Soldier's Promise
Page 8
“That’s what I’m hoping. When you talk to Starfall, make her think I really need her help.”
“Or maybe I should tell her she shouldn’t trust you as far as she can throw you.”
The barb earned her a smile that sent heat curling through her. “You only say that in a feeble effort to resist my charms.”
Flirting with him was too dangerous, so she focused on the job. “What are you going to do while I’m back in Metwater’s camp?” she asked.
“I’m going to follow Werner Altbusser.”
“Where is he right now?”
He checked his watch. “He told his waitress at breakfast this morning that he was going to spend the day at a local hot springs and spa. Apparently, smuggling endangered species is stressful, and he needed a break. I double-checked, and he had an appointment for a day full of treatments. Just in case he didn’t show up or decided to leave early, I charmed the attendant at the spa into giving me a call. I told her he was my uncle, and I was planning a surprise party for him.”
“And she believed you?”
“I can be very convincing.”
She bet he could. One smoldering look from those blue eyes and a roguish smile, and the poor attendant had probably been weak at the knees. “Are you sure he’s not just an ordinary tourist on vacation?” she asked, a little more sharply than she had intended.
“We’ve got video of him pocketing thousands of dollars’ worth of rare cactus in four different states.”
“Then why not arrest the guy now? Why go to all the trouble and expense of following him, when you already have plenty of evidence?”
“One count of plant theft doesn’t carry much weight. The more evidence we can gather against him, the better chance we have of getting jail time and a really big fine—enough to make similar criminals take note and maybe think twice. And we still hope he can lead us to the really big fish—the dealers who purchase his finds.”
“Carmen?”
She turned to see DEA agent Marco Cruz striding toward her. The muscular Latin officer wore a grim expression that immediately put her on alert. “What is it, Marco?”
He stopped in front of them. “We just had a report come in of a dead man in a tent over in the South Rim campground. He was reportedly shot in the back of the head.”
“I guess a murder investigation trumps my plant case,” Jake said.
“This might be part of your case,” Marco said. “Supposedly, this guy had a whole backpack full of cactus in his vehicle.”
Chapter Nine
Carmen stared down at the body of the young man she had known only as Reggae. He lay on his side a few feet off the trail, a faded, blue pack at his back.
“That’s not my guy.” Jake moved in behind her.
“No.” He wasn’t the German smuggler. He was just a kid who was searching for a place to belong. So why was he lying here dead?
“He doesn’t have any ID on him.” Marco said. He had brought Carmen and Jake here from Ranger headquarters. “Ethan thought he looked like the type who’d hang around Metwater.”
“He was one of Metwater’s followers,” Carmen said. “He went by the name of Reggae.” She squatted down for a closer look. His face in death looked very young and surprisingly peaceful. A small black hole above his right temple was the only sign of violence.
“A .22-caliber, close range.” Marco crouched beside her and pointed to the wound. “You can see the powder burns.”
“You said that pack is full of cactus?” Jake asked.
“Right.” Marco stood. “No identification, no food or clothes or camping equipment, just an old garden trowel and about two dozen cactus plants.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Jake asked.
“Go ahead.” Marco glanced at Carmen. “Simon and Ethan processed the scene, since you were tied up with him.” He jerked a thumb toward Jake, who was already kneeling beside the pack.
She nodded. As a member of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, she usually took lead in processing crime scenes, but all the Rangers had the experience and training to handle the job. She turned to Jake. “Are those the cactus your collector is interested in?” she asked.
“Not the rare ones he asked Starfall to find for him. There are a few that might bring in a few bucks, but most of them are too common for Werner and his buyers to be interested in.” He opened his palm to display a golf-ball sized round cactus, covered with hairy, pinkish spines. “If Werner hired this guy to gather specimens for him, he either didn’t give him very good instructions, or Reggae ignored him.”
“Maybe he wasn’t working for Werner.” Carmen stood also. “He was always hanging around Starfall, trying to impress her. Maybe he heard she was looking for cactus and thought gathering a bunch would be a good way to catch her attention.” She glanced down at the dead man again and fought back a wave of sadness. Reggae had been trying to do something sweet for a woman he liked, and the gesture may have cost him his life.
“Any ideas who killed him, and why?” Marco asked.
“It wasn’t Werner.” Jake closed the pack and dusted off his hands. “He wouldn’t want to call attention to himself, especially for a bunch of plants he couldn’t use.”
“A rival smuggler?” Marco asked.
Jake shook his head. “We haven’t heard of anyone else operating in this area but, even if they were, why kill a dumb kid over plants you can’t use?”
“Maybe it was a warning for Werner and his people to stay out of the rival group’s territory,” Carmen said.
Jake looked skeptical. “I’ll check with my office, but I’m pretty sure we haven’t heard of any other smugglers active in the cactus trade internationally. Werner and the few people he worked with have made a name for themselves with buyers.”
“Maybe someone new is trying to take over the operation,” Marco said. He looked down at the dead young man. “This doesn’t have the feel of a random shooting. More like a deliberate hit.”
“Do we have any witnesses?” Carmen asked. “Did anyone hear or see anything suspicious?”
“No one has come forward,” Marco said. “The hiker who found the body called it in about two hours ago. The medical examiner estimates time of death at around five hours ago. He’ll have a better estimate for us after the post mortem, but it rules out the guy who called it in. Five hours ago he was having breakfast in Montrose with three friends.”
“Five hours ago would make it about seven a.m.,” Jake said. “Werner was at his motel then. Somebody was out and about early.”
“We’ll have to talk to Metwater,” Carmen said. “Try to find out Reggae’s real name, and if he has any family.”
“Metwater will swear he doesn’t know anything,” Marco said.
“We need to talk to Starfall, too,” Jake said. “I want to know who she told about her cactus-selling sideline. And I want to find out if she knew what Reggae was up to.”
“We’d better double-check where Werner was this morning,” Carmen said. “In case he does have something to do with this.”
“I’ll stop by the spa and confirm his appointments,” Jake said. He checked his watch. “I’ll need to call my supervisor and report this latest development. Even if it’s only coincidentally linked to my case, he’ll want to know.”
“We’ll try to track down the people who signed the trail register this morning and question them,” Marco said. “There are only three names, and one of them is the man who found the body.”
“Who is he?” Jake asked.
“A geology professor from Ohio,” Marco said. “He’s completely freaked out about this.”
“Maybe Reggae has an enemy we don’t know anything about,” Carmen said. “Someone from his past who tracked him down and decided to kill him.”
“Let’s hope Metwater or someone else in camp can tell us Reggae’s r
eal name, and we’ll dig deeper into his background,” Jake said.
“What should we do with the cactus?” Marco asked.
“Hold on to them as evidence until we’re sure they have nothing to do with my case,” Jake said.
“And if they don’t?” Carmen asked.
He shrugged. “Usually we destroy them. Most of them wouldn’t live if replanted. Cactus look hardy, but they’re pretty difficult to transport and grow—another reason viable specimens are so valuable.”
“So the murdered man collected the wrong type of cactus and ended up dead,” Marco said. “Maybe because he made an enemy, and maybe because he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Maybe the person who killed him was upset about the cactus theft itself,” Carmen said. “A militant environmentalist.”
“Those groups usually try to send a message and make a public statement,” Marco said. “Killing one guy on a remote trail doesn’t get them the kind of attention they want.”
“It’s worth checking into,” Jake said. “But I agree, this doesn’t fit that kind of scenario. To shoot a man up close, on a remote trail, feels personal.”
“So we need to find out who wanted Reggae dead,” she said. “And why.”
“It could be because of something Reggae did,” Jake said. “Or because the killer wanted to send a message to someone close to him.”
“What kind of message?” she asked.
“I’d say when someone is killed, the message is almost always, watch out—you could be next.”
* * *
JAKE LEFT CARMEN with the crime-scene team and drove back to Montrose to check on Werner at the spa and to report in to his boss. He had agreed to pick Carmen up in a couple of hours on his way back to Metwater’s camp.
Werner Altbusser was dozing under a mud mask, his rotund figure swathed in seaweed, when Jake looked in on him at the spa. The attendant reported he had been at the facility since eight that morning.
“I would have called if he left early,” she said, her lips forming a pretty pout. “Don’t you trust me?”
“This way I get to see you again.” The words rolled off his tongue, but he felt guilty as soon as he said them. Flirting was second nature to him, especially when it netted information he wanted. But he could almost see Carmen frowning and shaking her head, dismissing him as shallow and manipulative. He shrugged off the image. He was doing his job, and who was she to judge him, anyway?
He called his supervisor, Resident Agent-in-Charge Ron Clark, from the parking lot of the spa and made his report. “I met with the Rangers, and they’ve assigned an agent to work with me on the local angle,” Jake said. “Werner isn’t collecting today—I get the impression he’s waiting for something. Maybe he’s expecting someone else to arrive—one of his fellow hobbyists.” That was how the smugglers always characterized their activities, as an innocent hobby.
“Or he’s lying low because he’s worried about you.” Agent Clark, a forty-year veteran who wore his cynicism as a badge of honor, had already lectured Jake about screwing up years of investigative work when he confronted Werner in his camp. Jake figured he was in for round two and braced himself for another tirade. But his boss kept his words brief. “We’re pulling you off the case. We’re sending another agent in this afternoon to take over the tail.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have anyone else to work the case,” Jake said.
“A field agent from Grand Junction, Tony Davidson, has agreed to take over for the moment. You can return to Texas.”
Being pulled from the case was bad, but being ordered back to Texas before he had had time to help his mother and Sophie was a disaster. “There’s been another development that may be related to our case,” Jake said. “A young man was murdered in the wilderness area where Werner was collecting yesterday. He had a backpack full of cactus. He may have been working for Werner.”
“Why was he killed?” Clark barked the words.
“That’s what we need to find out. I was going to head out this afternoon to question some people who knew the young man. He’s a local, and part of the hippie group I was telling you about. He’s a friend of the young woman Werner hired to collect for him, so it’s possible Werner hired this young man, too. His killing could be the work of a rival smuggling group or a radical environmental group.”
“Is that what the Rangers think? Are they aware of such groups operating in the area?”
“All they’ll tell me is that they’re considering a number of possibilities. You know how these other agencies are—very closemouthed. I think if we’re going to learn anything useful, I really need to stay here as a part of their investigative team.”
He held his breath, gripping the phone so tightly his fingers ached.
“All right.” Clark sounded tired. “I can spare you for a few more days. Adding murder to the list of charges against Werner would lend some serious weight to our case.”
“That’s what I thought, sir.” He didn’t really think the German had anything to do with Reggae’s death, but he would play up any possible link to gain more time to work on his mom. If he had to, he could turn her in to the local cops for violating Sophie’s custody order, then he could take Sophie back to their grandparents. But he wanted to help his mom, not hurt her more. He wanted to persuade her and his sister to come with him willingly. She could get the medical help she needed, and the three of them could start rebuilding their family.
Also, he wasn’t ready to leave Carmen Redhorse just yet. The strong, sexy sergeant had awakened something in him he had thought long dead—the desire to be with someone not just physically but also as a part of her life. He wanted more time to see where those feelings went and decide what he should do about them.
He picked her up at Ranger headquarters. As she slid into the front seat of his pickup, the intoxicating aromas of beef, onions and spices hit him, and his stomach growled. “Have some lunch,” she said, handing him a foil-wrapped packet.
“What is it?” he asked, leaving the vehicle in Park and unwrapping the foil, inhaling the amazing scents.
“Indian taco.” She unwrapped her own packet, then handed him a plastic fork. “You’ll probably need this.”
He took a forkful of the bean-and-meat mixture and all but moaned at the taste. “Did you make this?” he asked after he’d swallowed.
She shook her head. “My mom. She stopped by with enough for the whole office.”
“If she does this regularly, you must be the most popular person on the team.” He took another bite. “Amazing!”
“She’s convinced I’ll wither away without home cooking. And she likes to remind me what I’m missing by not moving back home to the reservation.”
“She really wants you to move home? And do what?”
“Work for the tribal police.” She stirred the fork around her taco but didn’t take another bite. “She thinks I should be using my education and training to help my people the way she and my dad did—she’s a lawyer, and my dad has served on the tribal council.”
“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” he said.
She drank from a bottle of water and nodded. “My family has always had high expectations. When I was a kid, I didn’t dare screw up. It wasn’t allowed.”
“My family had no expectations at all for me,” he said. “It didn’t matter what I did.” Though in some ways that had felt freeing when he was younger, he had felt the lack of anyone rooting for—or even expecting him—to succeed.
“You seem to have done all right for yourself,” she said. “Military veteran. Cop. Your mom should be really proud of you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “Cops aren’t her favorite people and, as a pacifist, she doesn’t much approve of the military.”
“So why did you go that route—army, then Fish and Wildlife?”
“Oh, yes. Mom even has the man all picked out.”
Her frown told him she didn’t think much of the idea. “Seriously?” he asked. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Rodney Tonaho. Tribal police chief. Former high-school basketball star, class valedictorian and all-around great guy.”
“But not your guy?” He hoped he didn’t sound too anxious about her answer to this question.
She slid her gaze over to him. “I prefer to pick my own men.”
What were his chances of her picking him? She had kissed him last night at Metwater’s camp, but that could have merely been curiosity or responding to the moment. She had made it pretty clear she didn’t trust him. He had spent most of his life in situations that demanded he live by his wits. Sometimes that meant lying or pretending to be something he wasn’t. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to reveal his true self to another person.
He turned his attention away from such dangerous thoughts and focused once more on the food. “Thanks for sharing the bounty,” he said. “I’ve never had an Indian taco before.”
“Neither did the Utes, until they ended up on the reservation.” She finished off the last of her lunch and crushed the foil into a ball. “We started making them to sell to tourists. They’re tasty, but not something you’d want to eat every day—too much white flour and grease. If you want a real Native dish, you’ll have to try some of my aunt Lucy’s venison stew.”
“Sounds good.” He finished the last of his taco and wiped his hands on a napkin before putting the truck into gear. “Ready to reveal your true identity to Metwater and his followers?”
“I am,” she said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the expression on Daniel Metwater’s face when he finds out he was hosting a cop.”