Cal found the project manager through the company records, a man named Julien Guzman. Cal found his LinkedIn profile as well and we read it. “He consults on projects for local sports brands,” I said.
“I doubt this guy had any insider info that his assistant somehow knew about,” Cal observed.
“You’re right.” I gestured at the screen again. “What about former employees? Is there a Bailey?”
“Hold on.” He started typing again. “No Bailey, but there’s a Joan Bennett.” He Googled the name.
“You’ll find Joan Bennett, the actress,” I said. “She’s played femme fatales in The Woman in the Window and Scarlet Street.
He threw me a droll look. “Always thinking of noir.”
I smiled. “You know me too well.”
He focused on the screen. “Let’s see. The Joan Bennett from Allied Associates worked as the V.P. of Accounting,” he said after finding her profile. “She was high up in the company.”
That piqued my interest. “Where does she work now?”
He checked around. “That’s her last listed position.” He checked a few more sites. “I’m not sure she’s worked since.”
“V.P. of Accounting.” I stared at the screen. “Think she had access to records that would prove Thacker cooked the books?”
Cal nodded. “It’d be a good guess.”
“And she hasn’t worked in years? Did she get fired?”
“Let me check the employee records.” He worked the keyboard again. I waited. “I don’t see that she was fired,” he finally said.
“Maybe she was paid off and she’s lying low. Is she still here in town?”
More typing. “Yep. She lives in Golden.”
Golden is a suburb west of Denver. Cal wrote down the address and handed it to me. “Going to pay her a visit?”
“There’s only one way to find out if she knows anything.” I jerked my head at the screen. “Can you find a phone number?”
He looked, then rattled it off. I still had Willie’s phone and I dialed the number and let it ring. “No answer,” I said. I tried again with the same result. “Maybe she’s not home.”
“She’s probably asleep and her phone isn’t by the bed,” he offered. “You may have to go over there.”
I hesitated. “I guess the worst thing is I’d have an angry woman on my hands because I woke her up in the middle of the night.”
“Better hope she doesn’t have a husband or boyfriend who owns a gun.”
I laughed. “She could own one, too.”
“Good point.” He turned and eyed me. “You’re sure it’s wise to go now?”
“Wise?” I shook my head. “But if William’s after Joan, or talking to her, then yes. If she knows something and he silences her, I’m done for.”
Neither one of us said anything for a moment. Then Cal gestured at Holly, who’d fallen asleep. “What do I do with her?”
“You make it sound like she’s in the way. Can’t you let her sleep?”
“Reed, I’m working here,” he whined.
I held up a hand to stop his protesting. “Fine. Is the spare bedroom clean?”
“Yes.”
“She can stay there. I’m sure Willie won’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
“Good,” he said. He turned back to the computer without another word. Cal wasn’t one for social graces or for playing host.
I leaned down and shook Holly’s shoulder. “Come on.”
She stretched and stood up. “What’d I miss?”
I told her what we’d found and my plan to visit Joan Bennett.
“What if you’re wrong?” she asked.
“I have to hope she doesn’t own a gun,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Then we figure out something else.”
I led her into the spare bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. Cal’s working, and Willie will be in the living room.”
She sprawled on the bed, then rolled over. “Reed?”
I was at the door and I turned to look at her. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
I nodded, then closed the door and strolled out into the living room and told Willie I was leaving.
“Okay,” she said as she slowly pushed herself off the couch. Deuce was engrossed in Rocky, one of his favorites. I’d seen him argue with Ace over who was the better actor, Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. As if…
Willie came over and took my face in her hands. “Are you okay?” She stared into my eyes, in full nurse mode.
“Yes,” I said and took her hands. Then I kissed her. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Not likely.”
“Just keep an eye on Holly. And Cal. You know how having company upsets him.”
She giggled. “So true.” Then she frowned. “My parents come into town later today.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll make sure we’re there to pick them up. I promise.”
“You look horrible.”
“I can’t help that.”
Then she smiled again. “Don’t worry about it. They’re just excited to meet you. And they know what you do for a living.”
“Thanks,” I said. But not worry? My turn for a “Not likely.” So much for making a good impression. “Hey, Deuce,” I called to him. He leaped off the couch and came over. “Can you do me another favor?”
“Sure, Reed, anything.” His eyebrows scrunched together as he grew serious. “You want me to stay and protect everyone?”
I tried not to smile. You had to admire his enthusiasm. “No, but thanks. Can you call Ace and have him meet us?” I thought for a second. “At the Park-n-Ride at the Federal Center?” The Federal Center Station was part of Denver’s light rail system. The station is near Golden, and it had a large parking garage. It would be easy for Ace to find. “Tell him to remember his spare keys for the Kia. Then you guys can go pick up his car. It’s parked on the corner of 26th and Walnut.”
“That’s it?” His face fell, disappointed at the mundane task.
“Hey, you’ve been a big help by coming with Willie. And once you and Ace get home, I need you to watch the condo for me. Let me know if you see a black SUV driving around, or if you see anyone go upstairs to my place.”
“Okay.” He was back to serious. “I can do that.”
“Great. Go call Ace while I talk to Willie.”
He grinned, spun around, and dashed into the kitchen.
Willie smiled. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
I kissed her. “Nothing.” I hugged her tightly to me. “I just wanted to hold you for a second.”
She pressed against me. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will,” I said, enjoying the moment.
Deuce returned, too soon as far as I was concerned.
“Ace’ll be at the Park-n-Ride in about half an hour,” he announced.
“Great,” I said. “Oh,” I glanced at Willie. “I need to keep your phone.”
She nodded. “I figured as much.”
I kissed her again, longing to stay with her, and then Deuce and I left.
CHAPTER TWENTY
2:50 AM
I was tired as I drove to the Federal Center light rail station to meet Ace, so I chatted about pool – Deuce’s favorite subject – to keep me alert. When we arrived at the Park-n-Ride, Ace was there in Deuce’s truck.
“What’s he doing in my truck?” Deuce asked.
“I borrowed his Kia,” I said. “Remember, you’re going to get it?”
“Oh, yeah,” he grinned, well, goofily.
“Hi, Reed.” Ace rolled down his window and waved at me.
I rolled down my window as well. “Thanks for helping out,” I said.
“Sure thing. If you need anything else, let us know. Bob says ‘Hi.’” Bob was the Goofballs’ older brother. He was an EMT and unlike his brothers, he was not a goofball. He looked after his naïve younger brothers, and so our paths frequently crossed. He
’d also helped me out a time or two.
“Sorry this is fouling up your sleep,” I said.
“It’s okay. I don’t work until later. Is that my jacket?” he asked, noting I had it on.
I glanced down. “Yeah, I didn’t bring one with me.”
“It’s okay, but you know this time of year it can be hot in the day but cold at night. You should always bring a jacket with you, Reed.”
Lord, he sounds like Mother, I thought.
“Yeah, I’ll remember that,” I said.
I waited until Deuce got in the truck, and then I waved them off. Once they were gone, I got back on Highway 6 and headed west into Golden. Traffic was almost nonexistent, a rare thing anymore around Denver.
Joan Bennett lived in a newer neighborhood at the base of the foothills just northwest of downtown Golden. I crossed Highway 58, which led to the gambling towns of Blackhawk and Central City, and continued to Iowa Street. I turned left and meandered through quiet streets to her house. I drove slowly past it, then around the block. I turned onto Joan’s street again, but this time, I parked down the block and studied her house.
It was built on a hillside, with the garage on the lowest level, the main floor of the house above that, and stairs to the right of a driveway that led to the front door. A second story above the main level had a decent view above the houses across the street. A long, covered porch spanned the front and the south side of the house. Stark foothills shot up behind the house.
In all the rushing around, I hadn’t taken time to formulate much of a plan, so I sat for a minute and mulled over my options. I could ring the doorbell and hope she would talk to me, but at this hour, the likelihood was she would call the police.
I finally decided my best bet would be to call again and see if Joan would answer. Yes, she’d be very angry at being disturbed, but I’d quickly mention Ryan Devereux and hope that would get her to talk to me. So I pulled out my phone and dialed the number and let it ring, but it went to voicemail again. I tried again, then swore. It looked like I would have to ring the bell and hope she was there and would answer. I put the phone away, got out of the 4-Runner, and stole up the street to her house. The neighborhood was deathly quiet, not a dog barking or a car driving by. Like it should be at three a.m.
I started up the steps to the front door and then stopped, suddenly sure I’d heard a sound. I cocked my head and listened. Sure enough, a faint noise was coming from the north side of the house. I hopped off the steps and onto a patch of lawn, then sidled along the front of the house. I crept to the corner, careful not to trip on some bushes growing next to the house. I stopped and listened. Something rustled in the trees on the side of the house. An animal? This area was known for wildlife, especially since it was right against the foothills. It could be something small, like a squirrel, cat, or rabbit. Or bigger, like a coyote, or even a mountain lion. I swallowed hard. That would not be a pleasant encounter. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans, steeled my nerves, and peeked around the corner. I almost gasped.
In the pale moonlight, a shadowy figure in dark clothes and hoodie was peering up at one of the windows. As I watched, the figure reached up and grasped the window ledge. Who was it? A burglar? I almost laughed out loud. Right…just after Rasmus had received a letter that implicated him in the Thacker case, a case that Joan Bennett may have been involved in? It had to be him, or Andre. I studied the figure more. Not big enough to be Andre, so my guess was Rasmus. I glanced around. That likely meant Andre was close by. I wasn’t sure what to do: confront him, or wait and see what he did? Should I alert Joan? But then my decision was made for me.
The figure hopped up again and grabbed the window ledge, dangled for a second, then dropped back to the ground. But this time, he tumbled over and landed in a heap. As he scrambled to his feet, light burst from an upstairs window. The figure pressed against the wall and edged toward the back of the house. I slipped around the corner and quietly followed. I’d gone two feet when the sound of the window opening split the silence. The figure looked up, then back, and spotted me. Then he bolted toward the backyard. I hesitated, thinking about that person in the window. Was it Joan, and did she have a gun? By now the figure was crossing the yard. Screw it, I thought, and took off after him. There was no fence and he headed across the hillside, cutting around boulders, shrubs, and trees, moving fast.
“Hey!” a female voice called from the window.
I ignored that and ran through the yard. Once the lawn ended, I was on dirt. Up ahead, the figure darted around some evergreen trees and I lost sight of him. I tripped and fell, landing on hard ground that skinned my palms. I cursed, then leaped up and looked around. At first, I didn’t see anyone.
I stood and tried to listen over the sound of my ragged breathing. I peered into the darkness, wishing the moon were brighter. I took a few hesitant steps forward and stopped. Nothing. Something sounded to my left, so I started up the hillside. The landscape grew sparser, and then a small animal shot across the ground. I halted and whirled around. I saw the figure down the hillside, zipping past more trees. I scrambled ahead, but the figure ran right toward another house. I forced myself to run faster, dodged a boulder, slipped again, and righted myself. By now the figure had run through the backyard and disappeared around the side of the house.
I finally reached the house and dashed around the side. In the stillness, I heard a car engine. By the time I made it to the street, a dark car was peeling off down the street, its headlights off. It disappeared around the bend. I had no chance of getting a license plate number or make or model of the car. I cursed again, then turned and hustled back down the street. Lights blazed in Joan’s house as I hurried up the front steps. I’d lost all patience, so I rapped loudly on the door, not caring what she might think. Footsteps sounded from within and then a porch light came on. I blinked hard.
“Who is it?” a harsh feminine voice demanded.
“I need to talk to you about Ryan Devereux,” I said.
“I don’t have anything to say. Go away, or I’ll call the police.”
“You have information that could exonerate him,” I called out. “You want to talk about that in front of the police, that’s fine by me.”
Nothing. I pounded on the door again. I was about to start shouting when the lock rattled and the door swung open. A tall woman with short gray hair stood in the doorway. She wore sweatpants and a white T-shirt with a cat on it. She also had a gun in her hand, and it was pointed at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
3:15 AM
“Who are you?” she snapped. She oozed a boozy smell as she wavered just slightly.
“Philip Marlowe,” I said, using one of my favorite pseudonyms. I held up my hands, praying she wouldn’t shoot. “I’m a private investigator.”
“Marlowe? Uh-huh. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Were you just outside my window?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you think. I saw someone on the side of your building. I chased him, but he got away.” That didn’t explain my presence there in the first place, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Who’d you chase?”
“I’m not sure, but my guess is William Rasmus.”
She turned white. “Oh god,” she whispered.
“I need to talk to you about Rasmus and Edwin Thacker.”
“That’s why you’re here?” Now it dawned on her.
“I want to ask you some questions.” I gestured at the gun. “Can you point that thing somewhere else? Trust me, I’m tired and I have a headache. I’m not going to try anything.”
Right at that moment, a car drove by and she quickly lowered the gun. Once the car passed, she raised the gun up again, but slightly lower this time. I’d take the small victory.
She glanced past me, then stepped back toward a staircase that led upstairs. She gestured with the gun. “Get in here, but don’t try anything funny. After what happened to me, don’t think I can’t use this g
un.”
I moved inside and shut the door, but stayed right by it. She glared at me and I returned the favor.
“You don’t look like a private investigator,” she observed.
“You don’t look like an accountant,” I shot back. I was getting surlier by the minute. I studied Joan, with her short hair, sweats, and the gun in her hand. She looked like ex-military. I jerked my head at the gun. “What happened to you that you need to carry a gun?”
“When I left Allied Associates, I didn’t feel safe.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes darted all around, but not at me. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because if that was Rasmus outside, and he’s after you, I may be your only hope.”
“I don’t know why he would come here,” she said, more to herself than to me. Then she locked eyes with me. “What do you know about Ryan Devereux?”
I decided to go for broke and tell her what I knew. “Someone delivered a letter to William Rasmus. It said that he and Thacker suppressed evidence at the trial that would’ve shown that Devereux was innocent.”
The gun in her hand shook. “What evidence?”
“I don’t know, but the letter had your name in it.”
She ran a hand over her face and muttered something unintelligible.
“If you know something that implicates Rasmus and Edwin Thacker, you need to tell me. It’ll help Holly and it will potentially free an innocent man.”
“Holly? Who’s that?”
“Rasmus’s wife.”
“How will what I know help her?”
I told her about what Rasmus was doing to Holly and hoped it would play to her soft side, the desire to help another woman in distress. And if Joan didn’t like Rasmus, that might be another reason why she’d want to help Holly.
Her face twisted into a painful grimace. “That sounds just like William. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“You’ve worked with him.”
She nodded. “During the trial.”
“We can turn the tables on him now.”
“I can’t,” she said.
Night of the Hunted: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 11) Page 11
