “I understand you recently mentioned the only time you wanted to see your father was in a casket.”
Scott’s foot slipped from his knee, the boot hitting the floor with a thud. His Texas tan faded to an eastern winter white. “Who told you that?”
Out of the corner of Pete’s eye, he noticed Baronick tapping madly on his phone. “I also understand that you’ve been estranged from your father for quite some time,” Pete continued. “Moved to Texas to get away from him. And yet here you are, back in Pennsylvania, taking sides against him.”
“It’s part of my job,” Scott said through clenched teeth.
“Must really get under your skin though. First your old man ruins your mother’s life—”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
“And now he’s standing in the way of your career.” Pete shrugged. “Hell, I’d be pissed if I were you.”
“He’s not standing in the way of my career.”
“Not now. He’s dead. Convenient, huh?”
Scott’s shoulders hunched. He reminded Pete of a turtle trying to draw his head into his shell.
“Chief Adams?” Baronick stood and motioned toward the door. “I need a word with you.”
Once in the hotel hallway, the detective held up his phone. “You asked him about New Mexico. It made me think, so I started doing some digging.”
“And?”
“Federated Petroleum Resources is heavily invested in the area. Apparently they operate more oil wells out there than any other company.”
Coincidence? “Where out there?”
“San Juan County including Bloomfield, Farmington.” Baronick met Pete’s gaze, an odd glint in his eyes. “And Aztec.”
Zoe.
Pete reached for the doorknob, but the thud of approaching footsteps stopped him. A uniformed county officer jogged toward them, one hand on his duty belt to keep his sidearm from beating his hip. “Detective Baronick,” he called.
“Did you find something?” Baronick asked.
“Maybe.” The officer paused to catch his breath. “A guy I was buddies with all through high school works here at the hotel. I asked him about Springfield’s phone usage and reminded him of a big favor he owed me.” The officer pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Baronick. “I know it isn’t admissible as evidence, and if I screwed up, I’m sorry. But these are all the calls Springfield’s made since he’s been here.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. And you did.” But the detective held the list of phone numbers so Pete could see them too.
Pete thumbed through his notebook, found the page in question and held it side by side with the officer’s list. “I’ll be damned.”
“Looks like Scott hasn’t been as estranged from his father as he’d like us to think,�
�� Baronick said, laying a finger alongside one number that was listed five times.
A number which matched Pete’s notes, belonging to Dale Springfield’s office phone.
Baronick aimed a finger at the officer. “Don’t ever pull something like this again. But for now, you’re forgiven.”
Pete slammed through the door into Scott’s suite. Both the suspect and the state trooper standing guard flinched.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell us when you last saw your father?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m not answering any more questions.”
“How about when was the last time you spoke to your father?”
Scott’s eyebrow twitched, but he kept his mouth shut.
Pete leaned down, bracing a hand on the armrest beside the cowboy. “Let me be more specific. When were the last five times you spoke to your father?”
Scott’s eyes widened for one brief moment. But then his expression hardened. “I think it’s time to call my attorney.”
Twenty-four
Pete left Scott Springfield in Baronick’s hands. Let the other jurisdictions fight over him. Let them fill out the affidavits for search and arrest warrants. Pete had other concerns. In the hotel parking lot, he slid behind the wheel of the Explorer and keyed in a call to Zoe.
Something was wrong. His gut had nagged him since the first time she didn’t answer, but he’d allowed his work to distract him. Now he needed to hear from Zoe herself that his fear was unwarranted.
The phone rang. He risked a moment’s relief.
However, his relief was short-lived. A man’s voice answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” Pete demanded.
“Detective Miguel Morales with the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office. Who is this?”
Pete’s blood chilled. “Chief Pete Adams. Vance Township Police. What’s going on there? I’m trying to reach Zoe Chambers.”
The voice on the other end softened. “So am I. Are you the Pete she has on speed dial?”
He rubbed his forehead, where the mother of all headaches brewed. “Yes. I am.” His phone buzzed in his hand. A glance at the screen showed an incoming call from Rose. She’d have to wait a few minutes.
“We’re investigating a homicide and a missing person,” Detective Morales said.
“I’m aware of that. It’s the reason Zoe…Ms. Chambers is out there.”
“Right.” The line fell quiet for a moment. “You said you’re law enforcement?”
“Vance Township, Pennsylvania.” Pete wanted to flash his badge through the phone if that’s what it took to get the guy talking. “Chief of Police.”
Morales must have decided professional courtesy was in order. “I received a phone call this morning from the missing man’s mother. A Rose Bassi.”
Missing man? Pete had a hard time thinking of Logan as anything more than a boy.
“Mrs. Bassi was rather upset.” Translation? Hysterical. “She said her daughter and Ms. Chambers had located the man and he’s safe, but the daughter refuses to divulge any details about his location. Apparently Ms. Chambers is still with him. The daughter attempted to talk her mother and grandmother into going home to Pennsylvania.”
No way in hell. “That still doesn’t tell me why you have Zoe’s phone,” Pete said.
“The vehicle they’d been driving got stuck in a ditch and they abandoned it. When we found the car, we also found this phone with the battery removed.”
Pete’s head swirled with questions. “Where was the car found?”
“In an isolated area known as Hart Canyon.” Morales’s voice trailed off, leading Pete to believe there was more.
He was right.
“About two miles from where Kayla Santiago’s body was found.”
Pete swore under his breath. What the hell was Zoe thinking? “Have you talked to Allison Bassi?”
“The daughter? We tried. She’s clammed up.” Morales’s tone lightened. “And I have a feeling if the mother can’t get anything out of her, there’s no way we will.”
“I understand. Detective, while we’ve been on the phone, I had a call come in from Mrs. Bassi. Let me return it, and if I learn anything, I’ll call you back.”
Pete jotted down the number Morales gave him and extracted a promise to keep Pete in the informational loop.
After ending the call, he pulled up Rose’s number and clicked send.
“Thank God,” she wailed in his ear. “I don’t know what to do. Zoe’s missing.”
“I heard. Try to calm down and breathe.”
“Don’t friggin’ tell me to calm down.”
He held the phone away from his ear. At Rose’s current decibel level, Pete could almost hear her from New Mexico without the device.
“The cops think Logan killed a girl. My best friend and my daughter take off on their own to try to find him. Now Logan and Zoe are heaven knows where. And my darling daughter—”
Pete pictured Allison standing right next to Rose, huddled in the tornadic center of her mother’s wrath.
“—flat out refuses to tell me where they are!” Rose’s heavy breathing carried over the line for a few moments before she said, “What do you mean, ‘you heard’? How did you hear about it?”
“I’d been trying to call Zoe’s cell. Just now I tried and a Detective Morales answered.”
“So they found the car. Where?”
“A place called Hart Canyon.” He decided against mentioning the proximity to the crime scene.
Rose swore. “Figures.” There was a rustling sound and when she continued, her voice sounded muffled. “Pete says they found the car in Hart Canyon. So the police are getting close. It would help if you’d stop acting like a spoiled brat and just tell us where they are.”
There were more scraping noises followed by another familiar voice saying, “Gimme this.” A moment later the line cleared and Sylvia said, “Pete?” Her voice was damp with tears.
“Sylvia, what’s going on there?”
“Pretty much what Rose just told you. For some reason—God only knows why—Allison refuses to tell us where Logan and Zoe are. She just keeps saying we need to go home and our staying here is putting them in danger. Can you imagine?”
“Put Allison on the phone.”
“You won’t get anything from her.”
“Just let me talk to her.”
“Lots of luck.”
The call muted for a moment. Several moments. Allison must not be cooperating with his request. Or Sylvia had to pry Rose’s hands from her throat.
“Chief Adams.” The girl’s voice was definitely the calmest of the three. No hysteria. No tears.
“Allison. I understand you’ve seen Logan?”
“Yesterday. He’s fine. Well…he’s safe.”
“And Zoe?”
“She’s okay too. Honest.”
At least Allison was talking. Now to keep her talking. “Why did she stay with him?”
“She refused to leave without him.”
That made sense. “But why didn’t all of you come back? Is Logan hurt?”
“I told you. He’s fine. But he wouldn’t be safe here. He’s safe where he is.”
That word again. “Why wouldn’t he be safe there? Is he afraid he’ll be arrested?”
For the first time, Allison wavered. “Yeah. But it’s more than that.”
As much as Pete wanted to reach through the phone and shake answers from the girl, he knew he needed to stay low-key or she’d shut up. “What’s he afraid of?”
The line went silent.
Had the call been dropped? “Allison?”
“I’m here. Can you hold on a minute?”
As if he had a choice. He waited and listened to a garbled discussion. Allison had the phone’s mic covered.
A few moments passed before she said, “I’m here.” The background sounded different. Quieter. Her voice was quieter too. “I wanted to go out in the hall, but Mom’s guarding the door. So I came in the bathroom.”
“All right. What can you tell me?”
“Logan’s in trouble,” she said in a whisper. “He knows who killed Kayla. He saw it happen. And they tried to kill him too. He’s safe where he is. No one can find him. But I need to get Mom and Grandma to leave or he—the killer—might go after them to get to him.”
The rush of new information took Pete by surprise.
“You have to talk them into going home,” Allison whispered frantically.
“What about you?” If the kid thought her mother and grandmother would leave without her, she was delusional.
“Oh, me too. I could be a target, same as them.”
A new thought struck Pete. This was all too well thought out for a not-quite-sixteen-year-old. “Allison, are Logan and Zoe near where the police found your car?”
“Not even close.” She sounded proud of herself.
“How did you and Zoe get from the car to Logan’s hiding place?”
The question silenced the girl.
“Allison?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Someone’s helping you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Allison, how do you know the person you think is helping isn’t actually a danger to your brother?” And Zoe.
“He’s not.” She caught her slip. “Dammit.”
“Who’s helping you, Allison?”
“I’m not telling.” She sounded like an insolent child. But she also sounded solidly determined.
Pete decided to try a different angle. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. But you mentioned that Logan saw the killer?”
“Yeah. And he wants Logan dead too.”
“What’s the killer’s name?”
Allison hesitated.
“Look. I can understand you wanting to protect a friend who’s helping Logan. But what can you gain by protecting the killer?”
Pete could picture her chewing her lip, deciding whether or not she should talk.
No Way Home Page 21
