Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1

by Bryan Koepke

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Crystal took the exit off I-70 for Minturn. The traffic had been light, and she gunned the Mercedes, enjoying the slingshot effect as she cruised around the circular exit ramp. She watched the speedometer climb past seventy on Highway 24, then slammed on the brakes as she neared the exit for Line Shack Road. The car slowed instantly, handling like it was on rails. She jerked right onto a gravel road, slowing as she tapped the brake pedal. She smiled breathing in the fresh scent of the pine trees.

  “Papa, I’m on your road. Can you get the gate for me?” she announced into her cell phone.

  “You made good time. I’ll meet you out in the drive,” he said in his usual rough voice. The road straightened and she passed the point where Meadow Mountain road broke off, running south. She continued onward downshifting the transmission and curved around the switchbacks descending toward her stepfather’s home.

  A large black decorative entry gate rose in front of a river rock two-story villa, set in the valley below snow-covered peaks. She felt warm and calm. She approached the property and saw Vinton dressed in brown corduroy pants and a blue down jacket, sitting on his black Polaris ATV beside the gate. She stopped just inside the property and left the engine running while she got out and ran up to him. He scooped her up into his strong arms and hugged her.

  “Oh, Papa, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You too, Crystal. I’ve missed you,” the man said.

  As always, her gaze focused on the clouded green cataract in his left eye. She could smell his aftershave, and she admired his strong chin and longish white hair. They held one another in a prolonged hug. She thought back to the day she had met him at the orphanage and first admired his green eyes, wondering if he was a sorcerer. Since she’d grown up, her estimation had sunk quite a bit. He wasn’t perfect, but he was all he she had. He was the only man who’d ever taken care of her.

  “Let me get the gate and I’ll ride up to the house with you,” he said, pulling away from her.

  Crystal watched him walk back toward the gatehouse. He was fit for a man in his early sixties. She’d always been attracted to him in a way that felt different than a father. She’d told herself the attraction was okay since they weren’t related. She knew he felt the same way somewhere deep down in his heart.

  Crystal followed Vinton into the house and deposited her bags on the bed in the upstairs guest bedroom. She joined him in the kitchen, and the smell of his famous ham, egg, and cheddar sandwiches pleased her.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, turning toward her with a plate full of steaming food.

  “I’m always hungry for your sandwiches, Papa,” Crystal said, feeling herself relax for the first time since the plane ride to St. Louis.

  “Here, take a plate, and come this way. I want to show you something,” he said, walking toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. Crystal followed, and they descended the stairway into the basement. The room was finished in rich oak paneling with a large pool table in the center, and an assortment of black and white photos hung eye level on three of the exterior walls. On the east wall there was a mahogany desk and matching chair.

  “I couldn’t tell you about this until now, Crystal. This is what we’ve all been working for the past year.” He pointed at a large easel near the knee-high windows on the west wall. It was covered with a large map of North and South America. Crystal walked up to it and ran her finger down a blue magic marker line that stretched from Vail, Colorado, to Guayaquil, Ecuador, and then downward to a circle in Uruguay, South America.

  “What’s this, Papa?” she asked, pointing at the circle.

  *

  Later that day Crystal scooped up a box of forwarded mail at the Minturn post office and retreated to her red Mercedes. The thick veil of clouds that had brought snow the night before had lifted, and bright sunshine was streaming down on her car. She set the box on the passenger seat and scanned through the letters in the pile until she spotted what looked like another letter from her mother. She slid her thumbnail under the envelope flap and tore it open. Pulling out a single piece of stationery, she read the letter.

  Dear Crystal,

  I hope the time is near for you and I to reunite. I still fear Vinton, and hope I can trust you. I know you guys are close, but there are things you still don’t know. I don’t want to be the one to break these things to you, dear, especially not in a letter.

  I know he has most likely done things to you, dear. Especially when you were young. He is a bad man and you are good. Don’t ever let him convince you otherwise.

  I’m hoping we can meet one day soon.

  Love, Mom

  The mention of “bad things” set in motion a train of thoughts. As they whirled about in her mind, she let the letter drop into her lap and drifted into a distant memory. She saw Vinton Blackwell and his wife Diane. They were all eating breakfast together back in Oklahoma. She remembered having her long hair twisted into braids like her favorite character on television. She was excited to be going camping with her stepfather. Diane had loaded up one of her horse trailers and was going to compete in a horse show.

  They’d set up the tent and gone for a hike together in the wooded slopes of northeastern Oklahoma ,near Tahlequah. She remembered how special she felt having Vinton all to herself. Later that night, after roasting hotdogs and marshmallows over a campfire, she’d watched him change as he emptied what was left of a bottle of booze. Vinton became quiet and sullen. They went to bed in their tiny tent and she remembered being scared of the noises she heard outside the tent.

  She remembered how good it felt when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her close. She wasn’t scared anymore and didn’t care what kind of animals were out past the thin fabric walls of their Sears tent. All was good.

  Then Vinton Blackwell did something no parent does.

  Crystal was jerked sharply into the present. She found herself staring at the floor of the Mercedes and shouted, “No!” That cruel memory hadn’t visited her in so long. As she sat there, numbed by the realization, she paid no attention to the tears streaming from her eyes.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Reece lay in bed with the ceiling heater vent blowing warmed air toward his face. His thoughts turned to Vinton Blackwell and the facts he’d learned while talking to Charlie Anders. Reece was certain Vinton Blackwell was the man he was after. He was the one who’d killed his father in 2009, and it made sense that Blackwell would take Owen Roberts’ life.

  Reece had started a pot of coffee when the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Culver, I got Mobley here with me at the hotel. We’ll be over to your place in thirty minutes. If you got a girl loving you up, turn her loose. We’ve got work to do,” Haisley said.

  “You’re in Denver?”

  “Yeah, we flew in this morning. This whole damn thing is heating up, Culver. Cox is going one hundred miles an hour, and if we don’t get in the game, he’s going to screw this thing up again and we may never get Sam Shanks.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Reece asked, not liking to take orders.

  “Cox and his crew are in Colorado Springs chasing leads. Mobley talked to him this morning.”

  “I hope that fat bastard kept his mouth shut,” Reece said, referring to Mobley.

  “I’m buying breakfast,” Haisley said cheerfully, and Reece realized Mobley was listening to that end of the conversation. “We’ll go to that place you took me to, Pete’s on Colfax. We’ll be over to your apartment in a few minutes.”

  Reece ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth. He started thinking about his mother and the last time they’d spoke. He needed to give her a call and see how she was doing. He had washed up and just pulled on his second Tony Lama boot when he heard what sounded like an army of feet tromping up the steel stairs out back of the apartment.

  The pounding reminded him of Mobley, and how much he still didn’t trust the fat cop. Maybe he had some con
nections they could use.

  Reece opened the door and saw a fat, red-faced man wearing a cowboy shirt and jeans panting as he fought to breathe in the mile-high atmosphere.

  “You guys want to come in for a bit and rest?” Reece asked, watching the corners of Haisley’s mouth pull up into a smile.

  “No, we’re good. You got any notes you want to bring to breakfast?”

  Reece grabbed his notebook and locked the door to his apartment before following the two men down the stairs to a black Chevrolet Tahoe parked beside his GTO. He climbed in the backseat and the stale air inside the truck hit him. It made him feel like he’d entered a gymnasium. Haisley took the driver’s seat and was in gear before Mobley had gotten his door shut and his seatbelt fastened. Reece caught the tension between the two of them as Mobley gave him a hard look in the rearview mirror.

  “So, Reece, where are you in the case? Have you uncovered anything new since we last spoke?” Haisley said, heading toward Pete’s.

  “No big leads, just some more background,” he answered, lying through his teeth. He figured Mobley had teamed up with Haisley as a way to feed information back to Agent Cox and his team.

  After breakfast, Reece put his suitcase into the back of the Tahoe and went back upstairs to lock up. Manchego sniffed at him and barked as if to say, what about me? Earlier he’d made a call to his landlord and arranged for Noi to take care of the dog. Reece had a flash of Charlie Anders’ dog and wondered if he should have left Manchego with him.

  He climbed into the truck, and Haisley asked him, “What’s the best way to go?”

  “If you stay on Colfax, you’ll see the exit for I-25 up ahead. We’ll take that north, then catch I-70 west.”

  Haisley peeled out into traffic, and Reece smiled. The old man hadn’t lost his old policeman’s ways about commandeering the road.

  “Mike, what’s the latest with the Task Force?” Reece asked, leaning forward over the bench seat until he caught the stench of Mobley’s smoke-laden breath.

  “It’s been disbanded. The last I heard, Cox had a lead in Colorado Springs and was pursuing that.”

  Reece caught Haisley eyeing him in the rearview mirror, and he nodded in return. He wasn’t trusting Mobley with a thing.

  “So, how’s the case in St. Louis going? Did you guys ever figure out who shot the homeless guy at the Roberts house?” Reece asked, changing the subject.

  “We’ve got some leads but no arrest yet,” Mobley answered, sounding annoyed that he’d brought it up.

  Reece heard a ringtone and watched Haisley dig his cell phone out of his coat pocket.

  “Hello?” he said, sounding like he didn’t recognize the incoming call.

  “I’m in Tulsa, where are you?” Haisley said, sounding irritated and obviously lying.

  “I’m working on something else right now. What kind of help do you need, Agent Cox?” Reece cringed at the name.

  “What part of Colorado?” Haisley said, taking the exit off I-25 onto I-70 at the mousetrap section of the highway. Reece leaned toward the side of the truck as they took the curve going a little too fast.

  “What makes you think they’re in mountains?” Haisley asked.

  “Oh, I see. Well, I guess I could book a flight. Where are you guys staying?” Haisley said, merging onto I-70 heading west.

  “Okay, the Hampton Inn. Sounds good. I’ll give you a call when I get to Denver.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Sam Shanks rolled out of bed and looked out across the valley of his Minturn home, thinking about his soon to be new home in Uruguay. He had a thought of Michael Zimeratti and wondered if he and Crystal had hit it off. Distracting her could only make their lives easier.

  He was still not sure exactly how he would handle Vinton Blackwell, but very much liked the idea his friend Pablo had recommended when he was making arrangements in Ecuador. The hard part would be getting Blackwell to stay in Guayaquil while the broken A-320 was being repaired. He knew Vinton wasn’t good at sticking to the plan. He always wanted to do things his own way. Shanks needed to be in the rented Learjet halfway to his new home in Uruguay when the police arrived at the jet and took Blackwell into custody with an airplane full of what was left of the stolen art. Crystal and Michael Zimeratti would be with him in the corporate jet. The only thing he wondered was if the FBI would be satisfied with taking Blackwell into custody instead of himself. Maybe he’d stash a couple of kilos of heroin in the baggage compartment to make the capture a little sweeter.

  Once Shanks was dressed, he walked into the kitchen and smiled at the smell of fresh toast and coffee.

  “Hello, Mr. Shanks I was hungry, so I took the liberty of making something to eat,” Crystal said, smiling at him.

  Vinton Blackwell looked up from the sports section of the Denver Post just long enough to frown. Shanks couldn’t get rid of him any sooner. He casually took a seat at the table across from the two of them.

  “We’ve got that one last job you guys have been planning, and then we’ll box everything up and head down to South America like I told you,” Shanks announced. “Have you had a chance to fill Crystal in with the details of our trip, Vinton?”

  “Yes, she knows all about it,” Blackwell said, not looking up.

  “Is there anything good in the paper?” Shanks said turning over the front page to see the headline.

  “Son of Chicago businessman dies in accidental fall from Vail chair lift.”

  Alarmed, he saw the picture of Crystal Thomas kneeling in the snow next to the ski patrol sled with Zimeratti’s lifeless body wrapped inside. Her lipstick was smeared and long streams of mascara-colored tears had stained her red cheeks. Sam was ready to explode as he looked up from the article.

  “What did you do to him?” he yelled, rising from the table with the newspaper in his hand like he was about to hit her with it.

  Blackwell jumped up from his side of the table. “What are you talking about, Shanks?”

  “This!” he said, plopping the paper down in front of Blackwell and storming from the kitchen.

  “What happened, Crystal?” Vinton asked, quickly grasping the gist of the article. “We needed him for our last job. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You should talk,” she said crossly. “He told me what you did to Owen. If anyone is a murderer in this kitchen, it’s you, Papa,” Crystal said, standing up from the table herself.

  “The timing, Crystal. Why did you have to do this now?”

  “He was plotting against you with Shanks, Papa. I did it for you.”

  “What do you mean, plotting?”

  She checked the doorway Shanks had exited through, then lowered her voice. “They know about the painting you stole from the Philips house. The one with the yellow poppy flowers in the vase. Shanks knows you took it. He thinks you’re up to something, Papa.”

  “He does, does he?” Vinton said, waving his arms angrily and sending his coffee cup flying to the floor with a crash.

  Sam Shanks came back through the door. “What’s wrong with you people? Are you both fucking mad?” He pointed his finger toward Crystal. “Michael Zimeratti was like a son to me. We grew up together back in Chicago.”

  “Don’t you talk to my daughter that way,” Blackwell yelled.

  Shanks charged at him, grabbing his arms and reaching for the pistol he’d stuffed in his pocket.

  Blackwell seized the weapon and tossed it to the side. Enraged, Shanks grabbed Blackwell’s wrist and pulled him to the ground. Crystal ran to get the gun. The two men grunted, struggling as they wrestled on the floor. Shanks got Blackwell by the throat and the larger man began to choke and cough.

  “Stop it. You’re going to kill him,” Crystal screamed, firing the gun into the wall.

  Shanks looked over at her but held his grip on Blackwell’s throat. Crystal, realizing she couldn’t shoot him, instead dropped the gun on the table and jumped onto Shanks’ back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Sam Shanks was smaller than Blackwell
but well muscled for his size, and was no stranger to a wrestling mat. He tossed Crystal aside like a horse shaking off a fly. Blackwell started making choking noises and fought for air.

  Satisfied he had made his point, Shanks let go of his throat and stood up.

  “Enough of this. You will behave now, or…”

  “Or what?” Blackwell said sarcastically, rubbing his throat. “Or you’ll kill me?”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Reece had taken the wheel, driving the Tahoe toward the Vail/ Eagle County Airport. Mobley sat in the backseat, smoking a cigarette with the cold mountain air pulling at the ash. Haisley was in front, poking the buttons of a hand-held GPS receiver.

  “I think I’m going to take a rain check on this flight if you guys don’t mind. I hate small planes,” Mobley said, flipping his cigarette out the window.

  “That’s fine, Mike. Reece and I got it covered,” Haisley said distractedly.

  “Weren’t you going to check in with that detective you know on the Vail PD?” Reece asked, figuring Mobley had to be good for something other than smoking, eating, and smelling up the truck.

  “I’ll take the truck and go pay him a visit while you guys take your joy ride,” Mobley said.

  Whatever, Reece wanted to say, as long as you’re not with us. He pulled up at the fixed based operators hangar on the south side of the airport, and he and Haisley jumped out. Mobley waved and drove away.

  “You want to fill me in on what Cox was telling you a while back when he called?” Reece said.

  “They’re at the Federal Center in Golden. He’s been working with another federal agency, and they think Shanks is somewhere in the mountains west of Denver. He told me to fly into Denver to help out.”

  “So, it sounds like we’re a few steps ahead of Cox for now.”

  “It seems that way. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mobley, but it sounds like Cox is hell bent on catching up with Vinton Blackwell. He wants to offer him immunity in exchange for his testimony against Sam Shanks,” Haisley said, walking across the blacktop toward a high-winged Cessna airplane.