Cry Wolf

by J. Carson Black

  They drove back to Tucson, both of them too tired and deflated to talk much. Laura checked her phone. No messages. No silver bullet that would solve this case.

  “Now I know how those oil men felt in the olden days,” Anthony said as if reading her mind. “Drill drill drill, and all we get is a dry hole.”

  “True,” Laura said. "Mr. Big Shot wasn’t big—all he was, was shot.”

  The shooting didn’t make sense. Why was he shot execution-style? Who was he meeting at the trailhead?

  It was impossible to say whether or not he closed his eyes out of terror or maybe just to enjoy the cool mountain air in his little piece of paradise. His face looked relaxed, there had been just the hint of a smile on his face. Laura had studied the crime scene photos and again came back to that small smile.

  Technically, forensically, it didn’t mean a thing.

  Everything stopped immediately when the bullet entered his brain. The point of entry made sure of that, even though the bullet itself would have ricocheted all over.

  As they drove in silence, Laura tried to put herself in Sean Perrin’s position. He was sitting in his car somewhere between eight and eleven at night—their best estimate. Was he sitting there just enjoying the night, or was he meeting someone? And if he was meeting someone, who would that be?

  “He must have heard them walking up to the car,” Laura said to Anthony. “Unless he was just closing his eyes and taking it all in, and they sneaked up on him. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If he was meeting someone, what might he be meeting them for?”

  “A lot of things. Maybe he was going for a moonlight hike. Maybe he was meeting someone to buy drugs. But maybe he was just hanging out enjoying the evening and someone just walked up and popped him.”

  “What? For fun?”

  He shrugged.

  “Or it was a pro.”

  “It sure looked like it. But these days, you can learn anything on the Internet. Where to kill someone, what the best weapon is. Seems to me everybody on God’s Green Earth knows that contract killers like a .22. After CSI and NCIS and all those shows you could ask the man on the street and he’d tell you all about how those small caliber bullets ricochet all over inside the skull.”

  “And no shell casings.”

  “Yeah, one shot, perfectly-placed. Easy to pick up. Or maybe go whole hog and use a revolver.”

  “His eyes were closed.”

  “You know with the shock, his eyes could have closed when he was hit.”

  She said, “I think he was meeting someone.”

  “Which means it was either someone followed him to Tucson, met him there or was waiting for him. Maybe he pissed off someone in Madera Canyon.”

  “Could be.”

  “Or there was bad blood with his sister.”

  “Could be.”

  “Yeah,” Anthony said. “We are inundated with ‘could-bes.’”

  It was late at night by the time Anthony dropped her off in the DPS parking lot and she headed home. It had been a long drive, and she was tired. The trip to Winslow and Las Vegas was a wild goose chase. They’d thrown snake eyes.

  Perrin had lied about everything, and it all amounted to nothing.

  She aimed her car down the freeway in the direction of the Rincon Mountains. The moon was full, hanging in the sky over the black hump of mountain range. She turned onto Houghton Road, hit the dirt road leading to the few scattered houses in the foothills, and parked outside.

  Matt came outside to greet her.

  She was hot, tired, her back—which was long—ached, and she felt soiled and shopworn. But Matt pulled her into his arms and for a moment everything was forgotten. All the failures, all the near-misses, all the disappointment. She felt tears come to her eyes. She felt such gratitude she had this man to come home to.

  So happy.

  He didn’t care that she was dirty. He kissed her as if she were Sleeping Beauty in the bower of roses, stroked her wind-snarled hair with love, kissed her deeply and in such a way she couldn’t wait for them to reach the bedroom.

  The next morning they got up early and went for a ride. It was still cool, before sunup, and there was a light wind as they rode up onto the ridge. The sky warmed to peach and then deep blue, the mesquite and saguaros snaring the rocks in shadow.

  They sat still in their shadows on the ridge and watched the sunlight steal across the Tucson valley below.

  “You’re no closer?” Matt asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Nothing in Winslow? In Vegas? Nothing you’re missing?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be. The whole trip was a dead end.”

  “So the woman told your guy she was on the run and people were after her, and that’s why he took her along?”

  “About the size of it.”

  “What about the boyfriend? The one she wanted to meet with?”

  “We don’t know for sure, but he might have met her there after Perrin went out for a walk.”

  “He must have walked a long time.”

  “Yes. At least a couple of hours.” She thought about it. “Maybe he saw something.”

  “Saw something? Like a criminal act?”

  “Maybe. Or had a run-in with someone.”

  “In Winslow?”

  “I know, it’s a stretch. But it’s possible.”

  “Enough so whoever it was would follow him all the way to Madera Canyon?”

  Laura shook her head. “That does seem far-fetched.”

  Still, when they got back, she called the Winslow PD and left a message for Detective Greg Wyland. She doubted anything would come of it.

  13: Legwork

  Laura drove directly to Madera Canyon. Time for another round of interviews.

  Anthony would be in court today, testifying in another homicide case. The autopsy results would be coming today, too. He promised to email them to her phone.

  Which meant she’d have to drive down to the mouth of the canyon to get them.

  She was feeling in a lousy mood. They were no closer to finding out who shot Sean Perrin than they were a week ago. Time had a way of getting away from you. If an arrest wasn’t made within two days, it became much more of an uphill climb. They’d spent four full days in Winslow and Las Vegas, and now it was time to concentrate on the people in the canyon.

  She started with Barbara Sheehey.

  She followed Barbara as she went to make beds in a cabin after the people checked out.

  “Did Mr. Perrin give you the impression he was scared of anything?”

  “Scared? Him? He was too busy using the soft soap on everybody to do that. Would you hold that side?” she added, nodding to the sheet.

  Laura did, stretching the corner over the mattress.

  “So he didn’t seem to have anything on his mind? Nothing he was worried about?”

  “Nope. Although he said his father was dying, and that’s why he came out here. I mentioned that, didn’t I?”

  Laura felt something inside her go still. She tried to remember what the sister, Ruby Ballantine said, but couldn’t.

  She thought Ruby said he wasn’t going to bother to come. Or he didn’t reply. Something like that. “Was he close to his father?”

  “I don’t think he liked him very much. Just the impression I got, like he felt it was his duty as a son to come out and see him before he died.”

  “Did he go see him?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t seem to leave this canyon from the moment he got here.” She added hastily, “Of course I wouldn’t know, since I don’t keep track of my guests’ comings and goings.”

  “Did he mention his sister?”

  “I don’t think so. Mostly he was talking about how rich his father was. Of course with him, it couldn’t just be that he was well-off. His dad had to be in the Forbes Top 100.”

  “Did he say how his father made his money?” Laura
asked.

  “He said, venture capitalist. I don’t know what that is, do you?”

  Laura knew, vaguely. “I think it’s someone with capital who will help a promising business get its start. Or infuse money into a business that’s not doing well.”

  “Oh, yeah. And then they fire a bunch of people and put the company in bankruptcy?”

  “Could be.”

  “Sounds like the father was as big a liar as his son. Doing something like that where working people are involved.” She launched into a story about her uncle’s job in Wisconsin, and how the company first busted the union and then closed the plant.

  Laura thought about the plain woman who ran the tiny shop on 4th Avenue. The place had been little bigger than a closet. Her clothes weren’t fashionable, either. But then you couldn’t pigeonhole what rich looked like.

  “He told me his father owned a baseball team.”

  “Can you remember which one?”

  “Nope. I didn’t believe a word of it. Said he had a private jet, too.”

  Laura thought that Sean Perrin could have taken advantage of that private jet when he was on the run with Aurora Johnson.

  Even though apparently, Aurora wasn’t on the run at all.

  Laura was getting frustrated. She tried to keep it out of her voice. “Was there anything he said that you believed?”

  Barbara Sheehey folded her arms. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  Laura found Cody washing down the wooden deck. He seemed a little brighter today—a little more used to the idea that his friend Sean Perrin was gone.

  “So did you track down the guy who killed him?” Cody asked.

  “Not yet. I could still use your help.”

  “Is the guy who killed him, like, an untouchable? One of those gangsters who of@uesscortthaabouthimewsilenlW savomatudsFinq9WowYeah, wowJesusWpickjawoffloor said,Wbbspeak intns?imakgt filmUh-huhAbautiotpsycho.n! knowIselktha? Sofia Vergarabperft!Hcreendy writn. said,Okay, soow dotilook? Skd Sean Per, r?Yeah. It fits. Hnteeoonlhiks elsralkofim. Nss,fss. Easy PeasyagMaybyeimwhiks,nd,tird,fthimcharm. Nbody arou...Sspopim.uabout ituabouhis eyesshutjusthi smile acornimouth. Notsoehiausint,bcauslooksbiv,but it bolstwhasuskewPictuticq9sayh surprishim. Wgetre, scomout restroomgunbhidback. As says‘Closeyes,baby. I got surpris Okay, sothasprobably wahappenWhasthe motive?”

  Laura said, “She’s friends on Facebook with Ruby Ballantine.”

  “It looks like a professional hit,” Anthony said. “Maybe Ruby hired her.”

  “Dumb dumb dumb.”

  “What?”

  “‘Friending’ Alex Williams,” Laura said.

  First thing they did was go back to see Joel Strickland.

  “What do you want now?” he said. “I’m busy.”

  “Just a couple more things,” Laura said. “Was there any reason you and your wife split up?”

  “Plenty of reasons.”

  “Could you elaborate?”

  He sighed, pushed his laptop away. “I didn’t like being her cover.”

  “Cover?”

  “Ruby is gay.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. “You married her knowing that?”

  “No, I found out about it later.”

  “She wasn’t honest with you.”

  “Nope. But I wasn’t honest with her, either.” He rubbed his neck. “I’m going to be honest here. I liked her a lot, we got along well, good sex—at least I thought it was good sex, at least for me—and yes, my business could have used an infusion of cash at the time we got serious about each other. I thought that might be possible. But it turned out we were mismatched from the beginning. We had an argument the first month we were married, and she told me she had a lover—a woman. I hung on for a while after that, mostly because she kept leading me on as far as helping finance my company. She’s still doing it. We decided it was better if I moved out, but we both had reasons to stay married. She kept holding the bait over my head, and I was a good cover for her.”

  “Why did she need cover?” Anthony asked. “Gay’s the new black.”

  Laura gave him a look, but he ignored it.

  “Because of her father. He was virulently anti-homosexual. She could have her store assistants or friends—whoever she was seeing at the time—and he never suspected a thing.” His face turned hard. “I don’t know what I was thinking. She used me, dangling that bait all the time, and I never got anything out of it. But that’s going to change.”

  Anthony said, “What about Sean? Would he have inherited the estate?”

  "Hard to tell. Ruby was the one who nursed the father and stuck with him. Sean didn’t seem to care about the money. He was too busy living in his own little world. But if her father ever found out about her love life, who knows what he would do?”

  “Do you know who she’s seeing?”

  “No, but she did tell me she was beautiful and young.”

  “She didn’t give a name?”

  He thought for a minute. “Seems to me it began with an ‘A’. Amy or Alice or something like that.”

  “Alex?”

  “Could be. I don’t know, and I don’t care. What I’m trying to do now is extricate myself. I’m going to cut bait while I still have some dignity left.”

  “Lovers,” Anthony said.

  “Scheming lovers.”

  “Makes sense to me. Big Sis lures her brother here where it will be easy to kill him, and Alex does the dirty deed.”

  “I was thinking she might have been a hired assassin.”

  “Maybe,” Anthony said. “Or a hired assassin with benefits.”

  They now had Alex Williams’s driver’s license. From there Laura was able to access her address. Unfortunately, like most people her age, Alex Williams didn’t have a landline, just a cell phone.

  Anthony prepared a warrant to access her cell phone records, even though at the moment they had no way of determining which carrier she used. His motto was Be Prepared. Just in case the Heavens opened and all that info started pouring in.

  “More likely,” he muttered, “We’ll have to pry that information out with an escargot fork.”

  “You eat escargot?” Laura asked.

  “One of my favorite things.”

  “Yuck.”

  “It’s an acquired taste. Just ask us one-percenters.”

  What little evidence they had against Williams was circumstantial and insufficient. Yes, they had her Facebook friendship with Ruby Ballantine, and Joel Strickland’s claim that Ruby and Alex were lovers (which would be filed under “hearsay”), and the fact that Alex had given Laura a phony name and directed her to call a nonexistent friend. None of this rose to probable cause; it wasn’t even close.

  But Laura was sure that the calls made to Sean Perrin during his stay at the Madera Canyon Cabins were from Alex Williams.

  As Anthony said, who wouldn’t want to go on a moonlight hike with a knockout like that?

  She called her partner. “Maybe it’s time for us to rattle Alex’s cage a little.”

  “I dunno. If we’re right about her, she’s pure psychopath.” He thought about it. “But if that’s the case, it wouldn’t matter one way or another.”

  “She won’t be shaken,” Laura agreed. “But I bet she’d show us what’s behind her mask.”

  “Yeah, because she knows we can’t touch her.” He thought about it. “But at least we’ll know who and what we’re really dealing with.”

  18: The Lion in Her Den

  Alex Williams lived in Tanforan Pointe, an apartment complex in midtown not far from the University of Arizona, where Williams was currently enrolled as a geology major. Beyond that, there were few public records. She’d been born in Las Cruces, New Mexico. She was married for approximately two years to a Nathan James Williams, whereabouts currently unknown

  . Her birthdate was May 2, 1988. She drove a late model metallic yellow Ford Focus hatchback. And apparently, she was gay. Or at least bisexual.

  Or maybe just predatory.<
br />
  “Who do you think is the brains of this outfit?” Laura asked as they drove past the apartments on Euclid, rounded the block and came at the apartments from the other side.

  “Ruby’s got the money. And she’s older, so she might be the straw boss on this cattle drive.”

  “But Alex is such a good liar.”

  Anthony nodded. “If you look like a sociopath, if you talk like a sociopath—”

  “You may just be a sociopath,” they finished in unison.

  “I’m guessing they cooked it up together. I wonder what happened first, though, the chicken or the egg? Were they attracted to each other and became lovers and then decided to off Sean? Or . . . ”

  “Did they meet somehow because Ruby was looking for a partner? Or a patsy?”

  “I don’t think Alex could ever be described as a patsy,” Laura said. “Not the way she lies. My mother had a saying about obnoxious couples: ‘They’d spoil another couple.’ Maybe that’s the case here.”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” Anthony said.

  The apartments were located on a sleepy stretch of Euclid Avenue —a labyrinth of beige stucco boxes stacked three stories high. Pocket patios, plenty of palm trees, the glitter of a swimming pool through wrought iron fencing—the definition of generic student apartments in a sunbelt city.

  The lot was less than half-full. That was because final exams were over at the U. of A., and students were moving out, if they weren’t gone already. There were lots of units just coming empty. Alex’s Ford Focus was in a covered parking area.

  “Looks like she’s home. There’s 14C.” Laura nodded toward the apartment and then looked back at the Google satellite map just to make sure.

  They parked and got out—and were blasted by the heat. Tucson was a good-sized city now, with plenty of roads and buildings that attracted the sun’s rays. The city was a heat island.

  Laura positioned herself to the left side of the door. Anthony knocked and stepped back so his weight was on his left leg. Hand down by his side.